Here's the next bit, some swearing and adult situations, gentle readers. (hence the M rating)

Enjoy! And know that feedback, of any kind,is appreciated.

--Badgirl

She Gives Great Face

The text, what little there was of it, was breathless and admiring, if not a tad grandiose. "Surely, Bettie Page set the standard for postwar sexiness, her dark gleeful gaze and eloquent lustiness acted as a binary opposition to that other perennial icon of femininity: the Blonde, as evidenced by Marilyn and her kin…"

Sara snorted, this "icon of femininity" sure looked like some random 1950's babe in the nude to her. She flipped a few more pages; she grudgingly had to admit that judging by the grin on Bettie's face, she did look like she was having a whole lot of fun. Those get-ups though? Sara was all for fancy lingerie but she restricted herself to the standard bra and panty combo, with the odd thong thrown into the mix for variety. But this, this was a whole other level of lingerie; sheer stockings and lacy garter belts, elaborate corsets, some sort of see-thru skirt deelie…How did women walk around with all that on anyway? Sara silently thanked whoever invented microfibre.

She turned another page and frowned; yet another shot of Bettie posing, knees spread, back arched, devilish grin in place, wearing a leopard print bra and panty set. A very familiar bra and panty set, actually. One that looked an awful lot like the bra and panty set had Greg surprised her with last month, "just because you'd look so incredibly righteous in this, Sar'…a real hot jungle momma!" he'd told her. And despite finding the whole thing slightly ridiculous and a little outré, she'd accepted his gift and worn it for him. Sara flushed, no she hadn't just worn it for him…she'd taunted him, and teased him with it, strutting around giggling until finally he'd chased her around her apartment while growling and making other silly cat noises and the whole time that jerk had been pretending she was some stupid pin-up girl!

"WhaddayerdoinupSar?"

Sara yelped and lurched up out of her seat, heart pounding. Furiously, she turned to face a very bleary Greg, regarding her quizzically and trying to hide a monster yawn.

"You jerk!" She belted him with the book. Ineffectually he tried to defend himself.

"Whoa! Stop! I'm sorry I thought you heard me! Ow! Stop hitting me!"

"No, I won't, I should break your stupid head open," she raised the book threateningly.

Greg looked at her, confusion and the beginnings of anger all over his face.

"Look, I'm sorry I scared you but—"

"I wasn't scared." Sara said hotly, ignoring her racing heart. "Explain this!" she thrust the book with its incriminating photo towards him.

"Explain Bettie Page?" The anger was wiped away by honest bafflement. "Well, she was this super hot pin-up girl from—"

"Not her," she snapped, "the outfit she's wearing."

"Uhhh…it's cute?" he ventured.

"Why do I have an outfit that's just like this one, an outfit you gave to me?"

"Because I thought you would look sexy in it?" Greg's face wore the slightly hopeful yet wary expression of a man who wasn't quite sure how he'd earned feminine ire, but who vainly hoped like hell to emerge unscathed.

"Because you wanted me to act like some slutty pin-up."

"Only if you want to—hey!" Greg must be waking up, he dodged her swipe at him that time. "Whoa, let's all just chill here okay?" He approached her, hands up to defend himself against possible attacks. "If it wasn't for the bruises I know I'm going to have later, I'd swear I was having a weird ass dream…Sara, what is going on?" He tried to grasp her hands, when she wouldn't let him, he encircled her wrists and lightly stroked with his thumbs. Sara ignored the shivers the motion sent up her arms. She jerked away and sat stiffly on the couch. Undeterred, Greg sat down beside her. "Why are you so pissed?"

"Because you want me to be like her," she jabbed an angry finger at the book.

"I'm pretty sure I've never asked you to pose naked so I could photograph you, I may be reckless but I'm not suicidal." he joked.

Sara huffed an angry sigh, "No, you want me to act like some slutty pin-up girl, because you have a major boner for this Bettie Page hootchie and you bought me the underwear—" Sara broke off and glared at Greg who had the temerity to be chuckling at her.

"Boner? Hootchie? I'm sorry, Sara did I just wake up in 1989? Alright calm down," he pulled her back onto the couch beside him, "Look, I'm a guy. And like most guys I like sexy chicks, and because I happen to be dating a sexy chick—woman—sorry, I thought you'd look hot—nice—pretty…pretty in that lingerie, which is why I bought it for you in the first place. Because lets face it, Sara, you're smoking hot."

