The Bad Girls' Club (10 page)

He can
’t stand watching me any longer so he slides out from behind the curtain. His hand slips over mine, copying the rhythms of me pleasuring myself, then moving faster and taking on a rhythm of their own.

I want him inside me, to feel his cock filling me.

My hands reach out for his chest, stroking the soft skin, the hard nipples, the plump, round breasts.

I circle the nipples with my tongue, taking them in my mouth. Sucking. Nibbling. Hearing her moan…

Imogen. Imogen, pressing her breasts hard against my lips.

I tried to stop. I tried to think of the wicked robber with the huge cock. But it was too late. My hips jerked into orgasm; my mind blank. I bit my hand to muffle my cries as my whole body buzzed with pleasure.

As I lay there, the full realisation of what I’d done hit me. What the hell had I been thinking? Then I picked up the vibrator and hurled it in the bin. It was an evil, manipulating machine.

‘
Betcha anything Beth hasn’t done it,’ I said to Juliette as she sat our jug of beer on the table. ‘She sounded evasive on the phone last night.’

‘
She wouldn’t wimp out on us, would she? Should I pour a third glass?’ Juliette filled our glasses. She sure hadn’t had much experience pouring beer; it was mostly froth.

‘
Tilt the glass, Jules.’

‘
Oh. OK. But she’ll turn up. It wasn’t such a hard dare even. I mean, look at the stuff you’ve done.’

‘
Yeah,’ I said, all the while my heart squeezed tighter in my chest. I turned away and hunted in my bag for my phone. Just as I was about to call Beth, she strutted into the bar, shopping bags swinging around her. Maybe she’d brought the vibrator along to show us but no, she marched up and slammed the receipt on the table triumphantly.

I checked it out. It was definitely from a sex shop but didn
’t say what she’d bought. She inched into the booth next to Juliette and poured herself a beer.

‘
Well, der, they aren’t going to print it on the receipt, are they? They have to be discreet about these things. Imagine if you dropped the receipt somewhere like work and it had Super-Dooper Self-Pleasuring Machine or something on it.’

‘
True. So, did you enjoy your dare?’ I asked her and winked.

For just a brief moment, Beth had an expression on her face that I couldn
’t quite figure out – a look of fear and apprehension with maybe a measure of guilt thrown in there too.

She shrugged and looked away.
‘What’s to enjoy?’

She
’d so used that vibrator – why else did she look like that? She was holding out on us. I remembered the ribbing she’d given me about my dare. If she could give it, she could take it.

‘
You used it, didn’t you? I can tell. You have the look of a woman who’s been vibrated.’

Juliette and I both giggled but Beth flinched. That was being a bit touchy. I mean, if you are going to go to the trouble of buying a vibrator, you might as well use it. Nothing to be embarrassed about.

‘Don’t worry, Beth,’ said Juliette. ‘You wouldn’t notice unless you knew what you were looking for.’ She grinned at me and winked.

Beth flicked her hair and gave us
the
look
. The ‘I’ve just smelt something unpleasant’ look. I concentrated on sipping my beer while Juliette bit her lip. For a moment, all you could hear was the horse racing on the telly in the other bar. Sounded like someone had backed a winner.

‘
I’ve thought of a dare for Imogen,’ said Juliette.

Oh great. This had better be easier than the last one. Juliette was positively jumping in her seat to tell us.

‘An internet date.’

‘
So, what does that involve?’ I asked.

‘
Just find some guy on an internet dating site and meet him for coffee,’ Juliette explained. ‘Or for “coffee”.’ She did the finger quotes.

‘
I can live with that,’ I said. So long as it didn’t involve public nudity, it was fine with me.

‘
Yeah, OK,’ said Beth.

‘
You never know,’ said Juliette. ‘You might meet a really nice guy.’

I hope she didn
’t think she was going to start matchmaking for me. And a nice guy? Do nice guys use internet dating sites? Most nice guys I knew were too busy with their nice boyfriends.

