Page 53 of Unmasking My Dark Knight

Frustrated, I kicked off my shoes, unzipped my pants, and pulled them down.

That’s when I gasped.

“Are you kidding me?!” I reached between my legs, feeling the dampness through my panties—my favorite pink and frilly pair that matched my bra. I swallowed dryly. It’s just a phase, a blip in my judgment of men. I touched myself again, then wiped my soaked fingers off on my shirt.

This was serious.

Practicing discretion was an art form most people constantly lacked. Like Gustav and the obnoxious emo music he played while growing up. Nobody wanted to hear that, let alone be around it. It left such an impression on me that I became the complete opposite of whatever it was that possessed him to be so loud with his interests. Clearly, my desire to be inconspicuous popped up in peculiar ways, and not just with the dust jackets I used to hide my books.

Pulling off my shirt, I unhooked my bra and tossed it aside. I didn’t even bother taking off my socks as I frantically reached for my makeup bag, searching for my secret companion that I hid within the inner pocket.

I pulled out my special tube of lipstick: Candy Apple Red. I tossed its cap off and twisted its base. The red silicon nub at the tip began to buzz quietly. Fully charged. I sighed in relief. Normally, this was reserved for Roman Knight, but tonight, dammit—excuse me—it was reserved to get High Jynx out of my system.

On the emerald satin bed, I undid the top layer of sheets and got inside. Propping my head on a pillow, I searched through the social media app for the videos Hollie showed me earlier of my ultra-famous clown. I barely typed his name into the search bar before it autofilled an entire description of what I was looking for: Hot as Hell High Jynx the Scary Clown.

I clicked it, and my room grew bright.

A page of videos covered my screen: images of him lurking in the shadows, chasing women, and sliding at their feet.

How did it come to this?

Me alone, stalking him online.

Just an hour ago, I was riding a carousel with him, now I was lying naked under the light of a phone and buzzing with adrenaline.

I clicked on a video, a slow-motion clip of him walking through the fog, glaring right into the camera—my eyes.

“Scream for me, darling,” his voice gritted through the phone and into my hand. I turned my toy on and slipped it between my legs, focusing on his stare. This was what I wanted. To wring him out of my mind like a sponge, to free myself from the weight of everything I absorbed.

God. What was it about those diamond eyes? Those dark painted lips—lips that were close to mine tonight, begging to be touched. I nearly lost myself in that moment, spinning around, melting onto a pink plastic horse that lifted me to his face, his chest, and his arms.

The video repeated, echoing his words. I caught myself holding my breath. I couldn’t let it go. My limbs grew numb as my vibrator skirted along my clit, aching against my wetness that leaked out onto the satin sheets. He did that to me. He made my entire body feel like static on a TV, tingling with sounds and light that blocked everything out from the world until nothing was left but him.

I think I hated that. Or maybe I loved how he tipped my world upside down and shook me loose.

Twisting the base of my vibrator, I increased its speed, throbbing all over as my breathing grew ragged. I clicked on the comments to see what others said. There were thousands of them. All women like me, just as terrified and enthralled by High Jynx.

“The only clown I want hiding in my closet,” one said.

“Scare me harder, Daddy!” Another mentioned.

“I want to lick his makeup off!” There were exclamation marks everywhere. Hashtags for hotclown and sexyscaryfreak.

A twinge of jealousy fluttered in my stomach, my leg stiffening along the satin sheets as I moaned.

One girl wrote, “Fuck me, High Jynx! I’ll let you do whatever you want to me!” I clicked out of the comments and scrolled through the videos. Him running. Him slipping his suspenders off. I went back to the old video and looked at that comment again. Reading it. Swallowing it until it reached the back of my tongue.

Would High Jynx like it if I spoke to him like that?

That comment had twenty-three thousand likes. My nipples stood on point as I grazed my vibrator across them.

What was he doing to me?

“Fuck me, High Jynx,” I whispered softly, testing it out in my own voice. It was so not like me to say that, or to even entertain that vocabulary, but it made my face flush and my neck warm with anticipation. I read the comment again, and High Jynx stared back through the top of the screen, swooping back his hair.

“Fuck me. Fuck me…” I repeated, biting into my words, each time a little harder, a little more indulgent. It made me feel inexplicably guilty, like I was bad for saying it in the best kind of way. I think this was what he wanted from me. To leave me aching and wet, quivering below my phone, pressing the lipstick harder against my clit. It made me so puffy and raw, like I had gone for too long, but I wasn’t ready for it to be over.

I wanted to build up for him, to be twisted up to the edge where I would eventually fall. I turned the volume up on my phone, listening to his voice as I let go of my lipstick. It rolled off the bed and vibrated onto the wood floors as I writhed in the sheets, slipping my fingers down the slope of my stomach, then between my folds as I rocked my hips.