Tonight, Juliet was wearing a tailored navy-blue pantsuit, and her dark hair fell to her shoulders in sleek waves. She reminded Grace of Snow White’s evil stepmother in the cartoon version of the movie—striking, poised, and more than a little scary.
“I’m glad you’re here. I need all the support I can get,” Grace said. “And I think tonight’s meeting will be fun. I’m going to use my presidency to spice things up around here.”
“Yeah, well, I still hate these meetings. They’re like torture by estrogen. Where’s Anna?” Juliet asked.
“I don’t know. She said she’d be here.”
Juliet snorted. “Late, as usual. Whenever I’m supposed to meet her, I always figure in a thirty-minute delay.”
“Here I am, stop talking about me,” Anna said, breezing into the room. As usual, she was out of breath from hurrying, and her long, light-brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.
Thinner than me, Grace thought ruefully. And totally adorable.
“So I think the guy at the wine store thinks I was hitting on him,” Anna announced.
“What guy at what wine store?” Juliet asked.
“Bacchus. It just opened on U.S. One. I stopped in, and the owner was there, and he had this great mouth—”
“What is it with you and mouths?” Grace asked. “I’m an ass woman myself.”
“—and he caught me staring at him,” Anna continued, ignoring the interruption. “I was mortified, so I did that thing I do where I ask a zillion questions—”
“I hate it when you do that,” Juliet said.
“—and it was bad. Very, very bad. Clearly I can never go into that store again, which really sucks, because they had a great selection,” Anna finished.
“I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think,” Grace soothed.
“It was worse,” Anna said darkly. “He probably thought I was completely ridiculous. And desperate. A ridiculous, desperate divorcée just shamelessly throwing herself at him.”
“Is he single?” Grace asked.
Anna looked at her, exasperated. “How should I know?”
“I don’t know. Did you ask him out? That would be one way to find out.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
“And how would that work, exactly? ‘I know you don’t know me, other than as the crazy question lady, but would you like to go out with me?’”
“I’d drop the crazy-question-lady part,” Grace said. “But, yes, that’s generally how it’s done.”
“First of all, since I don’t even know the guy, I have no idea if he’s single. And second, I’m not interested in dating anyone. As I’ve already told you time and time again. Like when you tried to set me up with your dentist. And Louis’s friend from college. And that random guy you met in the produce section of the supermarket—”
“Oh, now, he was a good catch. You shouldn’t have passed him up. He had really great hair,” Grace said.
“You didn’t even know his name. You gave my phone number to a total stranger,” Anna said.
“I gave your phone number to a total stranger and signed you up for a self-defense course,” Grace countered. “That way all the bases would be covered.”
“Not even I can argue with logic like that,” Juliet said.
Anna rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested in dating. I’ve already resigned myself to being an old maid. I’m going to have seventy-three cats and live in a house filled with crocheted doilies and Charlie’s old school photos hanging on the wall,” Anna said.
“Technically speaking, I don’t think you can be an old maid if you’ve been married,” Juliet said.
“I thought it was sex. Only virgins can become old maids, right?” Grace chimed in.
“Yes, maybe that’s it,” Juliet agreed.
“And then someday Charlie will get married and have kids, and I’ll be the cool grandmother who spoils them rotten,” Anna continued, ignoring her friends’ commentary. “Unless Charlie ends up marrying some awful woman who will allow me to visit them only once a year for two days. The bitch. I hate her already.”
Her friends looked at her.
“Charlie’s two. It’s a little early to start worrying about whom he’s going to marry,” Juliet said.
“I can’t help it. It freaks me out when I think about it,” Anna said.
“Then don’t think about it. I’ve already made a deal with my girls that we’re going to just skip right over the hellish teenage years,” Grace said.
“How does that work?” Juliet asked.
“I’m not sure yet. But I don’t think I can deal with three teenage girls all living under one roof. Between them and me, there are good odds that one of us will be premenstrual at any given time. Which is a very scary thought,” Grace said. She picked up a cookie from a platter and bit into it. Mmmm. Molasses, her favorite.
