by JA Huss
My tablet dings with an incoming third-party Twitter notification.
@FilthyBlueBird has unfollowed you.
I laugh. “Oh, Grace, Grace, Grace. You think you can slip me that easily?”
Grace @FilthyBlueBird – 1s
OMG, I have a stalker! What do I do, #BlueBirds?
You’d think a woman using Twitter this regularly for a few years would understand how it all works. I can still see her tweets when she unfollows me. I have to stop and laugh a little.
MovieStar @VaughnAsher – 30s
@FilthyBlueBird Who is this stalker? I will set him straight.
And then the usual happens. Within minutes, there are dozens of @replies. Mostly from her girlfriends on the Dirty Heaven list, the #BlueBirds. But some random stalkerish fans of my own are in there too.
@VaughnAsher is @FilthyBlueBird your GF?
@VaughnAsher if you’re the stalker, you can stalk me any time!
@VaughnAsher who is @FilthyBlueBird? Can I be your blue bird?
They get worse from there. Invitations to fuck them. Sit on my face. #SOHF is a code word for that on Twitter. @FilthyBlueBird uses that one a lot. And I’ve got to admit, that’s something I’d like to imagine. More than imagine, actually. I’d like to lick that sweet little pussy until she’s dripping down my chin.
Fuck. I’m horny. I reach for my phone and press Grace’s number in my contacts. She picks up on the first ring.
“What the hell are you doing?” she growls at me.
“You left so suddenly, Grace. I didn’t have a chance to—”
“Get off my Twitter feed, Asher. Now!”
I chuckle. It’s one of those full-of-myself chuckles I do when my power is looming over people. “Now whyever would I do that, Miss Kinsella?”
“Because, Vaughn, I’m just a girl from Denver who has absolutely no interest in signing your contract. It was a fun fling, but it’s over now. So leave me alone and stop stalking me on Twitter! My friends are all going to see—” She’s interrupted by a continuous litany of pinging from my tablet and I admit, at this point in the conversation, I’ve got a hand over my mouth to stop the laughing. She screams on the other end of the line.
I can see why. She just got bombarded with tweets asking about me.
“Oh my God. What do I tell them? What the hell am I going to tell them?” She screams again. “Fuck! Bebe just found out, thanks a lot! I never told her about you, now she’s going to know I was with you on the island.”
“So?”
“So? Jesus, have you no sympathy for me at all? She’s my best friend and I lied to her! I fucked a goddamned movie star and I didn’t tell her! How can you—”
“Grace?”
“—be so fucking cold, you jerk!”
“Grace?”
“Oh. My. God. Do you hear that? That’s her now! She’s calling on the other line!”
“Answer it, I’ll wait.”
“Answer it? No! I’m—”
“Grace?”
“What?”
“I’ll tell them all it was a lie if…”
“If what?” she growls at me through the phone.
“If you have phone sex with me, right now.”
“Holy shit, you are insane!”
“Oh! What’s that ding? Bebe again? I don’t suppose she’s very happy with you leaving the island the way you did either. I sense a girl fight coming. I almost wish I was there so—”
“Fine! Fine, fine, fine, I’ll do it. Just quick, say it was a lie.”
“No can do, Miss Kinsella. I need satisfaction first.”
There is a pause then. A blank in her freaking out. But the entire time I can hear her Twitter dinging the incoming messages. She sighs. “OK, you win. Just tell me what to do, I’ve never done anything like this before.” Her breath is all ragged and fast. It’s driving me wild. I wish she was here so bad. I’d strip her naked and bend her over the couch back, then finger her pussy until she screamed.
“Make me come. It’s that simple. With words, Grace. Make me come with words.” I close my tablet cover and it makes a little snapping sound as the operating system goes to sleep. “Did you hear that? That was me putting my tablet aside. I’m not in the least bit of a hurry to stop the Twitter chatter going on right now. But if you are, my girl, then by all means, you can make it snappy.”
“You’re lucky I’m not there. I’d make it snappy. I’d snap my teeth on your manhood so hard, you’d—”
“Now, now. While I do love the image of your mouth on my cock, your plump lips wrapped around my shaft, sucking while your hands pump me hard and fast—the teeth are not working for me. So leave that part out.”
She growls again and my pants become a little tighter as she decides what to do. “Why? Why do you like to embarrass me?”
“I’m not trying to embarrass you. Why do you think that?”
“Because you want me to talk dirty to you, you want to fuck me in public, you want to drag me kicking and screaming outside my comfort zone and you want to laugh at me while you do it. I don’t like that.”
“First of all, Grace, take a nice deep breath and then sit down, lean back on your couch or the pillows on your bed, and relax for a moment. Can you do that?”
She groans on the other end of the phone. “Fine, I’m sitting on my couch, completely relaxed.”
I smile as I picture her all tensed up. She’s probably pacing. “Take a deep breath, I said.”
She inhales deeply, holds for a moment, then lets it out in a long, slow stream.
“OK, now listen to me. I am not laughing at you at all. I’m enjoying you. You make me smile, OK? You make me laugh, yes, but in all the right ways. You bring me… joy. Do you see the difference? I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m trying to stimulate you.”
