by Jenni Regan
Taking this as some kind of green light, Stan lunged at me, grabbing my boob and clamping his mouth over mine. It wasn’t the gentle probing kiss I had been hoping for. The curtains in the room were open, and I immediately felt exposed to the outside world.
‘Let’s go upstairs to my room instead,’ I suggested, taking his hand and leading the way. I hoped I was being seductive, but it felt more like I was walking towards the slaughterhouse. My hands were shaking so much.
I felt even more anxious in my room with all the One Direction paraphernalia smiling back at us. Luckily the fairy lighting in the room was soft, and I hoped the overall effect was sexy rather than dark. He did look a bit taken aback at the duvet cover, but he was too busy trying to take my cardigan off to worry for long. I noticed that he then reached for his phone, and he put it on one of the bookshelves on a mini tripod thing; he spent a while adjusting the phone to get the right angle before he turned his attention back to me.
‘I like to have a record of whenever I shag beautiful women,’ he explained.
I knew this was the 'thing' these days. Entire relationships were documented and posted online. It was probably unusual for people to do it without some kind of evidence.
I tried to hide the fact that my dress didn’t do up—it was far too small for me and I hadn’t managed to pull up the zip—by taking it off really quickly. I then tried to get under my duvet cover, but Stan stopped me and turned on the bedside lamp.
‘It’s better to have more light for the camera and so I can see you better,’ he explained.
I hated being seen in so much light. I even got dressed in the dark, so this was brutal. I could immediately see all my rolls of fat and skin, which was pasty and covered in stretch marks. The breasts I had hoped would attract him now spilled out of my too-small greying bra, and my stomach sank heavily over the tight waistband of my knickers. I quickly adjusted myself and lay backwards; at least that way some of my curves would be flattened.
Stan picked up the phone and held it in front of me, the camera taking in everything. ‘Take off your bra,’ he ordered.
This was tricky to do from my lying down position, so I sat up again and tried to do it one-handed but struggled and had to resort to tugging with two hands pretty quickly.
‘Now stay sitting up and squeeze your nipples between your fingers,’ he said as much to the phone as to me.
This felt wrong, but I did as I was told, feeling stupid and suddenly scared. Stan then leaned in to touch me. He was a bit hard on me, almost as though he was tinkering with his car, and I wished he was touching me as softly as I had imagined so many times before. I tried making the right noises to pretend that I was enjoying it. As I did this, Stan moved his phone to my face. This threw me and made me feel even more self-conscious, so I closed my eyes and pretended it wasn’t there. He stopped touching my breasts and told me to take my pants off. This was quite a struggle, and I got out of breath, but soon enough I was sitting naked in my bed with a man in front of me. It was the moment I had dreamed of.
At last he took his own clothes off, which made me feel more comfortable with the whole situation. Some teacher at school had once told me to imagine everyone naked as I was doing a presentation in front of the school. I guess it was because everyone is a bit ridiculous with no clothes on, even Stan with his little skinny legs. I noticed that he didn’t turn the camera on himself; in fact, he put it back on the shelf so that it could capture the full scene.
With no warning, he was suddenly on top of me pushing himself into me. The only thing I could feel was excruciating pain, and I called out for him to stop, but he carried on. This suddenly felt so wrong. Why had I ever thought I would enjoy this, even with a man I was attracted to? He was a dead weight, and I felt as though I would split in half. I couldn't help it and started to cry softly as I tried to push him off me, but the pain carried on. Finally, he pulled out of me, seemingly ignoring my discomfort, but rather than stopping, he told me to turn over. I thought this was the end of it, but I was soon in agony as he pushed himself inside there, holding my arms down.
This time I couldn’t hide my crying and wailed openly in pain, begging him to stop. It felt as though a red-hot needle was being pushed into me. If anything, my cries seemed to make him push harder and faster.
