Confessions of an Alli Cat

Thirty-five year-old Allison “Alli” Lancaster has it all—a fabulous job, a beautiful 15 year-old daughter, a hilarious BFF and a gorgeous house with a pool and Jacuzzi in an exclusive Las Vegas neighborhood. What she doesn’t have is a husband, because she kicked her lousy, cheating ex to the curb nine months ago. Since then, Alli has paid her dues with seemingly endless self-improvement and seemingly endless mourning. Now she’s ready to move on and try new things.

Alli’s idea of “trying new things” is nothing like that devil-of-a-best-friend of hers. Alli never saw her life going quite like the way it was. She also never thought she’d meet someone else who had the very real potential to change her life forever.

But she did.


3. Chapter Two

(Because all women need satisfaction)


I’m unpacking my briefcase from work the next day, looking for a file, when I come across the plastic bag holding the enormous dildo Sara bought for me.  

Holy freaking hell.  

I feel my cheeks get hot just thinking about it, much less looking at it. 

I pull it out and set it to the side, far away from me.  I continue digging around for the file but I find myself glancing again and again at the package.  Then a sexy grin flits through my head.  

Shade.  What the hell kind of gigolo name is Shade?

Even as the thought runs through my head, I’m thinking it’s a damn good one.  It’s a dark and sexy name for a dark and sexy guy.  I had practically licked the computer screen when I saw him smiling at me. He’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Even if he is close to half my age.  

You’re not forty yet, Allison, I remind myself.

At thirty-five, though, some days I feel like I might as well be.  And it’s for just that reason I’m considering Sara’s proposition.  I don’t want this to be the sum total of my life.  A single mother, divorcee and marketing executive with nothing left but my job and bitterness.  I don’t want the fun part to be over.  That would be like admitting defeat, like letting Rick steal all the best years of my life.  And I refuse to let that happen.  

Surely the best is yet to come.  Surely.

Spontaneously, I push everything off the bed. I try not to cringe at the mess of papers I’ll have to clean up later and focus on tearing open the box containing the vibrator instead.  

It looks like a ten inch totem pole and my fingers are shaking.  I’m such a chicken shit. 

I grit my teeth and return my attention to the penis in my hand.  It has carvings along its pink-colored length, with a squirrel and a beaver on either side of the base.  But they aren’t carved.  They’re like tiny animals protruding from the bottom.  

All of Bambi’s friends, I think obtusely.

I can only imagine that the beaver goes in the front to stimulate one side while the squirrel’s tail goes in…the back.

In the freaking back??  

Even in the privacy of my bedroom, I blush.

Holy hell, Sara!  What are you trying to do to me? A freaking squirrel tail?  Could this be considered beastiality in any way, shape or form? Oh my god.  

I dig out five AAA batteries from the bottom of the bag and insert them into the vibrator then switch it on.  I giggle when the head of the plastic penis starts to rotate in a tight circle, and the beaver and squirrel start to pulsate. 

Good 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 focus on Shade again.  I imagine what he would look like poised above me as he guides his enormous, perfect young penis into me.  I imagine him sucking my nipples and pulling my hair in ecstasy as he pounds me like a bass drum at a Kiss concert.

I move Geronimo just a bit more.

Then a bit more.

And just like that, I come.

Merry Christmas to me.    

As I lay in stunned, breathless satisfaction, I seriously think of texting Sara with my eternal gratitude.

Holy shit, girl!  I think I love you.

Actually, I’m in love with Geronimo. 

It’s the perfect penis:  Huge, hard and unattached to the rest of a man who would only bring problems like a beer gut, hellacious gas and infidelity. I gaze at it fondly as I wash it again, then tuck it into my bedside stand.  

Yep, I’m definitely in love. 

With a happy sigh, I realize that for the first time, I’m looking forward to my date on Saturday night.




“You look marvelous!” Sara says when I round the corner into the bedroom.

“I feel ridiculous.”

“Why?  We are simply two wealthy women with trophy boy toys out for a night on the town at one of Vegas’s most luxurious night spots.  Nothing to feel ridiculous about.”

“I’m dressed like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, only without the body for it,” I say, indicating my short, tight dress.  “How did I let you talk me into buying this?”

“Well, I thought it might help things with Rick the Dick many moons ago, but this is an even better use.  Besides, you look mouthwatering. You do too have the body for it.”  

Standing up, she walks to me.  She trails the fingertips of one hand down my cheek before she rakes her long fingernails through my hair.  

“Such great hair,” she murmurs.  “It’s a perfect dark color and it’s so shiny and full.  You could be on a shampoo commercial. Seriously.” I roll my eyes and smile, but she interrupts me before I can even speak.  “And your teeth!” she observes.  “You’ve got perfect teeth.  Blindingly white.  Your smile almost makes me hate you.  What man can resist that?”

I stare at her incredulously. “My teeth?  What the hell?  No man is going to date me on the merits of my oral health.  I’m not a horse, Sara.”  

“And such a beautiful face,” she continues, ignoring me.  Right before she drags her hands down to palm my boobs next.  She gives them a squeeze.  

“Delicious rack,” she declares, then grabs my waist and spins me around.  “And a perfect ass,” she exclaims, slapping my butt.  “You are gorgeous in every way and any man in his right mind would give his left nut to lick you from head to toe and everywhere in between.”

“I think you secretly have the hots for me,” I laugh.  “Maybe I should be going out with you instead.”

“Oh, you flatter!  If either of us swung that way, we’d be perfect together.  But, alas, I’m a sausage lover, as are you.  No tacos for us.”

I can’t help but laugh.  “Have you always been this way and I’m just now noticing?”

“Yes.  You’ve been preoccupied for a few years.”

“I’m beginning to really love this new you.  Even if she shocks me regularly and gets me into trouble more often than not.”

“You love it and you know it.  I add much-needed excitement to your life,” Sara claims, walking to the mirror to touch up her lipstick.

“Did I tell you I love that hair style on you, too?”  I ask, referring to her new dark red pixie cut.  She totally has the face to pull it off. 

“Keep going like that and I’m yours.”

We both laugh.  

“Well, I guess I’m ready.”  I add under my breath, “At least as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Then it’s time to go.” 

My stomach flutters in dread and anxiety and, yes, a little bit of excitement.  I take a deep breath and smile at Sara.  She loops her arms through mine and grins.  

“Welcome to the first night of the rest of your life.”

We make our way outside and down the walk to the curb, to the shiny black limousine waiting there.  The ride is only twenty minutes or so, during which I drink champagne in the back of the limo at a rate of speed that would make a sailor proud.

When we glide to a stop at the club, I follow Sara out of the car.  

And the man waiting for me nearly takes my breath away.

He’s taller than I imagined and much broader than I expected.  His shoulders look a mile wide in his perfectly-tailored tuxedo, making his waist look smaller than mine.  His hair is dark brown and his eyes are the same dark, sparkling blue as they are in his picture.

He’s young, all right.  But there is nothing boyish about this guy.  Not at all. 

As I step from the car, he extends his hand toward me.  I slip my fingers into his and he smiles.  I’m pretty sure my knees go numb and my uterus has a spasm.  But it’s when he speaks that I know it’s all over but the shouting. And the Hallelujah choir.  

“You’re more beautiful than I could’ve imagined,” he purrs in a deep, velvety voice.

Yep, I’m gonna ride him like a runaway bull tonight. No two ways about it.

The thought makes me smile.


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