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The Misogynist Ch. 01

By: carvohi



Poor little Cheryl was lonely. She was a lonely woman. Soon she'd be thirty years old, and was still walking around with her cherry, a virgin. A virgin who'd never had a serious relationship with another man other than that stilted inflexible father daughter purgatory she'd grown up with. She'd never really kissed a boy, not as a child, not as an innocent adolescent on a first date, not as an adult. Not a real kiss. Never a real kiss. 

There never had been a real first date. Never been a party other than the strictly controlled church parties where chaperones surrounded the children like medieval visages always shrouded in somber browns and blacks and ever ready to chastise even the most innocent social exploration. 

It wasn't that she was unattractive, it was that she thought she was. The truth was Cheryl was a very pretty person, an elegant woman with undeniable physical and cultural gifts. She'd been physically attractive even as a little girl. That was the objective truth. But objectivity isn't necessarily the criterion the individual or the individual's significant role models abide by. Abnormal people in a deviant environment can pervert normal societal standards. Objectivity loses its substance in a subjective world where unreality becomes reality. 

If a young girl believes she's homely, believes she's a wallflower, if she thinks she's Laura of the "Glass Menagerie" then who's to prevent her from acting out those thoughts. People who believe they aren't pretty don't act in pretty ways, they don't dress in pretty ways, and they don't manage their affairs in ways that would call attention to themselves in the ways a pretty person would. 

A girl who has learned to be homely may never learn to experiment with mascara, or lipstick, or shorter skirts. She may never look in a mirror and fantasize. Never dream of becoming a movie star, a popular singer; not even a Fanny Price. The mirror would be her enemy, a constant reminder that she isn't one of the beautiful, one of the desirable people. If she believes the mirror only exposes her flaws, her shortcomings, her imperfections, then why go there? Why try? Why experiment if the belief is the only outcome will be scorn, ridicule, or most devastating of all, pity. Better to be alone than to be laughed at. Better to stay at home than go out and be the butt of sarcastic comments. Better to stay in one's room than expose oneself to that most degrading of all emotions, pity. What worse injury than exposure to some sad empathetic face, a face that sees the sorry, homely, plane girl in front of them. 

This failure to see one's self objectively, as one really is can become a devastatingly vicious gnome, a troll that forever haunts every waking hour. It can be an insurmountable roadblock. For Cheryl that had been her curse, her crippling imperfection, the horror that reduced her from valid normal human being to piteous invalid. 

Cheryl's childhood had been anything but pleasant. It had been a growing up period that underscored every weakness, every frailty, and every single self-conscious imperfection. Children can be cruel, but so can parents. 

Parents can be the fountainhead of the inner self, or the seat of emotional self-destruction. One's ego, sense of person-hood, self-confidence, it all emanates from the parents. If the parents industriously, conscientiously shred their child's esteem, than what more damage can society really do? They don't even have to know they're doing it. Parents bring their own frailties, their own weaknesses to the classroom of parenthood. An emotionally malformed, socially defective parent can do irreparable damage and never even know.

Cheryl had been an only child growing up in a big suburb. When a child grows up on a four-acre lot there might not be anybody nearby to play with. Imagine an only child, in a huge house, no pets, only two adults, distant and sober, overseeing everything with a critical eye. Certainly normal healthy parents love their children, but they love them in normal healthy ways. Cheryl had loving parents too, but love can be exhibited in many ways. There can be the caring kiss goodnight, the hug at a job done well, the warm smile in the morning. But what if there is no kiss, no hug, or no warm smile? Then where does the child learn that they are loved, valued, esteemed, or seen as beautiful? 

Cheryl had a mother. Her mother had a childhood once too, a childhood dominated by rules and regulations. Now Cheryl's mother's entire life was tightly regulated by an existence dependent on the alarm clock, the lunch bell, the afternoon dismissal bell, and the evening weather report. Her mother had been a public school teacher, a third grade teacher, the worst grade, the grade that needed the tightest discipline, the grade that allowed the least freedom, the least leeway, and the fewest opportunities for free thought and experimentation. It had never been entirely intentional, but what her mother's professional life, coupled with her own already internalized rigidity did was translate a frigid inflexibility, a prison like narrowness into her home life that precluded spontaneity or creativity. 

