Light floods through the apartment window, striking the face of the clock on the wall. Subtly, it ticks on, indicating the relentless march of time.
Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock.
Minute after minute, day after day, year after year. It is an ever-present reminder as she regards the screen in front of her.
TikTok in the 21st Century is an entirely different entity. The images flash in front of her—dazzling and mesmerising. Youngsters, so picture-perfect, share their world of fashion, style tips, music, and slick dance routines. The world and the future are waiting for them. Life is about to begin. She smiles at their enthusiasm and energy.
TikTok. TikTok.
With a sigh, she closes it down and opens a different world—her world. VW has been her world for many years. She is one of the main attractions, garnering thousands of fans, likes, and comments.
As ChelseaGirl, she logs on each morning with a different picture. She is beautiful. Shoulder length, dark hair, dark eyes, and a bewitching smile. She is so slim and boyish. Her pictures are stunning.
Today she is wearing a smile and her trademark black, lace-top, hold-ups. Her slender body is posed on the bed. She is naked. She is smooth as a baby, her breasts are small but perfect. The position is erotic, as her legs are parted to reveal her most intimate parts. That smile is for the photographer, her lover, who has taken the wonderful, explicit, sensual pictures in her plentiful gallery.
Soon, the comments and likes will appear. Each admirer sends profuse messages of flattery. There is a sameness and monotony with each one. With boring regularity, they drool and fantasise. She answers them all with wit and humour. Day after day, the same verbal diarrhoea.
The highlight of her day is when two female posters comment. They enter into banter and humour. It relieves the aching boredom. HM and VB have been her friends, keeping her sane.
Now they have gone. It has been weeks since they communicated. Their accounts are closed.
The fun has deserted her. She scrolls through her gallery. The pictures are varied, erotic, and sensual. Every inch of her body has been exposed. Somehow, they are not crude or tasteless. Many show her fun, mischievous, and naughty side. That she trusts her photographer implicitly shows in every shot. Many are taken outdoors, in this bustling cosmopolitan city she calls home. Famous landmarks form a perfect background. Most poses are naked, some wearing just stockings and a tie, some a micro kilt and nothing else.
She is bold and unfazed at the prospect of being seen. Some of her shots show the delighted faces of passing taxi drivers, lucky workmen, tourists, or guys who were fortunate to be in the right place at the right time.
She returns to the daily task, responding to each uninspired word with humour and patience. She misses the banter of the other females. Especially, the daily humour VB posts. Billy Connolly is her hero.
Tick -Tock. Tick-Tock.
She catches her reflection in the mirror. The beauty is still there, the dark tresses are now silver.
Her hands are mottled with age, although her fingers are still long and slender. Her mind is as sharp as ever.
The photographs are many years old, the photographer has gone, drugs took him too early. There have been no more explicit photo shoots, no more intoxicating sex, no more new public spaces to enjoy that sex.
She lives alone, with her memories. The sounds of the city echoing below her reminded her of the daring, beautiful, fearless woman who once graced these streets.
Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock.
