Dare To Be Wild (2 page)

Yeah, sharp enough to fillet me if it got into the wrong hands.

She replaced the knife and looked around for another weapon, one that would maim instead of kill. Her eyes immediately were drawn to the set of keys hanging on a hook near the door. She pulled them off the wall and positioned the longest key between her second and third fingers.

Yeah, go for the eyes,
she thought.

Armed with the key in one hand and the cordless phone in the other, Livia took a deep breath and went over her quickly concocted plan one more time—ninja down the hall, peek in, access the situation. If it's bad, dial 9-1-1, drop the phone for all to hear and burst into the room, weapon at the ready, sounding buck wild and acting crazy. Capitalize on the element of surprise and pray that God and some of her self-defense lessons kicked in.

That was the plan. She didn't know how good of a plan, but a plan nonetheless. Livia stepped out of her sandals and as stealthily as possible, tiptoed down the hall in the direction of the whimpers.
She didn't have to go far before the noise became louder and more intense. It was coming from a room that, through an open crack in the door, appeared to be an office/den of some kind. Slowly, she pushed the door further into the room, grateful that Naomi kept the hinges in her house well oiled. Liv leaned in slightly and what she witnessed stole her breath and caused her to jerk back into the hallway. She collapsed against the wall and slid down the partition, placing the phone and keys at her side. Weaponry was not going to be necessary.

Somebody was getting worked over all right, but it wasn't Naomi's mother. There was a man in the room watching porn and getting himself off. Livia's torso turned back toward the kitchen but her behind had other ideas. And without her brain's consent, it scooted across the floor, back to the door.

She couldn't see him. He was seated in a high back, yellow leather chair facing the opposite wall. All Livia could see was one golden-brown, muscular thigh flexed with sexual tension. His blue jeans were pooled around his ankles and his arm made peek-a-boo appearances as he stroked himself into bliss.

“Yeah, lick her good,” a deep, buttery voice requested. “Make that pretty pussy wet. Take those panties in your teeth and pull them. Snap 'em. Yeah, that's it. Now play with your titties. Let her know how hot she's making you.”

Livia watched, mesmerized as the women on the flat-screen followed his every instruction. It took a second or two to realize that he'd obviously seen this movie a time or two hundred. She could probably hit the back of the chair with the phone and he wouldn't even notice. Those two women—one chocolate, the other vanilla—had his full attention.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but they had Livia's as well. In fact, in her head, she even gave them names. Coco was lying back
on a cream leather couch with her long, shapely legs spread, one over the back and up the wall. All she wore was a tiny g-string and high heels with strings that laced up her legs. She had a great set of breasts, real, Livia determined, with quarter-sized, yummy brown areolas and erect nipples begging to be sucked. Her lips, pouting with pleasure with each stroke of the blonde's tongue, allowed the frequent escape of a grateful whimper. Nilla was on her knees, her apple bottom ass high in the air with her head between Coco's pretty brown legs. Livia watched as Nilla licked her pussy through the whisper sheer panties, getting as hot as the two of them. Well, three, when you count the guy in the yellow leather chair.

She was sitting there, Vikki The Voyeur, a peeping Thomasina, getting turned on by watching other people have sex. Livia couldn't tell which version—the real man or the video vixens—was turning her on more. He was a stranger lost in his fantasy, pleasuring himself, and here she was intruding without his knowledge or consent. They were an erotic fantasy, soft and sexy beautiful women turning each other out. All of it made Livia feel freakishly naughty. And she liked it.

“Yeah, touch yourself, baby. Finger your pretty pussy while you eat hers.”

The sound of his deep voice, alternately shouting out orders and getting wrapped up in his own physical pleasure added to the heat. Despite his crude language, his directives were forceful but stopped short of being demanding. More like requests that teetered on the line between a beg and bark. The kind that, from the right man, were impossible to deny.

