Girl After Dark

by Charlotte Eve

  “You know what?” he says happily. “I’m gonna take all of these! Good work, kiddo!”

  And as we turn to head to the registers to pay, I can’t help feel my thoughts shooting back to Carson — knowing he’s just there, just meters away from me …

  And for the second time in as many weeks, I realise I’m about to walk out on him.

  Again.

  I know this seems completely crazy — walking out on the guy that I can’t seem to get out of my head, the very same guy who was supposed to be a one night stand but haunts my dreams instead, the guy I worried I would never see again … I run into him again in a city of eight million people and I still walk away from him?

  Well, I can’t quite explain it.

  But I have this feeling, you see, kind of like destiny.

  I think Carson will be able to find me — will come for me — when I’m ready.

  And when I am, I promise I won’t walk away again.

  “Want you to make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world,” insists Rihanna through my stereo speakers as I put the final touches to my makeup.

  I’m rocking a perfect, sultry smoky eye. I look sophisticated and confident, even if I’m a ball of nervous energy on the inside.

  “Like I’m the only girl that you’ll ever love,” I join in with her, dancing around my bedroom as I collect my bag, my purse, my keys.

  “Like I’m the only one who knows your heart …”

  In this moment, all my recent troubles and worries are forgotten — right now I’m just a girl, getting ready for a good time.

  As I go to close my laptop, I hear the ping of a notification: one new comment on Girl After Dark.

  It’s at the bottom of my ‘Striptease Adventure’ post.

  Prince_C: Your writing is exquisite. While I couldn’t see your dance, you brought it to life for me with your words. I can picture you so clearly. I’ll treasure that image until the day you dance for me.

  Wow. I mean, I love getting comments — it’s still such a thrill. But for some reason this one really does it for me.

  I’ve never felt so alive, so aware of all the possibilities out there in this city.

  I mean, for one, I honestly thought that Carson was a one-off thing, but after our run in at the fitting rooms, I’m not so sure.

  There was such urgency in our kiss, I felt on the verge of giving in to our strongest desires right there and then. It was crazy. And it took all my energy and resolve to get out of that store as quickly as I could, without giving away anything more about myself - about who I really am.

  In fact, it felt like fate, the moment his hand touched mine.

  Is the world trying to tell me something? Like it wants me to know that he’s the one.

  But it just feels too soon.

  After all, I’ve only just come out of a serious relationship with the man I thought I was going to marry. It would be way too dangerous to get emotionally involved again, so quickly.

  I want to have some fun — and I remind myself that there are more people than just Carson out there in the world.

  My mind turns once more to Prince_C. Who is he, for example? He could be anyone. He seems really into me. And I wonder if perhaps we’ll meet someday, somehow ...

  And then of course, craziest of all, possibility number three isn’t even a guy. I’d never even thought I would be into girls, but I’m hungry — I want to experience everything — and there’s no denying the connection between Mistress Helena and me.

  Because that’s where I’m going this evening, as I slip out of my room and pad down the stairs, hoping my dad doesn’t catch me, hoping I don’t have to make up some lame excuse about where I’m headed this evening, dressed like …

  But of course, just then, I hear his voice. “Where are you going, Honey Bee?”

  “Oh, just out,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Dressed like that?”

  I nervously tug the hem of my miniskirt down over my thighs. There’s no denying, it’s a pretty small skirt. But then I remember: I’m an adult, and I can wear what I like.

  “Dad, it’s two thousand and fifteen!” I say. Everyone dresses like this. Get with the program … as you Americans say!”

  “Come on! I’m your dad. You know I’m going to worry. I need a little more information. Where exactly are you going, for example?”

  I debate whether to lie again – tell him I was just going to meet Jonathan. But I’d been playing a dangerous game using Jonathan like that. If his mom spoke to my dad, I’d be rumbled and well, it just wouldn’t be worth it. So this time I decide to bend the truth a little instead.

  “It’s like this,” I begin. “You know how my, erm, journalism career didn’t go so well back in London?”

  I don’t know exactly what he knows. I’d had to tell my mum everything, of course; I was too much of a mess. But I think she just told him that I’d broken up with Will and decided to quit my job.

  “Well, I’m looking for new writing work,” I continue. “And while I was out with Jonathan the other night, I met someone who I thought might help with my career. So I’m going to meet her to help discuss it. Sound okay?”

  “Of course it does,” he replies with a smile.

  And I smile back — after all, none of that was a lie now, was it?

  “Well, okay, my little English rose. Stay safe.”

  “I will …” I say, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek, sweet as anything.

  But as I head out into the street, I wonder just what exactly I’m letting myself in for.

  §

  The place Mistress Helena has chosen for our meeting is the dark, brooding lounge bar at the Algonquin hotel− the famous meeting place of the razor-sharp-witted Dorothy Parker and her circle. And as I step into that dimly lit room, I wonder if one day I could be a real writer like her, too.

  I scan the room, looking for Helena (if that’s even her real name?), but she’s not here.

  I could have guessed that. She seems like the fashionably late type. Unlike me; always so on-time, so buttoned-up.

