We were once women, womanly women, sophisticated city women.
New York women.
The busy heart of the world, a city where a million things happen every minute, sex, romance, drama, laughter... we stood there in the middle of so much life, thinking ourselves and our so unique lives a relevant part of that magic in our eyes.
Maybe that’s why we thought ourselves so entitled to our status, yet I can’t bring myself to agree with the twisted ending that our tale had... not completely at least... and it isn’t just because I was a victim of the twist because I can admit that we were kinda at fault for putting ourselves in that situation.
My three best friends and I.
Samantha Jones was the oldest of the group, she owned her own public-relations company, which meant she had sex with a lot of young hunky men. A mature blonde cougar on the hunt and a self-proclaimed "try-sexual", shame would never be for her, she often took the lead and we followed.
Charlotte York-Goldenblatt, with her long dark brunette hair, could easily be one of those ladies you see in the “housewives” section of your favorite porn site. Once she had been a respected art dealer, but life and her choices put her in the stay-at-home mom role and, to be honest, she embraced it quite freely.
Miranda Hobbes, career-minded would be the polite way of saying she had never stopped being a workaholic, a lawyer to be exact, but one of the good ones. Tall, thin, with short red hair, she could have been a top model and probably could have handled it without dropping either her law or single-mother careers.
I put myself last as the humble narrator and storyteller that I am.
Caroline Marie Bradshaw, Carrie to her friends. Party girl, cocktail lover, fashionista, published author, icon, the best columnist at the The New York Star and the best freelance writer for Vogue, surely you have heard about my column, Sex and the City, even if you are just one of those dudes that almost certainly masturbates with my pictures.
I’m not judging or blaming you, I know I am a hot lady... was.. I think I’m still hot even if I’m no longer...
Well, let’s not rush the tale.
It was exactly one year after my “happily ever after” my dear beloved Mr. Big, a long year in which I learned to be a married woman, went back to smoking and had almost no time to hang out with my friends.
None of us did really, we didn’t have time to hang out, all four of us together for even a single time in those three hundred and sixty days and Samantha decided it was time to fix that.
Twenty four hours of freedom just for real, normal women like us: Catching up, chatting, eating, drinking, shopping, LOTS of shopping and then, when the sun began to drop lower we showered and put on our best outfits.
In Samantha's Aston Martin we escaped to the outskirts of the city towards a luxurious country residence where a party of some rich famous dude was taking place, based on what my sources had told me. There was throwing a big exclusive party for the crème de la crème of the city.
And that of course included me and my friends.
“These invites are fake” the words from the mouth of the sturdy security dude at the entrance to the party left us blank.
Behind him the music was raging and spotlights were pointed at the sky attracting glamour like moths to a candle.
“What?” asked Samantha after the shock had passed.
“These are false, not real, not valid.” answered the guard, giving the invitations back.
“I know what fake means, what I am saying is that you are wrong, they aren’t fake.”
“Yes they are, they don’t even have the QR-Code.”
The line was getting annoyed behind us, Samantha knew it and decided to smirk, pulling the neckline of her dress down slightly as she leaned closer to the guard.
“Look, hunk, it’s just a mistake, but if you are a good boy, look away and let us pass I will give you a little sweet work down there.”
The security guy was the one left blank for a moment now, a very short moment that ended in a chuckle.
“If all four of you grannies suck my cock together maybe I would consider snatching you a bottle of booze, but in the meantime move away, the line is waiting.”
Giggles behind us, our faces grew bright red, Samantha’s eyes had never been more open as she stepped back speechless and even hiding her bust slightly.
I couldn’t tolerate that, taking a step forward, pointing my finger at the chest of the guard.
“Do you know who you are talking to?” I asked, ashamed and outraged.
“No.” he answered, quickly and dryly.
I kept pointing with my finger without knowing what I was pointing at as everybody behind grew more amused by our show.
“G-good... Good for you...” I managed to mumble.
Miranda grabbed my arm, I looked back at her, Charlotte was on the edge of beginning to sob.
“Let’s fucking leave...” she pleaded and so we did.
We walked to the car in silence away from the glances of the people in the line and the noise of the party that we had been denied access to.
Heads down and silent, blushes still radiating on our faces.
Samantha walked out in front, we could feel her trembling with rage as we walked along under the trees.
“Follow me...!” she growled between her teeth.
I feel as if I should have described what clothes we were wearing to you, but clothes had become such an abstract concept with the passing of the months...
Miranda was wearing pants at least, something handy for the place that Samantha led us to.
It was a wire fence between the trees, a wire fence surrounding the facilities of a place called "Pleasure Island".