Following his directions, and without conscious consent, Livia's hands joined the party. They slid down her skirt's waistband, separating her 100% cotton panties from her full pubic thatch. With his voice in Liv's ears, her eyes stayed on the screen, watching
Nilla suck, lick and tug Coco's clit into crazed ecstasy. She parted the hair with her middle finger, reaching deep inside to find the creamy middle, lubricated her nib with her own juices, and furiously began to finger herself. As her legs began to tense with approaching orgasm, Livia bit her lower lip, forcing the sounds of carnal satisfaction back into her body to join the energy circling around her engorged clitoris. Judging from the sounds emanating from inside the room, the four of them participating in this secret and disjointed orgy were all about to explode. Liv couldn't speak for the others, but it had been so long since she'd been this hot, even longer since she'd actually had sex, that she couldn't have stopped herself if she'd wanted to. She came deliciously hard and silently, and then leaned back against the wall, gratefully gasping for breath, as her body attempted to recover.

A chorus of “YES,” singing out in soprano and dominated by a baritone, first made her smile and then forced her out of her afterglow and back into reality. She was sitting in the hall of her best client's home, with her hand down her skirt, masturbating. Livia needed to get the hell out of there and fast. She picked up the phone and keys, got up, quietly power-walked back into the kitchen, and returned everything to its proper place. Quickly, she slipped on her shoes and went out the open door and into the safety of her car.

Livi glanced at the clock before backing out of the driveway. She'd spent nearly forty-five minutes on an errand that should have taken her twenty, tops. She conjured up her task list again and began checking off each completed job starting from number one. Anything to distract herself from dwelling on her most recent and inexplicable behavior.

Order more cake boxes. Check. Confirm the design for the Johnson
cake. Check. Deliver Maddox cake. Check. Secretly give myself a mind-blowing orgasm in the company of strangers. Check. Check.

She drove about three blocks before pulling over to the curb and bursting out into crazy, what-the-hell-did-I-just-do laughter. Jasi, Aleesa and Lena were never going to believe this. Shit, she couldn't believe it herself. Then again, they'd never know, because Livia had no intention of telling.

I
t was the Pavlovian equivalent of silverware kissing crystal that quieted the room and captured everyone's attention. When the din of female chatter subsided, Livia listened from upstairs as the smoky voice of one of her dearest friends, Jasi Westfield, took over the proceedings.

“Ladies, if you would all gather around, it's time to toast our guests of honor.”

“This is her place, so technically she's the
host
of honor,” Livia heard her sister-cousin, Aleesa Davis, interject, to which their mutual friend, Lena Macy added, “Guest or host, it really doesn't matter because it's the girls we came to see.”

From on high, Livi tried to swallow her laughter. Her successful reconstructive surgery was the reason her friends had gathered downstairs for this ooglefest. The theme,
My Cups Runneth Over,
was smart-aleck Jasi's brainchild, and as Liv quickly pointed out, a bit of an exaggeration. Her cups did not run over because she'd chosen perfect, Goldilocks breasts. Not too big. Not too small. Just right 36 C's to be exact. Yes, it was a one-cup upgrade, but Liv figured since gravity was no longer an issue, why not go for the gusto.

It was actually Aleesa's idea to throw a party to properly introduce Livia's new breasts to the rest of the group. And even though she'd kept insisting that they didn't need a full-out debut, Livi was glad Aleesa hadn't listened, because the long and winding road
leading up to this happy day had been paved with woe and tears.

They all deserved to celebrate because while they were all light-hearted and joking about it now, things were a lot scarier last year. During Livia's annual mammogram, her doctor had discovered that she had stage one breast cancer. This came as a complete shock because she had absolutely no symptoms, and nary a cold that year. But after two lumpectomies and accompanying rounds of radiation, the cancer still wasn't gone, so Livia elected to have a double mastectomy and be done with it. The physical discomfort associated with the surgery and treatment was real, but mentally was where cancer had really taken its toll. Both on Livi and the people who loved her.

But they were through the hard part now. Her prognosis was excellent and life was back to a new kind of normal—still full of ups and downs—but the ups seemed much more special and the downs much less significant.

