Dirty Dark Desire: A Dark Erotic Standalone

by Lacey Alpha

  Tying my muddy-brown hair into a high ponytail, I pour myself a very large glass of red wine and sit on the sofa with my laptop. My studio apartment is tiny. In fact, that's an understatement. It's miniscule. The lounge/bedroom appears cluttered because pretty much everything I own has to fit inside the space. But from the broken wardrobe to the shabby sofa-bed, to the brightly glowing fish tank which houses my two goldfish, Jaws and Michael Bubbly, I guess it's what I call home.

  Taking a sip of the fruity wine, I check my emails and find one addressed from Jody.

  Hi Sweetie

  She calls everyone sweetie, probably to make her seem less like a bitch. It doesn't.

  The team thought they'd give you a hand with your article. Click the link and enter the details below.

  I click the link at the bottom of the email, wondering what she means by them 'giving me a hand'.

  I'm taken to the online dating site we agreed I'd use called MeetCupid.

  I realise the details included in Jody's email must be for logging in. I login using the not-so-original-username of Brunette52 and quickly find the profile section of the site. Holy crap, they've filled it in!

  Taking a large gulp of wine, I read through their attempt of summarising me.

  Hair: Brown

  Eyes: Green

  Height: 5'5"

  Ethnicity: Caucasian

  Education: Bachelors Degree

  Seeking: A man

  Intent: Looking to date

  Likes: Cats

  Hates: Romcoms

  I bet my coworker Melanie chose my hates. I let slip to her that I think romance is dead in the modern age. It was a fair comment, I think. But I don't actually mind the odd romcom or two.

  I scroll down to the section entitled: Tell us about yourself.

  I'm a newly single girl who's looking for someone exciting to take my interest.

  Short and sweet. I'm not exactly newly single. More like eternally single. The only guy I've ever called my boyfriend was when I was eight years old. He gave me his juice carton and I gave him a kiss. I guess I grew out of my slutty days. Ha.

  Taking another gulp of wine, I check my inbox.

  Eight messages already! It only just went live. The team at work have uploaded two photos of me. The main picture is of me at a work-do in a red dress that screams class even though I got it on sale at H&M. The second is of me laughing my head off at something Melanie said. I can't remember what, but I do recall her taking picture after picture as tears poured down my face. Well, it could be worse.

  I skim through the messages. One guy catches my eye. Dark hair, cute smile, bachelors degree. Seems decent enough. His message has a little wit and is more enticing than many of the other messages that consist of 'Hey baby', 'Nice legs', and one 'Who are we kiddin? Let's fuck'.

  There's another that catches my eye but the guy has no profile picture. Definite no-no. His username is Cane312 and his message simply says:

  What's your darkest desire?

  I reply to the cute guy first with what I hope is a flirty-but-not-desperate message then my eye is drawn back to Cane312. I click on his profile. It's pretty limited. No picture and no details? Who does this guy think he's kidding?

  Under interests he's written: you

  I roll my eyes and take another sip of wine. It makes my head swim and, for the sake of my article, I decide to reply to Mr No Details.

  That's a probing question considering we don't even know each others names. And in your case, not even what you look like. You could be a mass murderer for all I know.

  I press send, grinning to myself. This online dating thing could be more fun than I realised.

  The cute guy has messaged me again. This time he's signed it with a winking emoji. Oh, the romance...

  A little red flag pops up at the bottom of the screen to let me know that Cane312 has replied to my message. Let's see what he's got to say.

  I click on the new message, feeling a little giddy as I top up my glass.

  I can be whatever you want me to be.

  A chill goes through me. I don't know why because this guy is clearly a creep. And yet something about the message gets to me.

  Shaking my head, I hover my fingers over the keyboard, thinking up my reply.

  I'd like you to be a decent guy. Can you be that?

  I'm being sarcastic but he takes it literally.

  Yes. Whatever you like.

  Perhaps we can meet in person?

  My stomach writhes. Online dating has never appealed to me. The thought of going on a date without ever having met the guy beforehand is nerve wracking. And if I'm going to go out with anyone, it's not going to be the could-be-psycho. I ignore the message and return my attention to the cute guy. I have a few more messages in my inbox but all of them are of the 'Hey baby' variety. No thank you. If you can't string more than a sentence together to get my attention, a date is hardly going to be any better.

  I chat to the cute guy all evening who I discover is called Mike. He's a male nurse with a soft spot for animals and he wants to have kids one day. Win! When he asks me out, I pluck up the courage and agree to meet with him the following night.

  I'm on a roll. I just need two more dates for the rest of the week.

  I message back one of the least offensive looking 'Hey baby' guys. His profile picture features him shirtless at the gym. Classic. I doubt he's looking for anything but sex but I could do with a few failed dates to jazz up my article. After a brief conversation where he compliments my thighs, I have a date for Saturday night. Woo. Go me.

  Skimming through the list of messages I've accumulated throughout the evening, I try to pick another guy. There's one from a man who's twenty years older than me - he's spent a lot time writing his message and quoting facts from my profile. Then there's someone who says I'm his perfect woman and goes on to list every single reason why.

