Starfire(10)

*Possible marketing slogans for a vibrator named The Assassin:

1. The Assassin. Because he gets in and does the job.

2. The Assassin doesn’t ask questions before, and he doesn’t demand cuddles after.

3. When you need to slay a dangerous ladyboner, call in The Assassin.

4. Service with a smile. Just kidding. The Assassin never smiles.

5. The only bridal shower “gag gift” that will have her gagging for more.

6. Deluxe personal massager. Dishwasher safe, top rack only.

7. Fifty shades of… that’s all we can say, due to trademark laws regarding copyright infringement, but you know what we mean, wink wink.

8. Girlfriend, this is a vibrator. Put it on your clit. If you don’t know where your clit is, you’re about to find out.

9. Every night is Date Night. Vibrating bow-tie and tuxedo accessories sold separately.

10. Your ass looks so fucking good in those sweatpants. Girl, you’re making me crazy horny. Now step away from that rum raisin ice cream you inexplicably like so much, put on some Justin Timberlake, and get ready to have your sweet pussy annihilated by The Assassin.

(That last one may have been a little specific, but you get the idea.)

~

My clingy wrap dress, Creamsicle orange, made me look delicious.

I stared at myself in the mirror, turning from side to side, letting the fabric swing out then fall back down to graze my thighs. The dress was one of my scores from my trip to LA. It came from a designer boutique, and the cut and quality was so good, I didn’t even consider wrestling on a pair of Spanx underneath. Tight undergarments would ruin the sensory experience of such a gorgeous dress.

What point is there to beautiful, soft fabric, if you can’t feel it against your skin? Skin is for more than holding your spleen inside your body and all that stuff your learn in science class. Skin is a canvas for personal art, a medium for piercing, and a damn handy place to keep your body glitter. It’s also nice for licking, sucking, and spanking.

At 7:05, Adrian knocked on the front door.

My cheeks reddened at my naughty thoughts while I ran to answer.

I passed one more mirror along the way and thought of that quote by style icon Coco Chanel: “Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and remove one accessory.”

My bracelet with the turquoise beads was one of my favorite pieces, but I probably didn’t need sparkling clip-on earrings and a necklace, did I?

The shadow of Adrian on the other side of the privacy glass shifted, and a butterfly flitted around my belly. He knocked again, louder, and I grinned deviously over keeping him waiting. Hands shaking, I took off the pendant necklace and dropped it in the bowl next to the spare keys.

I opened the door to find Adrian’s back to me. He looked even taller from behind, and he wore grown-up clothing rather than his usual jeans and black T-shirt. Gray trousers made his legs look long, but not too skinny, and his butt looked (dare I say it?) perky. Completing his date outfit was a fitted dress shirt, black with gray pinstripes, rolled up at to the elbows for a casual look. His blond hair looked crisp and recently-trimmed.

A summer breeze shifted, and a fresh scent with a hint of citrus hit me just as he turned around.

“Wow,” he said, staring down at my dress, his blue eyes open wide. “You look like a girl.”

“I am a girl.”

“So people keep telling me.”

“What people?”

“My mother, for one.”

“How is your mother?” I asked.

He stared down at my peaches, mouth slightly open.

I held my hand in front of my cleavage and moved my fingers like a hand puppet. In a silly voice, I said, “Tell your mother my sweater puppies say hello.”

He stepped backward on the porch and looked down at his feet, shuffling them as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“You look nice, too,” I said in the ensuing awkward silence. “Is that how you used to dress when you were a high-powered real estate mogul?”

He coughed. “Mogul?”

“That’s the right word, isn’t it? Mogul. Or am I thinking of those ski bumps? Mogul. Mogul?”

“Mogul.” He looked up thoughtfully, avoiding my eyes.

“Mogul. Hmm. Now it just sounds made up.”

Adrian pulled out his phone. “We can solve this dilemma in two shakes.”

After a few seconds, he glanced up at me, cocked his head to the side, and put the phone back in his pocket. “Interesting,” he said.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Are you going to invite me in off your porch? Or did you mean what you said last night? That if I walked out, I wouldn’t walk back in again, or something to that effect.”

To avoid answering him and talking about my humiliation the night before, I pulled my phone out of my purse and looked up the word. FYI, mogul can describe an influential person, and it also can be a bump on a ski hill, or a member of the dynasty that ruled India until 1857.