Cheryl's mother relied on strict schedules, tight standards, inflexible compliance, and minimal, better say nonexistent, deviance from the prevailing standards as prescribed in the old 1920's teacher's manual she viewed as her personal Bible. For Cheryl life was destined to revolve around the same irrefutable, intractable, unbreakable standards. Violation, deviance, and above all defiance, resulted in immediate and terrifying rebuke. 

From these antiquated, inhumane, and unforgiving regulatory patterns Cheryl learned the meaning of obedience, obedience born from fear. Not fear from physical pain, that fear came from somewhere else, but the fear of rejection, fear of denial, denial of even the scantiest shards of affection an equally crippled mother was barely able to deliver.

Then there was the father, a deeply religious conservative Christian, a man of the faith, a man of the cloth, of the most stiffly starched cloth. No living Presbyterian, Lutheran, Baptist, or Congregationalist could rival this man in his fervid determination to drive sin from society. No Jonathan Edward's sermon could withstand the power and evangelical zeal of her father. This zeal, this fervor, this fundamentalist energy played itself out most vigorously in front of the young girl. All sin meant damnation, and no sins were more damnable than the sins of the flesh, and that meant the vanities of the flesh. Lipstick, eye shadow, make up, hair ribbons, curls, jewelry, nail polish, these were the Devil's tools. No decent girl took note of such evil contrivances. 

Even worse for the young girl were the Biblical standards to which she was expected to ascribe. Good girls were like Ruth, Naomi, and Mary. They were subservient, obedient, and humble. Bad girls were like Jezebel, Pharaoh's wife, the harlot, or that first disobedient miscreant Eve. For Cheryl's father good girls got their reward in Heaven, but for bad girls punishment was swift and sure, and it came with a hand, a paddle, or a switch. For her father physical suffering, like the suffering of Christ was a cathartic, it expunged the evil within, and her father was ever ready to expunge evil.

How Cheryl had even lived through the purgatory she called a home life was in itself an accomplishment, but she had. She not only lived through it, but she managed to get through high school and college. Of course, always the obedient, selfless daughter she followed in her mother's footsteps. She became a teacher. Not a hard-bitten third grade warden like her mother, there was still something deep within Cheryl the remorseless determination of her parents had never quite driven out. 

Cheryl became a special education teacher, a teacher who helped the emotionally and physically handicapped. She despised the word handicapped. Her children, she swore, should never have to feel like they should stand before others as inferiors, cap in hand, pleading for a hearing. 

In spite of all the savage discipline of her own horrid home life, Cheryl had somewhere, somehow, acquired a sensitivity, an appreciation, for the weaker, the more vulnerable in society. Maybe her own vulnerability had subliminally engaged her essential warmth. Cheryl had grown up in a Christian household, but it had been a wrathful Old Testament upbringing. Somewhere between the slaughter of the Canaanites and the butchery of the babies by Herod a true Christian soul had emerged. 

Cheryl was a submissive, servile, obedient insecure woman, whose self-image buried her somewhere beneath the lowliest leper. Yet at the same time she a was warm, loving, caring, empathetic care giver, devoted to the children in her care and to anyone who showed any interest in her or in her causes. She was a victim waiting to be used and abused.

Turner was angry. He was angry with the government. He was angry with his boss and about his job. He was angry about where he fit in the social hierarchy. Everything about him indicated someone destined for a bad end. He was amoral, opportunistic, manipulative, and hateful. He, like poor Cheryl was a by-product of his environment. He like Cheryl was an only child, like Cheryl he had an over bearing tightly regimented mother whose own existence growing up had been devoid of even the least affection or love. The affect was devastating for Turner.

Turner grew up, not like other boys. Other boys had rules, had standards, they had discipline. Turner had none of those things. Like a pet dog, Turner was raised outside the normal push and shove of limits and borders. His mother saw Turner as her young god, the young Adonis who could do no wrong, and could never do anything that was less than perfect. Her pet name for her perfect little boy was 'My Young Prince'. 

Every birthday, every Christmas, every important holiday saw Turner at the epicenter of some important affair. No birthday went without its concomitant party. Every party was heralded as the event of the season, and every child within earshot was expected not just to attend but to bring a splendid gift. Christmas was like a warehouse sale at Turner's house. Every gift imaginable was purchased. If he liked them it was wonderful. If he rejected one or another, it was due to the failure of the manufacturer to produce something worthy of him. 

