At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

My heart is beating rapidly in my chest and it’s taking everything in me not to shout at the top of my lungs for her to just drop it and move on to picking out what I’m going to wear tonight.

“Two-hundred-and-ten odd days, subtracted by you were still married to the guy equals we had sex with the same penis!” Ariel shouts in frustration, throwing her hands up in the air.

“WE DID NOT HAVE SEX WITH THE SAME PENIS BECAUSE TWO HUNDRED AND TEN ODD DAYS AGO I WAS NOT HAVING SEX WITH MY HUSBAND! THE LAST TIME I HAD SEX WITH MY HUSBAND WAS ONE THOUSAND NINETY-FIVE DAYS AGO!” I scream.

An uncomfortable silence fills the room at my proclamation, and I quickly smooth my sweaty palms down the front of my skirt.

“Jesus, and I’ve just been joking about the whole prude thing all this time. Who knew it was actually true? Three years? I know this is going to sound really bitchy, but no wonder the guy cheated. You gotta give it up more than that,” Ariel says, making my blood boil.

“Experts define a sexless marriage as having sex no more than ten times in any given year, or less than once per month,” Belle mutters.

Having just about enough of this nonsense, I snatch the Clone-a-Willy from Ariel’s hand, and now it’s my turn to start pointing it in her face.

“You know who bought this thing? I did. I BOUGHT BRIAN THE CLONE-A-WILLY!” I inform her, my voice rising with each word I speak. “Because you’re right. The idea that I would use this thing while he was away on business SHOULD be hot. But he thought it was weird and gross, so I tossed it into the back of my closet and never brought it up again. And no, I haven’t had sex in three years, but it’s not for lack of trying. I wanted to have sex. I wanted to have ALL the sex, but Brian was tired, Brian wasn’t in the mood, Brian had a long day at work, Brian had an early meeting the next morning. I bought so much lingerie it looked like Victoria’s Secret threw up in my dresser, but BRIAN WASN’T IN THE MOOD. It turns out, Brian just wasn’t in the mood for me.”

All of the anger and frustration leaves me in an instant, and before I know it, my knees have given out and I’m sitting right on top of the pile of boring beige clothing, crying and waving the Clone-a-Willy around above my head.

“I booked hotel rooms in the city, I lit candles, I planned surprise weekend getaways, I bought porn! My Google search history is probably still full of all the porn I bought, and tomorrow I might get hit by a bus and people will see my Google porn history and it won’t be pretty!” I sob. “For three years I tried everything I could to get my husband to have sex with me, and nothing worked. Now I’m going to die, sexless and alone, with student/teacher pornography stuck in my cookies!”

Ariel quickly drops down next to me, grabs the Clone-a-Willy from my hand and chucks it across the room.

“You are NOT going to die sexless and alone with anything stuck in your cookie, aside from another much larger, much more enjoyable frickle,” Ariel reassures me.

“He really didn’t have a very satisfying frickle. God, I miss sex,” I say with a sigh.

“His frickle was fucked, and he wouldn’t know how to use it if he had a road map and a tour guide.”

“See? It’s fun saying frickle!” Belle exclaims.

Ariel grabs one of my hands, pulling me up from the floor as I swipe away the tears.

“I’m sorry I insinuated this was all your fault. I’m still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that there’s a wildcat hidden under all that beige,” Ariel apologizes. “Tonight, Stella is getting her groove back.”

Ariel marches over to the pile of clothing bags and begins unzipping them.

“We’re going to sex you up, and PJ won’t even know what hit him,” she announces, pulling out a skintight red dress that barely has enough material to it to cover all the important parts.

“I don’t want anything to hit PJ. I don’t even like him,” I lie, picturing his gorgeous face and how nicely he can wear a pair of jeans.

“You don’t have to like him to get yourself some good dicking. You need a good dicking, Cindy. Brian was mediocre at best. You need mind-blowing, toe-curling, forget-your-own-name dicking. And while you’re busy getting fucked into next week, you can also use him for his business knowledge, so it’s a win-win.”

I’m not going to lie: The idea of sleeping with PJ does fill me with a thrill of excitement. He definitely looks like a man who wouldn’t need a road map or a tour guide in the bedroom. But this business we’re trying to establish needs to be our top priority. Getting out of debt and taking charge of my life needs to come first, not a man with piercing blue eyes who I’m quite certain still doesn’t think we’re serious, or that the three of us could possibly make a business like this successful.