“We can adjust it, right?”

  “Oh, yes, this model is perfect for that.”

  I looked down, gave it a tug. “Okay, I guess.”

  Cheryl turned to the little table behind her and picked up the Nexus, the double dildo, the mutual satisfaction one. Crap.

  “Now this one should be inserted this way into the harness first, then be sure to lubricate your end and slip it in as you’re tightening the straps on the harness. Shall I demonstrate? I have some lube here.”

  “No! No…I’ll…figure it out, thanks.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. Just let me show you how to secure the dildo into the harness then. Oh, I better use the other model.” She pulled out a shiny pink wobbly one and inserted a battery pack in it. “This is the G-Pulse Dildo attachment. It’s battery operated and sure to give you both a little extra sensation. Plus, it’s perfect for the G-spot. Also, it’s made of soft gel versus the silicone models. It won’t last as long, but it’s wonderfully soft and pliable, as you can see.”

  The damn thing was wiggling like a Jell-O mold. I was afraid it would melt.

  “Always be sure to get the rim flush against the harness here, see?” She had loosened one strap and inserted the attachment. It now hung in front of me like a body extension.

  “How many of these did Abby buy, exactly?”

  Cheryl looked up and grinned. “Just one more…another popular one with the femmes. It’s called the Bandito. She chose lavender, but she especially liked the contour and shape of that one.”

  “She did, huh?”

  “As I said, your wife was a delight, very knowledgeable. It’s a shame she couldn’t make the trip with you.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.” All the pieces were finally coming together. Abby might be a tiger in bed, but she turns red at off-color jokes. On the other hand she knows her shortcomings; this place would be like a candy store to her. She would want to look at everything to learn how it works.

  “Now, you’re aware that the two silicone models can be put into the dishwasher for sterilization, right? For the soft-gel model we recommend you use prophylactics to ensure cleanliness.”

  “You mean rubbers?”

  “Yes.”

  I just shook my head. I was going to kill Abby. Kill her dead.

  After twenty minutes of me proving I could properly load and unload the various dildos, Cheryl finally let me take off the harness. “We’re doing so well. Now have you ever used the Tongue Joy vibrator?”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  Cheryl chuckled softly. “It’s a vibrator for your tongue.”

  “Can I get electrocuted?”

  “No, it uses batteries and is quite safe and small.”

  “I’ll probably end up swallowing it.”

  Cheryl just smiled. “Here, let me show you how it works.”

  I stepped back. “I think I can figure that out. Is there anything else in there?”

  “Yes, we still have the video your wife thought you should watch, and I have two models of vibrators she ordered. One for your finger, the Fun Fingazs Vibe, and one she inserts, the Pocket Rocket model.”

  “Inserts?”

  “Yes. Some women like to keep stimulated while working or shopping.”

  I thought my head was going to explode. “Is it safe? You know, for a woman to stay stimulated like that?”

  “It’s wonderful. I have one in right now and love it. So does my wife when I get home, if you know what I mean.”

  That was it. I closed my eyes to the image of children having sex. I now knew I had definitely broken some kind of federal law. I was waiting for the store to be raided and me whisked away in handcuffs.

  “So shall we head to the viewing room?”

  “The what?”

  “It’s where you can watch the video in comfort. Afterward you can ask me questions and I’ll answer them for you.”

  “I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, but what kind of video is this?”

  Cheryl gave me a patronizing smile. “An instructional one, though we do have others if you’re interested in that kind of thing.”

  “No. No, that’s fine. In fact I think I’ll let my wife watch the video with me, and if she has any questions she can always call you later, right?”

  “Of course. I’ll take this up front. When you’re ready, come to the counter and I’ll ring you up.”

  After she left the dressing room, I banged my head on the wall three or four times. I could not believe Abby had set me up like this. She knew. She knew and still she sent me in here alone. I slipped back into my jeans and headed to the front of the store. The sooner I paid for this stuff, the quicker I could get out of there, hopefully without anyone discovering me there.