In school no teacher could correct him. After all, how could anyone correct perfection? Growing up he learned how to control and manipulate his friends, his teachers, adults, and girls, especially girls. He'd deflowered his first victim at the tender age of fourteen. He was fourteen. She was twelve. He had manipulated and managed her into a situation wherein she could do little else but surrender that singular possession all girls had to give only once. He'd done it in the most vicious, most conspiratorial way. Then he destroyed her in public, bragging and strutting about his deed, and no one called him for it. There were many who admired that kind of villainy. Even so, no one had the physical efficacy to challenge him. 

In the words of some anonymous bard, 'When he walked through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. He feared no evil, for he was the meanest mother-fucker in the Valley'. And Turner was the meanest in the valley, and in the school. Throughout his high school years he made a career out of badgering, bullying, and beating any and every other boy who wouldn't join his posse. 

Turner's mother fawned over him slavishly. She bought him things. She arranged things. She ran interference in everything he did. No scrape, no misdeed, no violation was too difficult for Turner's mother. She always found a way to guarantee his invulnerability. She idolized him. He was the recipient of all the love and all the devotion she had never been given when she was growing up. All her parent's shortcomings were compensated for, and then over compensated for in him.

Turner's father was a career careerist. He devoted himself to the God Mammon. Where there was money to be made there was Turner's father. It didn't have to always be legal, only legal enough to guarantee he wouldn't get into trouble. Turner's father left a trail of broken lives, swindled families, and shady deals. For Turner's father 'nice guys always finished last', and he made sure Turner understood the rules of the road. God and religion had value. They had value as a means to bilk somebody else out of their hard earned savings. Rules were made to be twisted, and morality was the thing one used to shame the other guy in giving away everything he owned. These were valuable lessons, and Turner learned them all. 

Turner went to college, graduated, and went into business. The business he went into was the business of Turner. Anything and everything that expanded Turner was good, and anything that served as a limitation, a constraint, was to be either avoided or changed. He'd gotten married, gotten divorced, gotten married again, and divorced again. It mattered little to him. Women were tools, his tools. If it was advantageous to treat a woman with courtesy then courtesy it was, but if cruelty was the watchword, then so be it. In fact, hurting women was fun. In some sense of the word it had become a secondary hobby, deflating and destroying women.

So there it was. A woman, lonely, insecure, with low self esteem, but beautiful in countless ways. And a man, ruthless, amoral, cruel, opportunistic, and with a personality dedicated to pain, pain for others, especially women, innocent women. Who could imagine what might happen if these two lives were to converge?

It was the last day of the school year, late afternoon. All her paperwork was completed, and Cheryl was ready to leave for the summer. This summer, like the last, and the last before that, and before that would be spent working the shelves at the big bookstore in the mall. It was minimum wage, minimum work, and minimum brain function, but it kept her busy till the next school term rolled around. She knew everybody who worked there, and for the most part she knew the clientele. What she most liked about it was the opportunity to see the new arrivals, and get the first pick of bestsellers. It also had a nice coffee shop. The mixed blends were always tasty, and people for the most part were quiet and considerate. If she didn't try to think about the future, or time, or how her life was drifting by unfulfilled and incomplete, she could even enjoy the hot days and balmy evenings. The bookstore was an escape, an escape from her life, from reality. She decided she better stop in today to see the assistant manager and make sure of her hours. They knew she was coming. She came every summer. She'd called ahead three weeks ago just to make sure. All in all it wasn't too bad. Life could be worse. Yeah she thought. She could get leukemia.

Three men were sitting in the coffee shop in the book store at the mall. First there was Turner, big man among the trio. The others included Turner's best friend and arch advocate Martin. The third man's name is irrelevant, him being just one of the many followers and hangers on Turner had become accustomed to over the years. Martin though, Martin was the closest thing Turner ever had to a real friend. Turner never had real friends; just other men whom he used and discarded as the need arose. Were there women? Of course there were women, but they had no status. They were just sex boxes for his semen. No man ever complained. Just being associated with Turner, even on the margins was considered something of an honor. 

Turner had one of those sociopathic personalities that enabled him to read other people, know what they needed and be able to provide it while maximizing the return. Smart, personable, and totally without moral compass, Turner was a classic. 

The third character in this sordid opening act leveled a dare. "I bet you can't turn the next woman who walks through that door into a whore?"

Neither Turner nor Martin paid the third man any attention. He was a blowhard hanger on. The kind of guy who in high school was always ready to pick a fight, but never prepared to back anything up, a great coat holder for the real warrior. Turner had always been the warrior.

Martin said. "Shut the fuck up. We're making plans."

