Girl After Dark Page 5

  And even worse than all that?

  I’ve been watching my video again, too. The video. The one where I strip totally naked and then touch myself on camera until I come.

  And this time, when it’s finished playing, in the corner of the page I notice another video — from the still image, it looks like a clip of a girl with jet black hair, her body covered in intricate, beautiful tattoos, lying back on her bed, her hands between her legs.

  Am I really about to do this? I think, as I watch my cursor float towards the video clip, hovering for a moment over the large red play button, before I feel my index finger click down decisively on the touchpad.

  I’ve never really watched porn before. I know some girls do, but in the past I’ve just always thought it icky and gross — so much of it obviously just male fantasy.

  But for some reason, this amateur clip seems different. Maybe it’s because this girl filmed it herself — and because she looks so totally in control. She’s staring defiantly into the camera lens, her full glossy lips plumped in a sexy pout, her large dark eyes staring straight out at me, and I can just tell immediately that unlike me, she absolutely loves the idea of people watching her; of people getting themselves off to her video.

  And as she begins to softly run her slender hands over her own slim body, her fingertips playfully tugging and tweaking at her small dark nipples, I realise with a shiver of excitement that I want to play right along with her.

  I glance nervously towards the door, as if someone might suddenly burst in on me.

  But I know I’m totally safe from that up here on the third floor at four am in the morning.

  So with nervous trembling fingers, I wriggle out of my PJ bottoms then slip off my vest top, too, feeling the cool air on my breasts, my fingers beginning to knead my soft, tender flesh, my nipples hardening into two puckered points as I begin to pull and tweak them, just like the girl on-screen is doing.

  I gaze into her eyes as I, too, play with myself, feeling the familiar swirls of pleasure begin to build in my belly.

  Still cupping one breast in her left hand, I watch her other hand slip down between her legs, so I let mine do the same.

  I have to suck on my bottom lip to stop myself from gasping as my fingers graze over my swollen, throbbing clit.

  But the girl on screen doesn’t care — she’s beginning to gasp and moan as she toys with her clit in fast circles, working herself up into a state of ecstasy.

  I try to match her motions, tweaking my left nipple while circling my clit, my legs spread wide apart.

  Still playing with her clit, the girl onscreen then moves her other hand between her legs too, fucking herself first with one, then two fingers.

  I do the same, registering with a shudder just how hot and tight and wet I am. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever felt this turned on before.

  And as the girl on screen comes loudly, she begins to suck on her glistening fingers, and I do the exact same thing: my orgasm shuddering through me so hard and intense that I can’t help but let out a soft moan, quickly sucking on my fingers to stifle further noises — and tasting my own honey in the process, something I’ve never done before.

  Afterwards, once the video clip has finished playing, I lie back, wrapping my shivering body in the softness of my bedsheets, my mind spinning and whirling, my breath coming still in shallow, shivery pants.

  That was intense, I think.

  And as I come back down to earth, I realize two important things:

  Number one, that Will never made me come like that.

  Number two, that I can be just like that girl in the video if I want.

  §

  The jet lag means I wake up again just a few hours later. But even so, the sun is shining, and it looks like it’s a beautiful day, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I finally feel positive and ready to actually make a start on my new life.

  I spring out of bed, then head down the stairs to the kitchen …

  Woah, I think, as I take in the scene before me.

  The kitchen is messy, too. Like, really mess. Gretchen is usually so house proud — she must have totally chilled out over the last couple of years.

  I start to make coffee, then call up the stairs in the direction of Dad’s room. “Oh daddy!” I say in my sweetest voice. “Breakfast!”

  And eventually, he shuffles into the kitchen like a zombie, dressed in his favourite rumpled old dressing gown, then slumps onto a stool, still half-asleep.

  “Morning daddy!” I chirp brightly. “So, I lied when I said ‘breakfast’. It’s actually just coffee at the moment. I’m not really sure where anything is, you see. It’s a bit … um … messy in here? I mean, I can’t even find the toaster. Gretchen’s usually so tidy, she’s going to freak out when she sees the state you’ve left the place in! When is she back, anyway?”

  “Oh sweetie,” Dad mumbles, rubbing his stubbly cheeks with palms, “about that. I was meaning to tell you when you first arrived. Gretchen and I are … on a break at the moment.”

  “What?” I blurt out, surprised. “How long has this been going on for?”

  He leaves a long awkward pause before he speaks.

  “Just over a year?” he says sheepishly.

  “Oh daddy,” I say, gently placing his coffee mug in front of him.

  And suddenly it all makes complete sense: the messy apartment, his scruffy unshaven appearance, and even all that free time it must have taken him to redecorate my old room …

  “Gretchen’s not coming back is she?” I say softly, after another pause.

  “No, Honey,” he mumbles. “She’s not.”

  §

  We have a real heart to heart, that bright sunny morning. We talk properly, for the first time in ages. Okay, so we don’t really talk about ‘the video’ — I’m not ready for that just yet, especially not with my dad of all people, but I didn’t want him to find out on the internet either, just like Mum had done. That wouldn’t have been fair. So I asked her to tell him. They’ve been in contact a lot lately, to help me plan coming over here.

