Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel)

by K. M. Golland

  “What’s with the dolphin talk?” I asked.

  She shuffled closer and moved her towel next to mine. “Josh thinks he can do the best dolphin impersonation in the world. He challenged me a few weeks back. I sucked.”

  “Best dolphin?” I gave her a sarcastic your-boyfriend-is-super-special look.

  “Don’t laugh. He’s actually not bad.”

  I gave her a sarcastic you’re-super-special look.

  She fobbed me off and reached for the sunscreen bottle. “You’ll see.” I hope not. Josh as a dolphin is just … wrong.

  Shifting my focus back to Brad, I watched as he drew his arm behind his body and threw the ball, skimming it in the direction of Chief, Dimps and Noah. It bounced once, twice, and then popped up mildly and hit Noah on the shoulder, ricocheting and hitting Chief on the arm.

  “Is that the best you can do, you flog?” Noah called out.

  “I’m just warming up, dick.”

  “Then get in the water and put your money where you mouth is.”

  Brad and Josh entered the surf, and not before long were embroiled in a match of bouncy water-ball.

  “Why do guys do that?” Cori asked, leaning back on her hands and appearing to welcome the sun’s ray upon her skin.

  “What? Play with balls? I think they are taught the skill in the womb. It’s the only thing they have to play with for nine months.”

  She burst into laughter. “You’re so right. But seriously, why do they persist in showing one another up … proverbially comparing cock sizes?”

  It was a good question, but I didn’t have the brainpower at that particular point to answer it properly. “I can tell you which one has the biggest cock just by looking at them.”

  Cori turned her head to face me. “You can not.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  “Can so. Some people have gaydars and creep detectors. I have a cock-o-meter.” I lifted my sunglasses and winked at her.

  “Okay, so who has the biggest?”

  “The baby … Dimps. What’s his real name again?”

  “Lucas? No way! Your cock-o-meter is broken.”

  “I would bet my BOB that Lucas’s lizard is the spawn of Godzilla.”

  She threw her head back and giggled. “Oh my God, no! Josh has the biggest by far.”

  Just as she talked up her man, said man propelled out of the water and sounded a dolphin cry before splashing back down again. Holy shit! “Was that? Did he?” I threw my arms up in defeat. “I’m totally speechless right now.”

  “Told you. He and dolphin are one.”

  Yeah, you’re not wrong.

  “You do know dolphins have retractable penises, right?”

  “No, I did not know that. And I’m a little concerned that you know it, too.”

  “Yeah, they do. It’s kinda like a hand and it feels things out.” I pretended my hand was a swimming dolphin dick and swam it over to her face, feeling her cheeks and nose. “Does Josh have a hand-penis?”

  “Fuck off,” she said playfully, pushing my hand away.

  I rolled over to lie on my tummy. “They’re also highly sexual creatures.”

  “Well that’s Josh to a tee.”

  “By the way, I checked out his teeth. I get the whole Bugs thing now.”

  She sighed. “He has great teeth. I like his teeth.”

  “And his dolphin dick.”

  “Yeah, and that.”

  I laughed, but the sun and the past hour’s events were making me sleepy. I needed some shut-eye.

  “Hey, Em?”

  “Yeah?” I asked, groggily.

  “Thanks for spending the week with me. I really needed this.”

  I smiled. I needed this, too. “Anything for you, Cori-pie.”

  ***

  After waking on the beach to Brad shaking his shaggy hair like a dog and sprinkling water all over me, I’d headed back to the hotel for dinner with everyone else. The guys had a meeting with their manager afterward, and Cori had ducked off with the intent to surprise Josh in his room when he returned.

  Finally having some alone time, I took the opportunity to log into my SexyTexts interface, and I hadn’t been logged in for long before the messages started to come in thick and fast.

  Lady Nasty (that’s me): Good evening, boys.

  Who wants to become a man?

  Cumsalot (I call him C): I’m already a man, Lady N.

  Arseaddiction (He’s A, obviously): She’s back.

  I’ve missed your sweet arse, naughty lady.

  Legopener (You guessed it … L): I’ll be your man any time.

  Kinkmaster: Do you want to be a dirty slut?

  Clitlicker: I want to lick your cunt.

  Taking a swig of my minibar vodka, I got to work.

  Lady N: C, You’re already a man?

  I need proof.

  Lady N: A, my sweet arse missed you.

  Lady N: L, my men make me wet. Can you?

  Lady N: Kinkmaster, a dirty slut? Yes. Tell me how.

  Lady N: Clitlicker, then lick my cunt, and lick it good.

  Kinkmaster and Clitlicker were newbies, which was why I hadn’t yet given them an abbreviation like my regulars. They would have to prove themselves first.

  C: My nine-inch cock proof enough?

  Lady N: You know it is.

  A: I want to fuck your sweet arse.

  Lady N: I want you to as well.

  L: Yes. I can make you very wet.

  Lady N: Show me how.

  L: Are your legs open?

  K: Let me fuck your mouth.

  Lady N: Please do. It’s opened wide. Your cock is so big

  C: Your pussy juices are sweet and thick.

