Girl After Dark (20 page)

 

It’s a beautiful spring morning. The sunlight’s streaming in through my bedroom window, I’ve got a mug of delicious coffee, and I’m feeling really great about my life.

I think about how lucky I am: I’ve got friends, I’m finally writing and enjoying it, it’s so great to be spending time with my dad again, and most of all things are going really great with my
boyfriend
Carson.

There’s just one little problem.

Do the readers of Girl After Dark really want to read about my perfect monogamous relationship?

You see, all the comments have been from people who’ve enjoyed my ‘voyage of discovery’ — people who have found my explorations inspirational, and I want to continue to inspire people.

And so, after some thought, I finally make the decision:

What’s wrong if I’m inspiring people, I think, if I just … ‘embellish the truth’ a little?

I figure that, now Carson thinks the blog’s over, he’s not going to read it anyway. So, I can just turn my writing skills from factual to … creative … right?

And as I flex my fingers and prepare to type up my next blog post, that’s exactly what I decide to do …

Get creative ...

§

Girl After Dark: Public Encounter

It’s the oldest cliche in the world. A girl sits in a bar, alone, and she hears this voice:

“Mind if I join you?”

And when she turns around, there’s this handsome stranger standing there in front of her.

How could she say no?

So that, dear readers, is how I find myself talking to this cute guy in a bar. I’d only come here for a drink on my own (something I’d never really tried before — maybe because I thought there’d be loads of sleazy guys).

But you know what? I actually feel pretty comfortable in the bar I’ve chosen: it’s dark so I don’t feel exposed, the music’s gentle and kind of sexy, the waiters are attentive but not too attentive, and it turns out I’m not the only woman here on my own, either.

And I’m kind of enjoying myself, about to finish my first Cosmopolitan, when before I know it, he’s there.

Asking to join me.

“I don’t know,” I say. “How do I know you’re a good guy?”

He laughs, his eyes glinting.

“Maybe I’m not.”

And before I know it, he’s asked me if I’d like to take a walk with him.

“It’s a beautiful night,” he says. “The stars are shining. We should take a walk in Central Park. Come on. Why not? It’ll be fun.”

I laugh, at first thinking he’s joking, but there’s something about the look in his eye that tells me he’s serious. Deadly serious.

And maybe it’s because of the cocktail, but for some reason I actually find myself nodding, even laughing and taking his hand as we stroll happily out of the bar and into the cold dark street outside.

Suddenly, the air feels charged with electricity. It’s as if we both know what’s about to happen next.

My stranger leads the way, taking me into the darkness park, just a block away, my heart pounding now as I realise just where this is leading ...

And sure enough, once we’re a little more secluded, he stops and turns to me, and then ...

And then?

We’re kissing.

I feel his hands I my hair, and I kiss him hard and passionately, pushing myself back against him, my whole body trembling from excitement at what I’m doing … what I’m about to do.

I’m a good girl, I think. I don’t do things like this.

But even as I think it, I can feel his hands on my ass now, pulling up my skirt. And I feel glad that I’m not wearing tights or panties as his fingers move between my legs.

“God, you’re so wet,” he murmurs between kisses.

And as I too begin to massage his crotch, I can tell that he’s just as into this as I am.

I’m tugging at his belt now, freeing him, and I gasp as he lifts me off the ground. I throw my arms around his neck, his hands on my ass, my legs gripping around his waist as he enters me, just like that, so fast and hard, filling me right up with his hot thick cock.

I’m moaning and gasping as he fucks me, driving himself deeper with each thrust.

And I cry out as I come, forgetting where I am for a moment.

Maybe it’s the fact that we’re actually doing this, in public, that turns me on so much. I can hear traffic and voices, and I know that at any moment someone could turn the corner, take a stroll a little way into the park, and see us: fucking in the darkness.

I’m still trembling as he comes too, his face in my neck, his hands on my ass, his hot cock pulsing inside me.

And afterwards, as we’re pulling our clothes back on, I realise with a naughty little smile that I don’t even know his name.

§

I’m out walking with Carson. Since he’s met me, he’s (begrudgingly) admitted that he kind of enjoys walking too. It’s a lovely crisp day and we’re just near Columbia, our hands clasped together, the sky above us a bright dazzling blue.

And to top it all off, I’m feeling good because I’ve just applied for an MFA at NYU in Creative Writing! I know it’s a total long shot but still, it feels exciting to at least have aimed for something as amazing as that.

Aim for the stars, right?

He’s actually talking to me about his work, too, telling me about a recent case.

