by Ally Sky
“Oh.” I’m so relieved. He still wants me.
“Did you think I didn’t want you anymore?”
“Yes.” I try to stop the tears forming in my throat, threatening to break through. I can’t cry in front of him. If I cry, he’ll find out everything. He’ll realize I want so many things from him that he doesn’t want to give me.
“Talia.” He smiles and runs his fingers through my hair. We’re in a café below his office. Someone might see. But he doesn’t stop himself. He leans into my ear and whispers, “After what you did to me in the office, how can I not want you?”
His words send tingles up my body.
“So, will I see you tonight?” I ask shyly. I just hope he doesn’t tell me not to come. Let him want me again.
“Yes,” he replies seductively, “I can’t wait to drown in you again.”
Heady feelings run crazily through me as he whispers those words in my ear. I close my eyes and can’t wait for the night to come.
He’s busy. That’s all I’ve been hearing from him for the past three days. I run around the city to different galleries, trying to keep myself busy in an attempt not to think about him.
Three days. It’s Friday already, and I haven’t seen, or inhaled, or given myself to him since Tuesday.
He’s not my boyfriend. He doesn’t owe me anything.
I’m lying on the sofa in the basement and the door opens. I hear Danny’s voice calling me from upstairs.
“Hi, is the ghost still here?”
“Downstairs!” I yell, and hear his footsteps coming down the stairs. “What’s up?” I force a smile, although I’m preoccupied with other things.
“Everything’s great. We’re going out dancing. Do you want to come?”
Dancing?
“Where are you going?” I pull a face.
“Tiger Tiger,” He smiles. “Come on, you’ll love the place. Go get ready. We’re leaving at ten.”
I look at him uncertainly. I haven’t been out dancing for a while and I actually love to dance.
“Okay,” I agree and get up from the sofa. Actually, it’s not a bad idea.
I climb up the stairs, get into the shower, and a thought creeps into my mind. Maybe Ben will join us?
I stand in front of my closet and stare inside, what am I supposed to wear to this club? I choose a black mini-dress. You can’t go wrong with a black mini-dress. The sleeves are two thin strips made of rhinestones. I think it’ll do. I choose a pair of black high heels to go with it and go into the bathroom to put on my makeup. I don’t forget to put on bright red lipstick.
At exactly ten, I enter the kitchen. Danny is wearing an amazing black shirt and grey pants and John is wearing a white shirt and black pants. They look especially happy.
“Once again Talia has chosen the perfect outfit,” John points to me, and they both smile.
“Yes, if only she’d eat a bit more.” Danny emphasizes the words with a cunning smile. At least he’s not starting that discussion now. I silently debate whether or not to ask whom else is coming, but I stop myself. I’ll find out soon enough.
We leave the house, get into a waiting cab and drive to the club, which is situated between Piccadilly and Leicester Square. John is the first to get out and then he helps. I swing my legs out first, keeping them close together, and stand up slowly. I’ve always claimed it’s an art to walk around in a mini-dress.
At the entrance to the club, Danny exchanges some words with the bouncer and in we go.
Okay, this place is really cool. Luxurious chairs and sofas are scattered all over the place and the bars are amazing. It’s definitely not the kind of club I’m used to. It’s clean and everyone is well dressed. I’m glad I chose this dress and not something I’d wear to a club back home.
John leads us to the top floor. Music from the seventies is playing loudly, and waiters holding cocktails in the shape of the Hungarian Cube are walking around.
An Abba song I had long forgotten is playing in the background and it makes me smile.
We walk toward a sofa in the corner.
“Hi,” John calls out toward the sofa. I look over his shoulders and my eyes clash with a pair of lovely, smiling, green eyes.
He’s here. And my heart…good thing I wore this dress!
John slides onto the sofa and I sit down next to him. Danny disappears to get us something to drink. Green eyes stare at me as I run a hand through my hair, ruffling my curls.
“Was it difficult persuading you to leave the basement?” Ben smiles at me from across the table.
“Not really,” I reply. “Drinks and dancing, how dangerous can that be?” I say playfully, and he tries not to smile.
“I hope you’re ready, it’s going to be a crazy night!” John laughs. Danny returns with our drinks, some unrecognizable cocktails, and slides in next to John.
“What did you get?” I giggle, looking at the huge glasses.
“Trust me,” he responds. “You’ll love it.”
I lift the big, round glass, put the straw into my mouth, and take a sip.
Wow, it is good! And so sweet!
“Drink it slowly, it’s strong,” Danny orders.
I can feel the alcohol going to my head. I’m such a lightweight.
“Let’s dance!” John gets up, pulling Danny. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”
Ben gets up and looks at me.
“If you insist,” I laugh.
We find a place on the cramped floor. The disco music makes me giggle and I move around, aware of Ben checking me out.
I dance and laugh. The alcohol is flowing through my blood. I let my body sway, my mane of curls flowing freely.
I need to sit down and maybe drink some more. I move away from the dance floor, slide back down in to the inviting sofa and, before I realize it, Ben is sitting opposite me.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks loudly, trying to be heard above the music. I lean forward to hear him better and take another sip of my sweet cocktail.