  Hmm. Old or obsessive. Decisions, decisions. I sip my wine.

  Before I make my choice, a little ringing noise sounds and a box flashes up at the bottom of the screen. My chest constricts as I read the words inside the box.

  Cane312 wishes to start a voice call. Do you want to accept?

  I gape at the screen for several seconds. Voice call? I didn't know you could bloody voice call!

  Crap. What do I do? Accept or decline, Evie? Accept or decline?

  Downing the rest of my wine, I make a little squeaking noise in my throat then click accept.

  "Evelyn?"

  Even though I expect it, his voice makes me jump.

  "Yes?" I say suspiciously.

  "You didn't reply to my message." His voice is deep and soft. He sounds young but I can't be sure. There was no age listed on his profile.

  "So you rang me?" Weirdo. Why am I entertaining this?

  "Yes. I'd like to meet with you."

  I can't help but laugh. "You don't even have a picture on your profile. Why would I meet with you?"

  "I'm attractive enough, I assure you."

  Arrogant arse. "Says you."

  "I'd make it worth your while." His voice lowers and the hairs raise on the back of my neck. I can't deny he has a sexy voice. But so does Sean Connery and that doesn't mean I'd sleep with an eighty year old.

  "How old are you?" I ask, suddenly aware I should be making notes on this guy for my article. How many girls get voice-called by picture-less weirdos on this site? Maybe more than I know.

  "Twenty seven," he says. "Is that a yes?"

  So young? Or maybe he's lying. "I don't trust you." I may as well be honest.

  He laughs a soft chuckle. "What makes you trust any of the other men on this site more than me? They have information and pictures, yes, but they could just as easily be fakes."

  I consider his words and can't deny how true they are. Cute Mike could actually be Pervert Paul.

  For the sake of my article, maybe I should meet with Cane312. He'd certainly add an interesting addition to my dating lineup this week.

  "
If I meet you, it needs to be in a public place," I say firmly. That's online dating rule number one.

  "I don't do public. How about you come over to my place?"

  His place? Who has a first date at their house? And what does he mean he doesn't do public? Oh god, maybe he's hideous. I hesitate, unsure what to answer. On the one hand, my article could definitely benefit from this. On the other, I could be eaten by a crazed cannibal and no one will ever know what happened to me.

  "Evelyn?" His tone is patient but pressing.

  I swallow. "Okay." Well done, Evie. You broke dating rule number one in about thirty seconds flat.

  "Great. Inbox me your address." The line goes dead.

  I'm not sure if I've made the right decision but a little voice inside tells me to go for it. I message him the address but give him that of a cafe a few doors down from mine (just in case).

  He gets back promptly.

  Tomorrow. Eight o'clock. A car will be waiting.

  A flash of irritation goes through me. He's so presumptuous! I write back quickly.

  Can't do tomorrow. Can do Wednesday?

  It takes a few minutes but he eventually replies.

  See you then, Evelyn.

  My heart does a little backflip and I quickly sign off of the dating site. That's quite enough for one night. I realise I still don't know the guy's name. How did he know mine? It must have been on my profile. Double checking he's not some crazy stalker, I find my name at the top of my profile. Phew.

  I take out a notepad and pen, jotting down a few thoughts on the evening's events. I have to make this article the best it can be. It's my big shot at getting a permanent position at Missy Magazine.

  I've worked my arse off for this opportunity. It's half the reason I'm still a virgin. That and the self-fulfilling prophesy of fearing telling anyone I'm a virgin and therefore staying one. The thought of dating someone at university and revealing to them that I'd never had sex was unthinkable. Everyone's had sex by my age, haven't they?

  What will I do if I get to date three with Cute Mike? I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

  2

  I arrive at work the next day, glad to have three dates lined up already. Jody will be pleased. Well, as pleased as Jody can be.

  I spot her as I exit the lift on the eighth floor and walk toward my cubicle. Melanie appears behind Jody, all blonde curls and willowy figure. Her clothes are loose, tie-dye and hippyish. She's one of those irritating people who can get away with not wearing make-up and still look like they walked out of a photoshoot for vogue. Melanie points at Jody then makes devil horns on her head with her fingers. Jody spins around and Melanie drops her hands, gazing around thoughtfully as if she's forgotten something. Nice save, Mel.

  I smile to myself as I make my way toward Jody. Her appearance is the epitome of strict. Strawberry-blonde hair scraped into a perfect bun, bright, accusing eyes and her shirt buttons done up to the very last. She just needs a riding crop to finish the look.

  Jody spots me, strides over with purpose and says one word,“Dates?”

  “Yes I-”

  “Good,” she cuts me off and continues on her way.

  I make a gormless face as I weave my way to my cubicle which is next to Mel's.

  I drop into my seat and mutter to her, “What crawled up her arse and died?”

  A head pops up above the divider between my cubicle and the next. “I heard it was her last husband.” Hayden grins at me, his teeth sparkling white against his dark skin.

  “I thought he moved to Australia?” Mel says, smirking.

  “That's what she told you.” Hayden winks and drops back down behind the divider. He's obviously got a thing for Mel. The two of them took me under their wing on the first day of my internship. Mel's a year older than me and knows exactly what it's like to be the newbie since she went through it last year.