‘
On the internet? I doubt it.’

‘
Well maybe someone shaggable anyway.’ Truly, Juliette was turning into a potty mouth.

Beth stood up all of a sudden.
‘Look guys, I’ve got to go. See you next week.’ She gathered up her shopping bags and walked towards the door then, halfway to the door, she turned back.

‘
I got you something,’ she said and shoved a shopping bag at me.

‘
Oh, thanks…’ I said but she was gone.

I stared after her, wondering what was going on. The whole thing at lunch the other day had been weird but Beth had seemed fine when we were walking back to my office.  I
’d hate think she’d want to become one of those girls that follow my mother around – dressing like her and acting like her and becoming a total Samantha Wilson clones.

‘
What’s in the bag?’ asked Juliette, like she was about to burst with curiosity.

I opened it up and pulled out a strip of red fabric.

‘Oh! It’s the halter top from that place in the shopping centre,’ said Juliette.

It was too. How strange. I didn
’t know if I liked the idea of Beth buying me clothes. Sure, it was nice of her to think of me but I don’t even like my mum buying clothes for me. Well, especially not my mum.

‘
Did you think Beth was acting weird tonight?’ I asked Juliette. ‘Do you think we went too far with the jokes?’

‘
She was quiet. But then she always teases us.’

‘
Yeah, she seemed OK with you though. If she was pissy with me for some reason though she wouldn’t be buying me gifts, surely?’

‘
She really did want you to have it.’

‘
I guess.’ I opened the bag and ran my fingers over the silky fabric. Looks like I was stuck with it now.

***

I registered with an internet dating site when I got home from the meeting. There was a form to fill out.

Hair colour: Black.

Eyes: Green.

Body type: Cuddly.

Weight: Mmm might leave that one blank.

Relationship status: Single (did they have an option for
‘desperate’? No. I guess that was a given).

Star sign: Libra.

Bust size: DD.

The next bit was harder. I had to write a short description of myself. What to say?
Desperate chick needs date for a dare?

Maybe not.

I’m a curvy girl with long, black hair and a twisted sense of humour
.

That should do.

Next, I had to describe my ideal man. I guess saying he had to have a penis and pulse was being too general. Although they were definite must-haves.
Educated, articulate man who is fun to be around. No married men or fools.

On Friday night, after work, I logged on to see if I had any responses. There were 136 messages in my inbox. Woohoo! I was popular, like Marsha Brady. It was going to take a while to get through all these messages, so I changed into my polka dot pyjamas and poured a glass of Shiraz. I put on my dinosaur slippers and got all cosy for a night of internet dating stuff.

I opened the first message:

You sound hot. Can I get a picture of UR tits?

Yeah, right. As if I was going to send some douchebag on the internet a photo of my tits. I sent him a message saying I wasn’t interested and opened the next one.

I have a thick 12
” cock. I’ve sent u a pic. Do you have any naked pics?

I deleted the photo without looking at it. Well, I did take a tiny peek. It looked like he
’d downloaded it from some porn site. Loser.

The next guy was 18 years old. Well, he said he was 18. He liked older women who took control. He wanted to know if I had any photos of myself in high heel boots. Next.

Then a couple looking for
hot ‘n’ horny times
.

The next two were married. By this stage, I
’d given up sending replies and just deleted the messages.

Then the next one:
noy a time waster hi im timmy 31 6’2 a vhef get bck
– I didn’t even know what that meant. I deleted it.

Forty messages later, I
’d finished my Shiraz, eaten 8 Tim Tams and still not found a man that sounded remotely dateable. It was pretty frigging obvious why these guys were on an internet dating site. Most of them probably weren’t allowed out in public without a keeper.

I was ready to quit for the night when I found it. Someone who didn
’t want a photo of my tits or claim to have a freakishly large appendage or want me to do something that was illegal in most parts of the world. Fearless104.

