Butterfly

Chapter 8 - Sherry's Diary: Wilder Night Out

Author's note: I've been working on this story for a looong time. The first part put to paper (yes, paper) was chapter two, which grew out of a real entry in my diary. Soon after, I began typing chapter one into an old laptop at a local coffee shop, enjoying the thrill of typing an explicit erotic story while surrounded by oblivious yuppies sipping lattes.

A lot has changed since then. I started writing "Butterfly" when I was just a couple years out of college, the same age as my alter-ego as the story opens. In the beginning, it was pretty much a journal of my life as it was happening, with only the names and a few details altered. Gradually, it evolved into a "what-if"; what if I had done that, what if she had said that. (Tho interestingly enough, some of the what-ifs actually happened (more or less) after I had written them.)

But due to constraints of both time and creativity, this poor story became neglected, a reminder of my wilder days tucked safely away in a back corner of my hard drive.

Recently, I sat down and read through the whole thing for the 1st time in years. It was hard to believe it was my work; I couldn't remember writing whole scenes. It felt kinda like another author had asked me to continue a story she'd never finished, so that's what I did.

The original author (as I've come to think of my younger self) had outlined the whole rest of the story. Though I probably wouldn't finish the tale the same way today, I'm going to mostly follow that old plan to keep the same vibe and not jar the readers with a completely different style.

Upcoming chapters will take our main character to places that we might not want her to go, but I hope that the journey for us invisible voyeurs (that's me and you) will make it all worthwhile.

- "Sherry"

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Dear Diary:

I'm typing this on my laptop at the airport, waiting for my fight to DC. I won't be leaving for a couple more hours, so in the meantime, I've got to try and sort out everything that happened, all the crazy conflicting emotions spinning like a hurricane in my head.

I can't believe what happened last night. I can't believe what happened to me, or what I let happen to me. I hope Kyle will forgive me, IF I ever get brave enough to tell him about it. Actually, I hope I can forgive myself. I'll try to get it all down now while it's still fresh in my mind...

I knew Kyle didn't believe me when I called and told him that a wife of a client needed entertaining on very short notice. I'd only been asked to do that once before, and I had known a couple weeks in advance that time.

So I suggested that he hang out with his buddies and play that baseball video game he just bought. He was noncommittal and sounded kinda suspicious, but I really didn't care. What a dumbass I was! But I was so craving Crissy all day, I just wasn't thinking straight (pardon the pun).

When I got in the office yesterday morning (gawd, was it only yesterday??? It seems like years ago already!), the first thing I did was check my email. Crissy hadn't yet replied to my RSVP for that evening, so I asked her to send details about our plans to my home email so I wouldn't be checking for new messages at work every 5 minutes. I really did need to catch up on the accounts I'd been ignoring all week.

But while I had the email program open, I copied those pictures of Crissy streaking in the library to my computer's hard drive and deleted her emails from the company email server. (I can't believe I left them on there so long!!! Hope the IT guys were as incompetent as usual... )

So while I didn't waste any time checking for new naughty letters, who knows how many times I scrolled through those photos of Crissy flashing her ridiculously skinny yet sexy body through the college library. It got me so worked up that I took off my panties and stuffed them in my purse before going out for our traditional Friday whole-department lunch. Nobody could see anything under my calf-length skirt, but I knew and it felt delicious. And then frigging myself with that thick permanent marker under the desk in the afternoon... let's just say I didn't get much work done after all.

As soon as I got home, I dashed to the computer. Sure enough, Crissy had emailed to say she'd meet me at some "alternative" club at around 11. That was disappointing since it was only 5-something. I considered calling Kyle and saying my entertaining duties had been cancelled, figuring that I could relieve some sexual tension with a little quickie, then leave early and make my late appointment with Crissy. But I didn't — Kyle just knows me too well. He'd sense immediately that something was amiss and I'd be busted.

Knowing what I know now, I wish I would have picked up the phone, gone out with Kyle, and forgotten about the whole Crissy thing. At least I think I wish that. God, I'm so confused right now...

Anyway, I rushed through a quick dinner at home. 5:30. Then I cleaned the kitchen. 6:12. Next I dusted and vacuumed every inch of the whole apartment. 6:57. Time was just crawling.

