I AM

It's dark, it's loud, it's packed with over 100 girls. Some of them are naked, some are clothed, all of us are drunk. We're currently screaming at a classmate to do "Love It or Hate It" on stage while singles go flying every direction. I barely hear the guy behind me asking if he can sit in the adjacent stool.

So he asks again - only this time he taps my shoulder.

"Can I have this seat?"

I know that a lot of guys get upset when girls are sarcastic and/or bratty...but honestly...why do they make it so dang easy for me. Questions like the above are just screaming for a smart-ass response. Must-make-joke...must-tease...willpower-draining....

"Sure!"

Willpower restored. I am a nice girl...really.

"I'm Rich, who are you?"

"Katy" I blurt.

He shakes his head like he can't hear me, and he probably can't. He leans in closer.

"Julie" He leans in again, this time confused. His hand has suddenly found mine and is doing that strange half handshake, half caress thing. He looks like he can't decide if he want to kiss my hand or break my fingers. It's creepy. I yell into his ear "Mary".

"I can't hear you!" He yells back before leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath down my neck. I'm sure he's getting a good view of cleavage from that position. I'm getting a good whiff of too much beer. "My name is Lacy!"

And if you believe that I have a bridge I can sell you. I am a semi-nice girl...really.

"I'm from England. I don't really know how to talk to you American girls. I really want to tell you that you're hot...but I don't know how."

I can't really tell if he actually is English. He either has an accent or he's just really drunk and slurring his words oddly. English or not his hand is beginning to worm it's way up my thigh.

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually"

"I would really like to sleep with you."

See, you already have the hang of it.

"Aw, that's nice Rich, but I'm married so I'm not going to sleep with you."

"What if I was more aggressive. I could change your mind."

Change my mind? You have to be pretty aggressive to go back in time four years and tell an excited bride that in four years time some guy in a strip club is going to tell her she's hot and fuckable and that she'll be sad she was married so she should call the whole thing off.

"You couldn't change my mind even if you were attractive!"

I am an occasional-nice girl

"Why don't we go out tonight?" He grabs me by my hips and pulls me off my chair and into him. I quickly disengage myself from the drunk semi-British man and push him away. Vaguely I wonder if this will turn into a bar fight. I size him up...I'm less drunk than he is, but I'm also about 100 lbs less person than he is. Throwing a punch would not be a good idea.

But it'd be fun.

I am a slightly mean girl.

I walk away and re-join my group of girls. We automatically form the patented "Cock-block Circle" and everything is fine till I feel fingers scratching at my back.

"Why do your friends hate me?" It's Rich...duh.

"You're a man."

I am just a plain brat.

"I'm buying drinks for all of you. You'll come and talk to me now."

"No amount of alcohol will make me want to talk to you."

I'm a bitch.

"I can change your mind." His hand grabs my ass and the other slides down into my jeans. I move before his fingers find anything else to scratch.

Fortunately I move right into a bouncer. Who unfortunately for Rich grabs him by the collar.

"Did he touch any of you girls?"

"No no," Rich mumbles "We're just dancing."

"He touch you?" Says Rich's new friend.

Rich looks at me pleadingly. I feel kind bad cause he had a pretty tight collar on to begin with. Then I don't feel all that bad cause my jeans were pretty tight too.

"Yep. He stuck his hands down my pants."

And Rich was gone. In amongst admonitions of "You don't touch my girls and you don't touch these girls" I hear Rich with a real British type accent:

"You Bitch!"

No. I am an American Bitch.