"Some good, clean family fun," she replied perkily, crossing her legs (smoothly moving her leg out of the path of his hand in the process).
Diana tossed her hair, exposing a long neck and plunging neckline, and surveyed the bar once more, her finger idly tracing the lip of her hurricane glass. As her gaze swept over the patrons- two botched boob jobs, one in-the-doghouse husband, two closeted gays, one secret tranny, four STD cases- she picked up the cherry from her drink and began sucking on it, her lips caressing the fruit in a manner bordering on obscene.
"Or," she began, gesturing at the trashy mortals vaguely with her non-cherry-holding hand, "We could always make our own."