  I stepped outside and took a deep breath. My insides were shaking, and I was more determined to kill Abby then ever. I was now saddled with a small human-size shopping bag that had the name of the boutique emblazoned in red letters across it. I looked both ways, trying to figure out what to do, where to stash the bag. Then it hit me.

  I trotted into the restaurant. Abby was engrossed in a football game and cheering along with the other women alongside her. I walked up behind her and placed the bag on the bar. “Here’s your purchases, sweetie.”

  Abby turned, saw the name on the bag, and grabbed it off the countertop. “Are you crazy?”

  I smiled evilly. “No, baby, I just wanted you to have the full experience.” I sat down next to her and let her deal with the satchel.

  Abby looked at me from the corner of her eye, trying to hide the bag between herself and the wall. “You’re mad?”

  “Nope.”

  “What took so long?”

  “As if you don’t know.”

  She turned to face me, her expression blank. “I don’t.”

  “Don’t lie, sweetheart, Cheryl gave you up.”

  Now it was Abby’s turn to blush. “I’m really not sure what you mean.”

  “Let me explain it.” Just then Jillian, the bartender, stepped up. “Another Coke please, and some wings for two.”

  “Be right back.”

  I turned back to Abby, lowered my voice. “As I was saying, not only did Cheryl have to measure me, but then she proceeded to strap me in and demonstrate how every fucking thing you bought is used.”

  Abby tried to smother her laughter.

  “I’m not amused, Abbs.”

  “She really demonstrated it? Everything?”

  “Oh, yeah.” My temper finally kicked in. “I’m can honestly say I feel quite confident that I can pack any dildo into the harness without a hitch, that I know exactly how to wash and care for the models you purchased—three by the way, is that right? I also am quite positive that I know how and where the tongue and finger vibrators go and how to use them. We have lubricants in three flavors, all water based, and I know that the raspberry flavor is the most natural-tasting one. I am assured you will be safe stimulating yourself while out in public with your little Pocket Rocket…oh, and I need to buy bigger jeans. How’s that for a synopsis?”

  Too late, I realized my voice had risen in my fervor to make Abby understand my complete and total mortification. I hadn’t paid attention to the fact that the volume on the TVs had been muted, that the eyes of the other patrons were trained on us, or that Jillian was standing there with our appetizers.

  A thunderous round of applause broke out at the bar as I concluded my speech. Abby did what I had wanted to do earlier; she ran out of the bar as fast as she could, leaving me to carry the bag back to the hotel room.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  I lifted my head and smiled up from between Abby’s legs.

  “That was the best sex ever.”

  I swiped my tongue one more time up through her folds, then climbed up next to her and kissed her on the lips. “Pretty good, huh?”

  Abby grinned. “Better than good, perfect.”

  I rolled over onto my back and pulled her snugly up against me.

  “Feeling pretty good about yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely. And it was all me, no damn gadgets.”

  Abby laughed out loud. “Yes it was, and it was wonderful.”

  “See, I told you we didn’t need this stuff.”

  “I’m sorry I laughed.”

  I glanced at her. “Yeah, well, I guess if you didn’t know what to expect, it was a little silly looking.”

  “It was as if it had a life of its own.”

  “I guess I didn’t tighten it enough. But you didn’t need to laugh.”

  “You looked so miserable.”

  “It’s not that bad, just takes some getting used to, I guess.”

  Abby started caressing my chest. “Does that mean you’re willing to try again?”

  “Not if you’re going to laugh.”

  “I promise not to, not now that I know how it looks.” She kissed me. “Please?”

  “I guess. It’s not like I have to go shopping. We already have everything…might as well get our money’s worth.”

  Abby sat up. “Come on, I’ll help you this time. You can show me what you learned.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  “But we just did it.”

  “And now we’re going to do it again.”

  “Twice in one day?” I looked at her incredulously. “At our age?”