“Well, of course,” he explains, “my client go back to Somalia. They would have murdered him. He was twenty-four hours away from being deported when our firm stepped in. I don’t like to think what would have happened if he’d got on that plane.”

I squeeze his hand, glad that he feels he can let me in on his work. Not for the first time, I feel a huge sense of pride in what he does, and I’m about to tell him that when, all of a sudden, I hear a familiar voice behind us in the street. “Melissa!”

I turn around.

I only have half a second to be excited that I’ve just bumped into my dad, before I realise that this also means he’s going to meet Carson for the first time.

“What a surprise,” he says, catching up with us. I watch his face carefully, as he reads our body language. He can tell that this isn’t just a friend. He sizes up Carson, suddenly a protective father looking out for his little girl. But he must see something that he likes, because his face quickly breaks out in a friendly smile. He even gives me The Look. You know, the one that means, ‘nice work, kiddo’. He’s hardly being discreet and I widen my eyes at him, willing him to play it cool.

“What are you doing up here?” he says.

I so don’t feel in the mood for this awkward conversation right now, so I try my best to shut it down.

“Oh, just going for a walk, getting some fresh air, daddy,” I say awkwardly. “Well, it would be great to stay and chat but I’m sure you’ve got to run off to your class now, right?”

“Actually no,” he smiles back. “I’m free for a couple of hours. I don’t have another class until the afternoon. So why don’t we all grab a coffee somewhere and you can introduce me to your new, um, friend here?”

I look at Carson, hoping he’ll say he can’t do it.

But instead, he smiles a winning smile and says, “That sounds great, Mr Lane. In fact, I know a really good place nearby actually!”

§

As I sip my coffee, which is
amazing
by the way, I marvel again at how totally normal this all turns out to be — not the weird, awkward thing I was imagining at all!

Carson is totally brilliant - charming, at ease, and asking loads of questions. When I think back, one of the things that annoyed me about Will was that he never seemed that interested in anyone other than himself. He never asked anyone a thing! 

And Dad’s being really great, too. For a start, he isn’t being at all embarrassing for once, he isn’t calling me Honey Bee all the time, he hasn’t told any stories about when I was little, or even been overly proud of me. So far, he’s just talked about art and books — two subjects that he and Carson really seem to hit it off on.

And as Dad and Carson discuss how much they both love Fitzgerald — they both agree that Tender Is the Night is miles better than The Great Gatsby, which by the way, I totally disagree with— it’s just great to see them getting on so well.

Eventually though, Carson shoots us an apologetic smile. “I’d better go,” he explains sadly, clearly wishing he could stay for longer as he pushes himself up from his chair. “I’ve got a meeting.”

“Well, you should come over to ours for dinner sometime!” Dad ventures.

“That’d be great,” Carson smiles back. “I’d love to.”

The two shake hands and once they’re done, I stand up just in time for him to give me a tender kiss on the cheek.

After he’s left, although I’m sad not to have had a proper kiss goodbye, I’m also eager to see what Dad thinks now it’s just the two of us.

“So?” I say. “What do you think? Does he pass the Father Test?”

“With flying colors,” he laughs.

“Thanks Dad,” I smile back. 

§

From [email protected]

Dear Melissa,

I had a wonderful time with you the other day. I regret not being able to kiss you properly - I still want your lips.

I had a great time meeting your father. He’s a really good man, and I’d love to continue our conversation with Fitzgerald at some point soon.

And now, would you do me the honor of maybe meeting my family? It won’t be as fun and relaxed, I’m afraid. In fact, it might be the opposite - quite stuffy - but my stepmother Esme is hosting a charity auction and I would be honored if you would be my guest.

It’s black tie, so pretty formal, but I know clothes has never been a problem for you!

Carson

Seriously now … where
is
it?

I’ve turned this whole room upside down, but I can’t find my damn locket anywhere. I know I’ve got it somewhere, I just can’t think where. I try and trace back my steps to the last time I wore it, but it’s useless. My head’s too much of a worried, nervous jumble about tonight to think clearly anyway.

I’m just about ready to tear my hair out: the locket would go so well with this outfit. And on top of that, I just can’t bear the thought that it might be lost forever. After all, my mum gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday; my first ever piece of ‘grown up’ jewelry.

But I just can’t think where I wore it last — so I’m not even totally sure I brought it with me to New York, in fact.

I calm myself down a little, thinking that maybe, just maybe, it’s still in London, safe and sound in my storage locker.

I won’t worry about it now, but I will send Mum an email tomorrow.

