Five Years Later
“The best way to get over a breakup is to get lost in the lips of a new guy,” Emmalee states applying more mascara.
I laugh focusing on my reflection in the mirror while I continue applying my makeup. “First things first, trashy lashes. The best way to get over a breakup is to cloud my vision with the best mascara a girl can get at the drug store!”
We both laugh and say in unison, “The thicker the lashes, the closer to God!”
I can’t explain it, but since we were around twelve or thirteen and started wearing makeup, we both have been obsessed with mascara. We may not do full makeup every day but neither of us leave home without at least one coat of the lash booster. There is just something about thick lashes that makes everything better.
Emmalee Van Etten has been my closest friend since Kindergarten when I tripped on my shoelaces and she stopped running to help me. She also spent the next week at recess teaching me with all the patience a five-year-old can muster how to tie my own shoes. It is a unique bond we share. Over the years, she has been through all the ups and downs with me, always someone I can lean on.
The brown-haired beauty is my sidekick in life. Her face is perfectly symmetrical with nothing overstated. She has eyebrows that I swear should be in magazines. Emmalee knows how to do her makeup flawlessly. More importantly, like me, she is a self-proclaimed mascara whore.
Look, if a girl’s lashes don’t stand out, then what is the point in doing makeup in the first place? The world today is not our grandmother’s painted face. Smokey-eyes don’t always win, but plump lashes will!
We are getting ready to go out tonight. While we regularly hang out together, tonight we’re going all out in our hair, makeup, and outfits because we are hitting the clubs. It’s New Year’s Eve and we want to close out a fabulous year together. Living in a small town, we don’t have much in our city so tonight, like most weekends, we are headed to the beach.
Charlotte has a bigger nightlife scene, but my dad doesn’t like for me to be that far from home. Hell, he won’t even okay a trip to Raleigh for the weekend. Jacksonville is twenty minutes with traffic, so Emmalee and I frequent the clubs and bars there to keep my dad off my ass. Only there isn’t much to them. While I wouldn’t call them dives, they certainly aren’t fancy by any means. Usually, they’re filled with young Marines from the nearby base, which is always fun for flirting, but never the kind of guy that will want a relationship.
Tonight is New Year’s Eve, so we are going to Booty’s on the beach. At least we can dress up and dance the night away there. It’s the last night to go there until tourist season begins again in May. They close January second of every year until Memorial Day weekend.
Sure, I’m twenty-two-years-old and could tell my dad he can’t control me, but why? I follow his rules and live a damn good life. In fact, I’m what most people would consider spoiled.
It’s a double-edged sword because I do live a life of privilege but I’m not a bitch. I think people assume I am, but really, I will give the shirt off my back to someone in need. In fact, my dad doesn’t let me go to big cities unsupervised anymore. My mom and I took a trip to Washington DC when I was in high school. I ended up giving away over a thousand dollars because every homeless person I stumbled across I handed money to. My mom being the woman she is didn’t try to stop me, she smiled and kept giving me more money as I would empty my wallet. When my dad found out, he was not impressed with our generosity. It wasn’t that he isn’t giving, he said we could have been hurt so to him my mother was irresponsible to allow me to openly distribute cash like an ATM machine. At the time, I was frustrated with his attitude. Now that I’m older, I understand I seriously could have been hurt … or worse.
I live this fabulous, carefree lifestyle that I wanted to share, what can I say?
Even now, he’s adamant I not give everything away. I can’t help myself, I want to make things easier for everyone I encounter.
When I was little, I didn’t realize people lived differently than us. It wasn’t until middle school when I encountered the mean girls that spread lies and rumors all out of jealousy that I learned how privileged I am. My circle now is small. Emmalee is the only person I trust enough to have at home. Then again, her dad works for my dad so our lives have always been entwined in one way or another. It’s just a blessing we happen to be such good friends.
Sometimes we get ready at Emmalee’s house, but most of the time we do it at mine because I have the better vanity lights. Emmalee even has her own room at my house since we have the extra space.
Our house is five bedrooms, six bathrooms, and over four thousand square feet, right on the ocean in Emerald Isle. I drive a BMW and don’t have a job. My dad literally pays for everything from my college classes to the makeup I’m wasting tonight.
Is it ridiculous?
Probably, but this is how I live.
My life is the kind of thing people beg for, pray for. I don’t take it for granted in the least bit.
Emmalee, like me, lives a life of privilege and appreciates it.
Tonight, like most nights we’re going out in new outfits that we ordered online. It’s a holiday, of course we want new things. She’s wearing this one-shouldered, all-black jumpsuit with flared legs. It hugs her curves and the flare to her pants give her a taller appearance. Leopard-print pumps complete her look. While I’m in a little black dress, allowing my teal pumps to be the pop of color that drives all the eyes to my long, tone, tan legs.
Emmalee has her hair down and straightened, adding in a few hot pink extensions. My long black hair is naturally curly and even a little coarse in texture, so I have opted for a tight bun accented with a peacock feather to bring out more of the teal.
After one last coat of mascara we are off to Booty’s. Emmalee and I are both full of excitement and anticipation for the evening ahead.
Inside the club, it’s dark like usual. The DJ plays a song with a heavy bass, and I automatically begin to move my body in rhythm to the music as we head straight for the bar. Before we can even raise a hand, the bartender moves over.
“What’s gonna be your poison tonight?” she asks wearing a pair of booty shorts and a black vest that I hope she taped to her boobs or they might fall out.
I’ve had peek-a-boo mishaps myself, and as a card-carrying member of the women empowering sisterhood, I hope she doesn’t have an accident. Then again, I admire her grind and hustle, so maybe it will help with tips!