  I nearly fucking gagged. I hated the word juices. I couldn’t help but picture a handheld juicer being smashed into my pussy, twisting it as if it were a friggin’ orange. But I couldn’t say that. I didn’t want to scare my new customer off.

  Lady N: Drink those juices, you thirsty boy.

  That feels so good.

  Gag, gag, gag!

  Opening my packet of Doritos, I dug in and then licked my cheesy fingers clean.

  K: My cock is gonna make you gag.

  Trust me, I’m already gagging.

  Lady N: I like gagging. Make me gag. Go deep.

  I predicted K to be a superman—the term I gave the ones who cut to the chase faster than a speeding bullet. They didn’t fuck around, but they usually ran out of steam really quick as a result.

  K: Your mouth is warm and tight.

  Take me, bitch. Take all of me.

  Who you calling bitch, fuckwit?

  Lady N: I’m a dirty, deep-throating slut.

  Just the way you want me.

  You’ve probably got the tiniest little pin-dick around and couldn’t deep throat a mouse even if you tried. And you probably have tried, you Kinkmaster Mousefucker.

  What could I say? Some customers just struck a bad chord with me, and that was fine. I didn’t have to like them, and I didn’t have to like what they said or wanted me to say. I didn’t have to care. I wasn’t paid to care for, like, or befriend them all. All I had to do was keep them sexting by sexting in return. And I did that by giving them what they wanted in the hope they’d come back for more.

  A: Do you have a tight little pink hole?

  Lady N: Yes. I want you to lick it.

  A: Anything for you, Lady N.

  Can you feel my warm tongue in your arse?

  Lady N: That feels good. Go deeper. I like it deep.

  I yawned. Learning to surf had really taken it out of me, and I could barely keep my eyes open. But I had to. This was my second job, and one I’d had for almost two years. I needed this job.

  And I needed the money.

  I feed them my words, and they swallow and drown in desire.

  I watch them sink and struggle to stay afloat.

  And I can’t help but think … ‘that’s not a bad way to go out’.

  Three hours later, and my eyes woul
d no longer stay open. I’d typed about being deep-throated, fucked in the arse, in a three-way, tied up, and spanked. Overall, it was a good night. Not too many crazies.

  Perfect.

  Setting my laptop down, I was just about to climb into bed when my phone beeped. It was H, so I picked it up and looked at the smiley face I’d assigned to his contact profile, deliberating whether or not to respond. I wanted to, but I was so tired and would be no good to him anyway—I mean, I could barely finger the buttons on my phone, let alone finger myself.

  Seeing as I hadn’t spoken to him since the public bathroom session the night before, and because I really did miss him and enjoy his conversation, I figured a quick chat wouldn’t hurt, so settled under my covers and swiped open his message.

  H: You really are cruel to me sometimes.

  I smiled and shook my head with amusement. He must’ve been referring to the last message I’d sent him, when I’d said he didn’t know what I tasted like … which, in my defence, was a true statement.

  Em: It’s not intentional, hon.

  Well, maybe sometimes.

  And anyway, you like it when I play dirty.

  H: I do. You want to play now?

  Em: You know I love playing with you,

  but I’m dead tired.

  I learned to surf today.

  H: Yeah? Clever girl.

  Did you get a lesson?

  Em: Kinda. One of the guys I’m hanging out with surfs.

  I asked him to teach me.

  H: One of the guys?

  How many guys are you ‘hanging out’ with?

  I bit the inside of my cheek, sensing a bit of green-eyed monster on his part.

  Em: Jealous?

  H: Depends.

  Em: On what?

  H: If you play with any of them.

  Em: And what if I do?

  H: How many are there?

  Em: Five

  H: FIVE! Who are you hanging with?

  A basketball team?

  Em: I’m on holiday in Queensland with my best friend.

  She works for a male revue.

  H: STRIPPERS!

  I couldn’t help but laugh at his typed outburst.

  Em: Stop shouting at me.

  H: No.

  Em: Hmm … somebody is jealous.

  H: No, I’m not.

  None of the guys you play with end up being serious.

  You always come back to me for more.

  I didn’t answer him right away, because what he’d said held some truth, and that, together with the fact that he knew how I operated, pissed me off a little.

  Em: I’m tired. Gonna get some sleep.

  H: Just callin’ it like it is, love.

  Go. Get your beauty sleep.

  Not that you need it.

  Xo

  Ugh! He was right. Fuck. None of the guys I ‘played’ with ever turned serious. And yeah, I did always go back to him—to his words—for more. I enjoyed my freedom and control, and not having to answer to anyone. I enjoyed saying where, when and how. But most of all, I enjoyed not having to justify the decisions I made, because God forbid I made decisions for no particular reason other than just because.

  H knew I felt this way. He knew I lived two lives, and that one of them was a lie. Well … more like a white lie—a really small one. Why I chose to live that lie and keep my alter-ego disguised was not entirely clear to me, because I wasn’t exactly ashamed of being a sexter. I was good at it and earned money as a result. I was also single, young, confident—for the most part—and completely open-minded when it came to sex and fetishes, and I believed that all women should feel empowered with whatever decisions they chose to make. If that meant wearing lingerie down a runway, posing nude in Playboy, running for president, accepting money as an escort or dressing like a man, then so be it. Women had just as much right as men when exploring all facets of human nature, and they shouldn’t be frowned upon for doing it.

