Girl's Night Out
She stares at her choice of weapons, Two tiny wisps of black lace. She applies her war paint carefully, Until it doesn't appear to be on her face. A mist of musk on her body. Forty dollars, that was well spent. For there is nothing that attracts her prey, Like a well placed sexy scent. Then she slips on her armor, Fitted snug, covering the rest. Who would have thought that armor, Would become a short black dress. Now, black hose and garter belt, Weapons made to just amuse. The sharpest weapon she carries, Is her four inch high heel shoes. All you gentlemen be wary, You wolves that pretend to howl, Every male on the street be forewarned, The Huntress Dianna is on the prowl. Written November 18th, 2001 © on Nov 18 2001 08:20 AM PST, Phyllis Thompson 0 • 14
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"She stares at her choice of weapons,..."