I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep the night before attending a One Direction press conference. On the contrary, I was in bed early and asleep by nine. Even my dog was confused, cocking his head quizzically before hopping up into my bed and claiming his spot next to me.
“I have to get as much as sleep as possible, Steinem.” I explained. “Mommy is gonna be in the same room as One Direction tomorrow.”
Steinem gave me an annoyed sounding snuffle before rolling over and drifting off, with me not far behind. When my alarm went off after what seemed like a few minutes, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and practically skipped around the room getting ready. Steinem watched from the bed with more confusion, and I didn’t blame him, given how I usually acted in the morning. When I was done and satisfied, I stepped back and surveyed the result. I couldn’t help but smile smugly. Gray sheath dress, french twist, gorgeous diamond earrings from an ex, and my one prized pair of Louboutins ensured that I would be noticed once I raised my hand.
I barely remembered getting my car and driving to the conference venue, but somehow or other, I got there. I managed to snag a prime second-row seat, much to the anger of a waifish brunette with a dress that was much too short and low-cut for a what was supposed a professional event. I flashed her a brittle, fake smile before getting out my recording device and notebook and pen. Looking around and noticing the other female reporters were dressed, I couldn’t help but smirk. They seemed divided between girls who hoped to get their questions answered by flashing enough tit and leg for a night at the club, and others who were clearly taking themselves too seriously in frumpy, ill-fitting “power suits”. I smoothed my Anthropologie sheath, knowing I made the right call outfit-wise.
Sudden shouts of the various names of the band members jolted me out my self-assured fog. I watched everyone around me clamber for their attention, giggling to myself about how childish they looked. Once the boys were seated and miked, the questions began. I made notes and marked which sections of the recording to listen to again later. At first, the boys spoke about their tour and latest album, which I had to admit sounded pretty great. Then we got to the juicy part: Their personal lives. Liam and Louis’ relationships with their girlfriends were going great, and Zayn had to announce that no, he and Perrie hadn’t gotten any farther on their wedding plans. Finally, all eyes settled on Harry. Quick as a flash, I shot my hand into the air, and was quickly called on. Standing, I had to steady myself while seeing Harry staring straight at me. His richly colored, albeit long hair seemed to frame his face perfectly. I could see the green in his eyes from where I was standing a few yards away. I cleared my throat for my question.
“Mr. Styles,” I began, “I notice that in multiple interviews, you have stated that you don’t particularly mind what a woman looks like, just as long as she is a ‘nice person’, that’s enough for you. Do you still stand behind that?”
Harry’s eyes flickered. “Yes, I do.” He stated. He then started looking for someone else to call on. “I wasn’t finished.” I said coolly. The band, and pretty much everyone else in the room, was now focused on me. Harry leaned forward on his forearms, “What’s the rest of your question?” He asked, sounding tense. “My question is why you’re not walking the talk, so to speak. You claim to be attracted to normal, 'cute’ girls but then spend most of your time with models.” Now Harry’s eyes were straight-up dark. “I’m sorry?” He said. His tone indicated that he was anything but. “Could you repeat that?”
I sighed audibly. “I want to know why you outright lie to your fans in order to make them feel good about their average bodies, when you are clearly only attracted to women with the physicality of a coat rack.”
There was an audible gasp. Someone a few seats away from me dropped their notepad. The rest of the boys’ expressions varied. Liam looked shocked; Zayn curious; Louis amused; and Niall looked all three. Harry himself looked angry. “I wish I could answer that-” he started. “Please do.” I interrupted, “Is that what you really look for in a woman, Mr. Styles? Someone docile, whose job requires the same amount of mental dexterity it takes to walk a dog?” Another gasp from the seated crowd around me. “Or are you just that shallow and won’t admit it for fear of the decrease in ticket sales?”
Silence. Pure, shocked silence. I loved it. I was so going to get a raise for this. I would probably blow most of it on a second pair of Louboutins, but still.
