A Night Out

"No, I . . . I really don't think I should." John was sitting on Ariel's bed, watching a bit bemusedly as her friend rummaged through the considerable clutter of her bedroom closet.

Ariel made a sound of annoyance, though it was unclear whether it was a result of John's comment or her frustrated search for slutty clothing. "Come on, John . . . you've gotta come. It's Robin's birthday." A pair of running shorts came flying out of the closet and landed in John's face. She carefully peeled them off and set them aside.

"Yeah, but I've got work tomorrow, and two projects to get started on, so-"

Finally, the sounds from the closet stopped. Ariel emerged with a flimsy green cocktail dress over one arm. At the moment, she was only wearing a pair of green thong panties and green fluffy slippers (she did like green). Otherwise, she was naked to John's gaze -- she'd never been terribly bashful, and John had known her since they were seven. There were probably lots of people who'd have loved to have been in John's place, since Ariel was shaped like a twenty-two year old altporn star (skinny enough to gain John's disapproval, with pert breasts, pale skin, short blond hair -- and a lot of black mascara) and totally obsessed with sex. "Okay, I think I've found it."

John raised her eyebrows. "Found what, your shame? Going to put on some clothes now?"

Ariel rolled her eyes. "Only if you promise to come. Geez, wouldn't your 'projects' go faster if you had a little fun every now and then? I have to call you ten times before I can ever get a hold of you, and practically beg you to come over."

"'Helping me avoid Ariel' -- it's what caller I.D. was made for." John smirked at her.

"Fine. Don't come." Ariel stared at her, with something in her eyes that made John nervous. "Maybe going to a trashy party isn't what you need. Maybe you just need to get laid or something."

What was THAT supposed to mean?