People think they know me. The elegant one. The composed one. The woman who never has a hair out of place and never raises her voice. And most nights, that is exactly who I am. But last Saturday, at my friend champagne birthday party, something in me just... slipped. In the most delicious way.
It started with the champagne, of course. Two glasses in, and I was laughing louder than I ever do. Three glasses, and I was dancing. Not the polite sway I usually do at these things. Real dancing. Hips moving, head back, completely lost in the music. I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, and I barely recognized the woman looking back at me. She looked hungry.
He was watching me. Tall, dark suit, the kind of man who looks like he owns every room he walks into. Our eyes met across the dance floor, and I did not look away. I never look away when I want something. I danced closer. And closer. Until I was dancing for him, and only him, in a room full of people who had no idea what was happening right in front of them.
We ended up on the rooftop. Just us and the city lights and the champagne I had stolen on the way up. He pressed me against the railing, and the night air was cool on my skin where his hands were not, and I let him do whatever he wanted. The classy girl was gone. In her place was someone who moaned without covering her mouth, who did not care who might come through that rooftop door. I hope someone did. I almost wish someone had.
I woke up Sunday morning with smeared lipstick, a missing earring, and the best kind of soreness. And I have not stopped thinking about it since. There is a wild girl inside every elegant woman, darling. Mine just needed champagne and a reason. If you want to be my reason, you might enjoy my exhibitionist side too. Find me on the live girls page and text the dispatcher. Tell them Ella, how many minutes you would like, and whether you are new here. They will call you right back, and I will tell you what happened on that rooftop in exquisite detail.
Signed, Ella