Tonight, three months after she'd had reconstructive surgery, Livia was alive and well and standing at the top of the staircase dressed in a boob-busting outfit that put the want in wantonness. It was so not her, she being a woman whose daily uniform usually consisted of jeans and white knit tops of varying styles, but Jasi insisted the attire went with the theme. And tonight, after Liv's afternoon of unintentional, mind-blowing self-service, it definitely fit her mood. It also was the perfect accessory for her “what the hell” attitude that had been incubating these past months. Before her little “episode,” as they all called it, Livia would have felt ridiculous dressed like a man-eating, hoochie mama waiting to strut into a room full of women here to view her now bodacious tatas. But cancer had a funny way of changing a girl. First, it made you scared. But once you knew you had it licked, it made you
mad. And then cancer made you bold. Because, damn, if you've survived the Big C, what can't you conquer?

“Ladies, raise your glasses to Livia Charles and the twins, Booba and Licious!” Jasi called out.

And apparently, having a friend with cancer made one crazy.

Livia heard her musical cue, the tacky beat of a stripper's snare drum (another of Jasi's bright ideas), sucked in her cheeks and stomach and donned her sorry interpretation of the supermodel walk—that awkward pony strut that Naomi Campbell made look so ridiculously sexy. With her counterfeit golden gait, Liv proudly sashayed her nubile young breasts, followed by a much less perky, almost fifty-year-old behind, into the room full of nine cheering friends and one Katie Mullane, who was too busy picking lint off her sleeve to watch. Livia wasn't sure why they'd invited Miss Her-Slice-of-Cake-is-Bigger-than-Mine to this happy soiree. She was undoubtedly the only one in the room who was actually envious that Livia had new breasts. Forget the fact that it took having cancer to get them.

“Just like Livia to make a grand entrance,” Katie said, making sure her remark was loud enough for all to hear. Livia decided to ignore her sugarcoated snideness and reminded herself that any middle-aged woman who sported a mustache with braces is bound to be a bit testy.

“No, that's definitely not Livia's style,” Aleesa defended me. “She's as background elevator music as they come.”

Livia tried to eat her I-know-something-you-don't-know grin. Not just because her girls always had her back when the bitches cut up (though she wasn't quite sure if being compared to elevator music was an outright compliment), but because for once she actually felt like strutting her stuff. True, the foreground was never her
favorite location. She was perfectly content letting others take center stage while she flitted around happily behind the scenes. Life was more entertaining that way, not to mention less embarrassing. But not tonight. For the first time in years, Livia was feeling hot and “look at me” sexy.

“Well, she's a show-boating fool today,” Lena chimed in with a mouth full of laughter as Liv made her descent. “You're awfully frisky tonight, missy.”

“Yes, she is. Did you get some today? Did you already break in the girls?” Jasi called out.

Through the catcalls, whistles and applause, Livia managed to get down the stairs and into the living room without tripping. She did a couple of runway turns and then fell to the couch with a burst of laughter. Immediately, the women pounced. Katie had the nerve to ask if she could touch her breasts to see if they “at least felt real” and once that ice was broken, Liv had more fingers and hands feeling her up than a stripper at a bachelor party. The consensus, by a margin of everyone else to one (guess who), was that the twins not only looked great but felt close enough to the genuine thing to be immensely proud of. And Livi did feel proud. Less of her new boobs and more that she'd not only survived this frightening ordeal but was flourishing.

“Time for gifts,” Aleesa announced as she led Liv over to the appointed guest-of-honor chair and proceeded to further embarrass her cousin by tying a pink bra under her chin. The cups were decorated with streamers and ribbons and formed twin peaks on her head, making her look like some kind of sorry, medieval advertisement for Victoria's Secret. Livia left it on long enough for them to take blackmail pictures and then amid a chorus of boos, stuffed it under the chair.

“We felt the girls needed adornment,” Jasi declared, before handing her a small, black gift bag.

Livia reached in, shaking her head in anticipation of the sick joke she knew awaited her. Crazy Jasi did not disappoint. To her delight and that of her other twisted friends, Liv pulled from the bag a pair of red tasseled pasties and a matching sheer red thong.

“If you're going to have stripper boobs, you need the right outfit!” Jasi screamed out, amid everyone's laughter.