He reaches between his own thighs and strokes his cock whilst looking at me. I am an object, something to be desired and wanted. It makes my heart leap and my body tighten with arousal to be that to him. To be his. Even if it’s just for this brief moment of time.
I push down the wave of sadness which comes with the realisation that this one night is all we can realistically have together. I can’t think about that yet.
“Fucking hell, you’re gorgeous. A work of art. Stay there, don’t move.”
He scrambles off the bed, picks up his jeans and fishes his phone and a condom out of the pocket.
“Okay.” He jumps back on his knees between my thighs. “Please can I take a photo of you?”
“Erm, well—” I really want to protest that my hair is a mess and I must look terrible, but instead I shrug. Clearly he doesn’t think that way. “Okay then, sure.”
“Thanks.” He presses at his phone screen a few times then aims it at me. I smile. I watch the concentration on his face as he moves the camera to capture the perfect angle. His hair flops forward over one of his eyes and I really want to push it out of his face, grab his cheeks and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him some more. But I don’t. I lie still, arms flat against the bedsheet because he told me to leave them there.
“Got it.” He flashes the screen my way. I nod—it looks pretty good from a distance. He throws the phone down onto the bed beside us. “Now, play with your clit while I get this condom sorted.”
I have never masturbated in front of another person before, so I very hesitantly reach down my body and rest my hand over my pussy, my eyes clamped closed. I don’t want to see him watching me. There is a freedom in his command somehow. I’m not doing it, in a way. He is. This gives me the bravery to press a finger in between my folds and seek out the moistness pooled there. I push my pointer finger inside me and gather up more of my nectar to rub over my clit, so my finger pad glides over it more easily.
I relax the more I touch myself—the bliss coursing through me makes me want to wank more, building up the need to come.
“Open your eyes, Josie.”
I flutter open my lashes and meet his heated gaze. Thunder’s pupils are large and the green of his eyes is darker than I’ve seen it before. I continue to brazenly finger myself as I stare deep into him, past the beautiful exterior into his human, vulnerable core. Gulping, I flutter my lashes a little bit against the welling tears. Deep inside I know this is the start of our goodbye.
“Keep touching yourself, Josie, please,” he begs, pressing closer, brushing his hair-covered legs against the soft dampness of my inner thighs until his hardness is pressing against my fingertips. He slips inside me without any resistance, and I wrap my legs around him, pulling him close. His pubis pushes down on the back of my hand, trapping it against my clit.
Not a word is spoken, our bodies say it all. I grab onto his waist with my spare hand and he dips his head until our lips meet, softly at first then the kiss deepens and becomes rougher and more urgent as his thrusts quicken in pace.
It’s a terrible conundrum. I’m caught between never wanting this to stop and really needing to come. It doesn’t matter how long you try to hold on, pleasure eventually reaches its crescendo. Thunder’s lips pull away from mine as his body tightens and throbs. He’s close.
“Come with me,” he gasps. “Please, Josie.”
“I’m close,” I groan, “hold on for me.”
“Always.”
I squeeze my eyes tighter, concentrating on the small, powerful nub beneath my fingertip. One tiny area of my body gives so much enjoyment, it’s amazing really. Thunder’s cock jumps within me and I whimper. I’m so close. I can feel his weight on me, the tension in his body, echoing my own. I rub with quick, determined strokes, arousal suddenly swelling and peaking like a flood.
“Now!” I cry and from the small, measured pushes he begins to thrust hard and fast and I come equally hard and fast, screaming his name. His grunts and exclamations join and blend with my own. I gasp and gulp, tears flowing. Ecstasy burst the banks and I just let go.
Thunder kisses the tears from my cheeks. He rolls to his side and pulls me tightly into him. No words, just unconditional comfort. As my heartbeat returns to normal and my tears dry, I take in a shuddering breath. Being a mature, responsible adult I really need to get a grip. Why on earth is such a casual encounter affecting me like this?
