My heart threatened to melt as my brain quickly switched gears and I thought about the look on his face when he finally recognized me. Had he really been looking for me all this time? It just seemed so impossible and far-fetched. But Jesus, the look in his eyes when he realized it was me…it was almost too much. He looked like a dying man that had just been given the reprieve of life. His face lit up and his smile made me weak in the knees.

No, that was his tongue and the hard-on you felt poking you in the hip.

God he smelled amazing. He still smelled like cinnamon and boy. Well, that would be man now wouldn't it? And my-oh-my, what a man. I rubbed my thighs together when I felt that familiar tingle between my legs. Shit, I was never going to fall asleep at this rate. Or make any important decisions. I felt like a live wire about ready to burst into flames. I ran my fingertips over my bottom lip as I remembered the feel of his lips gently brushing back and forth over them. God I wanted him to kiss me so badly right then. I wanted to feel his tongue against mine, and I wanted to see if he still tasted the same as he did all those years ago. I was agitated and now, horny as hell. I knew I needed to take care of this or I’d never get to sleep. I wanted to take care of this with thoughts of Carter fresh on my mind, but suddenly, the thought of my own hand bringing me the release I needed didn't sound very thrilling. I wanted it to be his hands touching me, his fingers sliding through me and pushing me over the edge. My hand just wasn't going to do it for me at this point. I reluctantly glanced over at the black suitcase leaning against my wall and gave it a dirty look.

"God dammit, Liz," I muttered to myself as I angrily flung the covers off of me and stormed over to the suitcase. I pulled open the zipper, reached in and closed my hand around one of the clear plastic, factory sealed bags containing what I needed. As soon as it was in hand, I paused and looked around the room to make sure no one had seen me. You know, just in case I suddenly lived with ten people who might be standing in my room watching me without my knowledge. I huffed in frustration, crawled back into bed and leaned against the headboard. I was an independent, twenty-four-year-old grown-ass woman. Why the hell was I so freaked out about using a vibrator? This was the twenty-first century for Christ sakes. My grandma probably owned one of these things.

Uuuughhh, *gag*. I just threw up in my mouth a little. Note to self: thinking about masturbating grandmas is not, I repeat NOT on the list of approved spank bank material.

Determined to do this thing before I had any more disgusting thoughts about relatives that may or may not own a battery operated boyfriend, I tore open the plastic with my teeth and dumped the contents of the package onto my lap. I picked up the blue, oval, plastic remote, letting the twelve inches or so of thin cord that was attached to the remote unfold until a small, silver cylinder was dangling from the end in front of my eyes like a pendulum, slowly swaying back and forth.

You’re getting very horny. I’m going to count backwards and when I get to one, you will be a satisfied woman.

I rolled my eyes and scooted my body down until I was lying flat on my back. Setting the remote down by my hip, I stared at the little silver peanut of pleasure. I had a moment of panic trying to figure out if I really believed in ghosts and if I did, were they watching me right now? Was Mr. Phillips, the dirty old man who lived across the street when I was little and died of a heart-attack when I was twelve, standing in the corner waiting for me to diddle myself? Was my great-grandma Rebecca standing there waiting to yell at me and tell me I was going in time out if I couldn’t keep it down?

Son of a bitch!

"You better be worth all this self-doubt, my little friend," I threatened the battery operated toy.

I shook my head at my stupidity for talking out loud to a vibrator, closed my eyes and flicked the damn thing on with my free hand that was still resting on the remote before I lost my nerve.

That thing may be little, but it had a kick. It jerked alive in my hand and if there weren't any ghosts in my room before, the whirring sound of this thing was sure to wake those fuckers up from the dead and bring them right to the source of the noise to see what the ruckus was.

I flew under the covers, dragging the bullet with me and hugging it tight against my stomach in an effort to muffle the noise. When you were little and you were afraid of the boogey man, getting under the covers meant he couldn't see you or grab your foot while you were sleeping. True story. I figured the same rules applied with dead people watching you masturbate. Under the covers means it wasn't really happening. You can't see me! My sheets are magic and they make my va**na disappear!