“But why does that have to be in front of the whole world?”
I sigh and narrow my eyes as I try and work through what she’s saying. “I’m surprised at this direction you’re going, to be honest. I mean, look at it from my perspective, Grace. You’ve been online for years. Years! Typing out every dirty sexual fantasy about me in public. You do understand that, right? Or have you deluded yourself into thinking no one is watching what you’re doing? Maybe you think this is just a friendly chat with a few friends, but that’s not the case, Kinsella. Your Dirty Heaven thing is quite big. In fact, on Saturday nights, you are a Twitter star. So how can you blame me for assuming that you have a fetish for exhibitionism?”
She’s silent on the other end.
“Am I right? Or did I totally miss the boat on this? Because I just assumed, after reading that tweet in the bar, that we were into the same thing.”
“So you do like public sex!” She says this like it’s a gotcha moment and I practically throw up my hands.
“Grace, how could you be my online stalker for years and not realize that? I admit, it’s reading between the lines, but there are so many lines to read between. Every few months there’s a report about my deviant behavior. Don’t you read Buzz Hollywood?”
“I do, but—”
“But you assumed they were lying?”
“Well, yes. Of course. I mean, I’m not naïve, I figured the NDA was legit. But I just always gave you the benefit of the doubt.”
I am silent. I’m seriously without words. “You… did?”
“Of course, Vaughn. I had you wrapped up in this tight fantasy bubble. You were like, my prince. You were the perfect man. And I know that’s not real. I understand you’re a human being, but…”
She trails off and I’m not sure I can fill in the silence, so I don’t even try. I let it hang there. We let it hang there.
“Are you still there?” she asks.
“Yes,” I breathe out. “Just thinking.”
“About how stupid and pathetic I am?”
“No, Grace. That’s not what I’m thinking. I’m thinking… it’s been a long time since someone was so honest with me.”
It’
s her turn to be silent now.
“Grace?”
“I’m still here.”
“Tell me, truthfully, if you don’t mind. Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Why do you waste your Saturday nights on me?”
“Why not you? I mean, you’re hot. And you’re so easy.” She giggles. “I mean, you have such a long public history, you know? I can do a search and somewhere, someone has an answer to my questions about you. I like that. And your pictures are everywhere, so I can make cute graphics with comment bubbles over your head.”
“I’m public.”
“Yeah, you’re—” She stops as the pieces fall into place. I have never had a conversation about this stuff with a woman. None of them. “That’s why you like the public stuff? Because you’re an open book?”
I let her think about this for a few seconds. “Makes sense, though, right? I mean, look, I’ve been in the media since I was five and started doing commercials. Primetime sitcom series for six years, then the band when I was fourteen. I’ve been on display my whole life. What’s one more asshole watching me during a private moment?”
“Is it an addiction? Have you ever had sex in private?”
I laugh. “Of course.”
“But you thought I like the public stuff too?”
“I know it excites you, Grace. I felt your pussy and it was wet every single time. So why fight it? Why give me such pushback?”
“Because it makes me feel… dirty.”
“Aren’t you? Aren’t you the filthy blue bird? Isn’t that the public persona you’ve been cultivating for the past few years?”
Silence from her again.
“It’s not real to you, is it? All that Twitter stuff. It’s fake to you. Is that why you don’t have a boyfriend? You prefer the illusion?”
“That’s actually not why.”
But her tone is hostile, so maybe that’s not exactly why, but there is a reason why she doesn’t have a boyfriend. And it’s got something to do with this Twitter stuff. Somehow, some way, it’s related.
“I just don’t have time for one.”
“Right. But you have time to chat online every Saturday night for hours and hours? You know, for someone who is extremely self-righteous when it comes to my bad behavior, you sure do have some good excuses to justify yours. At any rate, dirty is just a word. Exhibitionist sex can just as easily make you feel sexy. But for some reason you choose something negative.”
“Are you going to stop the Twitter chat or not?”
Her abrupt subject change is a signal that she’s done with the personal stuff, and that’s OK with me. I’m about finished as well. With the personal stuff. I’m just getting started with the sexual stuff.
“I told you. Make me come with words, over the phone. And I’ll put a stop to the chatter.”
“Why can’t you just be nice and do it without the phone sex?”
“Because I want you, Grace. And this is a good way to get what I want.”
She’s quiet for so long I almost think she hung up. But then I hear a small breath of air and I know she’s about to give in. “Grace,” I whisper, breaking her silence on the other end and unzipping my pants at the same time. “I’ve got my hand on my cock, ready to go. Forget about Twitter and think only about me.” She takes a deep breath on the other end of the line and I know… I can just feel it. This will be epic. “Talk to me, Grace. If you were here, what would you do to get me off?”
Chapter Twenty-Two - Grace
#MrsInvisibleMan
I TAKE a deep breath.
“Grace?” he asks, a softer tone this time. His breath is heavier, like he’s relaxed. Like he’s jerking off, the cynical person inside me corrects. “I’m ready. I have my hand on my dick and you’re in front of me. What are you doing?”
I take another deep breath and then I swallow. Should I really do this?
“What’re you thinking?” he asks.
