Bella, Chapter 2

Chapter II: Bella

TO SAY I didn’t recognise the girl in front of me would be a lie. I recognised the girl in front of me: it was me, only more feminine, more assertive, more sexy, more cool. I wasn’t in disguise or––to use those ugly and meaningless expressions–– “cross-dressing” or ”in drag”. I was just dressed a little differently than I normally was, and it felt natural. I turned my body to the left and the right, admiring my reflection. My hair––normally a long, wavy, uncontrollable mess––had been forced into a side parting. A lock of it fell over a defined and arched eyebrow and a thickly lashed eye. My cheekbones were high and pronounced, my nose looked thinner, and smaller, and my lips were blood-red, plump and inviting. Bella stood next to me in my t-shirt, jeans and leather jacket, looking gorgeous in a bad-girl, I-don’t-give-a-fuck sort of way that suited her perfectly. I couldn’t interpret her expression. She was smiling softly at me and playing absent-mindedly with her hair.

“What …?” I said. I eased my voice into a higher register without thinking. “Do I not look amazing?” I smiled, but I was partly forcing myself to be casual.

“You look great, girl,” she said quietly. My heart leapt at the mention of “girl”, but I sensed Bella hadn’t said it deliberately. I felt unusually calm and lucid, and I felt confident and beautiful. I felt as though I could conquer the world with one hand while doing my makeup with the other. Bella seemed to shake herself out of her daze. “Let’s go?” she said.

She offered me her hand and I took it. We left the changing room and headed back along the corridor to the main room. I could hear Nicolas Jaar’s Stay in Love booming from the enormous speakers next to the bar. A couple of boys (and at least one girl) smiled at me as I walked and I smirked back. When we reached the part of the corridor where it widened out into the main room Bella stopped suddenly, turned to me and grabbed my arm.

“I completely forgot my friends!” she said, half-laughing. “You’re far too much fun, clearly. I’ll be back in, like, two seconds.” I watched Bella walk away through the throng of bodies and disappear. I remained where I was for a moment and then, suddenly aware that I was standing alone next to the dance floor like a spurned prom-date, I found an empty booth, sat down and folded one leg over the other.

“I didn’t realise I’d have company.” I looked over. Somehow obscured in shadow on the other side of the booth, there was a boy––a man, really–– sipping a beer and looking at me. “This is my booth.”

I looked at him blandly.

“Well, it’s mine now,” I said. “Sorry, babe.”

“Oh is it?” he said, smirking.

“Where are all you friends?” I said. This attempt at a cutting comment was undermined by the appearance of an oversized and clearly drunk man with a beard. He clapped his hands on my new acquaintance’s shoulders and told him to come outside, Tom, we’re doing shots. The boy––Tom––waved him away.

“I’m Tom,” he said. “In case you couldn’t work that out.” I looked at his outstretched hand for a moment and shook it. His hand enveloped mine.

“Alex,” I said. Tom was. I guessed, about twenty-one, and had the arrogance and air of invincibility that all men around that age seem to have. He had one of those exaggerated undercuts that were so fashionable at the time and two or three days’ stubble. His muscular chest strained against his shirt which, I noticed with amusement but not dislike, was a little too tight. He slowly turned his pint-glass with a thick thumb and forefinger. I suddenly became aware that I was playing with my hair and stopped abruptly.

“It’s good to meet you,” he said in a deep, honeyed voice that betrayed a private-school background. “Would you like a drink?

“Sure,” I said.

Tom told me he played rugby league. He was in the university team, which wasn’t easy to do: when I had been at Cambridge I had known plenty of very talented rugby players who hadn’t come close to making the team. There was a rugby-player stereotype––loud, brash, aggressive, unnecessarily offensive––but Tom didn’t fit neatly in the category. For one thing, he had the relaxed manner of a runner or a tennis player, and the beer he was drinking incredibly quickly seemed to make more chilled-out, not loud and annoying like the friends who came in intermittently to try to drag him outside. After the third glass of wine––my sixth or seventh of the night, but who’s counting?––I was feeling drunk and , well, turned on. One of us (or both of us) had gradually neared the other and I was aware that Tom had his hand on my thigh. I knotted my hands in his shirt and looked up at him. We were almost touching.

