Weapons of Mass Seduction Read Online Free

wardrobes. Apparently those wishing to amp up their seduction skills to a nuclear level were a vast and varied lot. Their ages spanned from early twenties to late sixties, their figures falling everywhere between Mary-Kate Olsen and Mo’Nique. Surprisingly, with the exception of a few Pamela Anderson and Mariah Carey wannabes, most appeared normal. Not the desperate losers Pia would have imagined signing up for this kind of seminar.
    But looks can be deceiving,
Pia reminded herself. Right now she certainly felt like a big loser and wondered if the rest of these women felt the same. This had to be the ultimate low. She’d always frowned on Learning Annex–type classes that taught tips on how to snag a man, with workshops with titles such as “How to Date Out of Your League,” “How to Make the Right Man Fall in Love with You,” “How to Find Your Soul Mate.” There had to be something wrong if you had to pay someone to teach you what Mother Nature had already supplied you with at birth—mating instincts, pheromones, and such. Damn it, Dee knew this about Pia, and yet here she was, sitting in a workshop with the corniest title of all, “Weapons of Mass Seduction.”
    There was a hesitant silence in the room as the assembled women waited for the workshop leader, Joey Clements, to materialize. There was no effort made toward introductions. Pia exchanged a nervous, courtesy smile with the five other women at her table. Each sat silently engrossed in her own thoughts, sizing up the others while waiting for instruction.
    Not an extroverted flirt in the crowd. Guess that’s why they’re all here
, Pia surmised with an inner grimace, turning her attention to the binder and the biography of the instructor. A quick scan informed Pia that Joey Clements was billed as a world-renowned sensuality and flirting expert revered in Hollywood for transforming small-town
blah
celebrities into Tinseltown
ahh
sex symbols.
    Time to blow this estrogen fest and plan Dee’s murder,
Pia decided, rising to leave. Just as her bottom left the seat, Goldie Hawn’s not-as-well-preserved-but-still-with-head-turning-appeal look-alike waltzed into the room and gracefully positioned herself behind the orchid-bearing podium.
    Her escape foiled, Pia turned a groan of despair inward as she sank back into her chair.
    â€œWhoa. Is
that
Joey Clements?” whispered the young biracial-looking woman sitting to Pia’s left.
    Pia totally understood her confusion. She too expected to see a tall, buxom sex bomb. Instead, standing before them was a plump, frizzy-haired, fifty-something flower child. The woman was dressed in a canary yellow figure-concealing caftan with a long string of coral beads dangling between her bountiful breasts. It was clear to Pia that this wasn’t the boho chic look now trendy with all the L.A. and New York fashionistas, but rather a lifestyle uniform.
    â€œHello, lovelies. I’m Joey. Welcome to the first
fabulous
day of your
sensual
life,” Joey Clements said, pronouncing each word with a sultry and hypnotic Kathleen Turner–like growl.
    As soon as Joey opened her mouth and her smoky and suggestive voice—with its just-climbed-out-of-bed rasp—caressed Pia’s ears, Pia was immediately intrigued. The hippie had disappeared, replaced by a compelling sensual goddess. With the dramatic voice and movement reminiscent of a legendary silver screen diva, Joey exuded a riveting sensuality and a certain
je ne sais quoi
.
    â€œI’m very well aware that you lovelies are here to ‘unearth your inner bombshell,’” she continued, “but before we get started, I’d like to clear up some probable misconceptions about what this workshop is and what it isn’t. In our four days together you will
not
receive three hundred and sixty-five tips on how to drive your partner wild in bed. You will
not
learn the ultimate techniques for giving