“I’m debating,” I tell him truthfully. “On whether or not I should cross this line with you.”
“So letting me fuck you in a tropical forest on Saint Thomas wasn’t crossing a line with me?”
“It was,” I interject. “But that’s different. That was a fantasy fling, this is reality. This is my life, Vaughn. I have a real life and those people on my Twitter feed are friends. You’re playing with my life. You’re…” I shake my head a little. I should not be having this conversation with him. I should not be letting him into my head at all. He’s a fun dream guy in the sex department, but as a real human being, Vaughn Asher is an asshole. I don’t want to go any further in this demented relationship and giving in to his demands right now would be a monumental mistake.
“I’m what?” he asks.
“You’re using me.”
“I’m not using you. I think we both had fun on the island. We can both have fun right now.”
“You’re forcing me to have phone sex with you.”
“I’m not forcing you—Grace, please. If you don’t want to, just hang up and I’ll never call you again. How’s that?”
“But if I do that, you won’t make things right, will you?”
“Oh,” he says with a chuckle. “I get it. You want me to force you. You want me to take away your decision in this matter, because you want to do it, you just want to go on pretending you don’t.”
I’m silent. Because he’s right. I want it both ways. I want the excitement of what he’s asking—what he’s offering. But I don’t want to take responsibility for choosing to allow him to treat me this way.
And that’s worse, isn’t it? Because I’m lying to myself. The least I can do is be honest. So I swallow down that fear and take another deep breath to steady myself. “I’m staring at you from across the room.”
“Mmmm,” he growls through the phone. “Why so far away?”
“Because…” I bite my lip to stop a smile. “Because the length of your cock has taken me by surprise. I never got a good look at it, and…” I stop to think. “And it’s very hard.”
“It is. It is so fucking hard right now. I wish you were here, in front of me.”
“What would you want me to do?”
“Only what you’re comfortable doing.”
Well, that makes me smile. “I’m walking over to you, slowly, so you can appreciate my body. I’m naked.” I giggle as soon as the words come out.
“As am I. How do I look?”
“God,” I say. “You look like a god.” A god I’d like to lick from top to bottom. But I don’t say that. I’ve written that. I’ve written worse, but I can’t say that out loud to him. I just can’t.
“Are you still nervous?”
“Yes,” I reply too quickly.
“OK, then since we’ve just met and this is our first time, maybe you shouldn’t be allowed to touch me.”
“No?”
“No. Maybe you should only be allowed to touch yourself. Kneel down in front of me, Grace.”
I don’t know what to do. Do I really kneel? Is this all pretend and we just say we’re doing things? I don’t get it.
“Are you kneeling? Don’t lie to me. I want you to kneel down and picture me naked, sitting on a black leather couch, my hand on my shaft, pumping up and down in a slow rhythm.”
“I’m sitting on my bed.” I figure this game might be fun, but only if I play along. “But I’m getting to my knees now.” I stand up and kneel down on the rug that lines the long edge of my bed and then put the phone in front of me and press the speaker icon. “I’m kneeling now.”
“Mmmm. And you put me on speaker, like a filthy little blue bird.”
“Now what?”
“You want me to do the talking?” he asks with an incredulous tone. “When you’re the one who needs the favor? Sweetie, please.”
“Mr. Asher,” I say in a low husky whisper. “I want you to tell me what you want so I can please you.”
He chuckles. “If I do, and I take care of the Twitter frenzy, you will owe me twice, darling.
Do you really want to stack these favors like that?”
“Yes,” I say back immediately. “Because I have no idea what to do, OK? I just don’t. I’ve never done this before, I’m out of my element, and I’m starting to get horny.”
I hear that smile from a thousand miles away. “Are you naked?” he asks, his voice a little bit rougher.
“No, I’m just in shorts and a t-shirt.”
“If I take control, you will follow all my directions?”
“I swear.”
“OK,” he agrees too quickly and I have a wave of nausea wondering what that might mean. “Strip, grab your vibrator, and return to that kneeling position. And Grace? Don’t bother telling me you don’t have a vibrator. Now do as I say and describe to me in detail as you follow my directions.”
“OK, I’m standing. And now I’m pulling my shirt over my head.” I do that and drop the shirt on the floor.
“Do you have a bra on?”
“No.”
“Stop for a moment and play with your breasts. Tell me how they feel, so I can imagine I’m the one touching them.”
I cup my breasts and squeeze. “They’re soft, and they overfill my palm. “
“Mmmm. They overfill mine too. I love them.”
“If you were here, I’d want you to suck them.”
“If I was there, I’d lift them up to your lips and make you suck them yourself.”
Oh.
“Do that, Grace. I’d like you to do that.”
“I can’t,” I laugh.
“You won’t. OK, moving on. Take off the shorts.”
My brows knit together as I ponder what that quick capitulation might signify. “My shorts are unbuttoned so I’m pulling them down over my hips.” They fall to the floor with a soft whoosh. “Now they’re around my ankles.”
“Do you have panties on?”
“No.”
He chuckles. “Do you go commando often?”
“Yes. I don’t see the purpose of underwear when mine are so skimpy they barely count. What’s the point?”