Dinner OutI showered, taking the time to shave my legs, lather my skin all over with the body scrub that smelled like mango. Drying my hair took forever, but I didn’t think the Pippy Longstocking braids - or “handlebars”, as Sir called them - really said fancy outing. I pulled out my best underwear and laid it neatly on the bed, along with the little black dress I’d fought long and hard to get back into. Then I looked at the second part of the instructions.
Sighed.
“The Hush, baby. And your Ambi. They better be charged...”
Well, they would be, because I had them plugged into the wall right now. So long as he didn’t ask outright, I figure I didn’t need to confess that they’d been clinging to the last tendrils of charge.
Lube, I thought. Lots of lube. The Hush was large for me and he kne