“Hi, Anna.” The pregnant woman Grace had been eyeing earlier approached them. She was young, maybe in her late twenties, and petite, with curly blonde bobbed hair, wide blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her snub nose. Upon closer examination, Grace realized with horror that she had been wrong earlier.
She’s thinner than me. Oh, my God. She’s pregnant, and she’s still thinner than me. That’s it, I have got to go on a diet. Immediately. Self-revulsion curled through Grace, and she could practically feel the calories oozing out of the cookie and right onto her ass. This was such a disgusting image that, if it had been at all socially acceptable, Grace would have spit the cookie back out. Instead, she chewed and swallowed, then wrapped what was left of the cookie in a paper cocktail napkin and tossed it in the garbage can.
“Chloe, hi, I’m glad you could make it. These are my friends Juliet Cole and Grace Weaver,” Anna said brightly. “This is Chloe Truman. She lives just down the street from me. I met her when Charlie and I were out walking Potato, and I told her all about how this group is a godsend for new mothers.”
“It’s true,” Grace said. “Whenever someone in the group has a baby, we all take turns bringing dinner over for a few weeks. After I had my youngest, Natalie, the rest of my family probably would have starved if it hadn’t been for MCT.”
“I’m trying to talk Chloe into joining,” Anna said.
“You don’t have to talk me into it,” Chloe said, looking both shy and pleased. “I want to join.”
“Yeah!” Grace enthused. She grinned at Chloe. “You’ve picked the perfect time to join MCT, if I do say so myself.”
“Grace is the new president of the group,” Anna explained.
“Wow,” Chloe said.
“You’re looking at the power center of Orange Cove,” Grace joked. “Did you ever see The Godfather? I’m basically the mom version of Don Corleone.”
“You should get out while you still can,” Juliet said to Chloe. “Run. Run as fast as you can.”
“Why?” Chloe asked.
“Mothers’ groups are always boring. I’m only here because Grace threatened me with physical violence if I didn’t come.”
“Don’t listen to her. Juliet’s a malcontent,” Anna said.
“I am not. I’m a contrarian. It’s different.”
“How old is your baby?” Chloe asked Grace.
“Three months. That’s why I still look pregnant,” Grace said, feeling the need to explain away her still-swollen stomach, although she immediately regretted it when she noticed Chloe’s eye flick down in that direction. “And I also have two other daughters. A five-year-old, Molly, and a three-year-old, Hannah.”
“Wow. Three under the age of six?” Chloe looked shocked. “I can’t imagine. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to manage one.” She rested a hand on her round belly.
“It’s not so bad, especially once you’ve gotten over the loss of your sanity,” Grace assured her.
Anna nudged Grace and nodded toward the front of the room. “Grace, who is that woman, and why does she have a bag full of dild
os?”
Grace turned and saw a tall, shapely redhead, dressed chastely in a gray skirt suit and lilac silk blouse. She was pulling handfuls of dildos out of a preppy L. L. Bean tote bag and lining them up on the table like an army of plastic penises.
“Oh, good,” Grace said, relieved. “Our speaker’s here. I was starting to worry she wasn’t going to show up.”
“Who is she?” Juliet asked.
“Melinda Gibbons. She’s a sexpert. She’s here to teach us how to give better blow jobs,” Grace explained.
“Did you say ‘better blow jobs’?” Anna asked, frowning. Three lines appeared on her forehead, just between her eyes.
“You shouldn’t frown like that. It’ll give you wrinkles, and then you’ll have to get Botox, and you’ll end up with one of those scary, waxlike faces. And you don’t want that,” Grace said.
Anna rolled her eyes. “Grace? The dildos?”
“I told you, I want to spice the meetings up a little,” Grace explained. “I thought a sex seminar might help boost our membership.”
“Works for me,” Juliet said.
The women watched as Melinda Gibbons set out a crystal punch bowl full of condoms on the table, next to the dildos.