Turner ignored both of them. He was totally bored, ready to leave.

Cheryl parked her car at the far end of the mall parking lot. After all it was only a short walk to the bookstore. 

Turner flipped a couple coins on the counter. He was never extravagant with tips. If a waitress or waiter wanted more money they could get a better paying job. He spun around in the high-backed swivel seat just as Cheryl made her way into the store.

The third guy pointed at her. "Look. I bet you couldn't get her."

Turner cast a bored glance in the direction of the girl. Always quick to spot vulnerability an easy target he asked. "What did you want to bet?"

The third guy reiterated his earlier remark. "I bet you couldn't turn her into a whore."

Turner looked back at his challenger. "What do you mean, and what kind of bet are we talking about?"

The nondescript third party leveled the challenge. "I'll bet you $100.00 you can't get her to put out for each of us by say the end of the month."

Turner looked at the guy and laughed. "You'd be right jackass. A month's not enough time, and $100.00 isn't enough money."

The jackass upped the ante. $1,000.00 by the end of summer."

Turner grinned. "Summer ends on September 21st. Make it $2,000.00, and I'll deliver the bitch by Labor Day."

The jackass held out his hand. "It's a bet. Martin you're here as a witness."

Martin gave Turner a knowing look. He knew his boy's abilities. Turner had talent. That poor girl was already in bed and didn't know it. "As God is my witness. If Turner doesn't deliver the meat by Labor Day he'll deliver $2,000.0, but if he brings home the bacon, then jackass you owe him $2,000.00."

Jackass made one last stupid remark. "Someone take a picture. It's got to be that girl, no one else. I don't want Turner throwing in a ringer just to get the money."

Martin already had his cell phone locked in. "Picture taken." He raised his hand in mock salute. "I'll see that we all have a copy by tonight."

Turner held out his hand for jackass to shake. Jackass took his hand. Hands were clasped, a deal, a bet, a challenge had been laid out. Now it was time, Turner's time. "All right. Let's get going."

Jackass queried. "What no opening shots tonight?"

Turner gave him a disdainful look. "Does a tiger leap head long at his prey? No he stalks it, then pounces."

Jackass asked another stupid question. "How do you know you'll ever see her again?"

Turner didn't even answer. He knew she'd be back. As soon as he saw her he recognized the type. The only preliminary precaution he needed to make was to watch from outside when she left to make sure she wasn't an out of state visitor. If she were in state, she'd certainly be back. He looked at jackass. "Don't worry fuck stick. I know what I'm doing."

The three conspirators all got up and left the shop. A deal had been made, a victim had been sited. Now was the time for planning.

Turner discussed his options with Martin. They both agreed the best way to draw the girl in was to have Martin break the ice. Then Turner would appear and sweep her off her feet. Martin could serve as go between as they worked out what they wanted to do. 

It was easy for Martin to get details about the girl. The nature of his job gave him a fair amount of independence. After just a few days he had her name, her address, her current work status, and thanks to his own natural adroitness he was able to discern she didn't have many friends, if she had any. By the end of the week it was clear the best place to begin was at the bookstore. 


The Misogynist Ch. 01



The morning had gone slowly for Cheryl, and she was glad when her lunch break arrived. She pulled out her usual lettuce and tomato sandwich and plastic container of peaches and took up her customary spot at the coffee shop. She was eating and minding her own business when a youngish looking man came over and sat at her table. "Pardon me. I know you work at the store." He pulled out an index card. "I have this small list of materials given to me by my older sister. She has a teenage daughter, and wants her to become more interested in reading, I wonder if it be too much trouble if you looked at my list and gave me some tips." He handed her the index card. "I'm not much of a hand at picking out girl reading."

Cheryl didn't want to be impolite, but this was her lunch break. "I'd be glad to look it over for you, but as you can see this is my lunch break."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I just thought." He hesitated for effect. "I've seen you around here and you're always so helpful. I thought maybe I could just show you the list."

"I'm not supposed to do this. I mean I'm on break. Drop it off at the desk and one of the other salespeople will give it a look for you."

Martin gave his best I'm defeated look. "OK. I only thought." He wanted to get this right so he hesitated again. "I know you help people. "He gave his list a disconsolate look. "I'm sorry." He moved to get up.

"Wait a minute. I guess I could at least look at the list." She held out her hand.

Martin handed her the index card. Behaving in a mildly excited manner. "She's fifteen and something of a hard case. Doesn't like many things, and says she hates to read but always has a book around."

