Girl After Dark Page 9

  And I make a promise to myself: I’ll take some really good photos of my tattoo and email them to her, first thing tomorrow morning.

  In the meantime though, she was so right about my dad, and I head downstairs in order to blackmail him with some of that homemade pizza he loves so much, as long as he agrees to let me take him shopping.

  Girl After Dark: Striptease Adventure

  Is there anything more beautiful than the female form?

  That’s the question I asked myself after my night at the burlesque club. From my seat in the audience, I drank in so much beauty; the confident androgynous host, the naughty-but-nice redhead, and the curvy amateur who just didn’t care.

  We’re usually fed such a bland diet of female beauty by the media. And surrounded by images of six foot tall anorexics with pneumatic chests, it’s easy to feel like you don’t quite measure up. But there in that room I felt powerful, sexy and beautiful — just like all women should.

  So that’s why I returned again, the very next week. Except this time, I wasn’t content just to sit in the audience.

  No. This time, I was going to display my body proudly to a room full of strangers …

  *

  As I waited nervously at my table, I thought about quietly slipping out through the door at the back, racing home towards the safety of my bedroom, but then I thought about you, my dear readers.

  You’ve helped me grow so much in confidence over the short time we’ve known each other. And I know that you would want me to go through with this ...

  So when the compare called my name, I just knew that there was no backing out now.

  One foot in front of the other, I walked slowly and nervously towards the stage.

  But a strange thing happened. With every step I took towards my destiny, I felt my old self shedding like a skin. I was becoming a confident girl. I was becoming … Girl After Dark.

  And as I finally took to the stage, I looked out onto the sea of eyes staring back at me, I drank in their applause, and I knew that I was going to give them one hell of a show.

  At first, I stood still on the stage, waiting for my song to begin, hoping that the outfit I’d chosen right for the performance: a vintage dress, in fact the only one I’d brought with me to New York from my old life.

  There was a long, electrifying pause, and then the music began to purr from the speakers. I’d given them directions to play ‘I Put A Spell On You’ because that’s *exactly* what I planned to do.

  I closed my eyes as I began to dance, running my trembling fingers over the soft curves of my body, tracing the outline of my breasts, feeling my nipples begin to stiffen, as I swung my hips softly in time to the slow, sexy beat of the song.

  And even there with my eyes closed, I could sense the electricity of a hundred pairs of eyes all watching me as I began to tease them, now tugging at the hem of my dress, sliding it a tantalising couple of inches upwards, revealing the soft bare skin of my thighs beneath.

  A moment later my fingers seemed to be moving by themselves, teasing that sensitive place between my legs that had begun to throb and yearn for release.

  Next I spun around, so that my back was to the crowd, by now shivering with excitement as I tugged my dress further and further upwards, finally giving them the briefest little flash of my bottom before I let the hem fall down once more.

  A couple of encouraging whoops and wolf-whistles from the crowd, and I felt the excitement inside me double at the thought that perhaps I was actually turning on other people just as much as all this was turning *me* on.

  Still with my back to the room, I reached for the zip to my dress, catching the little metal clasp and slowly, smoothly tugging it downwards, revealing my bare white shoulder blades beneath.

  No going back now.

  As I let go, moving my hips in time to the music as I peeled the dress from my body — first slipping it down over my shoulders then wiggling it past my hips, leaving me dressed in just my bra and panties — I couldn’t help think again about how symbolic this action was. After all, here I was peeling away the old me, the kind of girl who used to enjoy wearing clothes like this, and uncovering my new sexy Girl After Dark side beneath, including of course my brand new tattoo …

  Again the crowd clapped and whooped once more as the dress fell to the floor around my ankles.

  I could feel my heart pounding now as I bent forward, my hands on my knees as I gave them another quick flash of my ass.

  Then, pulling myself back to standing, I twirled again, so that I was once more facing the room.

  Finally, I let myself open my eyes.