“You know, Grace, you’re right. Mothers Coming Together does sound like the name of a porn movie, especially when you throw in fifty flesh-colored dildos,” Anna said dryly.
“See? This is going to be a whole new chapter for Mothers Coming Together,” Grace said brightly.
“Oh, my God! Are those…penises?” one of the women milling around gasped, and suddenly everyone’s attention was on the dildos.
Usually, someone had to flick the lights to get everyone’s attention when an MCT meeting started. The first half hour of the meeting was reserved for socializing, and this precious adults-only time was the main reason many of the MCT members showed up. But tonight all of the moms hurried to sit down at the round tables without being prompted. A hush fell over the room, punctuated by a few excited whispers.
“I think she’s selling sex toys,” one woman said to a friend.
“Oh, my God, those dildos are huge,” another woman squealed.
“I guess it’s time to start the meeting,” Grace said. She smiled, but felt another wave of fear-laced nausea wash over her. What had she been thinking when she volunteered to be president? She was now going to have to stand up and speak in front of all of these women. Gah.
“Good luck,” Anna whispered, and briefly squeezed Grace’s hand.
“Come on, let’s sit down. I want a good seat for this,” Juliet said.
“Will you sit up at the front table? I want to see some friendly faces,” Grace said nervously.
Anna nodded. “We’ll save you a seat.”
“Thanks.” Grace sucked in a deep breath and walked slowly to the front of the room, where Melinda Gibbons was now setting out an assortment of sex toys—a black leather cock ring, an anal plug, and several different types of vibrators, including one that looked like a bullet and another that was shaped like a rabbit.
“Hi, Melinda?” As though she could be anyone else. “I’m Grace Weaver. We talked on the phone. Thank you for coming tonight.”
“Yes, hi, Grace, it’s nice to finally meet you in person,” the redhead said pleasantly, reaching out a hand, which Grace took in hers. Melinda’s hand felt small and cool, and her grip was surprisingly firm. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“I thought I’d start off by introducing you to the group, and then I’ll let you do your thing,” Grace said. “Is that okay with you?”
“Sounds perfect.” Melinda smiled serenely. Unlike Grace, Melinda didn’t seem at all nervous about momentarily standing up in front of all of these women and talking. If anything, she looked loose and utterly relaxed.
Must be all of the orgasms she’s having, Grace thought, and she made a mental note to buy a vibrator.
Grace turned to face the roomful of women and immediately became aware that all eyes were on her. She looked out at the crowd, swallowed hard, and hoped that she didn’t look as fat as she felt in her black linen tunic and pants. She’d made a mad dash to Stein Mart yesterday and bought the set without trying it on. She hadn’t even particularly liked the outfit, but she was desperate. The only thing in her closet she could get into were maternity pants with the hideous stretch-panel waist. And even though she’d bought the outfit two sizes larger than she’d worn before having Natalie, it still felt a little snug. The pants dug into her waist, and the tunic stretched uncomfortably over her breasts.
She drew in another deep breath, although her lungs felt too small and too tight to contain the air. Grace’s heart started pounding, and for a scarily long moment she wondered if she was having her first full-blown panic attack.
Thinner than me, thinner than me, thinner than me. The entire freaking room is thinner than me, Grace thought as she stared out at the women. They looked back at her, and Grace’s anxiety continued to swell. They’re probably all thinking about how fat I look. I can see it in their eyes, that awful, awful pitying expression people get when they feel sorry for you.
Grace gulped in some air and wished desperately she’d brought along the index cards on which she’d written her introductory comments. Louis had talked her out of using them, insisting that she’d sound more natural if she winged it.
Why the hell did I listen to him? Gah. I have to say something. I can’t just stand up here, staring blankly back at them….
