Uncover Me

Once again, his gaze moved downwards.

Curious.

Interested.

A long-forgotten fluttery feeling came over her: the blossoming pleasure of being admired by a good-looking man.

By the time his attention turned to her face, she was hot all over and she knew her cheeks showed it. She looked at the table top and wrapped her hands around the paper cup in front of her. After a moment’s silence, she realised he was waiting for her to speak.

She took a sip to wet her mouth and then looked at him. ‘Do you have a name?’

‘Brendan, and … Maggie isn’t your real name, I take it?’

‘No, and I don’t want to tell you my real name yet.’ She looked him straight in the eye as she spoke. She couldn’t help how defensive she was getting. ‘Not yet. For now, you can call me Maggie.’

He leaned back and grinned. ‘Well, Maggie, I’m going to get a cup of coffee and hope you’re still here when I come back. And then I think we should get out of here.’

‘I don’t think we should,’ she said with a scowl. ‘I don’t know what you were expecting, but –’

‘No, you misunderstand me. I just meant we should take our coffees and get out of this noisy little hole in the wall, head down the street to the park and get to know one another.’

Brendan stood over her. Carrie hated to look up at anyone and so she didn’t. She simply took another sip.

He chuckled, a delightful rumbling sound that ran right through her. ‘Can I get you another one?’

She hugged her cup between her hands and shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

After he’d moved away, she lifted her chin and took a second look. He looked so normal, like any other man, and so far he had been nothing but sweet to her. The very act of speaking to the barista and slipping his debit card into the machine seemed out of place as she thought of how he had come out of the masturbatory haze of her blog. Tingles sparked along her arms and down her back, and she felt ashamed of her shyness in the face of a man who had seen so much of her from afar.

His slight swagger as he moved down the counter to wait for his drink painted a more accurate picture of confidence. The video had proved that. He had filmed himself fucking the woman because he had wanted to be seen. Perhaps it had started off as a private thing, but somewhere along the way he had decided to give it to the world to get off to.

Just like me, she thought.

Curiosity burned through her anxiety as she watched him and, in spite of herself, she wanted to know more. So she rose from the table and collected her things and met him at the door as he took his cup filled with ice and red liquid.

‘You can relax,’ he said as soon as they were out in the daylight together. ‘I know you’ll take it with a grain of salt, but I just want to talk. No expectations.’

‘Good. I don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of prostitute.’

‘I was thinking the complete opposite, actually.’

He led the way along a sidewalk busy with students hobbling like hunchbacks between campuses for coffee and lunch. A step behind him, Carrie let her gaze move over him and wondered if the back was as nice as the front when he was stripped down.

‘It’s funny how all these months I’ve been visiting your blog, getting myself off two or three times a day, and you were just a few steps away all this time.’

‘I don’t find it funny.’

‘No, I don’t expect you would, hiding in plain sight like that.’ He peered at her as they trotted along. ‘You’re very skittish, aren’t you?’

‘I’m cautious.’

‘Are you a virgin?’

Carrie stopped dead. ‘Because I didn’t immediately invite you for a fuck, you assume I’m a virgin?’

‘That got a rise out of you.’ He turned, his mouth in a mischievous twist. ‘I know you’re not a virgin, at least not in the clinical sense. I’ve seen all of your pictures. Maybe not skittish. More …’

‘Cautious.’

‘I want to say repressed.’

‘I’m not repressed.’ She was so annoyed she could have thrown her tea in his face. Instead, she tilted her nose in the air and glared at him. ‘Let’s talk about you now. You’re so well put together, so chatty, but you’re still a man who sits in front of a computer and jerks off to a woman with her panties twisted around her knees.’

His smile unwavering, Brendan leaned forward. ‘And you’re the type of woman who would shove her panties down to her knees and take a picture of her wet pussy so a man like me can jerk off to it.’

As he drew back, Carrie caught a whiff of his aftershave, a subtle mixture of menthol and something earthy and green. He never broke eye contact as he stood away from her, triumph on his handsome face.

After a moment, he shook his head. ‘I’m really not going to get into a pissing match with you. If you want to part ways right here, I’ll let you go … but I really don’t want to, and I don’t think you do either. You’re just as curious about me as I am about you.’

‘I don’t want to be analysed like a thing in an aquarium.’

‘Then tell me something about you, Maggie. Tell me how you came to start your blog.’

She walked alongside him, her thoughts muddled as she not only processed the fact that she hadn’t walked away but delved into her memories for the moment when this all began.

After Frank? Yes, the blog started after Frank. But it was more than Frank, and somewhere along the way it had separated from him completely.

‘I had a boyfriend who worked as a teacher up north,’ she said. ‘Three months collecting the big money up there, three months back here. He didn’t have a good Internet connection, so instead of video chatting I sent him pictures. I didn’t want to, at first, but I loved him and it was horrible having him so far away.’

‘And then you came to like it.’

Carrie took a deep breath. ‘I did. I’d take pictures of the things I’d bought when he was away and model them for him. Back then I just used the camera on my computer. I worried that he’d show the pictures to someone else, but as far as I know he never did. He sent back his own, and there we were for about a year.’

‘Did you ever take pictures when he was in town?’

She hesitated, then sighed and relented. ‘Once. He filmed me. After it fell apart …’

She stopped, hating herself as she recalled sitting at her computer, tears streaming down her face as she deleted every single photo, video and email.

She didn’t want to talk about it.

Still, she felt a little less anxious. Scores less anxious, in fact. She tossed her tea into a trash bin and tucked her hands into her pockets.

‘I dated someone for a few months after it ended, mostly because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? But after a while I decided I wanted time to get to know myself again. Turns out I like taking pictures of myself. It’s got nothing to do with a failed relationship or anything like that. I just like it. It just feels good. Other people do it, so I do it too.’

‘You like looking, too?’

‘I have a few blogs I like to go to. People like me. Sometimes they just take pictures of themselves. Sometimes they’re with other people.’ Her voice shook as she made her admission. Releasing it into the atmosphere was as thrilling as it was terrifying. ‘There’s one I like the most: a woman in Scotland – some small village on the coast. She posts black and white pictures. She shows her face, but she never looks right at the camera. Her pictures say something about her. Every single one tells a story about the type of day she had. You can tell by what she’s wearing or what she’s doing to herself who she chose to be that day, or what she was forced to be by her real life. I don’t know if mine does that, but I like hers.’