There was more cleaning I could have done, but I didn't want to tire myself out. So I sat down and called a few old friends I've been meaning to get back in touch with. I reached two voice mails, then got stuck hearing a high school acquaintance's husband's spiel about how he could "get me into a new hot tub for less than $50 a month." I bet he'd like to try.

As soon as I disengaged the shyster from my ear, my fingers automatically flew across the keypad to call someone whose voice I really wanted to hear in my keyed-up state of mind: Jen.

She was out to dinner with a "friend from work". (I had dialed her cell.) The way she said it, tho, made me think she might be trying to hide the fact that she was on a hot date.

"Is he cute?" I asked, whispering conspiratorially for no apparent reason. "Use code words if you don't wanna talk in front of him."

Jen shushed me, saying it was "nothing like that", but in such a secretively quiet tone that she made me think it was exactly like "that".

I wished her "good lick, er, luck" and she laughed, asking me why I was such a "hyper horndog this evening?" Man, I was tempted to spill the beans about Crissy, but I just said it was "nothing like that".

We laughed again, I admitted that I really miss her, she said "my casa is tu casa", I giggled at Jen's mangled spanglish, and we said goodbye. I looked at the clock: 8:01.

I couldn't wait any to start getting ready. A nice long shower is supposed to be relaxing, but not last night, especially since I was sure to clean up all my important areas REAL well. The Brazilian wax job was holding up great so my razor wasn't needed, but I scrubbed in all the right places. But I was sure not to bring myself off. I wanted to save that for later, leaving me wanting more. So when I dried off, I was still wet, in a way. :-)

When I opened my closet, a swirl of doubts suddenly spun through my brain. Crissy is a college freshman, maybe 6 or 7 years younger than me.

My college clothes still fit quite nicely, thank you, but they're not quite in-style among the MTV crowd (IF they still watch MTV). That made me think; what was I getting myself into? Maybe I was playing the fool, trying to act younger than I was, trying to be hip among alt.trendy college kids but setting myself up to look pathetic. Come to think of it, maybe that's exactly what happened. But at the time, I pushed my doubts aside and carefully combed through my wardrobe.

I thought about pulling out the teeny black dress I'd worn out with Kyle to Beach Bunnies and Wendy's that fateful night, but decided against it. It's too formal and too desperate, all at the same time. Besides, it reminded me too much of Kyle. Too many reminders and I wouldn't have been able to go through with the rendezvous.

I figured I couldn't go wrong with tight jeans, along with one of Kyle's white button-down long sleeve shirts tied at the bottom to show just a hint of skin all the way around above my belt (with no love handles, I'm still happy to report) and a pair of casual black heels. I'm not a big fan of heels, but they do show off my legs and butt nicely and these aren't too high for walking or dancing, so I thought what the hell. Underneath, I wore a simple white bra and my "good luck charm", the mighty mini micro-g bottoms.

By 10, I was practically bursting with anticipation. So, telling myself that it'd be best to leave reeeeal early to find a parking spot, I was out the door. On the way to the car, tho, I found myself looking around to make sure Kyle wasn't keeping an eye on me. He said he really would call some friends and play video games, but I knew this rendezvous with Crissy was borderline cheating (ok, maybe more that borderline) and the guilt was creeping up. With a solid push on the accelerator as I left the apartment parking lot, I tried to shove my misgivings to the background. Once again, I was STUPID!

The club is in Ybor, the formerly run-down section of town where all those old brick factory buildings have been converted into lots of bars and clubs and restaurants. I hadn't been there much in a long while, but lots of people at work still seem to hang out down there pretty often. After finding a parking space (not too hard, but frickin' expensive!), I realized that I didn't want to see any co-workers tonight, especially after meeting Crissy. The sidewalks were getting crowded, but I didn't recognize anyone on the way to my destination.

I was supposed to find Crissy at a club called "The Cavern". Even I knew that the castle-esque building with the foreboding wooden door is where the goth kids hang out. It seemed to be just opening when I got there around 10:30. The heavy bass of throbbing techno rumbled through the old bricks, but I peeked inside and it was practically empty. Crissy hardly seemed like the type of person to be early, so instead of paying the cover charge and getting stuck waiting alone in the club, I decided to sit on an out-of-the-way bench across the street and keep an eye out for her.