  “Do you feel old right now?”

  I jumped up and went across the room to where I had flung the harness. “So which model do you want tonight, my dear?”

  “I’m feeling a little naughty. Let’s try the Bandito, shall we?”

  “You had to get the lavender one…you couldn’t get the black one?”

  “Are you going to complain or put it to use?”

  “I can’t wait to have your mother find one of these in the dishwasher.”

  LOST AND FOUND

  Andrea Dale

  An all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii? Sign me up!

  So what if I got slammed with a massive last-minute freelance accounting job from a well-paying but notoriously flaky client the day before we left? But hey—have laptop, will travel. I could make my deadline if I hunkered down in the hotel room.

  Except for when I snuck out to take surfing lessons from some sloe-eyed, sultry native pro…

  I went from that lovely fantasy on the plane to standing forlornly in the baggage claim area, watching the empty carousel go round and round.

  The airline folks wrung their hands. So sorry, they said. Really feel bad about this, they insisted. We’ll do everything in our power to find the suitcase, they promised, but there’s only one flight to this island per day, they apologized, so it may take time….

  “Oh, my god, Lara, I’m so sorry!” Jeanne’s eyes were wide with compassion. She hated traveling—which was why she’d asked me to tag along while she gave a workshop at the annual Women’s Proactive Retreat and Conference—and this was a personal nightmare of hers, ranking right up there with being thrown in a Thai prison for accidentally smuggling drugs.

  “I’ll be okay,” I said, putting on my gamest smile. “I’ve got a change of underwear and a toothbrush in my carry-on, at least. That’ll get me through.”

  I could handle this. I squared my shoulders. I’ve backpacked around Europe for six months, I’ve boated down the Grand Canyon for sixteen days with only what I could carry. I could make do until they found my luggage.

  I’d pick up a few essentials at a discount store—they did have Target here, right? Or at least Walmart?—and get by.

  Or so I thought.

  No, the smaller islands didn’t have discount stores (what was I thinking?). And we were bussed right out to the resort, where my only option was the gift shop—in which the cheapest T-shirt was more than I’d be willing to spend on a new dress.

  Let’s not talk about how much the dresses cost.

  Not to mention the bathing suits. There was a gorgeous shimmery copper one, sturdy enough for laps in the pool but pretty enough to catch the eye, but it was far, far out of my budget.

  The next morning I poked at my travel shirt, which I’d hand-washed the night before. Still damp.

  About the only positive thing I could grasp on to right now was the fact that the hotel rooms had nice gushy complimentary robes. I ordered the cheapest thing I could get by on from room service, wincing at the cost, but I couldn’t go wandering down to the dining room in the robe, you know? Hopefully Jeanne would swing by before lunch and have time to grab something for me.

  The accounting books, as usual, had not only been late, but were a mess. I scowled. I couldn’t even escape from them for a swim or a walk to ogle sloe-eyed, sultry natives….

  There was a knock at the door. Couldn’t housekeeping see the bloody do not disturb sign? As tempting as it was, I was too polite to shout, “Go away!” so I opened the door.

  Well, hello. Apparently my despair had been a call, because a sloe-eyed, sultry native had come to me.

  She wore adorable little black rectangle glasses and a cool white wraparound top that showed just a hint of cleavage, as well as a Women’s Conference badge.

  My heart leapt. “They’ve found my luggage?” I leaned out to peer behind her.

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m Evie, with the conference. Your partner told me about your missing suitcase.”

  “Jeanne’s not my partner,” I said, because suddenly that was a much more important fact to clarify than the whereabouts of any silly suitcase. “We’re just good friends.”

  “Oh!” said the delectable Evie. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  I laughed. “Really, not a problem. What can I do for you?”

  I tried not to think too hard about what I really wanted to do for her. Or to her. Damn, but I didn’t normally fall in lust so…instantaneously.

  But she had the cutest dimple, and I just wanted to lick it, for starters.