“Very much. The drunken version of me is on the way,” I announce. He leans forward.
“I’m looking forward to meeting her again.” He grins and those green eyes catch the lights.
“She’s very naughty, you haven’t met her properly yet.” I stare back at him. If Danny and John were to come back now, they would definitely notice the heated looks we are exchanging, no matter how much they’d had to drink.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“If I carry on like this, I may even…”
“May even what?” He teases me, his eyes gleaming. My heart is beating wildly.
Who am I kidding? My drunken version is here, and she’s in charge.
“You don’t want to know. But if you carry on getting me drunk, you’ll find out.”
“I love it when you’re naughty.”
I take another sip, which may not be such a good idea.
He looks at me seriously. “I want you.”
“Don’t say that!” I joke with him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I’ve had enough to drink to leave all my inhibitions on the dance floor which would be dangerous with Danny and John here.
“I want you, now.”
“I may be drunk, but I’m not doing it in some club toilet!” I burst out laughing. Admittedly I gave him oral sex behind his desk at work only a few days ago and I wasn’t even drunk—but I have some standards.
“I want you, now.” He doesn’t take his burning, green eyes off me.
I’m drunk, and apparently so is he…
“Well, you’d better think of something.” I chuckle.
“Wait two minutes, then meet me at the entrance.” He’s waiting for my approval.
“Really?” I’m intrigued.
“Two minutes.” He gets up and disappears into the crowd.
I take another sip. I want him. And he wants me. Danny and John are drunk enough not to have any idea where we are. I wait for two minutes, get up, and make my way do
wnstairs, carefully navigating the steps in my high heels, alcohol coursing through my blood.
I want my man. Now.
I emerge from the club into the chilly air. It’s refreshing after all the dancing and the lack of ventilation inside. My eyes search for him. Then, a confident hand pulls me along, forcing me to take long strides, as Ben leads me down the street.
I try to keep up with him in my ridiculous high heels.
“Where are we going?” I burst out laughing as he turns down a side street, walking at a rapid pace, holding my hand. I don’t know where he’s taking me, but after a few minutes we’re in front of the Leicester Square Hotel.
Okay, now he has gone overboard. I understand he doesn’t want to wait, but this hotel is expensive.
“Come on.” He pulls me inside with that tempting smile of his.
“Ben!” I giggle.
“I told you, I want you, now.” He holds my hand tightly. We’re standing in front of the surprised receptionist, and I’m trying with all my might not to laugh.
“A double room.” Ben turns to her.
“For how long?” she inquires.
“One night.” He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and takes out his credit card.
“No problem. A double room for one night.” She types on the computer.
She’d better hurry. One more second and I’m going to start laughing uncontrollably. As for Ben, I have no idea what he’s going to do in one second. Give him the key already!
She gives Ben an electronic card and swipes his credit card. Ben puts his credit card back in his wallet.
“Room 315, third floor. Have a pleasant—” I don’t hear the rest because Ben is pulling me into the elevator. He presses the button and the door closes behind us. He shoves me against the mirrored wall and kisses me. He tastes of expensive whiskey. He really is drunk.
“You smell so good, I want you so much,” he whispers, his hand digging into my hair.
Okay, he’s really horny when he’s drunk. I don’t know if it’s such a good combination with my mischievous alter ego, who’s currently taking control of my body.
The elevator door opens and we tumble out and immediately find the room. Ben opens the door and goes in and I follow him. He removes his shirt and throws it on the floor.
Then he grabs me and throws me onto the bed. God help me. Taking me to a five-star hotel in the middle of London to—
He lifts my dress up and pulls down my panties. I kick my shoes off onto the floor.
He undoes the button of his pants and lies on top of me.
“You drive me insane,” he whispers in my ear.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” I whisper back, seductively, and he looks up in surprise. “I told you, I’m not responsible for my actions when I’m drunk.” I smile and pull off my dress. I’m naked. Then I place my mouth to his ear and whisper, “I want you to fuck me.”
He grabs my hair.
“Talia,” he whispers, turned on by my words. His chest is heaving. I can feel his heart thudding wildly.
“What are you waiting for?” I spread my legs underneath him and whisper, “Fuck me. I’m yours.”
He pulls his pants and underwear down to his knees and kneels between my legs. His hands grab my hips and he pulls me toward him.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He gives me a piercing look.
“I know very well. I’m telling you to fuck me now. Hard,” I urge him, and he lies on top of me, grabs my hair, and slams into me.
I groan loudly. He’s so deep. He pulls out slowly…
“More?” he whispers in my ear, sending lightning sparks through my entire body.
“Yes,” I beg. “I want you…I want all of you…” And he thrusts into me, filling me with pleasure, grunting loudly every time he enters me. I’m wet, lifting my pelvis to meet him again and again.
“Yes…” I moan beneath him, “don’t stop,” and he works me hard, keeping up a steady rhythm.
“Fuck…Talia…” he grits out through his teeth, pounding into me, penetrating me each time with force.
