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and overwhelming need for me excited me so much I couldn’t stand it any longer. When I eased aside the crotch of my panties and pushed the head of his cock into my juicy hole, it slid in easily.
    He was strong enough to support me with his weight while I wrapped my legs around his waist. He staggered back until I was half-sitting on the top of the bar counter, and started to thrust deeply into me. Every stroke slammed me back a little way on the polished wood, driving the breath from me. I clung on to him like a drowning woman, nails leaving pale half-moons in the flesh of his shoulders as we groaned and panted and shuddered together. His pubic bone ground against my clit, the short hairs around his balls rasping against the fabric of my panties, and he was nuzzling the hard points of my nipples, his face buried in my exposed cleavage.
    In the fantasy, my inner muscles clamped down hard on Eddie’s embedded length. In reality, it was the rigid silicone length of the vibrator that filled me as my orgasm bloomed deep inside me and I cried out Eddie’s name, not caring if anyone heard me.
    I felt sweat sticking my pyjama top to my back as I slowly came back to awareness of my surroundings. Switching off the vibrator, I let it drop to the floor.
    So much heat generated from just a kiss – in my fantasy, at least. Playing Eddie’s girlfriend was going to be fun, but I had to keep my feet on the ground. All he wanted was a one-night deal, convincing enough to fool his stepsister. Anything else had to remain purely in the realms of my imagination.

Chapter Four
    Friday morning found me ready to hunt on the rails of every thrift store in the Village, looking for a dress suitable for a masquerade ball. I couldn’t afford to buy a new outfit, not when I knew I’d be unlikely to ever wear it again. Luckily, Heather hadn’t specified a theme – if I’d needed to dress as a Southern Belle or Venetian lady, it would have meant an expensive trip to a costume hire shop. Men got it easy with these events; pretty much all they needed to do was throw on a tuxedo and a mask and they were good to go.
    At least, living in an area with a high student population you were always guaranteed to find a few second-hand prom dresses for sale. In the third store I tried, I found just the thing. Strapless and made of wine-red satin, overlaid with a sheath of fine black lace, it came to just above my knees. I’d gained the impression Eddie was something of a leg man, and I intended to team the dress with sheer black thigh-high stockings and a pair of black lace pumps that lurked in the depths of my closet. When I tried it on, it was a little tight, but not uncomfortably so; as long as I didn’t cut any extravagant moves on the dance floor, I figured the seams would hold. I couldn’t help remembering the words Eddie said his mom used when talking about his previous girlfriends: “fast and trashy”. I needed to give the impression of being sweet and sophisticated, however much it would have made Delia laugh to hear me described that way.
    My mask came from a little store on West 4th Street that sold cheap party goods; plain gold, I could add sparkle to it by gluing on some glitter and a handful of little crystals. Hopefully, no one would realise I hadn’t spent the $40 a similar mask would cost me from a high-end costume store.
    Almost ridiculously pleased with my purchases, I treated myself to a Monte Cristo sandwich and a skinny latte in a little café, taking the opportunity to sit and watch the world go by. No matter how long I lived in Greenwich Village, I’d thought I’d never get tired of the passing parade: fashionistas chattering on their cell phones as they took their little dogs for a walk, the animal so small they could easily fit it in their oversized purse; musicians clutching guitar cases as they headed to rehearsals, or the gig they were sure would help them land that elusive record deal; students, laughing and arguing and