I put the phone down for a sec to do another pussy shooter with the girls. Then I excused myself, gathered up my phone and my cocktail, and stumbled off to the ladies’ room.
I shut myself into a cubicle and wondered how I was gonna pull this off. I reread his text, aware that my brain was now pickled in pink booze.
Cary: Take off your panties and send me a pic.
Okay, wait. Did he want a pic of the panties after I took them off? Or did he want a picture of what was under the panties?
You know the answer to that.
I just wanted to be sure, because sending your boss a picture of your bare pussy that he didn’t ask for seemed kinda wrong. Even if you were already sleeping with him.
I started laughing, to myself, in the cubicle. I took a swig of my drink and set it down on the toilet paper thing.
Okay. Focus. I read the text one more time.
Yeah. Obviously, he wanted a photo of the goods.
I slipped my thong off. It was indeed purple. I took a picture of it dangling in my hand, and sent him the pic with the words: Wait for it…
Then I stuffed the thong into my purse. And tried to figure out how to take an attractive picture of my pussy. Was there such a thing?
If I just stuck my phone up my dress, it was gonna look like a scary dark cave.
How the hell did I get a favorable angle?
I turned to face the toilet and decided to put my foot up on the seat—after I laid down a piece of toilet paper, for hygienic reasons. Then I let my knee fall open and my skirt ride up, and lowered the phone to get the shot. I laid the freshly-painted fingernails of my free hand—no chips—just above my clit, so it would look like I was touching myself.
I took a picture.
Then I looked at it.
Oh my gawd. That was so X-rated.
Did he really want to see that?
Yup. He asked for it.
So, I sent.
Then I went back out into the bar and tried to look normal, and not like a woman who’d just taken a picture of her pussy in the washroom and sent it to someone.
When the girls all seemed to be carrying on as usual and taking no notice whatsoever of me, I grabbed my best friend’s arm and leaned into her. “I just took a picture of my pussy in the washroom and sent it to someone.”
Danica’s eyes popped and she burst into laughter. “What? Why?” she sputtered.
“Because he asked me to.”
“Cary?”
“Yup.”
“Oh my God.”
“I need another drink.” We sipped our cocktails while she grinned at me. She shook her head. In awe, I supposed. “You know what you need to do, right?” I prompted.
“What?”
“You need to march into that washroom and take a picture of your pussy and send it to your husband.”
She wrinkled her nose, but she was still grinning. “Really?”
“Really.”
“And why do I need to do this?”
“So I don’t feel like a slut.”
Danica smirked drunkenly. “What’s wrong with feeling like a slut?”
“Nothing. Just don’t make me do it alone.”
She rolled her eyes a little, but she laughed. I figured she was just drunk enough that she might actually do it.
“Has Ash never asked you to do that?” I asked, curious.
“Not explicitly. But I’m with him every night. So he doesn’t really need a pic.”
“He’s not with you now,” I pointed out.
And a few minutes later, she headed off to the ladies’ room. Alone. Because my best friend was devoted like that. To both me and her husband.
When she returned, looking breathless, her eyes sparkling with that same happy-horny rush I’d felt when I did it, I pulled her close. “You took a pic?”
“Yup.”
“You sent it to Ash?”
“Uh-huh. Mission accomplished.” She held up two fingers in the universal sign for two, but also the universal sign for spreading open a pussy.
I blinked at her drunkenly, impressed as shit. My best friend could really surprise me sometimes. One thing about Danica Vola, she was waaayyy more dirty minded than she looked. “Did you seriously spread your—?”
“Ixnay!” she hissed at me.
I looked up to find her sister looking over at us. Dani gave us both a drunk, narrow-eyed look across the table. No way she could hear what we were saying, I was pretty sure. She flung her butterscotch hair over her shoulder and leaned in to talk to her girlfriend.