The news was quickly spreading around that I was dating Camille, especially after we were seen together at the Fleetwood Mac concert. I wanted to keep us as private as possible because every time reports in the media said that I was dating someone suddenly everyone went snooping into my business and I just didn't want the world to know everything about me.
Zayn and I seemed to be on some mutual understanding that we were seeing other people when we weren't seeing each other and although neither of us found it to be the ideal situation, it was the only one we knew. It just felt like I was leading two different lives and I tried my best to avoid looking at pictures and videos of them all over the internet because that was just too difficult of a pill for me to swallow.
It was a sunny Sunday afternoon in the middle of August and I had just gotten out of the shower and was laying on Camille's bed at her house in the Beachwood Canyon part of Los Angeles. I heard her speaking on the phone in french to someone in the other room, admiring her accent as my eyes glanced over at her rather large walk-in closet.
I got up and casually walked towards it and began looking through the racks of dresses, blouses and skirts. She had this eclectic taste in fashion with many bold colors, unique patterns, stripes, paisley prints, band t-shirts, all things that I would wear. I came across this over sized bohemian style long sleeved dress that was burnt yellow with blue and red flowers on it, long ties in the front and lace trim on the sleeves and thought briefly about how it would look on me.
Then Camille came up from behind, her chin suddenly resting on my shoulder.
"Whatcha doin?" she asked in a sing-song voice.
"Oh nothing, I just like this dress thing you have. I bet it looks great on you."
I felt her smiling and she hopped in front of me, snatching the dress from my hand. She turned around and held it up to my body, looking me once over and nodded.
"This will fit you. Put it on."
"What?"
"You know you want to put it on so why don't you? Here, let me help."
She lifted her arms up and removed the white t-shirt that I was wearing, then unbuttoned my shorts and slipped them off onto the floor. She removed the dress from the hanger and began placing it over my head as I reached my arms up to fit into the sleeves.
Camille took a step back and looked at me, grinning.
"You look hot," she said.
"Really?" I asked and turned to face the mirror.
I was brought back to old memories in my mind just then, memories from when I used to think about wearing things like that, when I used to look through fashion magazines and browse the ladies clothes racks when no one was looking, when I used to steal nail polish bottles from Lou and paint just one nail backstage before our shows sometimes or when Zayn used to paint them for me but I was always told to take it off. I thought about how Zayn always encouraged that side of me and was the only one who really knew about it. I hadn't thought about that me in awhile.
"Yeah, really. Men can wear women's clothes if they want to. Who's to say it's even for a woman? If you like it then wear it. We had Freddie Mercury, David Bowie and now...Harry Styles."
That sounded exactly like something Zayn would say.
"Comparing me to Freddie and David Bowie is a bit of a stretch don't you think?"
"No it's not. You're going to end up being a legend just like they are."
"You think too much of me."
"No I don't, you just don't think enough of yourself. For someone who claims to be a narcissist you really suck at being one."
I laughed.
"Hold on a second," Camille then said and skipped over to her vanity, pulling out this shiny pink bottle of lip gloss.
She walked back over to me and removed the applicator from the tube, leaned in and started to put it on my lips.
"There, the final touch," she said, beaming proudly.
I pressed my lips together and did that stupid typical girl pose with my hand on my hip and she started snorting with laughter. I knew there was a reason why I was really starting to like her and Camille just kept giving me more reasons.
She stepped toward me and leaned up to my lips, kissing them gently at first. I felt her tongue slowly slip inside my mouth and I caressed hers with mine. I felt her finger tips traveling up my thighs and under the dress towards my briefs and I was slowly starting to get turned on by this moment.
Camille drew her mouth away from mine as I felt her hand travel up to my ass, giving it a firm squeeze.
"Are you a bottom?"
"I can be," I answered honestly.
She pressed her lips together, excitement dancing in her ocean blue eyes.
"Would you let me fuck you?" she asked without hesitating.
"Please, go ahead."
Having sex with Camille wasn't anything like having sex with Zayn. She was soft and sensual, she enjoyed getting eaten out and I enjoyed pleasing her, but it wasn't explosive. I didn't scream in ecstasy or leave scratches down her back. It wasn't electrifying, addictive or dirty either, but we were still getting more comfortable with each other and at least knowing that she was willing to experiment with me was a good step in the right direction.
A strap on was not as good as the real thing, but she was really into it and she fucked me while I was wearing her dress, which was very satisfying. I could tell that she put a lot of effort into it and I had willingly submitted to her on all fours, but it was definitely missing some level of dirty talk that I had only ever gotten from Zayn.
Once we were finished we laid in her bed, the sunlight streaming in with the gentle breeze blowing and she fell onto my chest, taking her role as little spoon back right away and I accidentally let out a sigh.
"Is everything okay?" she asked me.
"Yeah of course. I feel great."
"I'm sure a real dick feels much better."
"It does, but I'm not complaining either. You still felt really good."
I wasn't lying to her. She did feel good, better than any other girl I had ever been with before. It wasn't fair to compare her and Zayn because it was just two different people who can do different things and I really loved that she was trying so hard to make me feel validated and comfortable with who I was. That meant a lot to me.
"It feels really nice being with you. It's fun and different. I'm glad you're letting me in," Camille replied, tracing her finger tip across my chest, connecting the tattoos of my two swallows.
She sat up and looked at me kindly while I studied her features for a moment, settling into her eyes and the freckles on her nose that I thought were adorable.
"I really like you Camille. I think you're an amazing person. Having you around is making life much better."
She grinned and leaned in, kissing the tip of my nose.
"How about we go make lunch and then lay outside and read for awhile," she suggested, climbing out of bed.
"Yeah, let's do that."
Once we made our way into the kitchen I sat down at her breakfast nook and she poured me coffee before preparing us some sandwiches. I looked over at her pile of mail and saw the new issue of Vogue on the bottom and pulled it out. There they were, right on the cover of Vogue which read "Gigi and Zayn shop each other's closets" and suddenly I didn't feel hungry anymore.