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Looking back on it, I never really thought that it was Fat Tuesday until I sipped on my first beer. But as the night progressed, the memories of past trips to Mardi Gras would pale in comparison to what happened to me.

When I arrived at the bar that night, she hardly took notice of me. I was meeting a group of friends, to celebrate a birthday. I noticed she was drinking champagne. Girls get all giggly when they drink champagne. She had called me and told me to come, so I was surprised that she seemed to ignore me when I finally showed up late. Maybe she was mad, I thought to myself.

I saw down next to her, and my legs brushed against hers. She was wearing blue jeans, which covered up her long legs. But her feet weren't covered. She was wearing new sandals. Once it occurred to her that I was standing there, Lindsey thrust them in my face. She wanted me to look at it, for whatever reason. As I was looking, and as my four friends were distracted, she ran her bare foot under the ankle of pants leg. She scratched her foot against my leg, just barely above my white sock. I looked in her eyes, and I saw a look. I forgot about it, and tried to keep my mind off Lindsey's stare. Her blue eyes complimented her shoulder length blonde hair. Lindsey was a petite girl, though tall. She was almost 5-foot-10. She had small breasts, but she knew she did. She liked to use them to her advantage when she could. And since they were smaller, she had to go to greater lengths to flaunt them. Did ...

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