  At first I was dazzled by the stage lighting but then, after a moment, I was able to let my gaze roam the crowd, feeling for the first time the sheer intensity of all those hungry eyes fixed on my body.

  I looked around the room as, once more, I ran my hands over my curves, down past my breasts, then tracing over my tummy, letting my fingers slip beneath the waistband of my panties for a second, registering with fresh shiver of excitement that I was really doing this, my fingertip brushing against my throbbing clit in front of a whole room full of strangers, as I spread my legs and ground my hips to the slow sexy beat of the drums.

  Next I moved my hands to the straps of my bra, uncovering each slowly from my shoulders with an encouraging whoop from the crowd.

  I could feel the song gathering pace now and I knew I had to push myself further - uncover even more of myself.

  Again, I reached behind my back, this time to unclasp, my bra, feeling it come free but quickly catching it, holding it to my breasts with my hands.

  I spun again, my back once more to the crowd, wiggling my hips, feeling their hungry eyes on my ass, as my own hands now cupped my breasts, my fingers massaging my nipples — which were tingling and sensitive, so hard and erect.

  As the song swelled, I finally let myself spin back to face the crowd, letting my bra fall to the floor, feeling their hungry eyes move to my breasts, feeling myself shiver with anticipation, almost as if they were touching me, my body trembling with electric excitement, feeling like it would take so little now to make me come.

  As the song drew to its climax, I hooked my thumbs in my panties, teasing the crowd with the possibility that I might take those off too, sliding the thin strips of elastic up and down over my hips in time to the beat, before actually letting them fall around my ankles, seconds before the song climaxed, sending up a shocked gasp from the audience.

  And as the song’s last notes swelled, I threw up my hands, finally showing myself — naked, exposed, aroused — to the crowd for a few brief seconds before the stage plunged into darkness.

  As the crowd erupted in rapturous applause, I quickly pulled on my panties again, gathered the rest of my discarded clothes and scurried off to the wings at the side of the stage, my heart hammering, my whole body trembling, and my head spinning as I marveled all over again at what I’d just done.

  §

  As I hit ‘publish’ on my latest blog, I’m so proud of this one.

  I really feel like I’m actually building a connection with my readers, and I’m so glad to be able to tell them that they’re helping me to discover who I really am.

  But there’s one more thing that happened that night, too — one thing I didn’t mention in my blog post.

  You see, after I finished my routine, Mistress Helena the androgynously beautiful compere handed me a silk dressing gown from the side of the stage and led me into the darkness of the wings, down a little corridor and to a small changing room lit only by a dim red bulb.

  I waited for her to leave me to get dressed, but she lingered in the doorway a moment, her eyes still lingering on my body.

  “Not bad, Honey, not bad,” she purred.

  “Thank you,” I blushed, feeling so shy despite the fact that I’d stripped off to nothing just a moment ago.

  “You know, you could go professional if you wanted to,” she continued, her glimmering eyes meeting mine in a
fierce, hungry stare.

  I was startled, but managed to regain my composure just enough to reply to her. “Why, thank you, I’m very flattered. But I think this was just a one-off thing.”

  “I see,” she nodded with a knowing smile. “Exploring the limits of certain possibilities, were you?”

  “Something like that,” I mumbled, feeling my nervousness increase as she took another step towards me. “How did you guess?”

  “I had a hunch about you,” she replied with a smile. “And I think you’re ready to take the next step. So how about you meet me for a drink sometime?”

  I suppose I could have put that in my blog, too, but I suppose the thing is, I’m still not sure if I’m going to take her up on her offer, and I don’t want to dangle the possibility in front of my readers until I’ve made up my mind …

  And actually? If I’m being completely, one-hundred-percent honest? There’s another thing that I didn’t tell my readers, either. You see, as much as I enjoyed the hungry gazes and admiring glances from my audience, in my mind’s eye, I was only undressing for one person. The only person who’s ever made me feel truly sexually alive. I knew that exploring my sexuality was going to present new challenges, but I had no idea that emotions this strong, an undeniable attraction to a practical stranger, was going to get in the way of my fun.