I look at the rest of my outfit in the mirror.

I don’t look half bad.

My hair is in a simple but hopefully stylish up-do. And I’ve done a smokey eye makeup look, which I’m wearing with a burgundy lipstick.

I’m wearing a black Simone Rocha dress. She’s a hot new designer, and I’d managed to pick up this dress before she got really big.

And a simple pair of black heels.

I’ve gone kind of ‘classic’ with my look, and it’s worked. I’m really happy. I just hope
Carson’s
family will like it …

I’m excited - he sent me a text earlier that he was sending over a car for me.

Just then I hear the beep, and this time on the way out of the apartment, instead of sneaking past, I actually stop in the doorway to the living room.

“Just going out with Carson,” I say.

“Have a great time,” Dad smiles back.

Finally, I think, no more sneaking around. It’s so much better when everything’s finally out in the open.

§

This hotel is amazing. It’s called The 212 and is the location for Esme’s charity fundraiser.

I walk up the red-carpeted steps alone, nervously scanning the crowd. It’s full of really glamorous people - people you can just
tell
are rich, and people who you know are famous. But I just can’t seem to spot Carson anywhere.

Then I hear a voice behind me.

“You look amazing.”

I turn around — it’s him, of course, and I feel myself finally relax. 

He looks amazing, too. I mean, I’ve seen him look smart before, sure, but never quite seen him looking quite
this
dapper. He’s wearing the most wonderful suit: black and formal, cut beautifully, with a crisp white shirt and even a bow tie. It’s the kind of thing that wouldn’t look out of place on Oscar night, and he looks just perfect in it, handsome as any movie star.

“I’ll introduce you to some people,” he says with a grin, “but first you look like you could use a drink! Here, come with me …”

He walks me over to an elegant waiter, dressed in traditional black and white, holding a silver tray of champagne flutes.

Carson takes a glass and hands it to me, then holds out his own. “Cheers.”

We lock eyes as we take a sip, and I’m not quite prepared for how delicious this champagne is. It’s lovely — the best I’ve ever tasted. Esme has obviously spared no expense on tonight.

An older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a friendly-looking face approaches us, one eyebrow raised as he looks at me. “Carson?” he asks. “Nice to see you! Please introduce me to this ravishing creature!”

“Melissa,” Carson says, “this is Julian, he runs the firm alongside my father. Julian, this is Melissa. She’s a writer who’s just made the move from London to New York.”

“New York is delighted to have you, my dear! I do hope Carson is showing you around our fine city?”

“Of course,” I smile back. “He’s been an excellent guide.”

“If anything,” Carson interjects, “I feel like Melissa has been the guide! I’ve seen this city from a completely new angle since I’ve met her.”

“Well, I do hope you can someday convince Carson to follow his old man into the family firm,” he says to me in a friendly, teasing manner. “It’s time he started to
really
practice law. He’s got an excellent degree going to waste, you know.”

“Actually, I think it’s admirable what Carson does,” I reply.

“Sure,” he nods, gently, still smiling. “It’s good for now, but he’s got a higher calling.”

“Julian,” Carson grumbles, but the older man just smiles and claps him on the shoulder, before bidding us goodbye and wandering off into the crowd.

“He’s a good man,” Carson says to me, once he’s gone. “He’s been friends with my dad since school. I know he can’t quite believe that I’m working where I am, but at the same time, despite what he just said, I know he wouldn’t push me into anything I didn’t want to do.”

Just then I hear a sharp, shrill female voice ring out.

“Carson, darling! I didn’t think you’d come!”

There’s a woman walking towards us. She’s extremely tall, rail thin, and — for her age, which I’d guess at anywhere between forty and fifty although it’s pretty hard to tell — she’s incredibly attractive. Like, ex-model attractive.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says to Carson once she’s nearby. “There’s some people I really want you to meet.”

“Esme,” he cuts her off. “There’s somebody I’d like
you
to meet first. Esme, Melissa. Melissa, Esme.”

“How delightful!” she says, smiling at me, but at the same time I feel this icy chill run through me as I realise she’s openly looking me up and down, assessing me coldly.

And it feels like in that one glance, in that one split-second, she’s decided I’m not good enough for her precious stepson.

“Melissa’s from London, Esme,” Carson says, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, I simply
love
London,” she says with a thin-lipped smile. “It’s just so …
quaint
. I always stay in the Dorchester when I’m there. But I do find overall that London hotels  simply aren’t up to the standards of New York …”

She turns back to Carson.