  But I do tell him that Will cheated on me. And in return, Daddy tells me all sorts of encouraging things: that it was good I found out when I did, so I hadn’t wasted any more time with him, and that every young woman needs her horrific break up story and at least now I have mine.

  As the clock hits nine, his eyes dart up at the clock on the wall.

  “Oh damnit,” he says, pushing himself off his stool. “I’ve got class in an hour. What are you gonna do with yourself all day, Honeybee?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I reply. “Maybe go for a little walk? Or go shopping? I didn’t bring that many clothes with me. But my main goal is just to try and chill out, for once. Give myself a few days off working, and worrying, and worrying about work.”

  “Good idea,” he says with a smile. You know, you should call your cousin, too. He’s been asking about you. He seemed really excited when he found out you were coming to stay …”

  “Jonathan?” I say surprised, my mind casting back to the few scant memories I had of my cousin — sure, we’d played together as little kids, but I’d kind of lost touch with him since we both became teens. “Wow, I’ve not seen Jonathan in years.”

  “Well, you should get in touch once you’re over your jetlag,” Dad replies. “I’ll leave his number in the hall.”

  “Great,” I mumble, but deep down I’m not sure quite how I feel about that. I was kind of hoping to leave my past behind me with this trip …

  When I see Daddy off at the door a little while later — once more taking in his scruffy, unshaven appearance, his rumpled shirt and creased seen-better-days slacks — I promise myself that I’m going to help him get his life back on track, too.

  “Be good now, Honeybee,” he smiles, kissing me a warm goodbye.

  And no sooner has the front door closed behind him, than I pick up the rubber gloves and start on some cleaning.

  §

&nb
sp; There! I think, satisfied.

  The kitchen is finally spotless. And on top of that, I’m showered and dressed and ready, finally, for New York …

  Not for the first time, I breathe a happy sigh of relief that I actually paid attention to my mother’s advice and saved away a good portion of my VintageHoney income. Okay, so in my head, I might have been saving up for the deposit for the house that Will and I were going to buy in Hampstead. But oh well … Now I’m going to do something far more sensible with the money:

  I’m going shopping.

  First stop, American Apparel. It’s not a store I usually spend much time in. The shops I like are usually quiet, dusty old vintage stores. But this place is bright and brash and loud. And today, for once, I actually find myself attracted to these short tight clothes in a way I totally haven’t been before.

  I eagerly grab the first two items that take my fancy and head off to the changing rooms.

  There in the harshly-lit cubicle, I strip down to my underwear and, for a moment, I pause to assess myself in the many surrounding mirrors that display me back at myself from all angles.

  Standing there in my plain black t-shirt bra and panties, I think to myself: You know what, Melissa? You’ve actually got a pretty good body. And what the hell: everyone’s seen it now, after all. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding it behind all those frilly, floral dresses …

  So I try on the outfit. A daringly skintight black leather A-line miniskirt and an ever-so-slightly see through chiffon secretary blouse in polkadot (I’m not quite ready to give up my love of all things polkadot just yet!).

  And this time, there’s no denying that the girl in the mirror is confident and proud of her body.

  Yes, I think to myself, with a mixture of excitement and determination. This is the way forward.

  §

  I collapse onto my bed, completely exhausted and surrounded by shopping bags.

  But what’s the point of all these exiting new clothes if I can’t share them with anyone?

  I look up eagerly at the clock. It’s 4pm here, which means it’s just after nine at night in London. Katy will have definitely have finished work by now!

  So I pull out my laptop, ready to Skype her. But my screen tells me she’s offline, so I send her a quick email instead:

  Are you home? Skype meeeeeee!

  xxxxx

  And as I sit here on the edge of my bed, wondering when she might reply or turn up online, I realize that it’s pretty stupid to just wait for someone who lives so far away and has their own life — in a whole other time zone, no less — to get in touch.

  I make up my mind: maybe I will call my cousin Jonathan, after all. I mean, I’m not the awkward thirteen year old he last saw; he’s probably changed, too.

  In the meantime, there is still one thing I’m good at: getting dressed. Looking around me excitedly at all these shopping bags — American Apparel, Urban Outfitters, Beacon’s Closet — I decide to start working on my Brand New Look.

  And as I begin to unpack my purchases, it’s almost like a reflex. I take out my camera, too, and begin to set it on video mode before the thought flashes into my head once again:

  VintageHoney is over.

  Nobody wants to see your ‘Haul Video’ now, Melissa.

  I slump back down on the bed, dejected. It hits me that while I may well have money and a new place to live in New York, I still don’t really know what I’m actually doing with my life here.

  I feel so aimless.

  And worse than that? I feel lonely.

  My followers and readers used to be my friends. We shared our love of clothes and shopping, fashion and makeup. And now they’re all gone.

  Nobody wants to see ‘that slut’ do another video.

  And as I think about the word, slut, I feel a frustration at the fact that it isn’t even true - I haven’t done anything, really, not one of the outrageous things they’re all saying about me online.