“Um…hi, everyone. Thanks for coming to the meeting tonight,” Grace said haltingly. “I know we have a few new members here, so for those of you who don’t know, I’m, um, Grace Weaver, and I’m the president of the Orange Cove chapter of Mothers Coming Together. Please feel free to talk to me after the meeting if you have any, um, questions. And now I have a feeling you’re just dying to find out who the woman standing behind me is.” Grace grinned despite herself, and it had the happy effect of relaxing her. She drew in a deep, cleansing breath and continued. “So I’ll go right ahead and introduce her. Her name is Melinda Gibbons, and she’s a sexpert.”
Murmurs spread through the room, and a few women giggled.
“Melinda gives seminars all over the country on how to be a better lover.” More titters. “And tonight she’s here to tell us all about…” Grace paused to enjoy the buildup of suspense and the cheerful energy her audience was giving off. This was almost fun. “…how to give sensational blow jobs. So without further ado—Melinda Gibbons,” Grace said, waving her hand with a game-show-hostess flourish. Melinda stepped forward, and Grace sat down at the front table between Juliet and Anna. Her heart was still pounding, and she was enormously relieved to be done with her bit, but she thought it had actually gone pretty well. The group applauded politely, and Melinda smiled as she waited for everyone to quiet down.
“Hello, everyone. As Grace said in her kind introduction, my name is Melinda Gibbons, and I’m a sex educator. Many years ago, I started out my career as a sex therapist. Clients began to invite me to speak at various functions, and my seminars grew from there. I’ve spoken to groups as large as a thousand college students down to bachelorette parties of a half-dozen women, and I cover topics on everything from safe sex to lovemaking techniques to libido issues. One of the most popular topics I cover is what we’ll be discussing tonight: how to give an amazing blow job.”
Melinda had a soft Southern accent, stretching out her words with just the hint of a twang. From the faint web of lines by her eyes, Grace guessed Melinda was in her early forties. She was curvy with a tiny waist, like a 1940s movie star, and her auburn hair fell to her shoulders in thick waves. She looked and sounded like the sort of woman who would serve you old-fashioned lemonade on the porch of an antebellum Southern home.
Thinner than me, Grace thought. And probably better in bed too.
“The first thing I’m going to do is hand out these.” Melinda picked up a dildo from the table setting off another round of snickering am
ong the mothers. “I have every imaginable color and size, so you can pick whatever you’re most comfortable with, or…” Melinda’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe what you’ve fantasized about.”
Melinda began passing out the dildos. Grace ended up with an enormous Barbie-pink one.
“The spitting image of Louis,” she joked, holding it up to show Anna.
“Way too much information,” Anna whispered.
Once everyone had their dildos and condoms—the laughter and conversation swelling to a fever pitch—Melinda raised her hand, signaling for the group to quiet down.
“I want to begin with a fun technique for putting on a condom,” Melinda said. “I call this the Kiss and Roll method. Watch me do it, and then I’ll give you step-by-step instructions.”
Melinda unwrapped a red latex condom and unrolled it a bit, so that it looked like a little hat. She placed a dab of lubricant from a small silver bottle inside the tip of the prophylactic, and then, pursing her lips in an exaggerated kiss, she popped the condom in her mouth, tip facing in. Her lips encircled the rim. Melinda picked up a dildo and, holding it by the shaft, leaned forward and rolled the condom onto it with her mouth in one graceful move. The women sat watching her, mesmerized.
“Wow,” Grace breathed. “That was amazing.”
“No kidding. It almost makes me wish I were a man,” Juliet replied.
Grace thought she knew how to give a serviceable blow job. But, as she learned over the next hour, it was an area where she was sorely lacking in skill. There were a multitude of techniques she hadn’t even heard of, much less tried. Like the Eight Ball, which involved using your tongue to draw the number 8 on a man’s testicles. Or the Big Dipper, a move where the man hovered over you and lowered his testicles into your mouth.
“That’s also called tea-bagging, because it’s like dunking a tea bag in a cup of hot water,” Juliet said loudly. Juliet was incapable of whispering, and Grace elbowed her to be quiet.
And then there was the technique that Melinda assured the group was the pièce de résistance of any woman’s oral repertoire—the Tongue.
Mommy Tracked Page 3
