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As it turned out, the system was a total disaster. After a week, she finally understood what the problem was, but she had at least a week more of work ahead of her to make it right.
To make matters worse, Watertown was not exactly a bustling metropolis. It was a small, family oriented town, with only three bars, and no other night life to speak of. But it wasn't a total loss; most women in town were happily married and well into their third child, so there was not a lot of competition for male attention. Especially at the bar she settled on, which was the least respectable of the group.
Not like she'd ever really had a problem with competition. On these "excursions" she dressed for maximum effect. Her hair hung in loosely at her shoulders, framing her face and making her blue eyes seem dark and mysterious. She was that rare type of redhead, one who actually could tan, and fortunate enough to live in a climate that allowed her to maintain it naturally. Of course, she had no tan lines, so her nipples stood out invitingly pink against the golden brown of her skin. She favored tank tops (preferably light colored or white to show off the tan) with thin, straps, usually a size or so too small so that it strained to cover her tits. The tanks were always very see through, so that when she sat at the bar and the light caught her just right, you could see everything. She worked out almost as religiously as Austin, so even at her age her tits still measured an impressive 36C, sitting full and firm.
She never wore any type of underwear to these places; a bra or panties would just get in the way. And usually, she preferred shorts rather than a skirt, so she could leave SOMETHING to the imagination. She liked to make guys guess whether or not her pussy was shaved bald (it wasn't; the curly red hair was a bigger turn on).
On Tuesday night of the second week, with the disaster finally behind her, she finally met Ron. He was a nice enough guy, 38 years old, a little overweight, and a machinist in a factory one town over. He was around her height, with sandy blonde hair and clean-shaven, and tended to get a little macho after a few beers. But most importantly, he was married.
He'd been eyeing her for almost a week, but hadn't been able to work up the courage to approach her. He would come into the bar after his shift ended at 11pm, throw a few back and talk to his friends before he went home. The first night they talked, his bravado growing the longer they spoke. She could see the wheels turning as he drunkenly leaned forward and asked her if she had any "friends" in town.
"I thought maybe you might want to be my friend," she replied innocently.
