"Well?" she said.
"Er-uh, just dropped in. Going right back out."
He got halfway to the door before it again took effect. He leaned against it, dug his feet into the carpet, pushed. He almost reached the door. He could go no farther, knew he was going to be snatched back to the table.
He turned, dug in his heels, braced himself, and then the girl came flying over the table and directly into his arms. Instantly the force released him and he fell with the girl on top.
The platinum hair was in his eyes, against his face, the scent of perfume all about, the full weight of the soft warm flesh pressing him down. Then she struggled up, stood erect.
Getting his feet under him, he said, "I want to apologize. Your shape is natural. You don't wear a girdle. And now I'll be going."
He had scarcely turned before he felt it again. He swung back quickly, saw that the girl was hanging on the sofa. He lost his balance, went staggering toward her, flung out his arms, and the next thing he knew she was pressing against him, standing on her toes, and her lips were brushing his cheek, and they were moist and warm and soft.