Dare To Be Wild Read online

  “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.

  Moving on.

  Aleesa’s gift was a racy demi cup concoction of sheer black lace adorned with pink bows. Katie Mullane skipped the brassiere giving and instead brought a travel lingerie bag. Barely appropriate for the theme, but still useful. The better gift was that her player-hating behind departed right after Livia opened her present.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Livia opened boxes and gift bags containing beautiful bras (and most included matching panties), of varying styles, colors and fabrics, but with one recurring theme— the sexier the better and the extreme opposite of the sensible basics that currently occupied Livi’s unmentionables drawer.

  That was, until Lena’s gift.

  Inside a beautifully wrapped box, and in a complete departure from the colorful potpourri of satins and lace she’d been given, Livi’s eyes were greeted with the familiar, though bland, color of oatmeal. With cups big enough to carry a set of bowling balls, was the ugliest, old lady bra she’d ever laid eyes on. Livi held it up by the straps and howled, “This belongs on a damn swing set!”

  “I thought it was important to remind you what the rest of us will be wearing ten years from now. When you and your new bouncin’ and behavin’ hooters are sliding out of bed and still slipping into all of your pretty bras, we’ll be lifting our ‘swing low, sweet chariot’ titties
into this charming number,” Lena replied with a crooked smile.

  “Sorry, but don’t blame me. They don’t sell Grandma’s saggy breasts at the boobie store.”

  “Game time,” Jasi announced as Lena and Aleesa cleared away the gifts and brought out a fresh round of Livi’s favorite cocktail—white wine spritzers.

  Livia groaned as she accepted pen and paper with a wry smile. Jasi knew how much she hated the typical party and shower games, so Liv was sure there would be some kind of skewed twist on it. She took a deep breath. This was bound to be interesting, if not totally embarrassing.

  “Okay, Livi, pick one from each pair. Lucy or Ethel. Polish or Italian. Leather or pearls. Battery or solar. Brangelina or Tomkat.”

  Livia wrote. The others drank and watched.

  “Okay, now answer these,” Jasi continued. “The room I hate to clean most is and why? My favorite place to shop is? And lastly, pick one: Beyoncé or Jay-Z?”

  Liv quickly jotted down her answers with little consideration. Better to get this over with as fast as possible than dally over an answer that, in the long run, didn’t really matter.

  “Now let’s see what we’ve learned about our lovely Livi,” Lena said, taking Livia’s answers. “I’ll substitute a few words here and there to make things more interesting.

  “Hello, my name is Livia. You’ve met the twins, Booba and Licious, and now I’d like to introduce, Ethel,” she said while Jasi gave her crotch the game show girl, double hand point.

  The female roar rivaled that of a Denzel sighting. Livia cringed. First of all, anyone who knew her would know she’d never name her body parts, especially her vagina. That was like putting clothes on a dog—cute but pointless. And secondly, if she were to name it, you could bet it wouldn’t be a moniker that sounded like Betty White’s nearly ninety vadge.

  Lena continued.

  “My ‘sausage’ of choice is Polish because Ethel likes her kielbasas big and wrapped in leather. I prefer my sex toys solar operated and the idea of a threesome with Brangelina turns me on. I hate having sex in the bathroom because it’s messy and you have to do it every week, but I’d love to lick Beyoncé’s ice cream cone while Jay-Z watches.”

  This time the spontaneous tingle in her panties caused Liv to smile. Lena’s joke brought the hot thrill of her pseudo-group sex scene rushing to mind. For a hot second, Coco and Beyoncé were one. Livia felt the wet release of arousal and crossed her legs to stop the heat from spreading through her body. This was all too confusing. She was definitely a 100% penis girl but ever since today’s matinee, girl-on-girl action topped the hot meter. The flush must have showed on her face because the next thing she knew, Jasi was calling her out.

  “Livia, are you okay? Looks like the thought of tasting Beyoncé’s ice cream has you all hot and bothered. Look at her smiling! Livi, are you turned on?”

  More teasing howls. Livi buried her head in her hands. Yes, it was a joke, but talking about her sex life in public was embarrassing. Hell, the ex and she had rarely talked about it in private. That’s why she’d decided not to tell Aleesa, Jasi and Lena about what had happened that afternoon. She didn’t want to be teased about it or have it come up at some inappropriate time. Liv had no idea what came over her. She could only chalk it up to some kind of extreme nutritional deficiency (according to her friends, vitamins s.e.x. should definitely be a recommended daily requirement), akin to the kind that makes you do crazy things like eat dirt or dry wall. Dearth aside, her actions today were so out of the norm that Livia knew they would never be repeated. Therefore, she wanted to keep them private, her own delicious secret that could be pulled up and savored in the privacy of her own fantasies.

  “Move on,” Livia insisted, blaming her pinkish tint on the champagne.

  “Cuz, you are such a prude,” Aleesa teased. “Don’t you dare waste that fabulous new rack of yours on baking cupcakes day and night. Promise you’ll take the twins out on lots of play dates.”

  “That’s right. And you better dress them up in all this new stuff,” Lena insisted. “Don’t suffocate those beauties in those tired old lady brassieres and sports bras you usually throw on.”

