Girl After Dark

by Charlotte Eve

  “Of course I do, Honey,” he quips back. “I’ve got a mirror, haven’t I? And anyway, darling,” he continues, giving me a quick glance up and down, “you’ve not turned out so bad yourself!”

  “Thanks,” I blush, looking away for a moment.

  “Now, now,” he says softly. “That English modesty may well be very becoming back in London, but it’s not very New York now, is it? You’re here in the States, sister. You’re gonna have to learn to own it.”

  Of course, I noticed it immediately. Almost the moment he walked in, in fact. But the way he’s talking now, there’s just no denying it. And almost as if he can read my mind, he blurts it out.

  “Well, Honeybee. Better get you up to speed. It’s been a couple of years, after all. Your dad’s now pathetically single, my mother has lost all the weight, oh, and in case you hadn’t noticed? I’m gay.”

  “I think it might be obvious,” I stage-whisper back.

  “So how about you?” he continues happily, obviously so comfortable now in his own skin. “I can’t help but noticing that you’ve come over here on your lonesome. I take it that means things aren’t going so great with you and The Doctor?”

  At even this jokey mention of Will, I feel that now-familiar frustration and sadness rise up in me once again.

  “Good guess,” I say quietly. And I wonder how much Jonathan already knows about my situation — from my dad, or worse … from the internet. But if he does know anything more, thankfully he keeps my most recent fall from grace tactfully quiet.

  “Well,” he says, “the good news is, New York is the best place in the world to date. It’s practically a full time job for some people over here. They take it really seriously.”

  “Yeah, but where do I even start?” I sigh. “I’m not looking for anything serious, just yet. I just want to have some fun for once.”

  “That’s no problem either!” he smiles back. “This city is also chock full of commitment-phoebes, if that’s your bag!”

  “Sounds perfect,” I reply with a laugh. “Sign me up.”

  “Well, for starters, you’ve joined Tinder, right?” he says, as if this is the completely obvious thing for a girl like me to do.

  “Do you mean that app that shows you pictures of all the single people near you? The one where you swipe left for ‘no’ and right for ‘yes’? And it lets you know if you both like each other, yeah? You’ve got that here, too?” I reply, surprised. “Some of my friends have used that back in London, but …”

  “Of course we have Tinder!” he interrupts with a laugh. “This is New York, baby. We have everything.”

  §

  It’s the first thing I do, the very moment I get back to Dad’s apartment. I dash up to my room, slam the door firmly behind me, take my phone out of my bag, go to the App Store, search for Tinder, then press ‘GET’.

  As the app begins to install, I think back to my friends in London, those of them who used Tinder and internet dating in general.

  They always seemed to be ‘hooking up’ with people and having lots of casual fun (meaning sex, I guess) — something I’ve never really done before …

  But now I’m determined.

  I’m going to find someone. Someone tall, dark and handsome. And I’m going to have an anonymous one night stand with him.

  I smile as I realize exactly what my second Girl After Dark blog post is going to be about.

  But for a brief moment, my excitement is cut short, as the app demands that I log into Facebook, too. Really? Do I have to? I’ve not logged back in since I deleted Will … Around the same time I stopped checking my emails and other messages, too.

  But luckily, it doesn’t want me to log in completely. It just wants to use my profile pictures (and thank God, I’m able to select the ones without Will featured in them).

  And there’s one more thing to be thankful for, too: I’ve always wanted to keep my Facebook profile kind of private. After all, when practically everyone on the internet already knows who you are, you need some space just to hang out with your friends. So Melissa Lane doesn’t have a Facebook profile — but Honey B does.

  Finally, after what seems like forever, my Tinder account is all set up and ready to go. With a heady mixture of nerves and excitement, I hit the button to begin, the one that simply says:

  Start Playing …

  Carson: As soon as I saw your photo, I had to find out more. You’re beautiful.

  Honey B: Wow. Thanks! You don’t scrub up too badly yourself!

  Carson: I can tell by the way you write that you must be English. Correct?

  Honey B: Good guess.

  Carson: So, what’s a beautiful English girl doing in New York?

  Honey B: Actually? She doesn’t know yet. But she’s hoping to find out. Maybe you can help her?

  Carson: I’d love to be of assistance. But I have to be honest. There’s only so much I can do over instant message.

  Honey B: I agree. I’ve never done anything like this before.

  Carson: In that case, when am I going to hear that sexy accent in person?

  Honey B: *blushes* I don’t know. What exactly do you have in mind?

  Carson: Lots of things. But I don’t want to scare you. Let me take you for a coffee first and we could see where it leads?

  Honey B: Actually, no. I have something a little stronger in mind. After all, that’s what people *really* want when they’re on this thing, right?

  Carson: You surprise me. Your pictures — they’re all so innocent. I wasn’t expecting you to be quite this forward. But sure - if you want to cut to the chase, then where and when?

  Honey B: It’s going to happen like this. Tomorrow night, at exactly nine pm, I’m going to send you the address and room number of a hotel. I’ll be there, waiting. And one more thing - I don’t want to know anything more about you.