Oddly, the vibrations of this thing against my stomach felt good. Sort of like a massage that lulled some calm into me. Calm is good. I need calm. I took a deep breath, relaxed into the mattress and closed my eyes once again, conjuring up images of Carter from this morning ― Carter’s eyes, Carter’s mouth, Carter’s wet, warm tongue dipping between my breasts.

Okay, that didn't happen. But this was a diddling daydream and I could make daydream-Carter lick me if I wanted to. And I wanted to. I wanted him to lick and suck on my neck. I wanted him to lick and suck on my nipples. I wanted him to lick and suck a trail down my stomach and sink his mouth between my legs. My hand holding the bullet followed the same path Carter’s mouth did in my mind, until the tiny vibrating tube rested right outside of my underwear.

Whoa. Okay, this is good.

I pushed the bullet a little harder against myself and my h*ps jerked forward as tiny pin-pricks of pleasure shot through me.

"Jesus, God…." I mumbled, along with a few other incoherent words of shock and awe.

My h*ps rocked against the vibrator and I let out a small, whimpered moan at how good this felt. This was insane. I was not going to last more than a minute with this thing. I could feel the wetness in my underwear and the throbbing all through my sex and suddenly I wanted more than anything to feel the cold, smooth metallic toy directly against my bare skin. Faster than I've ever moved, I slid the bullet away and up to my stomach and pushed it and my hand beneath my underwear, quickly shoving it back where it belonged. As soon as the vibrations and the smooth metal came in direct contact with the bareness between my legs, a loud moan escaped from my lips, my head flew back and my eyes squeezed shut. With this thing pulsating between my legs, I didn't really need images of Carter, but I still wanted them. I pictured his smooth fingers pushing into me, his lips pulling my nipple into his mouth and his thumb rubbing circles around the very sensitive area the bullet currently touched. The sensations were almost too much and I cried out in surprise, arching my back as the first wave of an orgasm rocked through my core while I rubbed the bullet quickly against me.

"Holy hell," I moaned as I rode wave after wave of pleasure that made my toes curl. I was panting from my release and the energy slowly drained out of me but my hands still slid the bullet through my wetness and rubbed it quickly against my overly sensitive cl*tout of their own accord. Before I could even form a coherent thought, another orgasm, slightly less intense than the first, pulsed through me and put a stop to all of my movements. My mouth was open but no sound came out as I held my breath and felt the intense throb of my release pound through me. Several minutes passed before my brain started to function again. I yanked the bullet out of my underwear before I had a chance to and turn into one of those crazy nut jobs on the show “My Strange Addiction” who locked herself in her room and did nothing but masturbate and watch the Food Network all day. I quickly shut the vibrator off, the sudden lack of a buzzing sound making the room seem eerily quiet all of a sudden.

I laid there like a slug in the bed, unable to lift any of my limbs for several minutes while my eyelids drooped with fatigue. When I finally recovered the use of my arms, I reached over to the nightstand without sitting up, grabbed my cell phone and started a new text.

Bullet Bitch: Homework assignment completed. My va**na will never be the same. ~ Claire

***

A knock on the door shook me from my thoughts. Okay, maybe not thoughts, catatonic state might have been more accurate. I’d done nothing but go to work and stare at the empty walls in my house for two days since Claire dropped the bomb on me. I shuffled morosely over to the door and threw it open. Drew stood there wearing a black shirt that said "Alice in Chains" with a picture of Alice from the Brady Bunch wearing a ball gag, handcuffs and chains. He smiled and held up a six-pack of beer.

"Sober man enters, drunk man leaves.”

I shut the door in his face and walked back over to my spot on the couch.

He reopened the door himself and walked in.

"Alright, Mary, there's no need to act like a baby," he said as he set the beer on the coffee table and flopped down on the couch next to me. My nose curled up in disgust at the smell coming from him.

"Jesus, Drew, what the f**k is that smell?" I moaned as I covered my nose with my hand.

"Don't be a hater. I picked it up today. It's Tim McGraw's cologne."

"You mean it's Tim McGraw's balls. That smells like pure cat piss dude."

"Fuck you," Drew grumbled.