It was hard sitting there waiting. At first, I was just giddy with anticipation. Then I calmed down a bit and did some people watching. There were all kinds of lifestyles represented in the thickening crowds wandering up and down the old street, but almost everyone was under 30, with the majority probably just around 21 or so — the drinking age, of course. There were also plenty of younger teens hanging out in packs on the sidewalks. I guess they were trying to be cool in the grown-up surroundings, or maybe trying to find someone who would buy them a beer.

Watching them brought that relentless "I'm too old for this" thought back to the front burner of my mind. Sure, there were lots of people my age around, but I noticed that none of them were going into The Cavern. I wouldn't guess that too many twenty-something proper professionals were anxiously awaiting their teenage goth lesbian-chick hookup, either.

And as the old clock tower struck eleven, and then a quarter after, with still no sign of that "chick", I began to feel quite the fool. The irrational side of me wanted to wait some more; the rational side just wanted to go home. So the sides made a deal: I'd leave when the first guy came over to deliver a cheesy pick-up line. It looked like my adventure was done when I spotted a drunken middle-aged guy stumbling in my direction, but then my heart leapt — Crissy was coming around the corner. (He should have stumbled faster.)

Crissy was with a half dozen goth-y companions dressed in either too-big black jeans with chains and unnecessary metal thingies or long lacey black skirts and clunky black boots. They all (4 girls, 2 guys) were done up with black fingernails and eyeliner and a variety of spiky, oily, and/or oddly dyed hair-dos. They also had more metal poking out of piercings through various body parts than I kept in my jewelry box — must be lots of fun for them to go through airport security. Their ridiculous fashion sense made me feel even older.

But then I noticed that Crissy's outfit wasn't quite as out there. While the others were pretty much covered from neck to at least mid-calf with black clothing of one kind or another, Crissy was wearing a flowing black miniskirt raggedly cut to a couple inches above her knees. She matched that with a lacey half-sleeve top that clung tightly to her skinny torso like a second (black) skin and was just short enough to let her single bellybutton piercing glitter in the streetlights. She was wearing black boots like her friends, but they were much more stylish and sexy than the others'. And her hair was a (relatively) conservative shade of dark purple, cut boyishly short as always to show off a reasonable number of extra piercings up and around her ears.

One look at the confidently assertive way she carried herself among her grubby posse and I could tell Crissy was in charge. It was like she was winning a game that the others didn't even know they were playing. I was in lust, again.

I didn't know quite how to approach them, so when they ambled up to the entrance to the Cavern, I just walked over and called to Crissy. While the others looked at me like I was somebody's mom trying to break up their fun, Crissy gave me a big grin, threw her arms around me, and locked her lips to mine. I wasn't expecting that, but I reflexively opened my mouth to let her probing tongue in. We played tonsil-hockey on the crowded sidewalk for what seemed like forever. Finally, we disconnected and I almost fell backwards with lightheadedness, my cheeks flushed red, my heart pounding in my chest. She laughed and grabbed my hand and I guess she paid my cover charge because next thing I knew, we were all sitting at a teeny round table in the loud, black-lit interior of the Cavern.

Crissy's friends immediately bought drinks and started puffing on odd-smelling cigarettes. Crissy brought me a glass, too, but didn't introduce me to anyone. I sat nursing the identifiable drink for a few minutes feeling ignored and uncomfortable as they chatted about common friends and other stuff I couldn't decipher. I didn't fit in with those weirdoes at all.

Just when I was about to get up and tell Crissy I'd see her another time, she grabbed my hand and got everyone's attention. "Forgot to mention," she almost shouted to be heard over the music, "this is Sherry. She's my new cuntlicker!"

My face must have turned beet red, but the others just nodded in my direction and went back to their conversation, acting as if they'd been told I was Crissy's new neighbor or something.

Despite their lack of response, Crissy grinned wickedly at me, waiting for my reaction, daring me to contradict her. I didn't know what to do, so I just stuck out my tongue, trying to play it off. "Yeah, that's her cuntlicker right there!" she countered. I smiled weakly and gulped down my drink, kinda shocked and offended but with a slow warm tingling building between my thighs.