“Josie, I’m sorry, baby, but I’m going to have to call Don to give you a lift home. The guys are on the tour bus already waiting for me.”
“Oh, okay, that’s fine–wait, how do you know they’re on the bus?”
“I had several not so pleasant messages on my phone, but I wasn’t going to let them stop this.” He beams.
There’s suddenly a loud, insistent hammering at the door and everything happens in a whirlwind. I grab my clothes and dress in the bathroom, combing my hair with my fingers and spritzing perfume on me and last night’s outfit. I check my phone—just one message from Claire to tell me that Amy is fine and they’re going to the cinema. I’m glad—it’ll give me a few hours to get in, get changed and gather myself before she starts asking questions.
When I re-emerge, Thunder is fully dressed and arguing with a familiar-looking dude. I think it’s Grant, the drummer.
“Just let me say bye, okay, dude? Look, she’s here now.”
“Get on with it, we’ll be fucking late at this rate. I hate not having time for a full rehearsal.”
“Hey.” Thunder runs over and wraps me in a hug. “I gotta go. It’s been wild.”
“It sure has,” I reply with a big grin. We kiss deeply.
“I’ll message you, promise. Bye, Josie. Don will be up in a minute. Wait here for him.”
“Bye, Thunder.”
His bandmate literally drags him away from me and out of the door. I feel empty and deeply sad.
“It was just sex.” I say out loud. It doesn’t really make me feel any better. Luckily there’s a knock on the door. My lift home has arrived.
Chapter Five
“So, what’s he like? How did it go? Did you kiss?” Amy bounces up and down as she barrages me with questions.
“He’s nice, funny, clever. It went well. I had a good time, and ham and pineapple on my pizza, and the rest is none of your business, nosey.”
“You kissed! You kissed! I know you did. Oh, I’m so happy for you, Mum. You need a man in your life.”
“Pfft.” I drop the potato I was cutting into the pan of water on the cooker. “I don’t need a man at all, Amy.”
“Yeah right, Mum, whatever. When you going to see him again?”
“Dunno.” I shrug. “We’ve not arranged another meeting. Might not even happen.”
“Aw, don’t say that. I bet he’ll ring you soon for a second date. Anyway, I’m off to my room. I need to Skype with Kirsty.”
“What? You only just left her five minutes ago.”
“I know, but we’ve got important stuff to discuss in private.”
“Bryan Harper,” I yell after her up the stairs.
“Oh, shut up!” she yells back. She hates the fact I know the name of her crush. Oh, to be thirteen again. Not a care in the world. Saying that, I feel uncomfortably like a teenager as I have checked my phone approximately a billion times an hour in case I missed the notification of him texting me. I’ve not. Not had even a word from him.
Yet.
He’s probably forgotten all about me.
The rest of the day passes slowly, with me in a turtleneck. When I looked in the bathroom mirror at home I saw the bruises left by Thunder’s heavy metal kisses. I spent a good while admiring them, but there was no way I was letting Amy see them.
I keep prodding them through my top, the spark of pain a vivid reminder that it all really did happen. So finally when I roll into bed at a ridiculously early hour, I decide to take the initiative. I’m a strong, independent woman. I can text him first if I want to.
Had
fun last night. Missing the pizza and laughter. Hope your gig went well. Josie x
I toss and turn, checking and re-checking the phone screen, closing the cover and checking again. It’s gone midnight when I finally get a response.
Missing you too x
It’s not exactly the world’s longest missive, but it’s something. He misses me! Maybe there’s some kind of hope we’ll get together in the end. My mum always said I was a hopeless romantic.
***
“How could you!” Amy bursts into the living room, shaking her phone vigorously.
I don’t react at first—I’m quite used to these outbursts of teenage angst. Usually they’re nothing to do with me and are generally in relation to some nugget of gossip from her school mates or a controversial YouTuber opinion.
“What’s got you shook now?” I ask. Pretending I get the teenage lingo tends to lighten the atmosphere. She thinks I’m much too old to be cool.