“So how do you get away wearing such a tight shirt?” I asked him softly.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he said. “And if you don’t, you can take it off.”

“Promise?” I said. He answered by way of a kiss. It was gentle, but it wasn’t gentleness that I wanted. His tongue slipped inside my mouth, massaging my own, and I realised, for the first time, what it was to be kissed. Every part of my body seemed to melt into Tom’s. I pushed back against him, and his stubble rubbed against my skin. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer, and the world around us darkened and disappeared, leaving us alone with the music and the light above us When we parted he said:

“I’ll order us a cab.”

It wasn’t a question, but I didn’t want it to be. His confidence was intoxicating, and though I knew that if I went home with him I’d just be one of many girls, only a notch on his bedpost, I didn’t care. I wanted him so much that I could barely breathe, and at that moment, as I was looking into Tom’s eyes, my fingers playing absent-mindedly with his hair I realised with a peculiar mixture of surprise and excitement that I wanted him to be inside me.

We kissed until the taxi arrived. It took all my remaining willpower not to rip Tom’s clothes off right there in the booth and climb on top of him. My cock was hot and wet and straining against the inside of my––Bella’s––knickers, and I pressed my palm against the front of Tom’s jeans and felt his huge dick straining too.

“It’s here,” Tom whispered, pulling away from me and looking down at his phone. His hand enveloped mine and we got up from the booth. I was one of the taller “girls” in the room but I felt tiny next to Tom, who was well over six-foot, and walked closely alongside him towards the exit, aware of the jealousy written across the faces of the girls we passed. As I was about to cross the threshold to leave the club I turned for a final time to look for Bella, but there was no sign of her, so I turned back, walked out and, slipping slightly on the icy pavement, followed Tom out to the waiting taxi.

We were undressing each other before we were in the flat. We stumbled along the corridor with our bodies pressed together and, clumsily, I pulled Tom’s jacket off him. At the door Tom spun me around and pushed me roughly against it while he fumbled with the lock with a free hand, and when the door opened we tumbled through, still kissing. Tom let his jacket fall to the floor and I pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing a chest and stomach that looked as if they were carved out of wood. I pressed my palms against Tom’s chest and directed him towards the bedroom and through the open door, and we fell together, I on top of him, onto the bed. I was breathing hard as I positioned my legs either side of Tom and he ran his hands up the sides of my thighs. When he reached the hem of my dress he paused for a moment and then hitched it, gently, up and over my ass. It barely occurred to me that he might not like what he found beneath my knickers: I was willing to take whatever risk there was for the chance to feel him inside me. He squeezed my ass and then he let his right hand slip around to the front of my knickers and rested it on the outline of my cock, wet and hard and throbbing beneath the lace. All of a sudden he breathed in deeply, as if no longer able to contain his lust, and kissed me harder, and at the same time he pulled my trembling body closer to his. His arms came to rest on my upper arms and he pushed up to my knees. His hand found the zip of my dress––Bella’s dress––and then pulled it up and over me. At the same time I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans and moved back to the edge of the bed to pull them off, and his socks came off with them. I kneeled over him for a moment, admiring the view. His muscular chest rose and fell. His cock struggled beneath his boxers. Slowly, teasingly, I pulled off Tom’s boxers, and his huge––impossibly huge––cock sprang out. I swung my leg over to the same side as my right and placed my palms either side of Tom’s head. I leaned down to kiss him again and as I did so he slid my knickers down my legs and off, and I let my heels fall off my feet onto the bedroom floor. I positioned myself over Tom once more and now it was him teasing me: his cock brushed my ass, driving me mad with lust and hinting at what was to come, and I moaned involuntarily and massaged his tongue with my own. His hand left my waist and I heard him fumble briefly with the draw of his bedside table. I felt a lubricated finger enter my asshole and I pulled away from Tom and bit my lip. A moment later he took my hips in his hands and eased me on top of him. Slowly, I let him go deep inside me, and it was everything.

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This story is 1835 words long.