Suddenly, I was no longer in the room, and it was no longer my body that was being pummelled. It was as though I was watching a film and my brain was floating up above my body. The pain was gone, and I felt calmer. This is what used to happen back then. This was why the whole horrible situation was a blur. I had magical powers and could take myself away.
Eventually I found myself back in the room as I heard him cry out as though in pain. His whole body shuddered before he flopped onto me. He rested there for a few minutes before rolling off me and freeing himself from the condom he had somehow rolled on. I moved away from the wetness in the middle of the bed and curled up on the side.
Even after all that had happened, I wanted Stan to hug me and tell me everything would be alright, but he had already jumped out of bed to clean up in the bathroom. I guess I was naïve, but I had always imagined that my first time—well, my real first time, not what had happened before—would be something really special and wonderful, and I felt horribly let down. Still, I hoped that now that I had given Stan what he wanted that he would do what I had asked.
I got dressed quickly and waited for Stan. He came back in the room, seemingly not bothered by his nakedness, and continued to get dressed. He was so casual, it was as though the sex had never happened. We walked downstairs together.
‘So, what are the instructions to help out your granny then?’ he asked while getting his coat on. There was instant relief, but even after everything he had done to me, I was a bit annoyed he was leaving already as I had planned an afternoon with him. But then nothing about today had turned out as planned.
I had it all prepared; there was a form signed by Granny (well, forged by me, with lots of practice over the years staying off PE at school). The form stated that Stan Crane had permission to instruct the bank on Granny’s behalf. I also gave him the cash card and the pin that Granny had helpfully written in her wallet. I wrote the instructions to move £5000 from the savings account to the current account along with the address of the bank. I knew I was putting my trust in him, but at this stage, I had little choice. I had run out of money and needed to eat. I also knew now that I had given him such a big part of myself that he owed me. Just like when he had arrived, I didn't know how to say goodbye. Were we now lovers? Was he my boyfriend or a friend with benefits? I went to kiss him goodbye as he walked out the door but missed his cheek and got his ear instead.
I sat waiting for Stan’s return for hours. My seduction outfit was feeling tight and uncomfortable, but I didn’t want him coming back to find me in my usual bedtime gear. Although I didn’t want to look too desperate, I messaged him a few times, but although he was online, he wasn’t answering. I panicked in case he had been stopped trying to move the money or that he had been in an accident. It seemed that I lost everyone I cared about, and although I was not sure how much I still cared about him, he was now even more important to me, after what I had given him. Thoughts of Stan lying in a police cell or hospital kept flashing through my mind, and knowing I may have caused something bad to happen to him was making me increasingly guilty.
I had Googled to see if there had been any incidents in the area and set up a Twitter alert, but my sleepy hometown only had its usual misdemeanours: cows on the road, a shoplifter being caught and accusations of local council corruption. I had even pulled together a nice meal for both of us using the last bits from the freezer; it looked a bit like Tapas, only my version had onion rings, scampi and wedges in place of more exotic offerings. I had put each section on a different saucer, only I had managed to work my way through most of it and the rest sat cold and congealed on the kitchen table.
Eventually my phone pinged with an update and I could s
ee that Stan had posted on Facebook. Hoping that he was talking about his visit here, or even updating his relationship status, I was disappointed to see that he was moaning about being stuck in London traffic. In my relief, I commented on his status straight away.
Glad you got back to London safely babe, so good to see you xxx
Then I waited.
Two hours later with still no answer, I went to bed. I tossed and turned for a while, as the room smelt and felt different. I actually couldn't sleep in there, so I eventually went to lie down in Granny’s room. This felt strange, but I eventually dropped off.