I can feel how close I am.
Yes…more…he enters me again...and I come beneath him harder than I’ve ever come before. He rocks into me one more time and shouts his release. He collapses on top of me, spent.
I can’t move. I’m drunk and fulfilled.
He lies on me panting, his breathing calming down slowly. He pulls out of me and lies on his back before he turns on his side and faces me. I turn toward him and his green eyes are shining.
He smiles. “That was— ”
“Wild,” I giggle. “I warned you.”
“Maybe we should get you drunk more often.” He laughs and kisses my lips.
“I don’t think John and Danny will understand where we’ve disappeared to.” I burst out laughing.
I look around. The room really looks luxurious, big and fancy. I still can’t believe he brought me here.
“Let’s get back,” he mumbles quietly.
“Okay.” I reply, and he kisses my lips again. We get dressed promptly and I try to sort out my rebellious curls. We go down in the elevator and Ben approaches the surprised receptionist and hands her the key. She looks at him in shock.
“I hope you enjoyed your short stay with us.” Then a huge smile appears on her face.
Danny and John have no idea where we disappeared to and they don’t seem to care much. They are kissing drunkenly and groping each other. Thank God. I don’t think they’re at all suspicious. Worst-case scenario, we would have invented some excuse about Ben taking me out to get some fresh air. That’s one of the advantages of Danny completely trusting Ben.
At one thirty we take a cab home, and I collapse into bed, drunk and satiated.
The late July sun sends amazing, playful rays, which seem to be dancing with the shadows next to me, onto the patio.
It’s a lazy Saturday. I open my e-mails just before I turn to my blog, as I’ve been doing every morning for the last few weeks.
Finally! I see I’ve received an answer from the manager of the blog site regarding all the mishaps they’ve been having with the numbers. I open it, read it, and my jaw drops.
Dear Miss Blum. We’ve looked into your request and found there is no problem with the number of your followers. The last number we have shows 17,021 readers. We’ve received quite a few inquiries from companies who would like to post in your blog. We’d be happy to have you contact us. Best regards.
I light up another cigarette and stare at the words on the screen. It’s unreal. 17,021 readers. 17,021 people who are interested in me, in my life.
Damn. I can’t believe it…
I’m simultaneously excited and petrified—it’s mind-blowing.
I go into my blog. I have to stop thinking about numbers and get back to what I love—no matter how many people think it’s interesting.
My blog is swamped with responses, just like it is every day, but this morning it’s more active than usual. What’s going on?
A response from Sandy Thorn: Well, what do you say about the article in The Mirror? You’ve become an attraction. Everyone wants to know who Talula is. You’re amazing!!! So, who are you?
What? What the hell is she talking about? An article in The Mirror? I carry on to the next response.
A response from Dorothy Nicks: Wow! They wrote about you in the newspaper! You’ve made it big time.
Who wrote what? An article in The Mirror?
I close my laptop and get dressed quickly. I don’t understand what they’re blabbering about. There’s a small grocery shop next to the house, they must have all the newspapers. I put on shoes, grab my purse, and leave the house in a rush.
The little shop is empty at such an early hour. I smile tiredly at the assistant and go over to the newspaper stand at the entrance. Daily, Sun, where is the damn Mirror? Ah, I find it, pull it out, open it, and start to page through.
“Are you buying that?” the pleasan
t sales assistant asks. Yes, I’m buying it, just let me understand what they want from me in my blog. I rush through it until I come across the middle section of the newspaper, and my eye catches an article in the center of a page. I read the title:
“The Blogger Who’s Driving the Net Crazy. Who Are You, Talula?”
Wow. Someone wrote about me in the newspaper. My heart is pounding.
“Are you buying that?” The pain-in-the-ass salesman asks again.
“Yes,” I mumble, pulling out my purse and paying for it. I go back to the relevant page and continue reading.
“A young and tell-all blogger is gaining popularity and has been accumulating readers in the past few months. She’s an Internet-sensation, sharing the most intimate details of her life with her followers. Without leaving out much detail, she describes her dilemmas, her bipolar and eating disorders, and her wild sex with her brother’s best friend, who also happens to be her boss…
“In a typical state of restlessness, she runs around the city, keeping herself busy with elaborate schemes, requesting original ideas from her readers, only to return at the end of each day to share with them her triumphs. And yes, sometimes her failures as well.
“You cannot help but get swept away by her. You find yourself being sucked into her descriptions, whether it is sex on the sofa or initiated vomiting in the toilet. Demons, fairies, love, and hope all mix together to form one intriguing and addictive being. And the question asked is: who are you, Talula?”
And there’s a link to my blog.
Fuck. Oh fuck. What the hell? I walk home quickly, close the door behind me, enter my room, lie down on the bed, open the newspaper, and read the article again.
I can’t believe it. Why would somebody write about me? This is really bad. The whole idea was that nobody would know who I am. I could be anyone. I could make it all up. I have to release some kind of a statement in the blog to calm down the storm.
Saturday
July 28th 2012