She sniffed, unimpressed.

"It's not empty flattery, Sara, most women I know wouldn't have been cool enough to parade around just to fulfill my admittedly lame Tarzan fantasy…you will, and that makes you all kinds of sexy."

"Tarzan? Why were you making cat noises then? No don't answer that, why do you want me to be her?"

"What? I don't want you to be Bettie Page…I want you to be you. That's enough for me…" he paused and she nudged him,

"What? Tell me."

"Well, I guess there is something about you that reminds me of her."

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"Me?"

"Yes! You, Sara Sidle. You have that same sort of—"

"Hair color?"

"I was gonna say air of sexy abandon."

"Me?"

"Here we go again…" Greg gently grabbed her chin and kissed her. "Just take the damn compliment okay? You, Sara, are so unbelievably sexy, when we're together and we…"

"Do the things we do?" she offered.

"Yeah. When you let go, you have the best…" Greg blushed but gamely kept going, "fu—uh, sex face I've ever seen. There. Happy?"

"You were going to say fuck, weren't you? You were actually going to tell me I have a good fuck face?" Sara grinned at him; he was so cute when he was flustered. Greg rallied, his relief at having dodged another random bullet of female eccentricity making him bold.

"Like a porn star babe. Just thinking about it makes me hard, also when you get all crude on me and say fuck, by the way."

"You are a sick sick man." so why was her hand stroking him now?

He sucked in an unsteady breath, "Not that I'm not appreciative…"

"But?" her hand slowed, her fingers teasingly brushed him.

"Uh…" Greg swallowed and firmly put his own hand on top of hers, stilling her, "can't think when you do that."

She squeezed gently and smiled when he couldn't resist arching up into her grasp.

"Or that," he said warningly.

"Thinking's overrated," she licked her lips and slid to her knees in front of him.

"Oh damn. Can we fight like this every day?" he breathed.

"It wasn't a fight," she said primly, "because we both agree you can be a kinky jerk."

He laughed and she grinned, tongue curling between her teeth. He looked down at her and cupped her cheek.

"There—right there. You are so incredibly sexy right now," he said softly. "Bettie hasn't got anything on you, no woman has."

Sara knew she was no pin up, she was kneeling on cheap Berber, wearing a tee shirt with stains on it, some of which she'd put there, she knew she had bed head and bags under each eye to round out the picture of an overtired, stressed, public servant but just then, basking in that patch of hot sunlight in front of her lover she felt like the sexiest woman in Vegas, maybe even the whole world.

She leaned forward and blew a teasing breath across him. She felt Greg's hand slide through her hair to cup her nape, she loved it when he held her like that, right there, she could almost feel his thumb stroking lightly on her neck but instead he held her still. Surprised, she looked up into his face.

"Sara, trust me most of me is kicking myself right now but, I need to get this straight with you. You know I don't want to be with anyone else right?"

She rolled her eyes and leaned an impatient elbow against his thigh, "Yes. I do."

He almost looked absurdly thankful; a small part of her couldn't resist tormenting him a little because kinky jerks do things like that to one another, "Well…this whole Bettie Page thing?"

"Yeah?" the concern was back, it was endearing really, his earnestness.

She looked up at him as innocently as she could, as if unaware of how close her mouth was to him, as if she couldn't hear his ragged breathing.

"You really think I'm like her? That you could see me doing that, those things…like with the whip?"

"Well maybe not the whip thing—maybe only if you were real drunk—or lost a bet?" he said hopefully.

She looked flatly at him.

"Right. No whips. But sexy like her, hell yes."

"But I never act like that...putting it all…out there."

"Sure you do."

"When?" she challenged.

"When you're with me."

"That's different."

Greg sighed in frustration. Sara felt sorry for him, "Hey man, you were the one who wanted to talk…"

"I know...I just don't know when to shut up do I?"

She leaned in and barely licked him, tongue flicking him gently. His hand tightened gratifyingly on the back of her neck.

"No you don't," she replied playfully. "so let me give you some advice, Greg…shut up."

"Yes'm."