“Oh, don’t even try.” She shakes the phone more violently in my direction. “Why didn’t you tell me your date was with Thunder Jackson?”
“What? Wait, what?” I shake my head in confusion. How does Amy know that?
“Look!” She shoves her phone under my nose. “Don’t deny it. The photos are right there.”
And sure enough, there on the screen is a picture of Thunder with his arm around me. Damn, a journalist must have snapped us on our way into the hotel.
“Well, I didn’t think it mattered who it was with,” I reply, scrolling down the article.
“But it’s Thunder, Mum. Jeez, you didn’t even get me an autograph!”
“Well, I’ll ask him to send you one if you like—holy crap!”
Suddenly there on the screen is a photo of me and Thunder kissing, but worse still, next to it is the photo he took of me. Heavily censored but still clearly me.
“Yeah, seems you did way more than kiss.” Amy looks over my shoulder.
My jaw drops and I try to say something, but words just don’t form.
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m thirteen, Mum. I know people have sex.”
“But, but, I mean, that photo was private!” I squeak.
“Yeah, that’s bad form even for Thunder.” She shrugs. “Sorry, Mum.”
“Oh God, everyone will see this! Christ, what if Mr Donaldson sees it?” Full blown panic has set in.
“Don’t worry!” Amy has gone from accusation mode to conciliation in a matter of moments. She can see I’m melting down. “It’s just a photo and it’s not like you put it out there on purpose or anything. I mean you can’t even see anything bad.”
“My tummy, my wobbly chin and bed head! That’s bad enough. It’s a naked image. Oh God, what if I lose my job?”
“You won’t, Mum.” Amy pats my arm. “It’ll be fine. It’ll blow over soon. I mean, last year that poor sixth former, Sophie Renson, well her nudes were splashed all over Facebook. She thought she was ruined, but no one even remembers it now. It’s nothing, really.”
“Yeah, no, yeah, you’re probably right.” I sigh. No use worrying Amy too. “It’s only a picture.”
Only a picture. A photo I let him take. One only he could have taken to the press. It’s like I’ve been stabbed through the heart.
Amy takes her phone from me and smiles. “I’ll go make you a brew, then we can watch a movie or something if you want.”
“Can we watch Dirty Dancing?” I ask.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll put a bag of popcorn in the microwave then, shall I?”
“Okay, cool.”
Lord, it is bad. She’s making me a cup of tea and allowing me to watch my favourite film without argument. I pick my phone up off the coffee table, ignore the pile of notifications, and click on to Thunder’s message.
You absolute bastard. How could you? I trusted you. I can’t believe you’d use me as a publicity stunt. Just fuck right off, pal. I don’t want anything more to do with you.
I click send, then turn it off. I don’t want to talk to anyone, text anyone—I don’t want to even think of the outside world and the existence of that photo in the public domain.
***
“No one puts baby in the corner.” I sniffle. This bit always makes me cry, but today there’s more behind my tears than just the sappy movie.
“Erm, Mum, I think you might want to see this.” Amy thrusts her phone at me.
“No, I don’t.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to look at a phone or my laptop, I just want to pretend the outside world doesn’t exist, thank you very much.”
“But Mum. You need to see this.” She shoves the phone into my hand and I sigh deeply before looking down.
“What?” I shake my head. “What am I looking at?”
“It’s Thunder’s Twitter feed, Mum. He’s saying someone nicked his phone or data or something. He’s condemning the site that posted those photos. Said he’s pursuing it as a police matter.”
“So he didn’t send the photo to the press?”
“He says not. I know he’s got a bad boy reputation, but it’s well out of order to pass on nudes. And if he’s going to the police it must be real, right?”
Sighing again, I pass her phone back to her. “I really don’t know, Amy. People lie.”
“They do, but I don’t think he wanted to hurt you, Mum. He says in the last tweet. Apologises deeply to anyone hurt by the leaking of his phone images.”
“Anyone? Does that mean there’s loads of girls’ nudes off his phone on the internet now then?”