“You
are
coming for dinner next week, aren’t you?” she says. “If you don’t, I’m worried your father will disinherit you! He’s been saying he barely knows his own son anymore!”

“Oh?” says Carson a little puzzled, “I thought he’d be here tonight.”

“He’s still working,” she replies bluntly. “So obviously he can’t make it. Anyway, speaking of work,
I
have to work the room.” 

And with that, we both watch Esme sashay off into the crowd.

“It’s true, she does love London,” Carson says in a whisper, leaning in to me. “Or at least, she loves the discreet Harley Street plastic surgeon she goes to!”

I laugh, but out of the corner of my eye, I’m watching Esme walk up to somebody, look back in my direction, then whisper something in
his
ear.

And I can’t help but suspect that she’s whispering about
me
, too.

“Don’t worry,” Carson says, placing his hand reassuringly around my waist, “that was her playing nice. I get the feeling she might actually like you!”

§

“Do you trust me?” Carson whispers.

“Of course,” I reply. “Why?”

“Close your eyes.”

So I close my eyes, and a moment later I feel a cool wisp of silk wrap around my face as he ties a blindfold around my head.

I don’t know what’s going on, nobody’s ever done anything like this to me before, and I can feel all my remaining senses accentuated. I can hear him running back and forth, doing … something, and I wonder what in the world it could all be for. And it feels like I’ve been standing here forever in the middle of Carson’s apartment, when I finally ask him, impatiently, “Can I take this off yet?”

“Not yet,” he replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“What are you doing?” I ask, suppressing a smile of my own.

He answers not with words but with his hands. I gasp as I feel my dress being unzipped, peeling away from my shoulder blades, my bare exposed skin tingling.

Next, I feel his lips brushing against mine in a gentle kiss. I push back against him but he pulls away, obviously enjoying teasing me.

I wait, wondering what’s coming next, when I feel something touch against my collarbone. It’s cold. Too cold to be his lips. And soon this strange coldness is wrapping all around my neck.  

What in the world?

Finally I feel the blindfold becoming gently untied. And when I open my eyes, I’m looking into a mirror. And I realize the thing he’s placed around my neck is …

“My locket!” I gasp. “How did you? Where did you? I don’t understand!”

A moment later I see that his apartment is lit by hundreds of candles. There’s a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket on the coffee table in the living room, too.

He looks intensely into my eyes.

“That first night in the hotel,” he explains. “You left your locket behind. I felt sure it was a sign. I knew you’d come back to me. I wanted to wait until I was sure you had. And then, when I did, I’ve had this made …”

With this, he touches the chain. I look into the mirror realizing that next to the regular locket is a brand new charm — a beautiful golden key, a perfect miniature antique design, intricate and lovely.

“When I knew you were mine, I had this made for you. I want you to know that you always have the key to my heart. I entrust it to you.”

“Carson,” I whisper, “it’s perfect.”

And when he takes my face in his hands and kisses me, it’s as if the whole world comes to a standstill for a moment.

§

Next morning I wake up in his bed. I’m alone, and for a moment I panic thinking he’s left for work already, but then he appears in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. He pads to the edge of the bed, places the cup on the little night table, then leans in to kiss me on the forehead.

“You know the drill,” he says, “stay as long as you want. But I’m gonna have to scoot, I’m afraid.”

“Can’t you call in sick just this once?” I reply, knowing I’m being selfish but wanting him all to myself. “
Please?
”

“I wish, but today’s case is really important.”

“I understand,” I say with a smile. I do, I really do.

And as he turns to head off to work, I feel a swell of pride — once again marvelling at the fact that this guy, this total
catch
, is actually mine!

Once I’m alone in the bedroom, I pick up my phone, an automatic reflex. I’m not really expecting to find anything new, but … Wow. I’ve got loads of new comments on my last blog post (the made up one about the stranger in the park):

DragonGrrl
: Ohmigod! Ive always wanted to do something like that!! So hot!

Lucy
_
Ladyluck
: I know right? That’s a major fantasy of mine too. GAD is my spirit animal.

On and on the comments go, but instead of feeling happy, this morning I just feel guilty. I know I’ve got to stop this. It’s not fair, on Carson
or
my readers.

He’s so trusting with me. I mean, here I am in his apartment, and yet I’m making up stories about other guys?

No, it needs to stop, I tell myself. 

Maybe I should start writing a novel — something where I can use my full imagination.

But the blog has to stop.

Next I check my emails, and that’s when I see it.

I feel the dizziness hit me, like when I’ve had too much coffee, as I start to read: