Girl After Dark

by Charlotte Eve

  “I wish you’d told me sooner,” he says. “I’m just angry that somebody betrayed your trust like that, is all. I would never do anything like that to you. I’m glad you felt able to tell me. If I could get my hands on that little twerp I’d wring his neck. But I’m just going to have to settle for being grateful that his stupid actions sent you here to me — into my arms.”

  I feel a huge wave of relief flood through me.

  “You aren’t the first person this has happened to, by any means,” he continues. “It’s called Revenge Porn. The internet is flooded with images and videos of girls, all posted by skeezy ex-boyfriends. I wish I could tell you that the law could protect you in this situation. But I’m afraid the law hasn’t quite caught up to this just yet.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say with a sad smile, remembering all my panicked telephone calls to my lawyer, back when the video was first posted.

  And I know I should probably tell him about Esme now, too, but that seems like a whole different conversation. Right now I’m just glad that he’s being so understanding about all this and hasn’t judged me.

  “I’m so lucky I have you,” I say, hugging him tight.

  “I could say the exact same thing,” he replies.

  Next morning, my mobile chirps into life. One new message, from Carson:

  I know you’ve been anxious about things. I want to prove to you that your happiness is all that matters to me. So I’m sending a car round to pick you up at 8. I’m going to cook for us. I’m a pretty good cook. But maybe you could bring desert?

  So I spend the afternoon baking cupcakes — and I even rope in Dad to help, too.

  “Hey, we should have Carson round for dinner some time like I promised him,” he suggests as we’re cleaning up the kitchen afterwards.

  “Sure,” I say. “I’d really like that. You know, things are going really well with him. So I’m glad you like him too.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. But Honey,” he says, his face growing serious. “There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  Oh no, I think. What now?

  “Since your love life is back on track, isn’t it about time you thought a little about your career too?”

  “Oh!” I say, smiling when I realise he’s not about to tell me he doesn’t like Carson after all. “Well actually, I’ve been looking into Creative Writing programs and I’ve applied to the MFA at NYU. I really like writing but I’d like to write about someone who isn’t me for a change. But as you know, those courses are so hard to get on and even if I was successful, it wouldn’t start until the Fall. But in the meantime, I’m going to work hard on my writing - maybe even attend a few informal writers workshops. I’m in the right city, after all …”

  “I’m glad to hear it!” Dad says. “You’ve always been so good at writing. I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  I hand him a freshly-baked cupcake, still warm to the touch, and say, “So, what are you doing tonight?”

  “Same as always.”

  I know by that he means staying in alone, listening to jazz and reading the New York Review of Books.

  “This is tragic, Dad,” I say. “We’ve got to find you a girlfriend.”

  “I’m a lost cause, I think, Honey.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I reply.

  “Whatever you’re planning, stop it!” he laughs. “I can see right through you. You have to understand that I’m not a project to keep you busy until you start school again in the Fall!”

  §

  Carson greets me at the door to his apartment. He’s wearing an apron over his shirt and I can’t help but laugh.

  But it’s for a good reason: he says he’s cooked us an absolutely amazing dinner.

  I hand him my cupcakes with a sheepish smile. “It’s not exactly haute cuisine but I’ve used my special recipe and they’re really scrummy!”

  “Scrummy?” he repeats, raising one eyebrow.

  He leads me in and tells me to sit down, and I gasp when I see the table. It’s laid out beautifully — and he’s gone to just as much trouble with the food too.

  He’s prepared a full, three course meal with matched wines - scallops to start, roast duck for main course, and then my cupcakes to finish.

  I wish now that I’d prepared something a little more impressive. But it’s my tried-and-tested recipe and I know they taste really good.

  Even though Esme’s attempt at blackmail has failed, my conversation with her is still obviously on my mind.

  “Think you’ll ever join the family firm?” I can’t help but ask him, as we’re finishing the main course, sitting across from each other, the lights of the city sparkling outside his windows.

  “Actually?” he says. “It sounds kind of corny, but what I really want to do is set up my own charity. And if I do, I need somebody by my side who doesn’t care about money. Nothing like the kind of girls my stepmother wants me to marry.”

  Like Maria Vanderbilt, I think.

  Carson gestures around him at the beautiful apartment. “I have all this,” he says. “I already have so much. If I wanted to, I wouldn’t even need to work. The family money is very well looked after and incredibly well invested. But I want to make a difference, Melissa. And when I do, I’ll need a woman by my side who is also driven and wants to do her own thing.”

  I smile.

  “Sounds like someone I know,” I joke.

  “Oh yeah?” he grins back, taking a step towards me, his hands resting lightly on my hips.

  “She’s driven alright,” I whisper back, my hand now slipping beneath his shirt, my fingertips stroking his toned abs, “and she definitely knows what she wants …”

  His hands take me by surprise, moving to my ass and lifting me right up off the floor in one easy motion. I gasp, throwing my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders as he kisses me, walking us back towards the large L-shaped couch in the middle of the room.

  He lays me down on it, my legs still wrapped around him, his kisses moving to my neck now, his hands feverishly pulling at my dress, threatening to rip it with his eagerness.

  I’m just as eager, pulling at his shirt, tugging at his belt, wanting him naked, now.

  And as he pulls himself reluctantly off me to take off his shirt and pants, I get that same thrill all over again as I set eyes on his perfect body, as gorgeous as any swimwear model —toned, athletic and sexy as hell.

  Tonight there’s no teasing, no foreplay — he’s back on top of me in a flash, the very moment I’ve got the last of my clothes off my body, his mouth against my neck, his hands cupping my ass, lifting me off the couch a little way as he guides himself inside me, stretching me so wide, filling me so deeply with his hotness.

  And for once I actually say out-loud the things I want him to do. “Fuck me, Carson,” I whisper in his ear. “Please. Fuck me hard.”

  He responds with a groan, urging himself even deeper inside me, his whole body tensing as he does just as I ask, harder and faster with each thrust, my hands on his ass now too, the moans escaping my lips as I feel that familiar electricity building within me.

  It’s as if he can sense it, too, because he goes even harder then, our kisses becoming feverish, my nails clawing at his back as I cry out, my body trembling and bucking as I come, hard.

  “I’m so close too,” he murmurs, a few moments later.

  And this time, another naughty idea flashes through my head.

  “I want to taste you,” I whisper in his ear.

  So he pulls himself back off me, and soon I’m the one on top, my whole body still trembling as I work my kisses down over his chest and then with a gasp I take his hot hardness in my mouth, tasting my own sweetness on him, feeling how damned hard he is now -- how close. I only have to jack him a couple of times before he pulses against my tongue, his hot cream flooding my throat, his hands fondling my breasts, my eyes closed as I gulp him back, still shuddering from my own electric pleasure …

  �
��I hope that wasn’t too ... intense?” I murmur afterwards, snuggling up into him, my head against his chest.

  “What are you talking about?” he laughs. “That was incredible!”

  It’s crazy how safe I feel in his arms right now; so complete.

  “I’m really, really happy,” I whisper, toying with the hair on his chest.

  “Me too,” he replies, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek.

  There’s this pause, and I want to say it: I want to say the L Word, it’s on the very tip of my tongue ...

  But for some reason – maybe fear that it’ll freak him out or scare him off – I stay silent.

  §

  Next morning, and for once Carson doesn’t have to disappear off to work. In fact, we’re having a lazy morning in bed — drinking coffee and eating the leftover cupcakes.

  We’re even watching the Gilmore Girls on his laptop, too. It’s my favourite and despite Carson making out like he’s not a fan, he seems to strangely know a lot about all the characters, which leads me to suspect that he’s seen more of it before than he’s letting on …

  And maybe it’s because of the show, but just then our conversation turns towards small towns.

  We’ve both grown up in cities, but Carson’s parents have always had country houses, too.

  “My nan had a caravan in Rhyll,” I joke.

  “What does that even mean?” he laughs back.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I don’t expect you to understand. It’s just this seaside resort in Wales. It’s kind of tacky, basically the opposite of the Hamptons. And if you’re a very good boy, I promise I’ll never take you there.”

  He laughs.

  “Anyway,” I continue, “how about you let me take you for another walk this morning?”

  As much as I’m enjoying lazing around in bed with him, the sunlight is spilling through the blinds and I can just see that it’s a really beautiful day out there.

  “I’d be honored,” Carson replies.

  “In that case,” I say, “I’m just gonna go and take a quick shower.”

  Carson’s en suite bathroom is just as fancy as the rest of his apartment — a large walk-in shower and wet room. But even though this is the case, I wash quickly, not wanting to be separated from him for too long.

  I run happily back into the room, eager to rejoin Carson, my face bare of makeup, my hair damp, but immediately I can tell something’s changed.

  Even though he’s sitting with his back to me on the bed, there’s something different. Something cold about him. The atmosphere has totally transformed. And it’s not until I see what’s on the screen of his laptop — not Gilmore Girls anymore but Girl After Dark — that I understand what’s happened.

  He turns round to face me and he looks so hurt, so wounded.

  “I thought I could trust you,” he says, quietly.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice shaking. “I know I said I’d stopped it but … I felt bad because there were all these people who still read it, and they felt like my friends and I didn’t want to let them down. I thought that if I just wrote a couple more posts then it would be fine. Honestly, I’d already planned to stop it. You have to believe me.”

  “How could you?” he replies.

  “I told you, I thought they were my friends …”

  “I don’t care about your so-called friends,” he snaps. “I care about the fact that you spent a night with somebody else. With a stranger in the park. I thought we’d agreed to be exclusive, Melissa?”

  “No, no, no!” I cry. “You don’t understand! It’s creative writing! I made it all up. That didn’t actually happen …”

  “You expect me to believe that? You don’t know me,” he quotes from my very first post. “Nobody does. I’m not going to tell you my name, not ever. But what I am going to tell you is the truth … Of course it happened!”