Alice
27 September 2018, 2 p.m.
I knew ideally I should leave a few days between my phone encounter with Stan and contacting him again, to keep him interested, but as I could see the freezer contents dwindling, I knew I would have to throw usual rules out of the window, so I contacted him the next day. I almost rang him—after all, we had shared such an intimate time online, I felt like I knew him so much better—but then I decided that it was easier with the aid of a computer screen. Unlike Stan, I wasn't good at persuasion and didn’t really know how to pitch it as though this would be a good thing for him rather than just helping me out. In reality, I wanted to beg him to come and save me, needing someone else to take over and be in control once more. I had tasted independence, and look where it had got me: possible starvation.
Finally, I messaged him, trying to sound casual and alluring. It took me at least twenty minutes.
‘Hey Stan, I really enjoyed our time on the phone yesterday and I wonder if you want to make things more real? Let me know if you fancy visiting?’
I knew I was risking a lot sending this message; after all, he thought of me as a hot, sleek air hostess. He may well be shocked when he realised my true identity as an overweight, ugly homebody, but he did really seem to care and I had excited him over the phone. I was also prepared to do the same in the flesh if it meant that he would help me. Besides, there was something in his voice that really made me want to trust him. He was a real man unlike all those horrible little boys at school who had called me names.
I could see that he was typing and waited expectantly.
‘Yeah baby, you are so hot of course I would like to see you in the flesh, wot time & wot postcode r u?’
I suddenly remembered that he probably presumed I lived in London. I tried to break it to him gently. ‘Thing is I am staying at my gran’s house at the moment so you would need to come down to Dorset! I can pay your petrol money. I have been a bit ill lately so resting down here.’
There was more of a delay this time, and I guessed he was weighing up how much he wanted to see me against a long car journey. Luckily, I guessed his urges won out.
‘Guess it might do me some good to get some fresh air, hows about I come 2moro and take you for lunch?’
This sounded so grown up, and I had never been asked out on a date before, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave the house, even because of this.
‘Still feeling poorly so how about you bring lunch here?’
‘OK cool ping me your address and I will see you tomorrow, I hope u will be wearing sumthing suitably hot for my visit?’
‘Of course! See you tomorrow, can’t wait.’
I panicked as soon as I finished my last message. I knew I would need a seduction outfit but had nothing sexy I could wear for him. In reality, I had nothing I could wear at all. I went straight up to my bedroom. Suddenly hating the décor, I wondered if I could take him into my gran’s room, if indeed a visit to a bedroom was on the cards, but then I thought it would be far too strange doing such a thing in my dead granny’s bed. I decided that if I drew the curtains and switched on the fairy lights in my room, I might get away with it.
I carried on the search for a decent outfit. Eventually I found a dress at the back of my wardrobe that my granny had bought me for my school prom a few years earlier. I hadn’t gone, of course, due to the fear of humiliation and also the overriding panic that had started to envelop me when I tried to leave the house. I tried to pull it on. I had gone up a few dress sizes since then and the size eighteen wouldn’t do up at the back, but I looked in the mirror and thought I looked quite pretty in the pink silky dress with the lacy arms. It was prettier than my usual pyjamas or tracksuit anyway. I put a cardigan on to cover up the gaping back; it ruined the dress a little bit, but at least it covered my flesh.
Then I started my beautifying routine. I decided for a treat to run myself a bath, using all the expensive stuff my gran had always saved. What a waste it had been to keep stuff for ‘special’ occasions; my gran should have just enjoyed the lavender soak and rose body cream every day while she was alive. I enjoyed the feeling of the water engulf me even though my bulk meant that I wasn’t quite covered. With my new-found freedom, I examined my body as I washed. I knew I had large breasts and that this was something that boys seemed to like online, so I vowed to make the most of them. I was tempted to try and touch myself ‘down there’ for real this time, so I could get practice in before the visit, but I felt self-conscious doing this. Finally, I washed my hair, which now reached halfway down my back. I used Granny’s special shampoo with honey, which made me hungry again, and then stepped out of the bath, slathering every inch of flesh with lotion.
I went to bed early that night, although it wasn’t much help as I found I couldn’t sleep with thoughts of Stan filling my head. I found that I was feeling a mixture of excitement and fear—excitement that by this time tomorrow I might have a real-life boyfriend to brag about on Facebook and that Stan would help me sort out my financial problems but also fear of being rejected once again. No matter how much I had been able to reinvent myself to the world, the slightest thing could take me straight back to that playground where people would surround me and call me names or to the men who had seemed to want me with a very strange way of showing their affection. I don't know which was worse. When I finally dropped off, my dreams were full of falling.
Stan
26 September 2018, 8 p.m.
As pussy shots went, they were pretty bad; in fact, Stan almost laughed when he first got the grainy image through from Alice. It was unexpected; he had presumed that she would have a sleek, sexy pussy to go along with the whole glam lifestyle she seemed to live, but this was like something out of a museum. He didn’t think he had seen so much hair on one since stumbling across his dad’s eighties-style porn mag when he was a kid. Still, there was something rather endearing about the amateur image, something that made him think she wasn’t as experienced as she made out, and this was a turn-on for Stan who didn’t think he had been near a real virgin for years. This wasn’t a shot he could sell, as there was no market for bad-quality, hairy-growler shots, but it would do to add variety to his personal collection.
The phone sex had been an ingenious idea to break her in gently as soon as he had realised that she was less experienced than she made out. She kept giving him bullshit about her webcam being out of use, but he knew for a fact she had an iPhone and an iPad, both of which could give him what he wanted. He knew he had to tread carefully with this one. Despite appearances, she clearly wasn’t his usual slut, and he enjoyed the challenge. It actually made him horny knowing he might be one of the first to get there, after which he would share his conquest with the thousands of men he sold his images and films to online, of course. He reckoned a few more days of flattery and flirting could bring the results needed.
Stan’s mother calling him for lunch broke into his thoughts about Alice. He washed his hands in the bathroom, as he was never one to eat with wank-stained hands. He offered to lay the table for his mum, knowing this would please her far more than the effort it required.
‘It’s no good you being stuck up there in your room all day. It’s bad for the mind, Stan. You should get out and about more.’
‘Mum, you know I am really busy with my online business. You want me to be successful so I can care for my beautiful mother in h
er old age, don’t you?’
She smiled. ‘Of course, honey, I just don’t want you working too hard. Here, take this and go to the cinema or something this afternoon, or maybe you can go bowling with some of your friends.’
Stan took the £20 that was being offered. His mum still thought of him as a young teenager. He could always slope off to the pub for a couple of hours. Stan’s mum, of course, didn’t know the true nature of her son’s business, only that it paid enough for him to buy nice clothes and maintain his car. To anyone that listened, his mum would boast of how her son was an internet entrepreneur. She vaguely knew it had something to do with art and buying and selling. She had occasionally mentioned surprise that she never saw any actual products in the house, but he told her that someone else did that for him.
Stan smiled at his mum gratefully as she brought him the sandwiches she had so lovingly prepared. She still cut the crusts off for him and served him peanut butter and cheese alongside the more traditional ham and cheese. Stan ate up hungrily before returning to his room to oversee his empire once more.
Alice
26 September 2018, 5 p.m.
I was panicking. Despite attempts to ration, I had found that I had eaten my way through most of the last food shop quickly and now, with no access to money, had no way of replacing it. I had never had to worry about how things worked—how shopping was done, bills were paid. I guess I was still in many ways like a child. But this was how Granny had always liked me to be. She had never once questioned why I didn’t create my own life, choosing to stay and be looked after. I guess it was a mutual dependency.
I had cut down my meals and been stricter with just eating three times a day, but this had left me hungry and miserable. I realised that I needed help. I sat in front of my Facebook page and read through a list of my hundreds of friends wondering if any of them could be the one to help me. Occasionally I would come across someone who I remembered being friends with at primary school, but then I would remember the constant bullying I received at the hands of so many of my school friends and that avenue would close for good.