  I need to get a grip on this.

  I can’t let thoughts of him stop me. After all, I’ve deleted all his contact details. I could never even contact him again if I wanted to ...

  With one hand I close my laptop.

  With the other, I pick up my purse and slip out the cocktail napkin embellished with Mistress Helena’s phone number and, below it, a deep burgundy lipstick kiss.

  I trace my finger over the lipstick kiss and imagine running my finger across her full sensuous lips.

  I feel a sudden thrill.

  So does that mean I should call the number?

  “Daddy?” I say as we continue down Fifth Avenue. “I love you and everything but you are, without doubt, the worst person to shop for. Now, we are buying you some clothes today if it kills you.”

  “How could I even concentrate in that last place?” he replies. “I couldn’t hear myself think. That didn’t even sound like music.”

  “Well Daddy,” I say, bringing us to a halt outside a beautiful old fashioned men’s outfitters store, “you can’t have any complaints in here. They haven’t changed anything since, like, eighteen fifty nine. This is just classic men’s tailoring, and we’re gonna buy you some clothes …”

  He sighs and then follows me into the large airy store.

  “Now,” I say sternly, pointing to a row of seats near the fitting rooms, “you wait here while I search the racks.”

  It’s like shopping with a naughty child or something!

  He does as he’s told, and I begin to browse.

  I’m in the shopping zone: this focused kind of zen mood I get in when I’m on the hunt for bargains. I assess the clothes on display quickly, running my hand along the top of a rail of suit jackets, taking in the cut, feeling the quality of the fabric. My fingers dance swiftly over the jackets until all of a sudden I’m awoken out of my trance.

  It’s like an electric shock runs right through me.

  Because a hand is touching mine — and I know instantly who it belongs to.

  I pull my fingers away, then look up into those intense green-grey eyes.

  “Carson?” I say, stumbling backwards, completely taken aback. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same thing as you,” he grins, nodding down at the crisp white packaged shirt under his arm. “Except I definitely wear men’s clothes, so what’s your excuse?”

  I blush.

  “Actually, I’m here with my dad,” I say. “Tragic, isn’t it?”

  I can’t believe I’m actually holding this together. This is the most awkward situation ever. In a city this big, I genuinely thought I’d never see him again. And I certainly never imagined it happening when I was with my dad.

  “The only tragedy here is that you aren’t alone,” he says, leaning towards me from across the rail, his voice low and urgent now, his gaze just as direct. “I’ve been fantasizing about seeing you again. I can’t let you slip away from me a second time. We’ve got to talk.”

  Talk? I think. How can we talk here? My dad is literally feet away from us. What do I say? Hi dad, this is Carson. We had a hot one-night-stand a little while ago and now we’ve got some business to discuss?!

  No way.

  I can’t have Carson and Dad meet now; it’s just not gonna happen.

  And as if to make matters ten times more awkward, I hear my dad call to me just then from the fitting rooms:

  “Honey? You okay over there?”

  “Honey?” Carson smiles. “So that’s really your name, huh?”

  “Kind of,” I reply with an embarrassed shrug.

  I can’t believe this is happening!

  It must be fate.

  All the hundreds of times that his face has flashed through my mind, that I’ve relived his electrifying touch on my skin – the moments of doubt where I’ve cursed my decision to delete him from my life. And here he is. Right in front of me. And my Dad.

  There are so many things I want to say to him, but there’s nothing I can say right here, right now ...

  And as I turn and slowly walk, I can feel his eyes, following me.

  “I’ve got some things here, Daddy,” I call, trying to ignore Carson’s gaze, “and you’re gonna try them on, okay? No ifs or buts. You’re trying them on.”

