It’s Friday night and it’s been a stunningly hot summer’s day. It’ll remain warm late into the evening, maybe through till morning.

You’re excited with getting ready for going out, for seeing people and for being seen, to be in the crowd, letting off some steam and no doubt catching the admiring eye of a fair few men.

Some of course shouldn’t be looking, because they’ll never handle a woman who’s every bit their equal, and then there’s some others who just shouldn’t be looking because they don’t stand a chance! But hey, they can’t help it, or as Little Richard once would’ve screamed: the girl can’t help it, she was born to please.

Freshly bathed, legs clean shaven, soft and smooth, soaked and scrubbed, drenched in rich body lotion from Chanel. Hair clean, blown dry and straightened, touches of make-up, nothing heavy, eyes fresh, bright and striking, lips looking irresistibly kissable.

You’ve already pulled out your new heeled sandals, their deep sienna red leather, oozing sexy chic. They’re patiently waiting, sitting in their box, open on the bed, begging to be unleashed.

Meanwhile you’re absently flipping through your wardrobe hangers, toying with older options, wondering what else you might pull out to really set these bad boys off?

Music streaming, shuffling away, pumping out mostly punk and new wave, along with some old skool rock. Your preferred “going out” music to keep you company while you’re getting ready.

You’ve been moving around the room, occasionally stopping to sip from a bottle of crisp cold lager, but then you hear the electric riff that signals a classic. You turn up the volume and let the guitar, bass and lyrics fill the room:

I don’t wanna know your name
‘Cause you don’t look the same
The way you did before

Okay, you think you got a pretty face
But the rest of you is out of place
You looked all right before

Fox on the run

You scream and everybody comes a running
Take a run and hide yourself away
Fox on the run, hide away

I don’t wanna know your name
‘Cause you don’t look the same
The way you did before

Fox on the run!

Fox on the run!

You’re bopping about, little pogo movements up and down, laughing inside and out as the glam-heavy riffs keep pouring on out into your room. It’s a classic tune, and “to hell with it!” you say out loud: “tonight I’m going to have my fun; tonight I’m going to knock them all dead!”

You reach into the wardrobe and pull out a tiny body-con dress, backless, halter-necked, and with a fit so confident and bold, so tight around your hips and ass, anyone could wonder if you’d painted it on.

continued…