  §

  I drop my phone on the bed, staring in disbelief at the message I’ve just sent.

  Did I really just type that?

  My first few hours on Tinder had been fun and kind of innocent - I couldn’t quite believe how easy it was to get talking with people if you wanted to. You simply swiped your finger to the left if you didn’t like a photo of a guy. And to the right if you did.

  And wow - turns out there were some pretty cute guys in New York! From what I could tell, they took better care of themselves over here and they certainly dressed better.

  So, anyway, I’d liked a few guys, and they’d liked me back, but as soon as we started chatting, I’d been instantly turned off by their messages. It seems like there was no bigger passion killer for me than dreadful grammar and spelling!

  So Carson stood out pretty much immediately.

  For a start, his photo was gorgeous - the best of the lot. Tall, chiseled, not to mention immaculately dressed. But there was something kind of mysterious about him, too, something that made me want to know more. I found myself staring for a long time at his profile picture: his big, green-grey eyes, the intensity of his expression, his thick dark hair.

  “What’re you thinking, Carson?” I’d asked out loud to my empty bedroom.

  And as if in answer, he’d sent me that first message.

  He was charming, fun, flirty and his spelling and grammar were perfect.

  Even though my plan all along was to meet a guy for a one night stand, I had no idea how I was actually going to do that. But with Carson, it just seemed so right. One thing had led to another. His messages seemed to be daring me to do something outrageous — to be the one to take the next step.

  So I did.

  Now there’s just one problem left - I needed to book a hotel room, and pronto.

  §

  “Um, Dad?” I ask, tentatively, standing nervously in the doorway to the living room.

  “Yes, Honey?” he says, looking up from his copy of the New Yorker.

  “I’m going out with, um … with Jonathan tonight,” I say, “and I don’t know what time I’ll be back. But it’ll
probably be pretty late … So don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll just get a cab.”

  “Okay,” he says, “you kids have fun.”

  And this time, he doesn’t even look up from his magazine.

  I don’t know why I was so nervous about telling Dad I was going out. He’s so laid back. And even though I’m living with my Dad, I am an adult after all. Anyway, I remind myself, it’s not like Dad could read my mind and know that in reality I’m heading off to meet a stranger for sex in a hotel.

  As I get into a cab outside the apartment, I pull out my phone and text Jonathan:

  If anyone asks, I’m out with *you* tonight. Ok? X

  He replies just seconds later:

  Let me guess? A hot date? OMG! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! X

  §

  The hotel room is totally gorgeous. I’d booked it in a hurry, but it’s absolutely perfect. I wanted somewhere sleek and modern: no frills, no pink, and definitely nothing romantic. This place is minimalist — all cream and black — but still luxurious and best of all, there’s not a frill in sight.

  I’m wearing the hotel bathrobe as I perfect my makeup in the huge oval mirror hanging above the sink. As I expertly fill in my brows with pencil, all kinds of thoughts are rushing through my head:

  Am I making a mistake? Is this kind of dangerous? What if he’s a total creep?

  And so what if he is a creep, I tell myself. I don’t want to get to know him anyway, do I? He just needs to be as good looking in real life as he is in his photos and I’ll be happy.

  This is just physical. That’s all.

  I give myself a final look over in the large mirror on the wall. This is one of my best looks. I can’t help but smile as I imagine the video: ‘Vintage Honey - Anonymous Sex Makeup Look!’.

  I put the final touches to my look. I take my silver locket from around my neck — the one my mum gave me on my eighteenth birthday — and place it carefully on the bathroom shelf. This is another thing that belonged to the old me, anyway, and tonight I don’t want any reminders.

  I take off the fluffy white hotel bathrobe and slip into the black silk shorty robe that I’ve brought with me to match the underwear beneath. I bought all this just this afternoon. Like I said, nothing of the old me is here tonight.

  And finally I’m ready.

  Then the nerves hit me again: a flash-fire of panic.

  Am I out of my depth?

  But I’ve come so far, I just can’t back out now.

  But this is so unlike something I’d normally do.

  But that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

  Before I can change my mind, I grab my phone and send Carson a message. No ‘hi, how are you?’. No small talk. No names. Just the hotel’s name and the room number.

  And then … I wait.

  Girl After Dark

  Fantasy Number One: Anonymous Sex with a Hot Stranger in a Hotel Room

  “So?” he says. “Are we gonna fuck?”

  I stay silent, but even so, my heart’s beating so loud, I’m sure that he can hear it. I think about his question.

  Are we?

  I was the one who invited him here. So surely all I need to do is say one little word - yes. Because after all, that’s why we’re both here - for hot, anonymous sex - isn’t it?

  But if I say yes, then this is no longer just a fantasy. This is a reality.

  I felt so in control of my fantasy, but there’s something about this man that completely unstablises me. This was my plan, sure, but now he’s the one in control. And I know I have to give myself over to him. But even though I know all this, I just still don’t quite know how to actually say it, out loud, to tell him exactly what I want.

  Oh, and dear readers? Perhaps I should back up a little and let you know that this gorgeous man, standing above me, dressed immaculately in a beautifully tailored suit, is stroking my bare leg. And right now, I’m lying on the hotel bed wearing nothing more than by bra, panties and a silk dressing gown.

