Whiskey Rebellion (Romantic Mystery/Comedy) Book 1 (Addison Holmes Mysteries)

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    Rose Marie had already gone into the restroom to apply the gel, and I took a closer look at the little swab that was bound to make for an interesting evening.
    Rose Marie came out of the bathroom, her face flushed pink and excited, so I had no choice but to go in and do the deed. Would people know if I just threw it away? Was there some kind of invisible sign that would tell everyone that I was too chicken to put a little gel on my privates? Well, I wasn’t going to be called a coward in front of a bunch of strangers, so I squenched my eyes closed and got the job done.
    After I finished, I realized I had just put something on my body, and I had absolutely no idea what it was. What if it gave me cancer or made me blind? I didn’t think well under pressure, but obviously I needed to keep my wits about me the rest of the night.
    I walked back into the living room, face red because obviously everyone in the room knew exactly what I’d just done. I could see their knowing glances and hidden smiles. I stiffened my spine, grabbed a large glass of wine off the table, and sat on the sofa next to Rose Marie.
    “Isn’t this just great?” she whispered.
    “Peachy,” I said, knocking back the whole glass before I lost my nerve and ran out the door.
    “Welcome ladies. My name is Donna Limpkin, and I want to thank my good friend Rose Marie Valentine for bringing so many new faces for me to show my products to.”
    Yeah, thanks, Rose Marie.
    “You’re all here today to see that passion lies within each and every one of you, and there is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about when discussing the sensuality that each one of us contains inside—sometimes repressed, sometimes aggressive. Women are marvelous creatures that hold so much power when it comes to sex, and I hope each of you will leave here today a little more knowledgeable, a little more intrigued and a lot more powerful. Let’s get started.”
    I wasn’t repressed. I could do anything any of the other women in the room could do, and I bet I could do it better. I took the wine bottle as it was passed around once again and filled up my glass.
    I watched Donna Limpkin pull a bottle out of her bag and smirked. With a name like Limpkin she’d better be a hell of a salesman to convince a bunch of women that her products worked. I was feeling warm and tingly all over and decided I should take it a little slower on the wine.
    “This remarkable little gel I hold in my hand is what I had each of you place on your ge nitalia when you first came in. Enough time has passed that each of you should be able to feel a heated tingling through your bodies, and some of you might even feel slightly aroused.”
    I looked around the room in horror because she was right. I did feel turned on and there wasn’t a man in sight. My body was heating from the inside out and I found I wanted to wiggle around on my seat a little too much. The worst part of it was that I was sitting in a room full of women who were all experiencing the same thing. Why was I the only one who felt this was an awkward situation to be in?
    My mind turned into a hazy blur as I consumed more wine, and I watched as the woman pulled an endless amount of toys out of her oversized suitcase—the suitcase of sex as I was starting to refer to it. Handcuffs and feathers, lotions and leather whips, not to mention things that my brain wouldn’t even let me whisper.
    My favorite apparatus was “the swing,” and I was just tipsy enough to think about buying it. I was finally able to put a name to the apparatus Gretchen Wilder had been using, and boy did I want one.
    When Donna told me that she’d give me a twenty percent discount off the two hundred dollar sales price I was sold. Apparently, I could install it above my bed with a standard hook, and when I needed to take it down I could replace it with a fern to keep people from asking what the hook above my bed was for. It was a brilliant plan, only it was all ruined by one of the other teachers asking me how things were going with finding a new place to live. It was like a bucket of cold water being poured on my head, and I realized spending two hundred dollars for an apparatus I didn’t currently have a partner for—Nick and I weren’t quite at the swinging monkey sex stage of our relationship—would not be the most fiscally responsible thing to do.
    Donna and I both huffed at the loss of the sale , so I bought a battery operated toy called the Mr.