rounded tip teased her opening. She looked down and wondered how it would ever fit.
The gel was cool against her labia but quickly warmed as it came in contact with her internal heat. She stretched to accommodate the girth of the vibrator.
To her surprise, it slid in to the hilt quite smoothly. Maybe the gel helped. She tightened her internal muscles. ML—or Mel, as she nicknamed it—slid back out to her waiting hand. Bereft, she glided Mel back in. In. Out. In. Out.
Close. She was so close.
Panting, she reached down a shaking hand and squeezed the rubber testicles.
And screamed when the foreign object within seemed to take on a life of its own.
When she was able to relax a bit, the vibration worked its magic, setting off tingles deep within. Her muscles began to vibrate. Internal lubrication made Mel slippery. She squeezed the testicles in her fist, unable to gasp more than shallow pants of air. Her heart thundered, pounding as though it would rip from her chest.
Her next scream had nothing to do with surprise as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, drowning her in sensation.
2
Maggie awoke to sun streaming in through her open blinds, Mel still clutched in her hand.
Make that stuck to her hand. Ick. She peeled her personal device from her palm and sat up. The covers must have been somewhere on the floor.
Next she noticed she was naked. And sticky. She ran her tongue over her furry, strawberry-flavored teeth and winced.
She glanced at Mel, lying innocuously on the messy sheet. Who knew?
At that moment, her alarm clock chose to blast the room with oldies, making Maggie realize she had a headache. What was in that strawberry body gel? she wondered as she dragged herself into the shower.
By the time Karyl knocked on the door at seven fifty-five, Maggie was dressed and ready to go, a cleaned and shined Mel tucked neatly into the inside pocket of her bulging suitcase. After last night, she realized she didn’t need an extra bikini. Mel was a necessity.
“Well, I can see by the glow on your cheeks that you liked my gift,” Karyl said with a grin, her green eyes sparkling through her always overlong bangs. Karyl was the only white woman Maggie knew with Tina Turner hair. On her, though, it looked good. “Did you get any sleep?”
Maggie sniffed and tried not to grin. “Of course. Let’s go.”
“Wait, I have a bon-voyage gift for you.” Karyl presented a flat gold box tied with confetti-colored strings. “Quick! Open it, and say, ‘Thank you, Karyl,’ so we can go.”
“I can’t believe you did this! Thank you so much!”
“Mags? You haven’t opened it yet.” Karyl had a knowing grin.
“Oh.” It took a moment for Maggie’s shaky fingers to remove the million or so strings and shove the top off the box. “Oh! Karyl! I can’t believe you bought this!”
“Why not?” Karyl grinned. “I got sick of watching you drool all over the window every time we went by the shop. Believe me, my motivation was strictly selfish. Do you know how embarrassing it is to watch you covet something for so long?”
Maggie held up the scarf, admiring the way the sunlight shone through the gossamer, off-white silk that sparkled from the tiny gold and silver threads. She wrapped it around her shoulders and struck a pose. “How do I look?”
“Fabulous, dahling!” Karyl accepted her grateful hug. She handed her a bulging purple bag. “I also brought a few items left over from my Boudoir Buddy party. You can check them out once you get out to sea. Now, get this stuff packed so we can vamoose!”
The BumbleBee was a disappointment, as cruise ships go. Docked between liners of monstrous proportions, it looked like the love child of the larger vessels.
Maggie glanced at the ticket information clutched in her hand. Yes, her ship was, indeed, the BumbleBee. She supposed she should have known a cruise line with a name like Cruises R Us wouldn’t have the largest of cruise ships. She took heart in the fact that her ship was equipped with all the amenities—not that she would know the difference.
A couple walked up the gangplank, arm in arm. Maggie glared at them. Didn’t they know it was a singles cruise? How stupid could they be, taking a singles cruise together?
She grimaced and shook her head, then followed them. A smallish man stood at the top, directing the passengers to check in.
She dismissed him with a casual once-over. It should be a requirement, on a singles cruise, to employ only attractive people. It only made sense, businesswise. Maybe, after the cruise, she would contact the corporate office and offer her services. Heaven knew the fledgling cruise line needed better PR.
The toothy clerk at the check-in desk seemed excited about Maggie being assigned to the Tarzan and Jane’s Lair stateroom.
Maggie frowned, negotiating the stairs while trying not to knock a fellow passenger to his or her death with her suitcase. According to the clerk, unlike most cruise ships, all the BumbleBee’s rooms were on the upper floors.
Maggie thought of the name of her room and said a little prayer for it not to mean her singles cruise was a blind-dating type of cruise. She inserted her card key and pushed open the scuffed, once-white door.
“Oh, my.” She looked at what appeared to be a tiny jungle, composed entirely of dust-encrusted, plastic foliage. A flip of what she thought was the light switch activated the pièce de résistance—jungle sounds. Very loud jungle sounds. So loud, in fact, she doubted she’d be able to converse on her cell phone. Or sleep. And where was the dang light?
She dragged in her suitcase and shut the door, throwing the bolt home. Always a good idea for women traveling alone. Patting the wall, she made cautious progress. Light became secondary. Now that her initial shock had subsided, she noticed light streaming in from a small skylight in the middle of the room as well as spilling from an open doorway on the far wall. She could see fine. But the jungle noise reverberating in her head had to stop.
Surely there had to be a volume control somewhere. Not finding one, she flipped off the switch. The control broke off in her hand.
The cacophony blared on.
A step into the room brought a definite burn to her nose. She sneezed. Her ankles itched where the dusty plants brushed against them. Everywhere, plastic plants surrounded her, their leaves furry with who knew how many years of accumulated dust. She sneezed again. Her eyes began to tear. And Karyl had made fun of her for bringing her fresh-air machine. Without it, her dust allergies would run rampant.
Finally she found the bed. At least, she thought it was the bed, since it had what appeared to be camouflage-printed sheets and pillowcases. The bed itself eerily resembled a giant coconut shell. A very tall coconut shell. She’d have to take a running start and leap into it. Maybe she could have them bring up a stool.
She giggled. The room was so hokey, it was laughable.
The gurgle of water, now rising above the call of the wild, drew her attention
