It had been planned to perfection.
As she stood in front of the line of mirrored wardrobes in her bedroom, admiring herself, Alice Carmichael knew that tonight would be magnificent. All that remained was to put on the finishing touches.
It had been almost two weeks since she'd been alone with the man who was due at her door any moment. She'd had the most intense sexual experience of her life that day, but it was all too brief. Tonight they would take their time, and nothing would get in their way.
Alice lifted the lip-gloss from the dresser and applied a generous amount to her full natural lips. Her bone structure was flawless, and her nearly jet-black hair framed her face and long slender neck, perfectly.
She bobbed her head along to the song that was playing on her phone. The lyrics affirming how wonderful it was indeed, to be a hot girl; a party girl; better than the other girls. She loved those kinds of songs because they didn't pander to lesser females. They were honest, and they were about women like her. She blew a kiss to her reflection, and she was ready.
She had spent the past week deliberating on what to wear for the occasion. Her mind had changed several times. She even considered answering the door naked except for a pair of heels. In the end, she had chosen her gold satin blouse because she loved the way it presented her large firm breasts, and her nipples stood out prominently against the material. She paired that with a grey mini-skirt she had bought as part of a sexy-secretary costume for Halloween night with the girls. The stockings that her husband had bought her for Valentines day were a last minute decision. Alice had never worn them for him, and she got a kick out of the idea that her new man would be the one who got to enjoy her in them.
Alice's husband Steven, would be gone overnight at some work-related thing. He had explained in detail exactly why he had to go, but after he'd said, "staying overnight," she hadn't heard another word.
They had been married just shy of a year, and Alice realised it was a mistake, almost from the get-go.
In truth, she was motivated more by the idea of being a bride than anything else. The attention that it brought, and the fuss everyone made about every little detail was nectar to her. It was what she felt she deserved and she'd become accustomed to the fact that people revelled in her. Coveted her. It was always that way.
From a young age, she found that the men in her life seemed to ask more questions of her than they did of the other girls, and they'd listen more intently to her answers too. The boys at school would go out of their way to help her with things. She'd notice them hanging around awkwardly, trying to think of way to start a conversation.
One of her abiding memories was of a particular young admirer, who had written her a love-letter, and had one his friends deliver it to her at lunch.
It read:
Hi Alice. It's Toby Kaminski.
I think ur really good looking and I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me. We could go bowling or to the movies or whatever you want.
Thanks.
Underneath he had drawn two little boxes, marked YES and NO. The idea being that she would tick her preference and return it to him. Instead of doing that, Alice had approached the unfortunate boy. Ripped the note into pieces, and placed it deliberately in his clammy hand. She could still recall his crestfallen face, full of freckles and extinguished hope, and it made her smile to think of that.
Now in her twenties, Alice was in no doubt about how she was viewed by the world around her. Barely a day went by when she wasn't told, in some form or fashion, that she was special. People seemed to have some kind of innate need to tell the beautiful how beautiful they are, as if they'd have no idea otherwise.
She would often amuse herself by teasing those men, who had made obvious their desire for her. At work she would set herself little tasks to rile them up, and invent reasons to get up and stretch her legs. Like sending unneeded documents to the printer, and walking the full length of the office floor to collect them. As she passed by their workstations, their heads would pop-up above the table dividers like meerkats on patrol. Then she'd lean over the printer, and stick her ass out in an exaggerated fashion to really get them going.
Sometimes, while pretending to sift through paperwork, she liked to sit adjacent to one particular table of excitable young men, who'd pretend not to notice as she crossed and uncrossed her legs. She'd mastered the art of sensual leg-crossing. Slightly tilted to one side. Legs together, always touching and then slide one over the other, slowly. Every now and then she'd lift her head sharply and watch their eyes dart away in embarrassment.
On an odd occasion one of the meerkats, feeling brave, would attempt a clumsy overture. They'd say things like, "hey, Alice what you up to tonight?" and she'd say something like, "wouldn't you like to know."
"you should come out with us," they'd say, and she'd flash them a smile, then point to her wedding ring.
She was tickled by those little moments, but Alice had no sexual interest in men like them. She found them insecure and desperate.
Her husband engendered similar feelings in her now. When they first met, he had a sort of Golden retriever-like enthusiasm, and desire to please that she found endearing. Now she found it cloying. He would sometimes say things that made her think, and she'd laugh at his jokes occasionally too. The sex was never good and his cock was on the smaller side, but he had a good job which afforded her a nice lifestyle. So she threw herself into it and they were married in a matter of months.
When all the hoopla of the wedding and the honeymoon was over, and they were no longer centre of attention, the rot had started to set in for Alice. She soon discovered, all the interesting things he had said to her, and the funny jokes he had told, did not belong to him. They were things he'd heard other people say. Quotes from movies and sitcom one-liners, and they were all he had in lieu of a personality. He was an imaginary construct. A man who had pushed his acting capabilities to the limit, in an attempt to be enough for a woman like her, and he had failed.
She had contemplated leaving him, but there was the money to consider. So she allowed things to drift along in that fashion. Treating him with thinly veiled contempt and pretending not to be repulsed by his constant attempts to win her approval. Until the night that fate intervened on her behalf, and changed the dynamic of their relationship forever.
It was two weeks prior. Alice had gone to bed early, nursing a headache, and Steven was watching TV downstairs. He increasingly enjoyed those little moments of alone time, it offered some respite from his wife's frequent mood swings. Despite that, he loved being married to Alice. It made him feel important in the eyes of others, and gave his life meaning. When he had introduced her to his family and friends she had been a delight. She knew how to put on a show. His teenaged sister Poppy was captivated by her. She looked up to Alice as a mentor, and longed to be like her. She had begun moulding herself in Alice's image. Copying her style, buying the same make-up, and trying to affect the same mannerisms.
Alice loved the attention. She felt like she had her very own disciple, and the pair had grown close because of that. Steven was happy that they got along so well, but whenever they were in each other's company he had noticed certain behaviours. They would invariably gang up on him. Making little jokes at his expense, and giggling like schoolgirls. They would have private conversations, and clam up when entered the room. It made him fell insecure, but it was better that they got along, he thought.
With Alice in bed, it was becoming obvious that something was happening cross the street, in front of the new neighbour's house. Groups of people were greeting each other loudly, and then disappearing inside. Then more of them turned up, and then another group, and then a bigger group until there must have been twenty people or more. Steven's hopes of a quiet night in front of the TV were dissipating.
Shortly after that came the THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! of the music, and he heard Alice's bedroom door opening. Then the sound of the creaking floorboard at the top of the stairs, and suddenly she was standing in front of him, glaring angrily. "What the fuck is that?" she said, in an accusatory tone. Steven was accustomed to that tone. It was how she communicated with him now.
"I think it's that new guy across the street," he replied, "sounds like he's having a party."
"you know I'm trying to sleep?"
"yeah I know, they've got no respect for people," he said, trying to match his wife's mood.