  But why not? I think.

  Why can’t I do those things? What’s stopping me? I’m young. I’m single. I’m alone in a new city, completely anonymous. Why can’t I finally have some fun?

  So with a newfound energy tingling through me, I lift my laptop off the bed, rest it on my knees, open the lid, and quickly begin to type …

  Girl After Dark: From London to New York on a voyage of sexual discovery

  First Post

  Welcome dear readers to this brand new blog. You don’t know me; nobody does. And guess what? I’m not even going to tell you my name, not ever. But what I am going to tell you, dear readers, is the truth.

  I’m going to tell you how I’m feeling.

  I’m going to tell you what I’ve done.

  And I’m going to tell you what I want to do next …

  But first, back to the very beginning.

  At fourteen I had my first kiss, at a birthday party. It was slimy and unpleasant, and he told everyone about it afterwards. (That should have been my first warning.)

  My first boyfriend, when I was fifteen, was sweet. His kisses weren’t slimy and he always said he’d wait until I was ready to go further. And he did. When I was sixteen, his parents went to Edinburgh for the weekend, and he invited me over. There were candles everywhere, and a bottle of cheap white wine, the best they had in the only shop for miles that would serve us underage.

  It was lovely and romantic, but we were just kids, and of course the relationship didn’t last.

  At university, I had exactly one one night stand. The less said about that, the better.

  Then I met my boyfriend. We spent three happy years together. I loved him deeply — loved him until the day I walked in on him in bed with someone else, that is. I never really stopped to think about our sex life until afterwards; it had become staid and boring. I was doing all the work to keep the spark in our relationship. But he never made any effort. I know now — he was already gone from me. But even so, I loved him.

  And now, dear readers, I’m single. And although its not my choice, I’m going to embrace it. Because there’s still so much I haven’t done.

  And I want to do it all.

  Starting right this very second.

  I promise you’ll be the first to hear about it, so get ready for an exciting ride …

  §

  I hit ‘post’, and there it is, my brand new blog: Girl After Dark.

  This time, I’ve made two promises to myself:

  One, to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  And two, to remain completely and totally anonymous.

  Not that there was anything wrong with what I was planning to do. Not that I was ashamed of finding out what excited me, sexually. But even so, this just felt so private, so intimate …

  Online, people think they know who I am. They have labels for me. But I don’t want to live within those labels anymore. I’ve spent too long being ‘perfect’ for other people — the perfect girlfriend for Will, not to mention the perfect girl with the perfect life online for my followers. But what does ‘perfect’ even really mean, I wonder? What’s actually so wrong with imperfections, with flaws?

  I’ve presented myself as so shiny and sunny and bright all the time. But what’s so wrong with the darkness that lives inside me, too?

  And as I think back on the last year of my life, on career as VintageHoney, I realize that she was a teacher. I’d spent the past year of my life teaching other people how to do things.

  But now, as Girl After Dark, I’m ready to become the student again.

  I don’t know if you know this about me already, but I just hate being late.

  Which is why I find myself arriving super early for my lunch with Jonathan. Just like I promised myself, I’d called the number Dad had written down for me. And he’d suggested somewhere for us to meet for lunch.

  I’m actually kind of surprised at his choice of restaurant, too! It’s this cool kind of hipster place in Williamsburg called Rabbit Hole. As I take a seat wait fo
r him to arrive, I start eyeing up all the delicious-sounding things on the breakfast and lunch menu, in particular stuffed French toast with strawberry mascarpone.

  My stomach lets out an eager little grumble in anticipation.

  I’d forgotten just how much better the food in New York was, compared to London — I just hope I’ll be able to keep my figure!

  Just then, Jonathan walks in … At least I think it’s Jonathan?! It’s this handsome, not to mention insanely well-dressed tall hipster guy, wearing Jonathan’s face.

  Wow! I guess time really has changed him!

  I suppose I was no picnic myself, but the last time I’d seen Jonathan, back when we were both thirteen, I guess you could say he was kind of geeky — acne, wire-frame glasses, braces on his teeth, the lot.

  At this last thought, I feel a sharp pang of guilt and shame, as I realize that part of my apprehension about meeting Jonathan is down to the fact that I didn’t want to hang out with such a ‘geek’. I hate myself for being this shallow, and I inwardly decide never to judge people on their pasts - or their appearances - ever again.

  “Nice blouse!” he says as he joins me at our small table by the window. “American Apparel, right?”

  “Um … yeah?” I reply with a curious smile. “Hi, Jonathan. It’s been a while.”

  “Sure has,” he smiles back. “The last time you saw me, I was a total fright. Don’t try and deny it! But luckily, I’ve been through my ‘Ugly Duckling’ transformation, don’t you think?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. He’s so candid, so up-front and funny, and already the afternoon ahead suddenly seems like it’s gonna be so much fun. I don’t know what I was worried about.

  “Yes,” I grin. “You look really good. But I’m not going to tell you that ever again, because I’ve got a feeling you already know it!”