Emmalee orders a dirty martini while I opt for a Cosmo. We get our drinks and down them as we take in the vibe of the place. It’s busy, and I’m grateful because the energy is exciting. Everyone seems to be in a mood to mingle and celebrate.
The pool tables to the left are all packed. The dance floor to the right is full of people moving, and even a few of them wearing those glow bracelets and necklaces making it stand out with the purple lights that line the walls illuminating the space but not in a bright way.
The atmosphere is a mix of hip-hop meets rave with a side of redneck, if that can be a real combination. Everywhere you turn is some sort of New Year decoration, and hats, glasses, and bead necklaces are laying around if anyone wants to wear them.
Three drinks in Emmalee and I are loosened up and beginning to sway in the bar stools we’re occupying. By my fifth Cosmo, I’m feeling quite the buzz and ready to shake my hips. The song changes, and it’s one of my jams. There is nothing better than being slightly tipsy and hearing a favorite song. The kind that screams to your very soul to get up and move your body. Yup, my jam is on!
Downing the rest of my drink, I toss my hands in the air and sway as Emmalee and I make our way to the dance area. Popping my hips, twisting, and moving, we dance together. My ass against her crotch, then we shift. Emmalee and I both get lost in movement and the sounds as everyone around us dances too. The bartender being the smart woman she is, keeps our drinks coming even while we shake it on the dance floor.
A movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. There is a man in a wheelchair dancing, and I find myself mesmerized. He has long hair that’s down around his face in waves, but it’s the way he’s moving his hands and body that enthralls me. I can almost forget he’s in a chair.
Emmalee catches my gaze and follows. Being the wild one she is, she takes me by the hand, and we head over to the man. This is Emmalee, she’s always been outgoing. He’s wearing shorts that cover the ends of his thighs where his legs stop. He has on a black t-shirt that is tight to his skin, showing his clearly toned body beneath the leather vest he has on. With every move of his arms, the vest shifts and more of the definition in his torso can be recognized, even under the darkness of the club. Both of his arms are covered in full sleeve tattoos, but I can’t take in the details.
When he lifts his head, his crystal blue eyes lock to Emmalee’s. She moves to him extending her hands. The two dance together, and I fall in rhythm with the music alongside them. We’re in the corner, and it’s like the rest of the world ceases to exist.
A body moves close to me, and I look to see a man with similar features as the one in the chair, but his hair is short and spiked on top is dancing with me now. Our eyes meet, and I get stuck in a trance. So much so, I forget to take in the details of the jeans he’s wearing or the design to the charcoal gray t-shirt that clings to his body under the leather vest he is also wearing.
With my eyes on his, I dance, teasing and tempting him.
He’s hot as hell.
Turning, I let my ass bump into his jeans. Taking the hint, his hands come to my hips, pulling me against him. Confidence radiates off him as he begins to control the way we move together. One song moves into the next with Emmalee sometimes on the man in the wheelchair’s lap and other times dancing around him, all while my partner roams my body with his hands, lighting a fire deep inside me. The time passes, and we are getting closer to ringing in a New Year.
With the alcohol flowing through my body, the seductive song playing, the atmosphere, and the hot as hell man touching me, I am getting more turned on with each passing second.
The atmosphere takes over my senses as the songs move into more and more seductive beats. Our bodies press together, and the vibration of the bass reverberates through me. With the stranger up against my back, I let all inhibitions go. The music and the feel of this strong man against me have my nipples painfully hard rubbing against the thin fabric of my dress. His hands roam as we continue to dance, and every single inch of my body tingles. Sliding my dress up and over the hills of my ass, I feel the warm air hit my backside as he tugs at the sides of my thong, only igniting the inferno inside of me further. With his guidance, I grind against the erection in his jeans, knowing the denim material is pinkening my flesh.
In the darkness of the corner, his hand slides around my chest and through the v-cut of my front where he begins to tweak my nipple. I’m so in the moment, I don’t care who sees me. His other hand slides up my thigh and around my front, pressing me against him tightly as his fingers graze my pussy lips.
I moan as the sensations build.
His fingers move my thong to the side as he plunges two fingers into my heat, causing me to cry out in pleasure. He works my body as my orgasm climbs. I’m on the edge when he simply stops. I let out a whimper in frustration before he takes me by the hand and guides me to a back hallway where he pushes me against the wall, crashing his lips to mine.
Passion transfers between us as I fumble to undo his jeans. My hand slides in to find he’s commando.
His lips pull harshly from mine. “Say it,” he orders with a rasp to his voice that shoots right to my core.
I smirk, “Fuck me.”
I’m far from a saint and while I can say I’ve never had sex with a stranger I’m not a virgin. Never have I been so turned on by anyone, so consequences be damned. I free his thick, hard length. In the darkness, I can’t see, but I can feel the evidence of a cock piercing. I can’t help but wonder how magnificent that will feel once he’s inside me.
He pulls back enough to grab a condom from his back pocket and cover himself before he lifts me up and I wrap my legs and arms around him. With my back to the wall, he pushes my panties aside as he doesn’t bother to finger me again, but instead slams inside me.
The overwhelming fullness has me still for a moment before I catch my breath.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter before his lips hit mine. He begins working us both. I’m on edge as his piercing grazes the walls of my insides with each thrust. I have never felt so much intensity while having sex before in my life. His hand moves between us. Finding my clit, he pinches as he bites my bottom lip.
I close my eyes and throw my head against the wall as the most intense orgasm of my life runs through my body.
“Happy New Year!” is cheered from the club space around us as the ball drops officially calling in the new year.
The world spins as a single thought passes through my mind. What the fuck did I just experience?