The Bachelorette Party 101 Series!

I Betcha

Now available at Resplendence Publishing.
Coming soon to your favorite retailers!

Mary Kate Wells refuses to admit that she's innocent. She has had sex, she's here to tell you. But the truth is, when Johnny the Stripper calls the day of the bachelorette party to confirm his appointment later that night, the sound of his voice saying, "Hi, Mary. My name is Johnny, and I'll be your stripper this evening," jerks her libido into full-speed ahead like nothing she's ever felt before. And then when Johnny arrives with his twin brother Shawn at his side, the fire in her gut can only be put out by one thing—no wait, two. In her ear she hears her sister chiming, "I betcha won't, I betcha won't." And determined to be her own woman, she bets she will.

Chapter One

So here's the thing. I'm not that innocent, not really. I mean, I've had sex before. I graduated college, right? I've been to spring break in Florida. I frequented fraternity parties. I've drank more than my share of Purple Passion hooch and ended up waking the next morning in some frat guy's bed—without my shirt.

And panties.

Yeah, me, Mary Kate Wells, naked in some guy's bed.

Well, twice.

The first time I won't talk about. The second time, well….

Well, the guy wasn't there. He'd slept on the couch in the next room. How was I to know, actually, what happened while I was passed out?

I won't even mention that the guy was Brent Sollars, who grew up just down the street from me in the Highlands section of Louisville. We even went to the same Catholic school. Once in seventh grade, he tried to kiss me.

I pushed back and glared at him, threatened to tell Sister Angeline (our teacher), and that was the end of Brent Sollars' crush on me. So, the fact that I'd slept passed-out drunk all night in his bed, without my shirt and panties, probably wasn't saying much at all.

Still, it was sort of risqué and he had made that comment about my perky titties the next day in Psych class, so maybe he'd snuck a peek, or even copped a feel…who knows?

I wonder if I had fun?

The deal is, I'm telling you this because my older sister, Lainie, thinks I'm the world's most pristine, squeaky-clean kind of girl. And she's really uncertain whether or not I can actually pull off the most fantabulous near-skanky, but leaning toward upscale, bachelorette party ever this side of the Ohio River. Lainie, of course, is the bride.

And she wants it all—sexy, raunchy, wild and completely undone—but in a very tasteful and respectable manner, of course.

I am here to tell the world that I can pull this thing off.

After all, I hired the stripper. Over the Internet.

And I went to the adult novelty store over in the south side of town and bought the big red suckers that have "Lick Me" written on them, the pocket pussy gag gift, and the penis straws.

Oh, and I actually made the penis cake. Put that food science degree to good use, I did. I found a recipe on the Internet that provided explicit instructions for how to add the cream so it would shoot out the tip just right, with the first slice of the knife. I had a difficult time finding just the exact pinkish, flesh-toned shade of fondant that I needed, but finally did—on the Internet, too. It was awesome. I even made a test cake the week before to make sure it would work.

It did.

I nearly had an orgasm myself while I was making it.

I mean, food and sex, well… I really dig the two, and together. Wow! Pow. Slam. Bam. And thank you, ma'am. I'm an orgasmic mess.

So really, I can pull this off. Lainie has only given me one huge stipulation with this party. Okay, well, two. It has to make the news—in a positive way (and Lainie always has to be shown in her best light), and we have to keep the bad pics off Facebook (you know, because of our grandmother, who recently discovered the whole social networking thing).

Now, the party. It's later tonight, and since my sister, at twenty-five years of age, remains a young Louisvillian socialite—I mean, really and truly a Southern Belle debutante of the first order—this party is a huge deal. Huge! She was U of L Homecoming Queen, a Derby Princess for two years straight, and attended the Barnstable-Brown Derby Party on several occasions (where she actually met Brad Pitt in 2008).

Me? I'm more of a line-dancing, margarita girl. I mean, I love to dress up and all that, but big fancy, la-de-da socialite crowds get to me. Give me jeans and tequila any day. Or a Bud Light with lime.

Lainie has done everything letter perfect her entire life. Now, she owns this upscale jewelry shop downtown, located in the historic Seelbach Hotel, where we are actually having the bachelorette party in a few hours.
That's where we will start anyway.

We've got this huge suite reserved—so we can get dressed and ready for the party, have a few drinks and a little pre-party fun (enter the stripper) and then go out on the town—4th Street Live, and Theater Square Marketplace, and then Connection, you know, for the drag show—and come back and crash after the party and drink some more.

Because we all do plan to get drunk. Some of us might even get laid. Who knows?

All I know is that I have the penis cake and a couple of boxes of condoms just in case.

Always the girl ever at the ready, that's me.

***

Coming in 2011, books two and three in The Bachelorette Party 101 Series

I Don't
I Want