  “In other words, it’s time for you to really do the whole la dolce vita thing,” Jasi chimed in. “And that includes taking your no-sex-havin’ self out to the club and getting into all kinds of yummy trouble. I’ll bet you’ve never had a one-night stand, have you?”

  Livia shot Jasi her practiced, slit-eyed, you’re-kidding-me-right look. Jasi already knew the answer to that question, as did nearly everyone in the room. Livia was a virgin the day she got married at age twenty; spent twenty-five years with a husband who’d exhausted his bag of sexual tricks about three years into the union; had been divorced four and fighting breast cancer nearly two. When the hell was there time (or the desire or courage) to have a freakin’ one-night stand? Even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. Good sex was hard enough to come by with a mate, let alone a perfect stranger.

  “Come on, Jasi; Livia doesn’t even own a vibrator. Do you think she’s going to have sex with a man she just met?” Aleesa asked.

  “When and where does she meet any men? She’s always up to her armpits in flour. We have to start her off slow,” Lena added.

  “I tried to hook her up with an eHarmony membership, but between the mad texters, white thrill seekers, and young boy toys, she couldn’t hang,” Aleesa recapped.

  “She gave up too easily,” Jasi chimed in.

  So much for not hanging your private sex life out on the line flapping in the wind for everyone to witness. Was it any wonder that Livia refused to let these blabber mouths in on her secret?

  “You need a fuck-it list,” Jasi announced.

  “A what?” Livia asked for all of them.

  “A fuck-it list—like a bucket list—but instead of being about skydiving or climbing Mt. Everest before you die, it’s a list of all the sex stuff you’d like to try before your pussy dries up,” Jasi explained.

  The squeal of approval nearly shattered the chandelier.

  “She’s got a point,” Aleesa said. “This should be easy for you. You’re always making those damn lists.”

  “Girl, let those new fabulous hooters be the start of a hot, new, sexy you,” Jasi continued. “Promise that before your next birthday, you’ll put on one of those pretty new bras and let some sexy, handsome stranger peel it off of you while the night is still young and the bubbly still cold.”

  “That’s right. Preach, Jasi,” Lena said as she stuck out her left hand and crooked her little finger. The channel-set blue diamond band that the four of them bought after Liv’s diagnosis and wore as a sign of their lifelong friendship sparkled in the light. “Pinky-swear right now in front of all the women here, who you love and who love you back, that before your fiftieth birthday rolls around, you will have compiled your fuck-it list with at least ten entries of those deep, dark, sexual fantasies you keep safely locked up in your imagination.”

  “And make them come true!” Lena added.

  “Ten?” Livia asked in open-mouthed disbelief.

  “Let’s get real,” Aleesa interrupted. “Make a list of ten and fulfill at least one.”

  “Three,” Jasi countered.

  “Two,” Lena compromised.

  Livia hesitated. They were all pretty serious about the pinky swear. Once given, there was no taking it back. Her birthday was in less than six months and she didn’t want to promise her girlfriends, or herself for that matter, something that she couldn’t live up to. Liv took in a deep breath and let out a noisy exhale before extending her hand. Nervous excitement bubbled up from her toes and through her body, causing a wide, though shaky, smile to break out across her face.

  What the hell! Cancer makes you bold, right? Plus, in reality she’d already fulfilled half the promise. None of these women could argue that getting off in the hallway of a stranger’s house, while watching a sexy thigh in a yellow leather chair masturbate to the sight of an interrac
ial couple of lesbians, did not qualify as a genuine act of sexual outrageousness. She could come up with one more simple act of lust and be done with it. Knowing she had them beat, Livia laughed aloud, reached out and hooked her diamond encircled little finger into Lena’s.

  “I swear, within the next six months, that I will make my fuck-it list and find two situations of, as Jasi says, yummy trouble to get into.”

  “And tell the rest of us about it,” Jasi added.

  Livia shot her the look again.

  “Well, then what’s the point? I mean, how we will know if you don’t give us a full report,” she said, her eyes including the rest of the group.

  “She’s right,” Aleesa and Lena concurred.

  “Okay, okay, okay. And I promise to give my report to Jasi, Aleesa and Lena, which I am sure they will promptly share with you,” Livi added, turning to include the rest of the guests. She’d purposely left out the word, “full.” After all, it was her list to share or not.

  “To Livia,” Jasi exclaimed as everyone picked up their champagne flutes, “as she works to find her inner freak. Own it. Work it. Use it to grab all the happiness you can and above all, take no prisoners and make no excuses.”

  Livia raised her glass with the others, a tad annoyed that she now had to do something to fulfill her promise when she already knew that her inner freak did indeed exist. Two questions remained, however. One, could she coax her out to play again or had she packed up her marbles and gone home for good? And two, did she even want to play with her again?

  The Fuck-It List

  Aleesa, Jasi and Lena had done such a great job of cleaning up after the party that there was nothing left for Livi to do but pour herself another glass of champagne, gather up her lacy loot and go upstairs to unwind.

  She walked into her room, kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the queen-size bed. Livia loved her bedroom. After the divorce, she’d totally redecorated, turning it into a private sanctuary. It was her sensual oasis, full of soothing earth tones, glowing scented candles, touchable textures and pleasurable sounds—a great space specifically designed for one to relax and reflect.