Little Myth Marker By Robert Asprin

“Don’t knock it,” she said. “It’s a great little bit. It’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it? Besides, isn’t that what men want from a girl?”

“I don’t.”

“Really?”

There was a none-too-gentle mockery in her voice. She took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back.

“So tell me, what does cross your mind when I do this?”

Regardless of what impression I may have left on you from my earlier exploits, I do think fast. Fast enough to censor my first three thoughts before answering.

“Mostly discomfort,” I said truthfully. “It’s impressive, all right, but I get the feeling I should do something about it and I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

She smiled triumphantly and let her breath out, easing the tension across her chest and my mind. Of the two, I think my mind needed it more.

“You have just hit on the secret of the sex kittens. It’s not that you don’t like it. There’s just too much of it for you to be sure you can handle it.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Men like to brag and strut a lot, but they’ve got egos as brittle as spun glass. If a girl calls their bluff, comes at them like a seething volcano that can’t be put out, men get scared. Instead of fanning a gentle feminine ember, they’re faced with a forest fire, so they take their wind elsewhere. Oh, they keep us around to impress people. ‘Look at the tigress I’ve tamed,’ and all that. But when we’re alone they usually keep their distance. I’ll bet a moll sees less actual action than your average coed … except our pay scale is a lot better.”

That made me think. On the one hand, she had called my reaction pretty close. Her roaring come-on had scared me a bit… well, a lot. Still, there was the other hand.