Good Girl

A woman sprays perfume onto her neck

He meant well, but little did he know…

If you’ve read here recently, you’ll know that this past Wednesday was my birthday. Ever since my disaster of a 21st birthday party (and certainly since Covid-19), I’ve not been one for large gatherings. To me, they are a means to provide a free meal to those who don’t bother with me at any other time of the year, an expense that I could most certainly do without. No, for me now, birthdays are a small, quiet, family affair, attended solely by those that I hold near and dear.

We didn’t do an awful lot. I put on a small banquet which my guests plundered through rather quickly. Dear god, have these people not eaten in several weeks? Two pizzas, a garlic bread and a bowlful of chicken nuggets, all razed between six people in about fifteen minutes. Determined not to disappoint our guests, Mr Wolfie set out the local Tesco Metro on a quest to buy more food.

I’ve received a pampering of gifts this year, and they’ve been gifts from the people who truly know me and know what I like. A sleek, timeless sterling silver and diamond necklace and earring set from my mother, twisted like the eternity symbol. My eyes lit up and I smiled, my mother knows me well.

“Happy birthday!” Ronan declared, placing the bottle down upon my makeshift ottoman table. I don’t normally have a coffee table, so the fold-out ottoman was standing in as a suitable replacement for our games night.

“Oh god, Ronan. You’ll get me pissed!” I laughed.

“No, no. It’s a cordial. Blackcurrant and loganberry cordial” he replied. Quite the observer, Ronan had even made a mental note of my favourite soft drink.

“Happy birthday, skizzer” my brother said, pulling me into a hug and kissing me on the cheek. He’d taken the time and effort to wrap two small seperate gifts in alternating red and black paper, tied off with a red ribbon. I had to hand it to him, the guy did better than me when it came to wrapping presents.

“Oh my god, you’ve even got the ribbon personalised!” I gushed, noting the golden print on the ribbon. My brother had a way with labels and messages too and I’d long wished that I kept the Christmas gift label that he’d penned out, a few months after my father’s passing.

Inside the first gift was a bottle of Lady Million by Paco Rabanne. An unusual shape, the bottle wasn’t going to stand like all of my others do.

“I do hope it’s okay” Mally explained, “I sniffed several perfumes to try and find one I thought you’d like.”

Our eyes met and I smiled as I sniffed the bottle. It was different than I usually wear and definitely a lot stronger. One spritz lasted most of the evening whereas most of my others are far more subdued. Secretly, I couldn’t help but think it reminded me of something that I’d smelled caked onto young skin on a boozy Saturday night. Regardless, I knew that the label meant more to him than the perfume, and that was what made it so special. Lady Million, one in a million,

Just the way my little brother had always seen me.

“It’s definitely different, thankyou” I smiled, turning my attention to the red paper wrapped box.

“Oh that, that’s just a silly one” he laughed, “but I hope you like it anyway. I saw it and I just thought.. yep..”. The little scamp, he giggled and blushed as he told me, he was oh so proud of himself.

Inside the red paper was a brand new box of Caroline Herrara’s Good Girl.

“Oh,” I laughed, “I already have that one!”.

The room fell into whoops and hollers of laughter at the coincidence, my brother buried his face in his hands and I heartily giggled at the situation. As I looked up, Mr Wolfie had his eyes locked on me and he was smirking at me knowingly, his implication ever clear.

Good Girl, it was the very same fragrance that I wore every time Kinky Fuckery Friday rocked around. It was a joke, a perfume that I’d requested only last Christmas owing to exactly what a “good girl” I am. Mr Wolfie bought it for me, and I wear it in in our sessions just for him. It stays tucked away inside my wardrobe and so there was no chance that my brother had ever seen it. Still, every Kinky Fuckery Friday and in the dim glow of our bedroom lighting, it is the very same fragrance that I spritz on my neck and wrists and smile at myself in the mirror for on those special Friday nights, I know exactly how much of a good girl I’m not about to be.

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