Harry still hadn’t answered my question. He finally cleared his throat and readjusted his seating position. “As I was going to say,” he almost seemed to growl, “I really wish I could answer that, but I’m still figuring out for myself what I want in a romantic partner, and the fact that most of them have happened to be models has been a coincidence. And furthermore, I fail to see why it should make a difference.”
“Oh, it does.” I heard myself snap, “Trust me. It does."
More silence as I sat down and scrawled more notes. The questions started up again, and I maintained cold eye contact with Harry for the rest of the press conference. Eventually It drew to a close, and I was a few yards from the exit when a large, burly man, obviously one the bodyguards, blocked my way.
"Mr. Styles wants to speak with you,” he stated. “Now.”
As I was led to a private lounge, I stopped, pretending to readjust my bag. I turned on my recorder and positioned it so it was sticking out just right. If I was going to get chewed out, I was at least going to get some good material out of it. The door to the lounge was opened by the bodyguard, and he pulled it closed behind me and stood outside, leaving me alone with a very angry-looking Harry.
“Have a seat.” he spat.
“I’d rather stand,” I replied crisply.
“Fine.” he snapped. “Either way, I didn’t appreciate what you implied out there. You don’t even know me. How could you accuse me of lying to my fans?” I looked down at my shoes and felt a momentary flash of guilt before remembering a post about Harry I had read on Tumblr a few days ago while researching the band : “I know he’d never look at me,” it had said. “I’m not thin or pretty enough. I’m just not enough.”
With that sad memory, I snapped my head upward and faced Harry. “Because whether you realize it or not, you are lying to them.” I countered. "This society puts the modelling industry on enough of a pedestal. Girls are already starve and harm themselves enough because of mass media. You dating a gaggle of fembots isn’t helping.“
"Oh, so I should be thinking of the societal repercussions anytime I ask a girl out, should I?”
“That’s actually not a terrible idea. Then maybe, for once, you wouldn’t be perpetuating the idea that a young woman is only worth something if she has an eating disorder and is willing to walk around with her tits out.”
“Now who’s perpetuating things? Not all models have eating disorders y'know.”
“Oh I’m sorry, you’re right. That type of figure can also be attained with cocaine. How’s your friend Cara, by the way?”
His jaw tightened. He opened and shut his mouth several times, as if searching for something to say. “Look,” he finally sighed. “I asked you back here because I wanted to let you know that your question deeply offended me, and I was hoping that maybe, just maybe if you talked to me away from that conference, you’d see that I’m a flesh-and-blood human being with feelings, feelings that you hurt deeply.”
Another momentary flash of guilt. Then I remembered that there were probably hundreds of girls out there whose feelings got hurt whenever Harry stepped out with another glorified mannequin. Feelings of inadequacy, self-hatred, and twisted, misplaced shame.
“I wish I could sympathize with you, Mr. Styles.” I heard myself say. “But the fact of the matter is, you’re not being truthful. Whether it’s on purpose or not, you are telling your fans that a girl needs to be thin and willing to model lingerie to get your attention, and then leading them on about it to sell albums and merchandise.”
“That’s not true.”
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“Well whether you believe it or not, it’s my private business.”
I sighed exasperatedly before plastering on a fake smile. “You’re right.” I exclaimed with fake glee. “You have every right to be shallow. That’s your business.”
With that, turned on my heel and reached for the doorknob.
“I was expecting an apology, you know.” I heard him snarl from behind me. I turned back to look at him in all his long haired, green eyed glory. He was wearing one of signature combos of a barely-buttoned shirt and skinny jeans. He looked pissed off, but for some reason, that just made him look hotter. In spite of that, I was able to flash him another fake smile.
“If an apology is what you’re wanting, Mr. Styles,” I chirped, “you’re going to have to pack a lunch, because that’s gonna take a while.”
I couldn’t help but smirk as my heels clicked down the hallway.
