Guarded: A Bodyguard Romance

1

Angel

I can’t wait to see you in your new blue dress, Angel. Don’t wear panties underneath.

Igape at the latest email from ‘J’ in shocked silence, my mind slowly recovering from the sudden lurch in my chest at the familiar signature. My heart hammers wildly as alarm shoots through every part of me, waking me up faster than my morning caffeine.

I used to be all smiles when I got up in the mornings, excited to start the day, and basking in the glory that was my life since I’d been living successfully on my own terms, but not lately—not with someone intent on freaking me out and shattering my sense of security.

This is at least the tenth message from ‘J’ over the past three months, and I’m no longer sure the notes are harmless; this latest one is not like any of the others from ‘J’ or my usual fans and haters.

Thus far, the offers of marriage, impregnation, and trips to faraway exotic locales I’d probably never come back from have all been unsurprising given my newfound fame. They’ve remained pretty general, often based on things I put out there—replies to a beauty product review, comments about how ugly I am, or how beautiful I am.

I noticed a few particularly amorous posters who consistently comment on my Instagram, but nothing worrisome. Some comments get creepy, but they’re all from a distance and none of them address me by my real name.

I can’t wait to see you in your new blue dress, Angel…

Fuck, who’s writing me at my business alias email? I don’t use my real name for my online persona for this very reason, although I suppose it would be easy for anyone who knows me in real life to let it slip. From there, anyone can figure out my address, I guess, but there’s been no indication of that so far—until now.

This latest message isn’t a death threat or anything, which I’ve learned to ignore—pretty much everyone in the public eye has received one—but it’s the kind of creepy I can’t look past; somehow, comments with sexual undertones are more disturbing than the ones about obliterating me from the planet.

And this latest message came from someone who has seen me very recently up close.

Too close.

Someone I didn’t know was watching me knows that I went to a clothing store yesterday and bought a new blue dress.

Yes, I’m in the public eye to some degree, and yes, social media is part of my whole thing, but I don’t post everything online; I didn’t tell anyone I was going shopping, and I didn’t ‘check-in’ at the store on Facebook or Yelp. I certainly didn’t post a single photo of the blue dress I bought.

My mind flashes back to the faces in the store, and none stand out.

I guess someone who works there could be behind the messages, but how likely is that? I don’t shop there all the time. What are the chances this ‘J,’ who managed to break through the noise of constant comments, also works at a women’s clothing store?

Alarm is still pulsing through me, my eyes glued to the screen while my mind races.

I’ll be honest—when the messages from ‘J’ began, I thought they were kind of flattering, sexy even.

My desire for you burns bright…

They crossed the line only a little, titillating my imagination in naughty ways.

I yearn to take you on journeys of pleasure…

I found myself imagining ‘J’ as a certain someone—James Basden, my ex-boyfriend’s longtime friend. The two used to be best friends, and they’re still pretty good friends as far as I know, which added to the naughtiness.

James is a handsome, hard-bodied, special forces type with piercing blue eyes, so it wasn’t that hard to make a leap of sexual fantasy. Before I knew it, I was imagining James lurking in various places, watching me lustfully as I went about my business, longing to say at last what he’s been holding back for years while I was dating his friend.

Now and then, I found myself in a grocery store aisle, wondering, Is that him disguised as an old man? Will he go back to his car once I’ve cashed out, pull his hard dick out and jerk off to the memory of me in this tank top and these shorts?

The thought made me smile.

Each new message from J sparked a dirty fantasy.

I like having a window into your home, beauty. I’m one step closer to being inside you.

I thought of James practically salivating as he watched my YouTube videos, his hand on his growing cock while taking in the details in front of him—what I’m wearing, which room I shot the video in. His hand slid up and down his thick cock as he imagined poking my slick entrance with his mushroom tip, pushing his lengthy dick deep inside me.

You get sexier every day, my love. One day, I’ll dress you up for me; you’ll be my doll.

I imagined James laying out lingerie for me in his place, his long cock unbearably hard while anticipating ripping the skimpy clothing off me and making our bodies one.

I even imagined him finally showing up at my apartment door with no disguises or pretenses—just sick of being trapped with his all-consuming lust and ready to indulge it at last.

I’d barely have the door open before he’s upon me, his mouth hungrily devouring mine, his hands gripping me in a way that makes it clear I’m completely at his mercy. His massive erection would leave no question what he came here to do.

More than once, I dipped a finger between my legs, fingering myself to the fantasy of him finally taking me, plowing my wet, needy pussy hard with his swollen cock.

The flights of fantasy were kind of ridiculous since James never came on to me; he never said a single thing to make me think he had feelings for me, romantic or otherwise.

Eventually, I banished the dirty thoughts—besides being dangerous, considering my plans to stay single and celibate for a while, they were utterly nonsensical. No use getting excited about getting some forbidden D!

I figure the fantasies happened because James was safe to fantasize about, considering how unlikely any of the things I projected onto him were true.

I stopped those naughty mental journeys cold, accepting ‘J’ to be an unbalanced, potentially dangerous stranger instead.

Now I look at all new messages from J with appropriate concern; after all, I don’t actually know who’s sending me these creepy, thinly veiled sexual threats.

J’s messages are among the few I read these days; I stopped going through every single message a long time ago—I have almost a million YouTube subscribers now.

Back when I had a hundred, and even a thousand subscribers, I read every single comment, excited to reach and be reached by people from all over the world.

If I went through all the messages I get nowadays, I’d never get anything done.

Plus, while there’s some love and some normal folks out there, there are a lot of nut jobs and hateful people I need to protect my energy from. You can’t let losers and sickos get into your head; they love nothing more than to bring others down.

But now and then, I take a closer look, answer a fan question, block an obvious troll or spammer. Then keep it moving.

I reach for my cell, sending a verbal command to call my friend, Kiara—she’s the only one I told so far about J.

Our time is coming, he sent the last time. You’ll be coming for me after I come for you.

I’m getting freaked out now, I say once Kiara picks up.

Uh oh. J’s at it again?

He was watching me yesterday; he might know where I live.

What makes you think that?

I fill her in on the latest.

And you’re sure you didn’t post anything about going shopping or the dress? she asks.

Damned sure. It’s one of those things that helps keep me sane; I feel like I have something to myself. Now it seems there’s nothing just for me, nowhere to escape. I feel so exposed, which is saying something, considering the nature of the gig.

You should probably go to the police, she says.

I already went to them, remember? And they did a whole lot of nothing. I believe I must show up dead before they act.

Don’t say that…

You know it’s true. I mean, I can’t exactly blame them—shitloads of threats go out every day. How can they possibly investigate each one? It’s not like I’m a major figure or anything.

Well, what would make you feel safer?

That’s a tough one.

I moved away from my family so none of them are around, and my ex-boyfriend and I broke up eight months ago, so I don’t have a masculine presence nearby to give me a sense of security, false or not. And my childhood BFF lives a few states away.

Kiara is a new friend, and outside of her, I’ve been going at it alone for some time now. I feel extra vulnerable now with no one from my old life around.

It’s tough to make friends, in general, here in L.A.—so many flaky people.

Do you know anyone who could maybe threaten this guy?