Confessions of an Alli Cat Read Free

lord. 
    Shaking my head at my friend’s sex toy of choice, I turn it off and take it to the bathroom to wash it. 
    I let the water warm up and lather my hands with antibacterial soap before I grab it.  I run my fingers along the soft yet firm plastic and let my mind wander.  I find myself thinking about Shade again, which is exactly what my friend, the freaking devil herself, had in mind. 
    What is a guy who does gigolo-ry in his spare time hung like?  
    I remind myself that I have no intention of finding out.  I’m just curious.
    Really curious. 
    Would he be smaller than the vibrator?  The same size?  Bigger??
    Just the thought of that makes a little gush of warmth rocket through me, which really surprises me. I thought I’d lost this particular type of adrenaline long ago.  Suddenly, I’m very excited by my new toy and the image of my soon-to-be escort. I’ve got visions of his sugar plums dancing through my head.
    Oh god, you’re so twisted!  That’s a Christmas reference!
    But maybe something new, something naughty and forbidden, is just what I need to shake nearly two decades with a traitor. Fifteen wasted Christmases with a pathetic, lying husband.  It’s time for a new and shiny Christmas, so maybe it’s just what the doctor (or Santa) ordered.  The doctor, in this case, being Sara of course.
    I rinse the new vibrator in hot water, deciding to name it Geronimo since I’m jumping into all sorts of new things.  As it warms in my hands, I picture the super-hot Shade again.  I think of having my own personal boy-toy, a sex slave with no other goal than to please me, to make all my fantasies come true. 
    To my complete surprise, within seconds of this wanton fantasy, my panties are damp. Holy crap.  But this shouldn’t surprise me.  I’ve spent almost two decades with someone who came in two minutes flat and then rolled over snoring within the next two minutes following.  Obviously the thought of someone who is paid to dote on every sexual desire that I might have is…stimulating.  Impulsively, I strip my panties off and walk half naked to the bed.  In broad daylight.
    I’m nervous. 
    Very nervous.
    What if I get it stuck and Sophie comes home and finds me with a buzzing vibrator lodged in my vag and then she has to drive me to the hospital where I have to have it surgically removed??  And of course the scalpel would damage the nerves down there and I’d never be able to climax ever again. 
    I’m an idiot. 
    I know this.
    I’m a sexually repressed idiot.
    With a deep breath, I lie down on my back with my knees bent and I close my eyes again, picturing Shade.  I flip the switch on the vibrator.
    The beaver’s nose trembles against my leg and I laugh at the thought that a beaver is going to stimulate my beaver.   Ha. I spin Geronimo until he is positioned right where he should be.  It feels like ants crawling on me for just a second and I grit my teeth.  But the very next second, I have gotten used to the feeling. 
    And holy-fucking-pygmy-goats!
    I have to suck in a breath to keep from gasping. 
    Sweet Mary Mother of God.  A million shards of light are exploding in my crotch. All I need now is a Baptist choir to sing Hallelujah and jump around waving their hands in the air.
    I suck in another breath and dare to move it a teench. 
    Dear God, if only it was Shade’s tongue!
    I’m a dirty, dirty woman. 
    I’m fantasizing about a boy whose tongue is surely only in college. And the rest of him, too, of course.  But I can’t help it. As Geronimo pushes me closer and closer to a precipice that I haven’t even approached in years (make that EVER), the fantasy hits me head-on and I don’t let shame stop me from having it. 
    I imagine that Shade has a youthfully ripped body—all tan and fit and flexible.  It’s more beautiful than Rick the Dick ever was.  Ugh.  I cringe. Note to self:  I can’t think about Rick the Dick if I don’t want my vag to implode on itself.
    I