  “I wanted to help you out,” she said. “If you’ll give me your sizes, I’ll ask around and see if any of the other attendees have clothes you could borrow. Or maybe take up a collection so you could buy a few things.” She leaned in conspiratorially; I smelled a fruity sort of perfume or maybe sunscreen. “The prices in the gift shop are just insane.”

  Thank god it wasn’t just me.

  I backed up to let her in. “I’d feel really weird if people paid for my clothes,” I said. “I’m not even attending the conference.”

  She collapsed onto the bed, her skirt riding up to show a yummy expanse of tanned, toned leg. “I see your point,” she said, “but I think it would actually make them feel good. Helping a sista, don’t’cha know.”

  I laughed. “True. But I really don’t need a new wardrobe; I just need a few things to get me by until my luggage arrives.”

  “I like you,” Evie said, flashing that damn dimple again. “You have a highly developed sense of optimism.”

  “If I didn’t laugh, I’d have to cry,” I said. “Why doesn’t this island have a Kmart?”

  “Hm,” Evie said. “There is a lone dollar-store-type place two towns over. It’s pretty cheesy, but it might do the trick.”

  She’d be able to steal a couple of hours after lunch, and so I worked like a fiend to get as much number-crunching done as I could before then.

  That was hard, because my mind kept wandering back to Evie and that dimple and the way she’d said, “I like you,” and even though I had no idea if she liked girls, I was imagining her straddling me, saying, “I like you,” as she dipped down for a kiss, or pinned beneath me, saying, “I like you,” as I feasted on her pert nipples. (Score one for the air-conditioning in my hotel room, which had left me pretty certain she hadn’t been wearing a bra.)

  That lack of bra continued to work to my advantage, because journeying two towns away involved driving over some bumpy dirt roads. I watched out of the corner of my eye while keeping up my end of the conversation.

  I was thrilled when, in answer to my question, “What do you do for fun?” she said she surfed.

  “That’s something I’ve always wanted to try,” I said. “I’ve waterskiied…is it very different?”

  “There’s more balance needed, but if you have the basic skills, it’s not that hard,” she said. She flashed that dimple again. “If you’re free Sunday afternoon and the conditions are good, I’d be happy to show you the ropes.”

  Oh, I’d be free, all right. I’d stay up all Saturday night working if I had to.

  Then we got to the dollar store, and all bets were off again. They didn’t have any bathing suits.

  I came away with a couple of Hawaiian-print sarong-type skirts and some basic T-shirts in matching colors, which would get me through the rest of my stay. The only beachwear they had were a couple of eensy bikinis, and I’d have had to sew at least three of the bra cups together to cover one of my generous womanly gifts.

  I grabbed an extra T-shirt, a hot-pink touristy thing that proclaimed Aloha! in exuberant swirly aqua print. Maybe I could get away with it and a pair of panties for a midnight dip in the ocean when nobody else was around.

  On the way back, we stopped at what looked like a ramshackle shack teetering precariously on a cliff, but in fact was a restaurant serving the best fish tacos on the planet. I swear I wanted to be alone with mine.

  But I was alone with it—and with Evie—and that was even better.

  As she gazed out over the view that I admitted was spectacular, though not as spectacular as she was, I wondered again whether she liked girls.

  It was now or never. I refused to run from a challenge. “Thank you,” I said, and then I leaned over and brushed a kiss across her cheek, inhaling that sweet sunscreen scent.

  If she didn’t get it, so be it.

  She got it. As I drew away, she turned her head. Our lips were inches apart.

  “Oh,” she said, curving her mouth in a naughty, dimpled grin. “Do that like you mean it.”

  Could anyone refuse an invitation like that? I brushed my fingers along her jaw, urging her closer, watching her until her eyes fluttered shut and our lips met. Then I couldn’t keep my eyes open, either.

  She tasted like salsa, hot and spicy. Our tongues met, flirted, succumbed to the age-old dance.