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I was taking a writing class at George Brown College. I actually don’t recall the assignment, but decided to take Samantha up on her recommendation and see if a false pair of nipples would increase my odds of meeting a handsome man.

I started my experiment cautiously. A tight tee, broad daylight at my very own yard sale. In hindsight, this was likely the bravest scenario I tested those puppies out in. Stone cold sober, selling my used crap and wearing fake nipples in front of my own home. To my disappointment, no one seemed to notice, at all. Or if they did, they simply didn’t care. Which ended up being a theme for this whole adventure.

I took them out to a karaoke bar, hoping that people would be too focused on the nipple enhancers and overlook my poor singing skills. No such luck. So I try a new night and a new bar. This time I leave with more compliments to my hair than romantic encounters.

Frustrated with my new nipples I take them out for one last ‘spin’ at the North by North East Music Festival. It’s the sort of night when car windows are down for the first time in a long time and the excitement of summer tingles through the air. You can feel the freedom that comes from shedding winter layers allowing the air to touch your skin. It is electric. I have on my favourite ‘little black dress’ heels and, of course, my firm friends.

The night is off to a good start, guys are hanging out of their car windows cat calling to ladies walking down the street. Since the cars are approaching from behind, I’m pretty sure their attention doesn’t count towards my objective.

I hit three bars meeting up with three different groups of friends and I’m not anywhere close to getting the results that I had hoped for. In fact, no one seems to notice, at all. The night ends and I climb aboard the street car to head home, my disappointment apparent. The highlight of my evening is a woman, a stranger, who calls to me as I board, “Smile! You’re beautiful.” Her boyfriend nods in agreement. I thank them for the compliment with the smile they have asked for, but spend the ride home contemplating my nipple let down.

I chalk up this failed experiment to being Canadian. Perhaps everyone was too polite. I recall, that in my research, I had learned that the idea for these fake nipples came from a dare creator Lori Barghini took while in Vegas. She and her friends wore hotel sized shampoo caps in their bras while they hit the strip. Men threw themselves at the ladies’ feet with comments like “For you, my pay cheque for the rest of my life.” But surely the “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” mentality factored into that sort of result. Seriously, who mistakes shampoo caps for nipples and how does that truly inspire men to throw themselves at a woman’s feet?

It was the last night I wore them out. They spent a few years in the bottom of a drawer in my dresser before they were thrown into a pile of items donated to charity. I hope whoever got them next would have more luck with them than I did.

Niamh is a good wife. She learned early on that crossing her husband had consequences. Living quietly in the shadowed cage he has formed around her, Niamh suffers his secrets and bares the scars they leave behind.

On the night of her biggest humiliation Caleb enters the ballroom changing Niamh’s course forever. He brings safety to her dark world and introduces her to the possibility of escape. Will Niamh’s love for Caleb be the key to her freedom or will it be her undoing?

Enjoy an Excerpt

He is the man I would have noticed first, had he been in the room when I arrived. As it was, he arrived “fashionably late”, as we’d say now. Men and women alike stole glances as he strode through the doors; we were too polite a society to stare.

He is the kind of creature that draws all eyes to himself without doing much to deserve it. Though this was not his home, he was the king of the castle. Even in my distracted state, I soaked in his energy, felt him before I saw him and, like a magnet pulling me, my body turned toward him.

Had I been anyone but my demure self, my jaw may have hung open or I may have walked toward him to embarrass myself with a bumbled, unasked for introduction. Instead, as his eyes met mine, I quickly glanced away and blushed. Later – much later – he would tell me it was the blood rushing to my cheeks that drew him to me.

About the Author: Born in Dundas, ON, Lilith Thorn is a restless wanderer. Her first move was to St. Catharines where she earned a Theatre degree at Brock University. Despite her parents’ wish that she would return home and work at McDonalds after graduating, Lilith refused and instead moved to Toronto to give acting the ‘Old College Try.’ After years of sacrificing her other passions for the stage and an empty bank account, she put away those dreams to say “Yes” to a different adventure. This took her to Dublin, Ireland for a few years where she met, fell in love with, and married another Canadian who took her to the one place she said she’d never live: Yellowknife. After nearly a decade in Canada’s Great White North, Lilith looks forward to further adventures with her husband and two children, just about anywhere.

Lilith Thorn is a pen name, the pseudonym used to protect the innocent; that is, so she hopefully never has to explain to her mother-in-law over dinner that she has written an erotic novel.

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