“Not that I’ve seen.” She shrugs. “I truly think this was an accident.”
“That’s why you’re so brilliant, honey. You believe the best of everyone, bless your heart. Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”
“Anytime, Mum. Love you.”
“Love you too, champ.”
She squeezes my arm and stands up. “I need to go do my chemistry homework, it’ll take me ages. You be okay?”
“Yeah, no worries. Get your work done, hon.”
When I’m sure she’s upstairs, I let the tears fall. Just one time I let my hair down, just one time I go with my gut and don’t deny myself like a responsible adult should, and I end up in the shit.
My reputation in ruins, my job on the line and my heart broken.
Yes, people’s memories are short, but images stay on the internet forever. What am I going to do? Forever, now, when anyone looks me up online, that image is going to come up. It’s always going to haunt me. Worse still, it will haunt Amy too.
I don’t really want to look at it, but I grab my laptop and look up the article. Forearmed is forewarned. I need to know what’s out there so I can defend myself when people bring it up. Which they will. Especially the girls at work. I just have to hope to God it doesn’t get back to the boss.
To be fair, the photo is pretty flattering. The soft lighting, the angle he took it at—it’s not terrible The censoring covers up a good chunk of my belly and boobs and my hair is spread out around me, not clumped all on one side. So at least I don’t look too bad in it. The thing that really hurts me is the depth of emotion in my eyes.
I could have loved that man. I’m sure of it.
The article is badly jumbled together click bait. It mentions me only as Josie—I should thank the Lord for small mercies—and is basically a bundle of lies. It talks about a drink and drug-fuelled orgy, and the writer is seemingly shocked by my inclusion, even guessing my age wrong and aging me by ten years. And as if that isn’t offensive enough, the article declares me not to be MILF material.
It makes my blood boil. I don’t want to believe Thunder would dump me in it for something so juvenile, something so filled with lies. I shake my head as the tears drip on my cheeks.
“Pull yourself together!” I snap at myself. I’ve never been one for wallowing in self-pity. I am proactive.
I send a strongly worded email to the site, demanding they take down the article and photo or I’ll sue them seven ways to hell and back. I’m not afraid to g
et my hands dirty.
Then I start to tackle the mess of messages and texts from friends and family offering sympathy, exclaiming shock, or in some cases both. It’s amazing. I can go for weeks without interaction with anyone other than my daughter and my workmates. But suddenly everyone is wanting a piece of me.
I work hard to keep my responses neutral. I don’t want any further information getting out there. I would have said I was being paranoid but that was before my naked body was splashed all over the ‘net. I turn the sound off on my phone. I don’t want to hear the notifications, and I certainly don’t want to talk to anyone.
I get stuck into my housework, leaving my phone on the coffee table in the living room. Normally I keep it always in sight. Today I don’t want the reminder.
I’m exhausted by the end of the day and my little two up, two down is sparkling clean.
When I head to bed, I’m a little disappointed to find that Thunder hasn’t sent me a text in reply to mine. Stupid I know, but I thought at least he’d try to fix things. Maybe he is the bastard I accused him of being.
Amy has that gift of seeing the good in everyone. I was always like that too and I still try to be where I can, but I’m so much more jaded now. Especially when it comes to men. I’ve always wanted to believe that there were good men out there and that one day I’d meet mine.
I know I’ve only spent a little time with Thunder, but part of me was hoping he was my good man. It hurts to realise that I was so very, very wrong. All he wanted me for was the sex. Maybe someone to eat pizza with too. How could I have been so naïve?
You’d think I’d have learnt my lesson after Carl. He left me high and dry. I thought he was the one, but he was only using me. He wasn’t completely useless—he gave me Amy after all, and Amy is my life.
I shouldn’t have let Thunder get under my skin, but when I close my eyes all I can see is him, all I can feel is the ghost of his touch and all I can do is cry myself to sleep. I miss him. My heart hurts and it’s all just too confusing for words.
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