He was looking for someone with an appreciation of the finer things in life and he thought a woman
’s mind was as important as her body. He liked fine wines and sparkling conversation and preferred art galleries to football.

I sent him a reply saying that I liked sparkling wines and fine conversation and preferred rock to jazz.

I kept looking – I needed to find a date and who knows if Fearless104 would even answer. The next 50 or so messages I narrowed down to 5 maybes. Then Fearless104 sent me a reply. He wanted to know if I had mysterious eyes. Still no mention of my tits or naked photos. A real gentleman.

I told him no but people said I had an enigmatic mouth. I sent it off with crossed fingers, hoping he
’d reply again soon.

A couple of minutes later, I got his response. He said that an enigmatic mouth sounded promising indeed. I started picturing a tall, gorgeous man sweeping me into his arms, telling me that he loved my enigmatic mouth and he just had to kiss it one more time. He had piercing blue eyes like Daniel and a floppy fringe.

I asked Fearless if he wanted to chat online. As soon as I pressed the ‘send’ button, I worried I was being far too pushy and he wouldn’t like that – our relationship over in two messages.

I topped up my wine glass while I waited for his response. There was no reply when I got back. Damn, I
’d repulsed him with my over-eagerness.

I half-heartedly tackled the rest of my messages but none of them appealed. I guess they would do to complete the dare, but they didn
’t mention mysterious eyes.

Then I got Fearless
’ reply: he didn’t like chatting online and wasn’t into email ‘ping-pong’. Did I want to meet up for a coffee? You could tell so much more about a person meeting them face-to-face.

Hell, yes. I said I had some time free tomorrow afternoon, was he available?

Cool, it looked like my dare was going to be fun indeed. An afternoon of sexually-charged flirtation in a café was a big improvement on laundry.

He replied saying he could make it at 3.00 and named a café in Brunswick.

I turned off the computer, well satisfied with my night’s efforts when Jack called to me from the lounge room.

‘
Check it out,’ he said, pointing to the TV. I snuggled in next to him on the couch. A video clip flicked across the screen, a typical low budget thing with a bunch of wacky images cut together. Some bland, generic rock band. Just as I was about to ask Jack what the deal was, they flashed to a close up of the lead singer.

I jumped up.

‘Nick. It’s Nick.’

‘
It sure is. Same shit, different band.’

Then, for an instant, I was mesmerised by his intense blue eyes staring straight into the camera. Jack nudged me.

‘You still have a wet spot for him, don’t you?’

I punched him back.
‘Do not.’

‘
Imogen loves Nick.’

Jack had better stop that or he
’d be a dead man. Then Nick flashed back on the screen. He really did have some serious mojo going on.

‘
What? Do you wonder what’d have happened? You know, if the band hadn’t broken up? Think we’d be in some lame-arsed video they are showing at 2 am on Rage? Or do you think we’d be touring the world now, playing Hollywood Bowl? On the cover of NME? Fame, glory, cocaine.’

Jack took a long and thoughtful suck on his Heineken.
‘I reckon we’d both be in jail for murder. There are only so many times you can wait in a cramped van for Nick to finish shagging some barely-legal groupie. There’s only so many times you can cover for him cos he’s too ripped get on stage. Some of us have moved on, Imogen.’ He grabbed me by the chin and prised my gaze from the TV screen. ‘I said, move on.’

‘
Move on, you reckon. Well, I’ve got a hot date tomorrow. Get a load of that.’ I poked him in the ribs. ‘Check and mate.’

***

I’d finally picked out an outfit for my date when Beth called.

‘
How’s it going?’

‘
I’ve got a date. Today. Soon. Just getting ready now.’ I cradled the phone on my shoulder while I smeared grey eye shadow over my lid.

‘
Where are you going?’ she asked.

‘
Wouldn’t you like to know?’

‘
Yeah, I would, Imogen. For safety. What if he’s an axe-murderer or something?’

She had a point. I told her the name of the café. For someone who acted so sensible, she sure could be mercurial.