  I take a deep breath, knowing that soon I’m going to have to break this silence.

  There’s no point in denying it: I’m so turned on right now. It’s obvious. He must be able to tell. It feels like my skin is burning with anticipation. And with each subtle movement of his hand, further towards that secret place between my legs — well, yeah, it’s getting me hotter than ever.

  Already I can feel myself trembling beneath his touch, trembling and throbbing and yearning for him, and he hasn’t even really done anything yet.

  “Um … sure,” I say, knowing how silly and shy I sound.

  Why can’t I be the sexy confident girl that I know is hiding somewhere inside me?

  “You don’t sound sure,” he says.

  And as he speaks, his hand begins to move further up my thigh, slipping beneath the edge of my gown, his fingertips lightly brushing over the flimsy silky of my panties, expertly finding that part of me that’s throbbing so hard now.

  “I am,” I reply, hearing the tremor in my voice as his fingers begin to work me softly and slowly through the silk of my panties, tracing back and forth between my throbbing clit and the swelling lips of my sex.

  I gasp, I can’t help it.

  But the stranger keeps on talking as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. “Good,” he says, as his fingers press more urgently against me now, hooking around my panties now and tugging them roughly to one side, exposing me. “Because I’m totally certain about what I want to do to you.”

  And I find myself spreading my legs, my whole body shivering as I wait for his next move.

  But he takes me by surprise, suddenly backing away again, taking his hands off me and holding them out, palms up.

  “But If you’re not certain,” he says, “I will respect that.”

  Until he took his touch away, I didn’t realise quite how much I wanted it — how much I was enjoying it.

  And now I’m no longer uncertain. In fact, nothing is going to stop me from getting what I want.

  I raise myself up onto the bed, onto my knees, and grab his hand by the wrists. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I say quietly, guiding his hand back between my legs.

  He raises an eyebrow in surprise at my sudden move, then reaches his other hand behind my back, easily pulling me towards the edge of the bed, so that I’m sitting there, my legs parted, my back arched, and my gown open at my waist now, my sex fully exposed.

  My heart is pounding as he kneels before me, his head moving confidently between my legs, his big green-grey eyes still locking onto mine, his thumb keeping my panties pulled to one side.

  “Well, if you’re certain” he whispers with a smile, and this time, I feel the heat of his breath against my clit, sending a fresh shiver of anticipation right through me.

  I’m about to speak, but just then his tongue touches to my sex, licking upwards in a long sensuous motion, and all I can do is gasp.

  My hands move into his hair and my thighs clamp softly around his head as he begins to kiss me, encircling my throbbing clit with his tongue, sucking me right between his lips, my eyes closing in pleasure as I feel the first sensations of my fast-approaching orgasm.

  And with each lap of his, I feel a fresh shiver of pleasure. He really knows what he’s doing …

  And just then, I remember what I’m doing.

  I’ve only known this guy for five minutes and how he’s between my legs, pleasuring me.

  But this thought doesn’t turn me off — if anything, it gets me even hotter.

  I moan again, my orgasm now cresting through me, flashing out around my whole body and I clamp my legs tight around his head as my body bucks from the sheer force of my pleasure.

  And he keeps his lips fixed firmly around my clit, his tongue pressing against it, until my trembling and shivering has subsided.

  “You taste so sweet,” he murmurs, pulling himself away and piercing me once more with those eyes, burning now with such desire that it sends another thrill ri
ght through me.

  And now, of course, I want to know how he tastes, too.

  Now it’s my turn to take control.

  I push myself back onto the bed, slipping my silk robe from my shoulders, feeling his hungry eyes travel over my body, hoping I’m turning him on just as much as all this is turning me on. And as I move, I can feel just how damp my panties have become — how ready for him I must be by now.

  But first, before we skip to the main event, I want to have a little more fun with him.

  “So,” I say, trying to sound cool and confident. “Are you going to keep that suit on all night?”

  At this he smiles, just as I’d hoped, then nods as if accepting the challenge.

  I can’t help but take a breath as he slips his blazer from his broad, strong shoulders, uncovering his athletic frame beneath — shown off perfectly by his crisp white perfectly tailored shirt.

  He starts to unbutton it, but I find myself interrupting, the words flying from my mouth: “Wait!”

  He stops, looks at me quizzically.

  “Why not let me do that?” I explain in a purr.

  Again he smiles, and I feel another flash of excitement as he takes a step towards me, positioning himself at the edge of the bed.

  I crawl towards him on my hands and knees, every inch of me now the sex kitten I want to be, feeling his hungry gaze on my body — on my ass.

  Then I sit back on my haunches and slowly, playfully, at my own pace, begin to unbutton his shirt, slipping each little button carefully through its crisp little buttonhole — uncovering inch after inch of velvet smooth skin beneath.

  He’s ripped too — totally toned, way more than any other guy I’ve been with (not that there have been many).

  But my stranger doesn’t need to know this, now does he?

  For all he knows, I’m a dirty filthy little slut who does stuff like this seven nights a week.