"No thanks. The smell of piss does nothing for me."

Drew huffed and crossed his arms over his chest and stared me down.

"Alright, out with it. Before I run to the store and buy you Midol and tampons."

My head fell to the back of the couch. I knew I was being a little bitch but I couldn't help it. My world just blew up in my face.

"She has a kid. I'm somebody's dad," I muttered.

"Yeah, I got that already from the voicemail you left me last night. Although, I have to say, trying to decipher “Bruce Willis got her pregnant with my chocolate hairy balls at the frat party” took some time to figure out. Luckily, I was able to get a hold of Jim and Liz since you wouldn't answer my calls."

"What the hell am I going to do?" I asked him as I lifted my head up to look at him.

"First of all, you're going to talk to her and get the whole story. I know you're in shock but sitting around here all day fingering your va**na isn't going to make anything better. So man-up. Go talk to her. You spent all these years trying to find her and here she is, right in front of you. So she's got a little baggage. Who doesn't?"

"A little baggage? Drew, she has a son. That's more than a little baggage," I complained.

"Wake up and look in the mirror baby-daddy. He's your son too. And you spent the last few years trying to f**k her out of your system with some chick you could barely stand. That's not just baggage, that's luggage, bags, suitcases, carry-ons, back-packs and Clinique make-up bags."

I gave him a questioning look.

"What? I like to moisturize. Healthy skin is the sign of a healthy life. I need a make-up bag for my exfoliators, pore cleansers and firming skin lotion."

Drew stood up and turned to face me.

“In the words of the great Maury Povich, You ARE the father."

I thanked him for the beers and the pep talk and watched him leave for his date with Jenny. Not a surprise there, considering the way he almost humped her leg at dinner the night they met. According to Drew, they’d spent every waking moment together since then. People were going out, falling in love, living their lives and I was stuck here with my head up my ass Googling litigations against condom companies and realizing that I CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH.

Could I do this? Could I really be someone's dad?

I guess there was only one way to find out.

12. P.O.R.N.

The next week flew by pretty quickly when I wasn't thinking about Carter, which was practically every second of every day.

Okay, so I guess it didn't really fly so much as go so f**king slowly I wanted to shove a rusty fork in my eye. I wanted to talk to him and see if he was okay but every time I decided to pick up the phone and get his number, I put it right back down. Regardless of how shitty the way he found out was, now he knew. If he wanted to know the whole story, if he had questions or concerns or just wanted to bite my head off, the ball was in his court. He knew where I worked, and he knew how to find me if he wanted to talk. Maybe I was being stubborn, but oh well. I was a girl and it was my right to stomp my foot and hold my breath.

I handled two parties for Liz this week and got three orders for cookie trays from the women there so things were looking up in that regard. Aside from the parties, I was keeping fairly busy. During the day, I baked and finished getting things ready at the shop and in the evenings, I bartended and tried not to stare at the door every time someone walked in, hoping it was Carter.

By Thursday I had tested out every single product from Liz’s magic suitcase and decided to hell with men. I was going to marry the Jack Rabbit. We were going to run away together and would be very happy making little tiny Jack Rabbit babies together. That thing was going to have to grow some arms and legs though. After a few years of being married to JR, I was not going to be able to walk anymore. JR would have to carry me to Pleasure Town.

I spent all day Thursday in the kitchen at the shop making white chocolate covered potato chips and baking Snickers Surprise cookies for the party I was doing Saturday night. It would be the last party I would do since the shop was opening next week. Now that I knew what all the fuss was about with these sex toys, I was a little sad to see the parties go. Liz told me I could keep my suitcase of fun though.

I made her sign a waiver that stated that in the event of an emergency or the death of Claire Donna Morgan, she was required to remove the suitcase from the premises within fifteen minutes of said emergency and/or death. It was always a good idea to have a plan like this in place. God forbid your dad or your grandmother got to the scene first and found your stash. You just couldn't allow that to happen. It’s also probably a good idea to have them delete your internet history. No one really needs to wonder why you Googled “turtle having orgasm” or were closely watching an EBay auction of a Jesus candle with a penis.