  But it’s not just his eyes that are following me. As I make my way across the store, I can see him behind me in the mirrors, heading in the exact same direction.

  Oh, God. Really?

  I spin around, wanting to give him some kind of signal, otherwise at this rate I’m going to have to introduce him to my dad, and if I thought it was awkward five minutes ago, that could only make it ten times worse …

  I look at him, pleading with my eyes, but he gives me a knowing smile and a ‘who, me?’ look, then holds up the shirt he’s carrying.

  Of course — he’s headed for the fitting rooms too. He saunters past me, cool and collected, as if we’ve never even met and takes the first available cubicle on the left.

  “Okay, Dad,” I say, urging Daddy up and over to the absolute farthest cubicle from Carson — all the way at the other end on the right-hand side. “This one is free,” I say, practically stuffing him inside then thrusting the huge pile of clothes into his arms. “Try these on! All of them!”

  But no sooner has my dad’s cubicle door swung shut than I feel an arm slip around my waist, pulling me backwards.

  I almost gasp, but before I can I feel another hand closing over my mouth, silencing me.

  And before I even know what’s happening, I find myself lifted off the floor and pulled right back into Carson’s cubicle. He closes the door behind me, then slips his hand from my mouth.

  I’m shocked into silence, looking up into those big green-grey eyes of his once more, eyes I never thought I’d see again.

  I can feel myself shivering.

  Part of me is angry, and wants to tell him he can’t just lift a girl off her feet and drag her into a cubicle with him any time he feels like it.

  But another part of me is excited too: excited to see him again, excited to be with him like this.

  “I need you,” he murmurs, placing his hands either side of my head, his lips only inches from mine, his breath hot on my neck. “And this time, I’m not gonna let you slip away again so easily …”

  “Is that so?” I ask, my mouth curling into a smile despite itself.

  He nods, keeping his eyes fixed on mine. He’s smiling now too, and it feels like this little cubicle is crackling with a thousand watts of electricity.

  As his lips softly graze my neck, the sensation hits me way more powerfully than I was expecting — like a flash of fire against my skin
– and I can’t stop myself from shivering.

  Of course, Carson takes this as his cue to continue, his kisses quickly becoming more urgent. Soon his mouth has found mine, and as his tongue slips into my mouth, I feel his muscular thigh slip between my legs too.

  I shudder, pressing myself back against him, softly moaning as I begin to grind myself rhythmically against his leg, feeling the delicious sensations building in electric waves inside me. And it’s clear he’s getting just as hot — just as worked up, too. As his hands move to my buttocks, pulling me even closer towards him, urging me to ride him, I can feel the hard hot bulge of his cock, straining at his jeans, straining towards me.

  We both want this, and it’s crazy how natural it feels, our bodies moving together with an easy rhythm as if they were made to do this.

  I kiss him as if my life depends on it, moaning into his mouth, both of us practically having sex now, pushing our yearning bodies hard and fast together, his hands on my ass, my clit throbbing wildly with each fresh movement we make, the hot sweet friction building up between us, my head spinning, my body trembling, when ...

  “Honey? You there?”

  The familiar voice stops me in my tracks, just moments before I come. I feel mortified as I realise exactly what I’ve been doing.

  “Just a minute, Daddy,” I call back, as innocently as I can, feeling the hot blush rise to my face as it seems obvious that my voice is still trembling from my almost-orgasm.

  Carson’s grinning now, like the cat that got the cream, but I shoot him a steely glare that says: ‘don’t you dare make a sound’. And just for good measure, I push my hand over his mouth too, unable to stop myself from grinning a little too.

  “I’m just using the mirror in the cubicle to fix my makeup,” I call out in explanation. “Be out in a sec.”

  I pull my hand from Carson’s mouth, lean in to steal one final, quick kiss, then whisper, “Stay there.”

  When I step back out from the cubicle, acting as if nothing has happened, there’s Dad, his arms laden with clothes.