  Maybe I need to take a leaf out of her book, I think as I nervously take a seat. And just seconds later a sharp-suited waiter comes to take my drink order.

  I panic.

  I mean, I usually drink white wine, but that seems kind of unsophisticated here. Maybe I should order a martini? But would that even be the right thing, either?!

  “Actually,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady so as not to betray my nerves, “I’m meeting somebody. So I’ll wait, thank you.”

  As the waiter retreats back to the bar, leaving me once more to my thoughts, I think about how silly I’m being. I’m as nervous as a schoolgirl.

  Just then, I hear a voice. “Mind if I join you?”

  I look up and it’s Helena, of course.

  She’s dressed in one of her signature Yves Saint Laurent suits with a crisp white shirt beneath, the immaculate fit of her clothes giving an enticing suggestion of her slim but sensual figure beneath.

  I’ve always admired that semi-androgynous Tilda Swinton look. It’s never been something that I’d be able to pull off myself, but Helena (or whatever she’s really called) is totally working it.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I say once she’s slid into the seat opposite.

  “Sure,” she smiles back. “Fire away.”

  “Helena,” I say. “Is it a stage name, or your real name?”

  “Well,” she grins. “Is ‘Honey’ yours?”

  I can’t help but smile back.

  “Good point,” I say.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been hung up on what a person’s name really is,” she purrs in explanation. “It’s a lot more fun to be whoever you want to be, in the moment, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Drinks, ladies?” the waiter asks again, suddenly standing there once again at our table.

  “The cocktails here are delicious,” she whispers to me across the table, her eyes glimmering.
“A Dorothy Parker for me, please,” she says, turning to the waiter.

  He nods then turns his attention to me, and I look to Helena for help, still so confused about what to order.

  She whispers in my ear once again, “The Dorothy Parker is delicious. Gin, lemon juice, basil and of course … honey. I’d highly recommend it.”

  I look to the waiter. “The same for me, please,” I say.

  “Two Dorothy Parkers coming right up,” he say with a polite smile, before leaving us once more alone.

  And I realise that the air seems charged now with a new, electric intensity.

  “I, um, love Dorothy Parker’s writing,” I say, nervously, feeling like I want to fill in the brooding pulsing silence.

  “As do I,” Helena nods with a knowing smile.

  Pleased to find this common ground, I smile and quote one of my favourite Dorothy Parker poems. “You might as well live … right?”

  “Exactly,” says Helena. “And boy do I intend to live!”

  And now we’ve seemed to establish some common ground, conversation starts to flow and my nerves begin to melt away.

  Helena is absolutely fascinating — she tells me all about her adventures at Art School, and all the crazy performance pieces she’s participated in over the years.

  “Oh my God!” I laugh at one point. “So you mean you ran naked through Union Square?”

  “Absolutely Honey,” she replies, “and I’d do it again tomorrow!”

  And she was right about the Dorothy Parker cocktail, too. It’s delicious. Before I know it, I’m on my second, and all my inhibitions are fast dissolving.

  “What about you?” she asks, raising a perfectly-plucked eyebrow. “What made you bare all on the stage?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, honestly, unable to put the feeling quite into words. And when I remember the girl that did that — stripping off in front of a whole room full of strangers, and enjoying it — I feel like I’m remembering someone else. Did I really do that? “I think I’m just experimenting,” I explain. “It feels like I’ve got so much still to discover about myself …”

  “Well,” she says. “If you want to experiment further, I only live a few blocks from here.”

  The whole evening has been leading up to this moment; I’m not stupid. I know that. But even so, I’m still shocked by how forward she is.

  “Look,” she continues, “It’s pretty clear you’ve not done anything like this before, and I know that you’re nervous, but I can also tell that you’re curious. We can go as far as you want, and I promise I won’t bite … Unless, that is, you ask me to.”

  I pause, glancing towards the exit, then back at Helena, her beautiful porcelain skin, her shining black eyes.

  I take a deep breath and then I give my answer …

  Girl After Dark: Girl on Girl

  Do you want to know the best thing about going home with another woman, dear readers?

  You can borrow all her beauty products in the morning.

  I’m joking. Of course that wasn’t the best thing about my night with The Lady. So sit back, relax, and let me tell you all the juicy details …

  I’m not going to tell you how exactly I met her, but what I will tell you is this: she’s way more worldly than me. She’s dressed in a way that both shows off and also conceals her figure and as she moves elegantly around her beautifully furnished apartment to fix us some drinks, I find my eyes straying hungrily towards her, wondering exactly what her body looks like beneath those tempting layers.

  My head is already a little dizzy — both from the delicious cocktails we’ve consumed before we came here and also from my nerves and excitement.

  After all, I’ve done *nothing* with another woman before and now here I am at The Lady’s apartment and, I don’t know if I’ve made this clear enough yet, there’s no misunderstanding as to what we’re about to do next.

  You see this woman is totally bold and confident in her sexuality — in expressing exactly what she wants.

  And she’s invited me here for one thing and one thing only …

  My stomach is buzzing with excitement and my palms have gone all clammy as I watch her moving so gracefully across the room towards me. I look into her eyes, so large and emerald green. I want her, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to make a move. I feel totally frozen with nerves suddenly.