  So was I ashamed of being a professional sexter? No, I wasn’t. Would my friends, family and colleagues be ashamed? Yeah, maybe some of them would. And that was why I kept this part of my life secret … for them, not me. Some people just weren’t comfortable enough in their own skin to embrace faults and insecurities. Some people weren’t empowered enough to stare aversion in the face and say ‘Fuck you. I’m me and you’re you, and that’s okay, for individuality should be celebrated not ridiculed.’

  Some people were just afraid.

  I wasn’t one of them, yet I was afraid for them. And as much as that was unfortunate as well as disappointing, it was also okay, because freedom of belief was vital whether you disagreed with the belief or not.

  Sighing, I set my phone down on the bedside table and I let my head sink into the gloriousness that was Hotel Pillow-land.

  And I didn’t wake from that destination until the next morning.

  ***

  Snorey McSnorehead was deep in vocal snort when I climbed out of bed and put my workout gear on. I considered treating her to another bed-bouncing wake-up session but thought better of it. At some point in the night, she’d decided to come back to our room after what I could only assume was a sex-fest with Josh, which made me smile, because she didn’t have to do that. I mean, she could’ve just stayed in his arms within his bed and slumbered in the splendid aftermath of fuckery. I wouldn’t have minded if she had. After all, post-sex sleepy-time was better than chocolate … but not Tim Tams. Nothing was better than Tim Tams.

  Hovering over her, I couldn’t help but bite back a cheeky grin. Cori was the cracker to my cheese, the snot to my sneeze. She was the friend that always was and always would be, and she was the one person I could tell my secret to and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wouldn’t judge. Yet, I hadn’t told her. I’d tried but never went through with it. Numerous times I’d wanted to just blurt out why I frantically typed on my laptop at night from my position across the room, or why I’d laugh, blush or gag from what she assumed was general Facebook browsing. Ha! If only she knew.

  But she didn’t know, because I’d never opened my mouth to tell her. And I thought that was because if I had, I would’ve had to explain H, and I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to share that part of me, because yeah, I was a little ashamed of his and my relationship. I didn’t want to be, but I was. I’d broken the rules, let him in, and held on to him as well. Day after day, I gave him little pieces of myself and stole parts of him that I locked away with a key only I could wield, and for what reason other than pure unadulterated greed or knowing that the parts I stole were solely mine? There was no other reason … or perhaps there was. Perhaps, sometimes, we just needed our own secluded niche—that small piece of darkness tattooed on our soul that only we could shine a light upon. Perhaps sometimes, we needed to be our own dark and light.

  Stepping away from Cori’s bed and scrunching my nose up at the dried drool patch on her pillow, I grabbed my iPod, water bottle and wristbands, and headed for the beach.

  ***

  The salty sea breeze, crashing waves, and hovering seagulls played with my senses as my sneakers pounded the damp sand of Surfers Paradise beach. Running along the water’s edge was a favourite pastime for me, especially in warm autumn weather. It was also my go-to form of cardio exercise, one I performed daily back at home … sometimes twice a day. I found the constant rhythm of my stride relaxing, but what I also found while running was clarity. I allowed my body to pilot my journey while my mind dissected any problem plaguing me. And, more often than not, I could find a way to solve it.

  Speaking of clarity, it was what I needed to find now. I had to figure out what had happened with Brad on the beach when we’d kissed, and I had to figure out where we would go from here on in.

  So we’d kissed. Big deal. Kissing happened all the time. Was it a fucking exceptional kiss? Yes. Did he give me stupid girly butterflies? Yes. Was it love at first sight and did I want to have his babies? Hell no. So the answer was simple … more fun could
be had with Brad. We were good to go. Excellent!

  Clarity achieved.

  Stopping my run, I bent over and placed my hands on my knees, sucking in large breaths of air through my nose and exhaling through my mouth. The rapid beat of my heart was wild within my chest, and I was pleased with my level of exertion. I hurt in all the right places, but it was a good hurt, and a good hurt meant good things.

  Standing upright, I stretched my back, simultaneously feeling and hearing it crack. My body was tight, tense and stiff, and I desperately needed to lift weights and do a Pilates or yoga session. It had been a couple of days since my last weights rotation at my local gym, and because of that, my muscles seemed to think that they were on vacation as well.

  They weren’t.

  More fool them.

  Time to work, muscles. You have a date with the hotel gymnasium.

  ***

  Jogging on the spot as the elevator doors opened, I skipped out and rounded the corner to approach the gym, stopping my progression and jogging on the spot again. Through the glass wall of windows before me, I spotted Brad, Noah and Chief inside the gym, working out. Why hello there, vagina-spasm waiting to happen. I bounced for a second, deliberating whether or not to interrupt them, but then pulled down the handle on the door and entered the room, met instantly with three pairs of eyes, one particular blue pair dancing mischievously over my body.