Crissy said a couple more lewd things about me to her mostly indifferent friends, apparently trying to get a rise. For my part, I tried not to react too much, but I was quietly getting hornier by the minute. As the odd scene played out, tho, her comments seemed to be breaking through her friends' stupor. Her observation that I was "hot already, but look even better with pussy juice all over (my) face" got a few pairs of eyes to carefully check me out. Her revelation that I had "really fucking loved being frigged in front of a bunch of church youth groups" actually got a laugh and the attention of the whole table.

I don't understand it, but her humiliating comments got me so damn hot. Gawd, did I want them to come true right then. I wanted her to finger-fuck me right in front of everyone, I wanted my face to be dripping wet with any and all love juices right there in that dingy club.

Crissy knew it, too. She knew exactly which buttons to press, that manipulative bitch. And when she leaned in closer and we started making out, I didn't care who was watching, I didn't care that she had her hands all over my tits, first through my blouse and then inside of it. I gasped when we came up for air and I noticed that my buttons were mostly undone and my slightly-askew white bra was glowing brightly in the blacklights, but I didn't cover up. I would have let my tongue do its job on her right then and there if she would have asked me to.

But she didn't. Crissy suddenly told her friends that she'd see them later ("I've got some fucking to do!") and led me by the hand out the door and into the sidewalk as I frantically tried to button my blouse.

"We've gotta sexy up your outfit," she declared, and guided me into a clubwear boutique a few storefronts down the block.

The place was stocked with all kinds of outfits; from gothy gear to slinky club dresses to stuff that is definitely not legal to wear in public. Crissy headed right for the naughty section (as I knew she would) and flew through the racks like a whirling dervish, quickly browsing through lots of barely-there items, rejecting each one before I could do so myself. Then she found a simple black miniskirt and held it up in triumph. It was a lot like her skirt except that it had several thin lace panels running up the back, front, and side of the thighs. It also looked at least a couple sizes too small for me.

"This is perfect!" she declared. I said it was small but she ignored me, holding it up against my waist and grinning some more. The skirt didn't even reach down to the bottom of jean pockets.

I told her no but she's so damn persistent. So we made a deal; I'd buy them, but I wouldn't put them on... yet. At the cash register, she threw in a small box of some kind of paint. She wouldn't say what it was for, just grinned like a Cheshire cat. I didn't ask any questions, and in another minute, I left the store with a small shopping bag, a lighter pocket, and my dignity still mostly intact. For the moment, anyway...

Crissy was ready to hit more clubs, but I said I wanted to put the new skirt in the car so I wouldn't have to carry the bag around. I could tell she wasn't happy about that but she trudged along to the parking lot. When she realized I was really going to dump the skirt, tho, she started ranting that I needed to loosen up, that I was being a "fuckin' baby" and that maybe I should just go home.

Now if anybody else talked to me like that, I'd tell them to shut up and fuck off or both. But like I said, she knows how to push my buttons. Instead of driving home and forgetting about this whole crazy evening, I found myself apologizing for not putting on the skirt and offered to take off my bra instead. I don't know why; I can't explain it. Call it thinking with my clit if you want. But that's what I did.

And not only did I leave my bra in the car, I accepted Crissy's offer to fold my teeny new skirt into her purse for safekeeping "just in case" I wanted it later. I even let her unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt, revealing a good bit of unfettered cleavage. I know, I know; what the fuck was I thinking? I wish I could explain it...

Anyway, Crissy suggested we go to "Civilixation", a nearby club that was "more my style." The place is a converted movie theater with the old-fashion movie marquee and everything. There was a long line of your typical "beautiful people" waiting out front, but the place is so big that the line moved fast. We were at the front when I realized that Crissy wasn't old enough to get in. But either she's got a good fake ID or the beefy guy at the door liked our saucy looks because he shot us a flirty smile and waved us in.

Crissy was right; Civilixation is the kind of club I'm used to. Top-40 and pop/dance remixes on the thumping sound system with lighting shifting to the beat, neon beer signs on the walls, and the crowd a mix of college-aged and older 20-somethings. It was the sort of place I used to visit with Kyle.