Nia 50616
Trust Me, I Wasn't Ready Either
Jun 16 2025
I didn’t walk into Club Vanilla Noir that night expecting anything. That’s the funny thing about change—it never comes with a warning. One moment you’re sipping wine with your best friend, the next you’re being looked at like you’re the only flame in a room full of shadows.
I wasn’t dressed for attention. I wasn’t chasing it. I didn’t even think I wanted it.
But the way he looked at me—Armand—it wasn’t lust. Not at first. It was interest, curiosity, a predatory kind of stillness that made my skin tighten under my clothes. Like he could see something even I hadn’t dared to look at.
Angelica had dragged me there. She always does when she senses I need to feel alive. And I’d been quiet lately. Too quiet. When she introduced me as her bestie and disappeared into the crowd, I felt a little exposed… like a piece of myself I’d worked hard to protect had been left out on the bar.
Then came him.
Elegant, older. Voice like velvet. Smile like the tip of a blade.
He asked me if I was a sweetheart.
I laughed, because what else do you do when someone stirs up every part of your nervous system with a single question?
The thing is—I’ve been through some things. Grew up between island winds and strict expectations. I left Curaçao at sixteen to chase a better life, only to find myself losing pieces of who I was just trying to survive. Freedom came at a cost. Sometimes, it looked like dancing under strobe lights with my cousins. Sometimes, like being cast out of a home by the same family that once promised to love me.
But Angelica opened her door. Her arms. Her world.
For four years, we’ve lived together. Built something fragile and beautiful. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. But always honest.
So when Armand asked me if I butterfly—his word, not mine—it stung more than I let on. Because I don’t flit from heart to heart. I stay. I try. I love deep and stubborn. And if that scares people off, so be it.
But something about him—his calm, his control—challenged every rule I’d set for myself. I was used to being seen as someone’s pet, someone’s project, someone’s sweet girl. He didn’t see that. He saw the woman underneath—the one I sometimes still hide from. And he invited her out to play.
He told me about Sarisha. Said she could show me what it’s like to be adored. Touched. Unwrapped.
He said it was my choice.
But let’s be honest—when you’ve been starving for that kind of attention, consent isn’t a straight line. It’s a messy tangle of want and fear and finality.
Angelica tried to warn me. I heard her. I even believed her. But sometimes… sometimes you need to feel the fire for yourself. Even if it burns.
This blog? It’s not about what happened after that night. You’ll have to read the full tale for that. All I’ll say is this:
I walked into that club feeling like someone’s forgotten memory.
I walked out ready to become someone’s unforgettable secret.
And maybe that was the real seduction.
You can read my tales—raw, honest, and dripping in heat—on Fairly Enjoyable Tales.
Because pleasure is power. And baby, I’m just getting started.