  “So...?” Mel says, her blue eyes searching mine.

  I suppress a grin and say nothing.

  “You got a date then,” she states, reaching for a pack of chocolate chip biscuits on her desk and offering me one.

  I shake my head and she pops one into her mouth. Mel has the enviable trait of being able to eat anything she wants and not put on any weight. I only have to sniff a cupcake and I'll gain ten pounds. Since I joined the local gym this year, I've been able to eat a little more. I can just about see the outline of my abs at last.

  “Maybe,” I say coyly, switching on the computer at my desk.

  “Ooh, do tell. Did you like our profiling by the way? I chose the photo of you laughing your head off.”

  “I figured.” I give her a mock angry glare.

  “You look totally cute in that pic. Hayden chose the other one of you at the party.”

  “You're adorable in that dress,” Hayden chips in from beyond the divider.

  I pout. “I don't want to be adorable. I want to be hot.”

  Mel giggles. “That's so adorable.”

  Hayden laughs and I huff.

  Stupid friends. I can be hot. I think.

  “So, did you get a date or what?” Mel presses.

  I type in my username to the computer then swivel my chair around to face her. “I got three.” My chest swells with pride.

  “Ooh. Check you out,” Mel coos. “Who are they?”

  “Well, there's a cute guy called Mike. We're going out tonight.” The thought makes my stomach turn over. What the hell am I gonna wear?

  "Cool." Mel grins.

  Seeing as it's my job, I can go onto the online dating site and call it research. The first thing I do, however, is get up a picture of Mike.

  “This is him," I say to Mel.

  She stuffs another biscuit into her mouth, scooting closer on her chair. “He is cute.”

  “What should I wear?” I spy Jody hovering around the cubicles across the room. She's like a bird of prey, looking for her next victim to humiliate. At least once a week she picks on someone to scream at in front of all the staff at the magazine. Last week it was a guy called Joe's turn. He went bright red and didn't talk to anyone for the rest of the day. Poor guy.

  “What did you wear on your last date?” Mel asks.

  Hmm. My last date. I think back (and I really have to think back). It was nearly a year ago, with a guy from one of my lectures at university. He had spiky black hair and was pompous as hell. But what did I wear?

  “That long, huh?” Mel glances at me with a look of pity in her eyes.

  “Don't look at me like that. I've been busy.”

  Hayden appears over the top of the cubicle. “Busy turning guys down?”

  I purse my lips. I have turned the odd guy down lately. I mean, if it's not butterflies, what's the point? That's my mantra. And until this assignment came along, I was the last person on earth who would have been found online dating. It literally rips the heart out of romance.

  Mel gives me a hard stare. “You do have a bit of wall up, Evie.”

  “No I don't,” I splutter, trying to act cool. But if there's anything I'm not, it's cool.

  “You're an eight out of ten, easy,” Hayden says through the wall.

  I can't help but laugh. Eight out ten? Eight out of ten's don't spend Saturday nights alone eating reheated takeaway from Friday night. “You guys are sweet. But total liars.”

  Mel shakes her head. “If you acted more like the eight you are, then suitors would start showing up everywhere. Guys like confidence.” She flicks her blonde hair.

  “Suitors?” I giggle.

  Mel snorts as she meets my eye. “You should wear something sexy tonight. Go for it. And if the date goes to shit, at least you'll get a good story out of it for the magazine.”

  Jody the helicopter hovers by and I duck my head, pretending to read Mike's profile which is still up on the screen.

  I notice that he's online. I guess he has more than one date lined up this week too. I better make an effort. Who knows? Maybe I could meet someone worthwhile on here.
/>
  ***

  On my way home I swing by the local shopping centre to buy a new outfit for my date. I decide on a coral-coloured skater dress that skims over my hips. It brightens the paleness of my skin which is an added bonus.

  Back at my flat, I shower and shave my legs. The nerves really kick in at six o'clock. I've planned to meet him in a bar in central London. Very safe, lots of people. Unlike tomorrow's date. I've been wondering whether I should bring a friend for safety. But I'm still debating that.

  My phone buzzes on the arm of the beige sofa-bed which is currently folded away. I find a message from Mike.

  Something's come up. Can we reschedule?

  I glare at the phone, my heart beating a little too hard. Who cancels a date an hour before we're meant to meet? Arsehole. A little voice in the back of my head says, he probably found you on Facebook and knows what you really look like. I push the confidence-crushing thought away. Maybe he genuinely had something come up?

  My subconscious snorts at me. Oh shut up.

  I tap out a quick message to Mel.

  Cute Mike just bailed on me. He wants to reschedule. Should I bother? Or is he an A-hole? X

  I chuck my phone back onto the sofa and go to my wardrobe which is tucked into the corner of the room. The bottom drawer is falling apart. Stupid Ikea. I yank it out and fall on my arse. Stupid, stupid Ikea. I grab a pair of jogging bottoms out of the drawer and tug them on, pairing them with a baggy t-shirt.

  I turn to the wine bottle on the small coffee table in front of the sofa-bed. “I guess it's just me and you tonight, then?”