  I’m shaking now. So scared I’m losing him. I don’t even quite know what’s happening. I never for a minute thought that he’d believe those posts were real. And now I feel dizzy and sick. But I know I need to try and explain …

  “It was all the truth at first,” I say quickly, “but then I met you and things started to get serious. When I said I was done with Girl After Dark, I meant I was done with sexual experimentation. But I really enjoyed writing. So I decided to get creative. It’s all fiction, Carson, I swear.”

  “How can I believe you?” he snaps. “Esme was right, I don’t know you at all.”

  “Carson, please,” I sob, running to him, putting my arms around him. “You have to believe me …”

  But he pushes me away.

  “Get out,” he says, then falls silent, and even though I’m sobbing and pleading, he doesn’t say another word.

  I fall silent too, the air cold in the apartment.

  I’ve really lost him, haven’t I?

  I quietly pick up my things and leave his apartment, my hair still wet, my face still without makeup.

  I step out onto the sunny street — that same street I’d hoped we’d be walking down together, hand in hand — dazed and shocked, my head spinning.

  He’s gone. Gone for good. And it’s all my fault.

  His words are still ringing in my head:

  How can I believe you?

  Esme was right, I don’t know you at all.

  Get out.

  Here I am on my bed, eyes puffy from crying, laptop open in front of me. And I’m staring at Skyscanner – at the next available one-way flight from New York back to London.

  I’ve got the money. I’ve got my passport. I’ve even packed my holdall. I could just jump on a plane and forget everything. I mean, I’ve done it before, haven’t I?

  When things got tough in London, I ran away from my problems. And it worked, didn’t it, for a while, at least? I suppose when it comes down to it, well, I’m just a coward.

  With an involuntary move of my arm, I reach up to my neck, my fingertips once again grazing the brushed silver of the locket and key charm hanging there.

  Carson.

  But this time around, I realise, things are different. When I sat on that plane, just a few short weeks ago, from New York to London, crying my eyes out, unable to see the future, I had been betrayed and let down by somebody else. But now? This isn’t somebody else, setting out to ruin my life. No. This time, I’ve brought this all upon myself — and I need to face the consequences.

  I slam the laptop shut decisively.

  I’m not going to run away from my problems anymore. This time, I’m going to stay right here and face the music.

  I get up from the bed and walk over to the mirror, then stand staring at myself head-on, wondering who I even am anymore.

  Am I just plain old Melissa?

  Am I Vintage Honey?

  Am I Girl After Dark?

  Am I the girl that Carson thought I was — the girl he fell for in the first place?

  And you know what? For the first time, I kind of feel like I’m all those girls at the same time, like they’re all different parts of me, and it’s as if this sudden clarity comes over me as I realise just what I’ve got to do next.

  I’ve got to tell the truth for once.

  So I return to my bed, sit down, and turn on my laptop once more.

  Then I take a deep breath, click open Girl After Dark, and begin to type …

  §

  Girl After Dark: An Apology

  When I began this journey, I promised you, my dear readers, complete and total honesty. But I’ve not quite lived up to that promise. And for that I can only apologise. I hope you all understand what I am about to tell you, and why I did what I did. When it began, this blog was supposed to be a journey of sexual discovery. A previously inhibited, naive, buttoned-up and prim girl, on the thrills of finding herself in a different bed every night. And that’s how it was at first. It was exciting. I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed my adventures. But what really took me by surprise? It was you guys. I was overwhelmed by
your response. By your kind words of encouragement. By your honesty. And by the way you opened up to your own fantasies, too.

  What this was never supposed to be was a “Girl Meets Boy” fairy story. I never in a million years expected that while writing this blog, I would be swept off my feet by my very own Prince Charming.

  Dear readers, he was perfect. Everything a girl could wish for. The kind of man you only find in Mills & Boon romances. He was handsome, kind, caring. Yes, he was rich, but more importantly he was idealistic. He trusted me - he looked deep into my eyes and asked me to go on a journey with him, just the two of us, to see where this wild romance might take us.

  And I abused that trust.

  I threw it all away.

  I threw it all away because I was drunk on your friendship, dear readers. You see, when my Prince Charming asked me to be exclusive, I told him ‘Yes’ in a heartbeat. But I also told him that the blog - this blog - was over.

  And it was over, in a way.

  I was no longer meeting up with new people every night for my adventures. But I was having the most amazing sex of my life. So I distorted the truth a little. And I’m sorry to have to tell you that the last few entries on my blog have been more Creative Writing than honest fact, and the very last one was total fiction.

  So, goodbye, dear readers. I’m sorry to say that this is how Girl After Dark ends - much sooner than I’d hoped, but I know you understand that I can no longer continue.

  And with my last lines, I would like to make a personal plea, to one reader in particular:

  Dear Prince_C,

  I, who knew more than anyone else how shattering it can feel when someone betrays your trust, did just that to you with this blog, with my words.

  It was completely unforgivable and I hope that in time you can at least come to understand why I acted so thoughtlessly. But please know that in one way at least, I remained true to you - my body was yours alone ever since we agreed to be exclusive. But I should have kept my fantasies private too.

  I love you and I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me.