When I got home, I checked my cell and found a voicemail from my boss, who had seen the footage of me asking my question on Youtube. As I expected, she promised a raise would be in order. With Steinem at me feet, I sat at my desk and wrote about the conference. I must have stared at around noon, and by the time the article was written to my satisfaction, it was already about five in the evening. Steinem was dying for a walk and my stomach was roaring, reminding me that I had foolishly skipped breakfast that morning. Once Steinem and I had taken a few laps around my block, I made myself a chicken wrap and poured a glass of wine, then showered and brushed my teeth, taking in a few episodes of Law and Order: SVU before my eyelids started to flutter. I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t help but think about Harry. Sure, he was acting like a tool about the whole model thing, but based on everything else I’d heard about him, he seemed like a cool guy otherwise. And those pink pillowy lips, those intense jade-colored eyes, those strong arms…….I imagined them holding my hips down as that mouth worked its magic on my clit, his long, perfectly-shaped fingers stroking me while his tongue stimulated me perfectly.
“Steinem,” I croaked. He looked up at me from the foot of the bed. “Momma needs some private time. Could you please go wait outside?”
He me another annoyed sounding huff similar to last night’s before clambering off the bed and leaving, using his large Bull mastiff snout to nudge the door closed behind him. With that, I nudged my fingers into my underwear and began to stroke myself, pretending it was Harry.
Suddenly he was right there, circling my nub with his fingers, using his other hand to knead and squeeze my breast, all while nipping and lapping at my neck. “You were so bad today,” he was whispering in my ear, “you made me so angry.” his fingers picked up speed, bringing me closer to the brink. I could hear myself whimpering. Then he abruptly rolled on top of me, and I could feel his length against my thigh. I groaned at the loss of his fingers. “You need someone to fuck you good, yeah?” I shoved him back and rolled us over so I was on top of him, his throbbing erection positioned just under where I admittedly wanted him.
“I don’t need anyone to fuck me.” I hissed. “They probably sell dicks bigger than yours.”
God, even in my masturbation fantasies I was a bitch.
I lined myself up and sunk down on him, both of us gasping with relief. His hands started to move toward my hips, but I grabbed his wrists and pinned them down. “I’d like to see one of your models fuck you like this.” I sneered. “They’d probably snap in half.” He struggled and tried to get free, but in this fantasy, I was stronger than him.
With that, I started to move, slowly, and teasingly. I made figure eights, I wrote my initials, then his, both of us moaning and panting with each movement. Then I started to pick up speed, sliding forward the backward at an increased pace. He was able to sit up so his face was centimeters from mine. I was going fast now, my g-spot getting brushed more with each thrust. With one last bounce, my orgasm erupted out of me just as he broke free from wrists and kissed me with such fervor and force I nearly fell off of him.
We both came at the same time, that’s what helped me remember it was a fantasy.
I opened my eyes, feeling sweaty and damp down south. I rolled off my bed to change my underwear and wash my hands, feeling lucky for not getting anything on my sheets. I let Steinem in, who made the dog-version sound for “It’s about time.” before climbing on my bed. I gave him a pat before turning out the light and conking out, feeling content and sated.
Across town, in his luxuriously appointed hotel bathroom, Harry’s wrist flicked back and for against his throbbing cock. He was trying his damnedest to remember that journalist from earlier. In his daydream, he had ripped off that gray dress of hers and pinned her up against the very counter he was standing in front of.
Normally, not even in his fantasies, had he ever been this rough, this dominant, but this woman brought something out in him, something that made him wild and ready to give to her, but good. She was growling in his ear. “I know you can give me more,” she groaned. “Harder, harder, please!” with one final thrust into his palm, Harry came, most of his cum mercifully making into the sink. He gingerly turned the tap on to wash his hands, watching the physical evidence of his passion wash down the drain. He sauntered through his suite and into the bedroom area, and changed into some sweats. He then pulled his phone off the nightstand, and dialed the number of the band’s press liaison, who answered with a bark. “What?!"
"Aidan, it’s Harry.”
“Harry, man, I know you’re a star and everything, but it’s eleven thirty and I have to be up by six. What is it?”
“I know, I’m sorry. I just need a number.”
“That one girl today, the one who asked about me going out with models.”
There was silence.
“Look man, I’m sorry about that, I swear I had no idea she was gonna ask you something like that, I promise she’ll be-”
“Never mind that. I wanna know who she works for.”