  She steps towards me, so that there are only inches between us now, and I can smell her perfume – Chanel No. 5; a classic scent. Everything about her seems classic.

  She reaches out and takes my hand, guiding it confidently between her legs — and through the fabric of her pants, I can distinguish the intense heat of her sex. She guides my fingers, showing me just the speed she wants me to tease her, and as I obey, I feel a shiver of excitement as I watch her eyes close in pleasure, a soft sigh escaping her thin lips as she bucks her hips a little in response.

  Then she brings her face right towards mine and I too close my eyes as she kisses me, pressing her mouth against mine, her tongue flicking against my own.

  The Lady kisses much more slowly and sensuously than any boy and I feel myself melting with desire.

  As we kiss, I subtly begin to increase the movements of my fingers, hoping I’m getting her off, trying to respond to the speed of her kisses, gently working her through the fabric of her pants. And after a moment she gasps, and I feel her shiver and tremble in my arms — her tongue pushing hard into my mouth.

  Has she just come? I wonder.

  As if in answer, she pulls away from our kiss, her eyes opening once more — gleaming now with a mischievous new energy. It seems as if suddenly all her focus has switched to me.

  Hurriedly, almost feverishly, she begins to tug at my clothes, wanting me undressed as quickly as possible.

  So I help her out, pulling off my dress with trembling fingers, unclasping my bra, stepping nervously out of my panties, feeling my nipples harden quickly in the cool air and the goosebumps flashing out across my skin.

  “Sit down,” she says — no, commands — nodding to the plush velvet chair in the corner.

  I do exactly as I’m told, then sit nervously, watching her prowl towards me.

  As she walks, she unbuttons her silky blouse, revealing the semi-transparent lace cups of her bra, her nipples small dark ovals beneath.

  And when she reaches the couch she kneels before me, bringing her face eagerly between my legs, her hands parting my thighs. I arch my back and close my eyes as The Lady moves her mouth towards that secret place right at the centre of me, gently touching the tip of her tongue against my swollen cleft. I sigh softly and buck my hips a little as she began to lick me — so much more gently and sensuously than any boy.

  As she laps and sucks, I feel my nipples stiffen even more, growing almost painfully hard from the combination of excitement and the cool air of her apartment.

  And still with her mouth pressed to my sex, The Lady’s hands move up towards my breasts, teasing fresh pleasure from the stiff dark buds of my nipples. I gasp and shudder again, my body bucking a little.

  I reach down, urging her to come upwards for a moment, wanting to kiss her on the mouth again.

  And when she complies, pushing her lips eagerly against mine once more, I realise I can taste myself on them — sweet as honey.

  My hand moved eagerly to her small breasts as we kiss, scooping them from her bra, finding her nipples just as erect as my own. It feels so strange, but so good, to touch a body as soft and gently and feminine as my own.

  But even though I want to keep touching her like that, The Lady obviously has other ideas and is soon pulling away, moving her kisses downwards once more, her mouth first closing over my left nipple then my right, her tongue expertly coaxing further shivers from my sensitive puckered buds.

  Then her tongue begins flicking over my belly before coming to rest on my engorged clit once more. This time she sucks it right into her mouth, clamping it between her lips, and I cry out in pleasure as she beg
ins to work her tongue in fast circles around it, increasing the trembling, orgasmic feeling that is already building in my tummy.

  I thrust myself back against her, arching my back, riding her face, and in response she sucks and laps even harder at my clit, as she gently slips first one then two fingers inside me.

  There’s an intense electric pause as if the whole world stands still, as I lock eyes with her for a moment, both of us gazing deep into each other’s eyes, before she returns her attention to me with an even greater intensity than before, her fingers moving in a steady rhythm, her eyes closing as she laps and licks, laps and licks, until my pleasure hits me all at once, rocketing through me in an all-consuming flash.

  I squeal out my ecstasy as the orgasm hits.

  And afterwards, dear readers, I sprawl back in my seat, my head still spinning as I realise just *how* good oral pleasure can be if done properly.

  You see, my last proper boyfriend? Well, he’d never even really liked doing it — not the way The Lady obviously did.

  And from now on, I think to myself with a gleeful little smile, I’m not gonna stand for substandard oral pleasure.

  This is a call to arms, ladies!

  Demand more from your partners! There’s a whole world of pleasure waiting out there for you, if only you’re brave enough to seek it out.

  §

  Within minutes of this blog going online, the comments come flooding in. Even though I’d experienced it once before — back with VintageHoney — it’s still such a thrill, such a surprise. And this time, I know just what it means: getting such a quick reaction to a post.

  It means I have readers … Actual readers who are feverishly waiting for whatever I’m willing to share with them.

  And a quick check of my blog’s stat-counter page tells me the exact same story: 10,150 page views, and that’s just today! And visitors from all around the world — Sri Lanka, America, Mexico, Australia, even … eek, the UK!

  Next, I check the comments. There are twelve, already, but my eye is immediately drawn to the third down, which seems to stand out from the rest, perhaps because it’s written once more by my mysterious admirer, Prince_C: