by Jade West
“I get it. That doesn’t make you a freak.”
“It’s bigger than that. Much bigger.”
“You want a sex only relationship?”
“Kind of.”
“Tell me, Lucy.”
“You really want to know?” She was playing with herself again, I could hear it in her voice. “Strange men feel so much dirtier...”
“Good girl, keep going.”
“When I get myself off, I always picture myself blindfolded... I’m always giving myself to men I can’t see. There’s this one guy in my fantasies, and I never see his face, couldn’t ever point him out in a crowd, but I’m always ready for him... always spread wide for him to take me as his... he could be anyone, and I wouldn’t even know... I don’t want to know... I don’t want to know the men he brings to me, either...”
My throat turned dry. “Wouldn’t you be scared?”
“Yes,” she rasped.
“And you want that?”
“I shouldn’t...”
“When you play with your filthy little snatch at night, is it me you think of? Am I this dirty fucking stranger?”
She moaned, a perfect sound. “Always, Jason... you’re always the dirty fucking stranger...”
My voice came out as a growl. “Give me your number.”
“I can’t,” she said. “It’s against the rules.”
“Come on, Lucy... let’s stop playing around.”
I could almost hear the cogs turning, fear creeping in. “Shhh, Jason, I’ll lose my job. For real.”
“So, tell me some of it, give me something, work in code, riddle, rhyme, I don’t fucking care, just give me something.” I was working my cock too fast, too frantic, threatening to shoot my load all over the sheets.
“I can’t...” she hissed. “Jason, I can’t...”
“Do it, Lucy, just one fucking clue...”
She was worked up, less careful with the volume of her voice. I could hear the rustle of her bedcovers under her body, the jagged race of breath. “Fuck... I want you to fuck me...”
“Come on, dirty girl, give me something...”
She tipped over the edge, and her jarred little groans sent me over too. I could only just make out the words as she said them.
“Zero, seven, nine...”
“Good girl, that’s my good sweet dirty fucking girl, Lucy. You’ve made me so fucking proud.” I caught my breath, reaching for a notepad from my bedside drawer. I scribbled the three digits.
Her voice was nervous when she spoke again. “If I get caught...”
“Shh,” I said. “Don’t mention it again. I’ll be listening out. Feed them to me whenever you can.”
I waited, heart pounding and aching for the affirmative. Christ, I was losing my fucking mind, snared in a crazy web of fantasy with a girl I didn’t even know.
“Ok.”
I breathed a happy sigh. “I’m not a psycho, Lucy.”
“Hope not,” she said. “Although I hope you can put on a good act.”
I wouldn’t disappoint.
***
Chapter Four
Jason
I have few friends I really speak with, man to man. Steve Dean is one of them. I’d known Stevie since high school, way before drink or pussy or mortgages. It’d all been about football back then, although Steve hadn’t made the grade. He was a carpenter now, based on a big farm on the outskirts of Cobham, a ten minute drive from Kensington Rangers’ training ground, where I spent the majority of my working week. Steve had done well for himself bar a nasty divorce the year previous, another reason I was loathe to sign my life away. Poor fucker was still picking up the pieces of financial warfare.
I found him in one of his workshop barns with ear defenders on, none the wiser of the text announcing my impending visit.
“Jay, always nice to see you, stranger.” He slapped my elbow. “What you doing up these parts?”
“Thought the Range could do with a country run.”
“Liar,” he grinned. “What’s the problem? April bitch nipping at your pissing ankles again? I saw the pictures of that stuffy ball last night, very dapper.” He tousled my shower-damp hair. “This has fucking grown some. What you aiming for? Shampoo sponsorship, pretty boy?”
“Hardly.”
“Get your fucking agent onto it, make him earn his slice.”
I cut the crap. “I need to talk.”
Steve perched himself on a workbench and I took the one opposite. “Shit, man, sure.”
“Things are fucked up.”
“Aren’t they always? This about April or something else?”
“Something else.”
“Does this something else have a pussy?”
I smiled. “Sure fucking hope so. Her name’s Lucy. I think.”
“You think?” he raised a brow. “Jesus, man. You got some chick knocked up or some shit?”
I braced myself for ridicule, preparing to say the words out loud. “Fuck no. I’ve never even seen her. She’s a chatline girl.”
Steve laughed, an easy, good-natured one. “She’s probably a moose, you do know that, right? The fit ones do webcam, more money in it.”
“This girl’s different. She’s my kind of dirty. She’s bad. I don’t think I’d even fucking care if she’s a moose, I’d fuck her anyway.”
I don’t know who was more surprised, Steve or me, but at least I had his attention.
He switched his sander off at the mains.
“I think you’d better take this from the top…”
***
Jason
I confessed all. Everything from the sorry night it started, when April had hit the town in the hope of getting her face in the papers with the other Cherry Electric girls, and I’d found myself home alone with gape porn on the TV; my cock in one hand, phone in the other. I told him how I’d been just another desperate caller, and she’d been just a voice, another girl pretending to finger her snatch until I shot my load. But there was something different about her. She listened to all the filthy things I wanted, all the filthy ways I’d watch other men fuck her up, and then she’d played for real. I could hear it in her breath, in the low little moans she made as she came for me. There were no dramatics; no wailing, shrieking, porno-style orgasms, only a confession of her own. Lucy wants to be taken by men she doesn’t know, men who’ll fuck her until she’s an aching wreck, until she can’t take any more, until they’ve used every hole and left her wide and gaping and stretched fucking raw. Lucy told me her dirty little secret, and she became mine. Every. Fucking. Night.
Steve nodded all the while I spoke, no judgement, no surprise.
“So, where’s this going? You gonna fuck this chick, or what?”
I leaned back against the workbench. “Hope so.”
“Dangerous game you’re playing, mate. If the papers get a sniff...”
“She’ll be blindfolded, won’t even see me.”
“Even so,” he said. “Hope you remember the last time. Weren’t pretty.”
“Like I could forget.” My insides crawled at the thought, the weeks holed up at home, phone off the hook while the media bayed for blood. The humiliating meetings with the PR execs and the big-arsed cheques leaving my bank account for the pleasure. “Lucy isn’t like that bitch, Steve. Lucy thinks I’m a guy with a haulage company or some shit, just some regular guy who wants to fuck. It’s all about the fantasy, but she’s real.”
“Yeah, for now. See how real it gets if she catches sight of who you are. You’ll be front page in a lickety split, and then what? Sponsors gonna ditch you like dogshit off a shoe, won’t even give it chance to blow over, and let’s not even start on what April would do to you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Future’s fucking bright.”
“You wanted advice, mate, I’m just saying it like it is. You wanna fuck the chick, go fuck the chick. Just make sure she’s worth it.”
Oh, she’d be worth it. I looked at the guy I’d known most my life. His dirty bl
onde hair was a mess, eyes sunken. He looked as fucking battered as I felt.
“How you doing, Steve?”
He pulled out a packet of cigarettes, shot me a sad smile as he lit one up. “I’ll live.”
“You need to get out there, get your life back.”
“This is my life, mate. Gotta work my way out of this financial cesspit. Got Kim to thank for that.”
“If it’s about money...”
He was shaking his head before I’d even finished. “Nah, mate. I’m alright. You’ll need yours soon enough when this shit hits the fan. It’ll be you coming to me for a loan.” He slapped my arm in good humour. “I wouldn’t even know where to start, dating and all that shit. Maybe I should get me a chatline chick.”
“Funny you should say that...”
“Oh yeah?” Steve raised his eyebrows.
“I need guys I can trust... guys who’ll fuck Lucy for me, with me.”
“Christ, mate, I thought you’d turned your back on all that shit.”
I stared him out. “It used to be fun, remember?”
“A long time ago...”
“You forgotten what your dick’s for?” I smirked. “Kim may have dealt you the purity card, but I know you, Steve. It’s still in you.”
“Anyway, that chick’s probably gonna be a moose, you wait and see.”
“And if she’s not?”
He looked past me, to the stacks of tools on the wall. “Gotta keep my head down, Jase. Ain’t got no time for crazy fucking about.”
I shrugged, let it go. “I need to get hold of the Carlisle brothers, you got a number for them?”
“Shit, man. You’re really serious.”
“Deadly.”
“On your head be it. Ain’t got a number for them, but last I heard they’d opened a repair shop over Epsom way.”
“Heard much else on the grapevine? Vince? Sam?”
“Pretty much out of it, but I heard Vince has been up to his usual tricks. Was dating this posh chick, Cynthia something, but she ditched him a few months back when she found some dodgy pictures on his phone. No idea about Sam.”
“What about Richard Cowley? Heard anything from him?”
“Engaged, I think. Still working for Jackson’s haulage up Stevenage way.”
“I’ll check it out.” I slapped him on the back. “Let me know if you change your mind and want in.”
“Aye,” he smiled, stubbing his cigarette in an empty can. “You keep yourself out of trouble, Jase. Don’t need the both of us washed up on shit shore.”
“I’ll be careful.” I made my way out, stopping in the doorway. “Say, Steve, one last thing.”
He paused before putting his ear defenders back on. “What’s that?”
I pointed to the building opposite, its open doors revealing nothing but empty space and a load of hay bales. “I’ll need your barn.”
***
Chapter Five
Gemma
I’ll often do a lunchtime stint on the lines to boost my numbers, but afternoons can really drag. Instead, I opted to have some me time. Jason had me well and truly churned up; my lapse of privacy slopping like watery stew in my stomach. I looked up Dirty Angels online, keen for a distraction. There were no classes on a Wednesday afternoon, but the site offered dance space for hire by the hour. I booked and paid for my slot, then headed across city to let off some steam.
I arrived early enough to snoop around the corridors and peer in some windows. Cara was coaching a skinny little teenager in a tutu, and I watched them as they twirled in sync, admiring the perfect grace of Cara’s posture. The website hadn’t lied, Cara was clearly classically trained. Her legs were beautifully taut, her movements fluid and graceful, like a swan dancing on ice. If I were a jealous person I’d certainly be jealous of a creature like Cara, she was divine. Luckily, I’m not. Jealous people end up like hard-boiled sugar-sours, with too many frown lines. Unless they can afford Botox, that is.
I moved on to find a smiley blonde setting up a mat for me in the pole room.
“You must be Gemma?”
I shook her hand. “That’s me.”
“Welcome to Angel’s. Stereo’s over there if you want music, there isn’t anything on in here until six, so take your time. You can dock an mp3 player if you have one, or we have some CDs in the rack. You know the health and safety drill?”
“I was here last weekend for pole fitness, Cara talked me through it.”
“Great! I’ll leave you to enjoy yourself.”
I thanked her and she made her exit, leaving me dithering around with my iPod. I plugged it in, choosing my favourite high intensity playlist, sultry dark tracks with a pounding electro bassline. I ditched my coat in the corner, freed my hair from its pony, then did my stretches in front of the mirrored wall. I’d opted for a simple outfit, hugging black leggings and a loose black cami. My skin was already flushed as I took to the pole, finding the beat and closing my eyes to sink into the moment. My feet moved, whirling me around and around until I was up, spinning the fireman, twisting and turning and letting my hair fly wild.
In my mind I was on stage, a whirling woman in red, my hair like fire under the spotlights. The crowd was in darkness, a jostling crowd of onlookers, all eyes on me, and I danced for them, rolling my hips and grinding the pole. I practised my spins, leaning out from my leading hand as Cara taught me, and in my fantasy Jason was in the shadows, watching, waiting. I danced for him, shimmying and shaking and folding at the waist to showcase the swell of my cleavage. How good his filthy gaze would feel on my skin, so fucking good. Unless I was too fat for him. Fuck being too fat. Jason would just have to like it or lump it. I kept on twirling, round and around and around again until the bass let up and the track faded to nothing.
Soft applause stole me from my fantasy. Cara stood in the doorway, a bottle of water pinched under her elbow as she let out a wolf whistle.
“Wow, Firecracker Gemma, you’ve got some moves, girl!”
I went for the stereo, pausing the next track. “Sorry, I was a million miles away.”
“Please, don’t stop! You looked amazing.”
“I was just messing around.”
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” She took a swig of water on her approach, then cast the bottle aside, grabbing the pole next to mine. “Glad you came back, you’re a natural.”
“Thanks, but you’re too kind.”
“I’m not.” She lifted herself from the floor, defying gravity without effort. “I can teach technique but I can’t teach rhythm. You feel the music. You looked so alive just then.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Who were you thinking about?”
“Sorry?” My big rosy embarrassment reflected clearly in the mirror wall.
“You were dancing for someone, I could tell,” she said. “I dance for people too, in my mind.” She raised a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone, though.”
“You do?”
She nodded, dropping her tiny feet to the ground. “I imagine being on stage, performing for a massive crowd. You could call me an exhibitionist,” she said. “I like being watched.”
Something in her tone sent tingles up my spine. “Have you ever done that? Onstage, I mean?”
“Sometimes...” Her smile was so bright, so genuine. “So, who were you dancing for?”
I resumed my position at my own pole, spinning away to avoid her eyes. “A crowd... I dunno...”
“No one special?”
“Just this guy,” I admitted. “I don’t really know him.”
“There’s no way he wouldn’t enjoy that little show, Firecracker Gem. What’s the deal? Are you really into him? You looked really into him.”
The stomach stew churned again. “It’s complicated...”
“And you don’t want to talk about it, I get it...” She laughed gently. “Sorry, my girlfriend calls me Little Miss Pry-a-lot. I shouldn’t be so nosy.”
Girlfriend. I wondered what kind of exotic specimen w
ould snare a creature like Cara.
I practiced another fireman while her big brown eyes checked me out.
“This guy, he’s just a bit of fun, you know?”
“Nothing wrong with that,” she said. “Often leads to a whole lot more, though, don’t you find?”
“I haven’t even met him yet. We’re just talking.”
“Online dating?”
“Um, kind of.” I knew I should bite my tongue, crank up the music and get on with my session, but Cara had too bright a smile, and I was seriously lacking a confidant. I stopped spinning and went in for the primer. “You’ll think I’m totally weird...”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” she said with a glint in her eye. Once again her tone set me tingling.
I shrugged, resigned to the big reveal. “I work chatline.”
If I expected any kind of reaction it didn’t arrive. “And he’s what? Your boss or a caller?”
“Caller. Every night for weeks.”
“You must have him hooked, those calls sure aren’t cheap.”
“Yeah, well, he’s got me pretty hooked, too.” A smile crept up on me unbidden. “He’s different... hot... fun... my kind of weird... You think I’m a freak now?”
“Let’s see... does he want to slice your head off with a guillotine or smother you with his ass crack until you’re dead?”
“No. I’m not really into that,” I laughed.
“Does he want you to do animals, children or dead people?”
“No.”
“Fuck members of your immediate family or rub his dick against your pet chinchilla?”
“No.”
“Then you’re officially not a freak,” she said. “And even if snuff play was your bag, I’m pretty sure you’d have more sense than to meet up with a guy who admits to homicidal tendencies on the telephone.”
“I’m not sure how much sense I do have... but more than that, yeah,” I smiled. “I don’t think he’s a maniac, just a filthy guy with an obscenely huge credit limit on his phone.”
She joined me at my pole, and shifted the angle of my elbow. “Does he know who you are in real life?”