Cheryl looked the list over. "If I were fifteen I don't think I'd like any of these."

"None of them?"

"Well they're all classics, but Nineteenth Century American authors aren't always what I'd call eye catching. Let me give you some authors. She took a pen out of her pocketbook and wrote down three. Here. If I were fifteen and wanted to read something I'd go for love stories. These three have written some good ones."

Martin looked at the list. They were names he didn't recognize. "You think they're pretty good?" 

Cheryl smiled. "Yes I do."

Martin smiled. That was Turner's signal.

From around the corner up popped Turner. "Hey Martin. I thought I'd find you here." Turning to Cheryl and pointing to his friend he said. "Bookworm. Wherever there are books, there also shall he be."

Martin held up the index card. "The lovely lady here gave me a revised list to help me in my search for something for my niece."

Turner looked at the card. He didn't recognize a single name. Looking at Cheryl. "These are good authors?"

Cheryl was getting uncomfortable and wanted to leave. "I think so." She started to move. "Look I."

Turner intercepted her comment. "What's your name?"

Taken aback by the forthrightness of the question she blurted out. "Cheryl."

Turner wasn't about to let her go, not yet. "Well Cheryl why don't you let us show our gratitude? By the way my name's Turner, and this reprobate is called Martin. Could we buy you lunch or something?"

Cheryl didn't know how to answer. She looked the two men over. Martin was tall and pretty good looking. Better than anything she'd ever come close to dating, but dating had always been a foreign language for her. But Turner was an eye opener. He was hot stuff, and he sounded so nice. She couldn't think of an answer, so she said something stupid. "I eat here every day."

"That settles it." Said Turner. "You and I have a date for tomorrow." He looked at his watch and calibrated backwards. "Say 11:30?"

Cheryl couldn't say no. She ate at that time everyday. "If you're here. I'll be here." 

Turner stuck out his hand. "Shake on it?"

Cheryl reached out and shook his hand.

Turner and Martin got up and said their good byes. Last, Turner looked at Cheryl. "Tomorrow 11:30!" He made it sound like he was really excited.

Cheryl acknowledged. "I'll be here."

The next three workdays followed the same pattern. Turner showed up promptly at 11:15. He'd wait for Cheryl. He'd insist on buying their drinks. He'd eat a cold cut sandwich bought from a nearby deli, while she ate her usual whatever day it was food. For three days he poured on the charm. Being a veteran predator he knew just how much charm and how much pressure was needed to get the right response. By the fourth day she was looking for him. 

It was on the fourth day he explained he couldn't stop in anymore. His work was requiring a modification in his schedule, but he wanted to see her again. He asked, and hoped it would be all right if she would go out with him this Saturday night. When she hesitated he suggested they double date with his best friend Martin and a nice girl he was seeing. Turner thought they could all go to dinner followed by a trip to the theater. Nothing special, just a simple two step entertainment. She accepted. He got her address, and made arrangements. He would pick her up at 6:00 and go on from there to get Martin and his date.

The decision to go out with a man she'd only met a few days before was the most adventurous decision Cheryl had ever made in her life, but he was so nice, such a gentleman. Besides he was so handsome, and he paid attention to her. She liked Martin too. He seemed such a safe kind of guy.

For Turner things were going like he expected. He recognized loneliness, and he knew how best to exploit it. He planned on several warm fuzzy evenings followed by some meaningful first move.

Turner got to her house at 5:45. She was ready. When she came down the steps in front of her apartment Turner silently cringed. 

Cheryl couldn't have looked worse unless she had dog written on her forehead. Her hair hung limply down around an undistinguished face. She was wearing a pair of unflattering wire rimmed glasses. Make up looked nonexistent except for some too red lipstick. She had on a gray dress. It zipped up the back. It looked a little rumpled. A belt cinched her waist too tightly making her tummy protrude as though she was in the early stages of pregnancy. All in all she was a most uninteresting looking woman. He imagined her as a casserole at some lame church cover dish dinner rather than a prospective babe out for a night on the town.

Cheryl thought she looked pretty good considering her limited wardrobe, but when she saw Turner she felt totally inadequate. He was wearing a dark suit. It looked navy blue. A blue button down shirt and red striped tie accentuated his confident demeanor. He capped everything off with a pair of black wing tips. He looked like a Greek God. She felt like a troll.

Cheryl's aplomb wasn't improved when she met Martin's date. She was dressed in a skimpy see through white blouse and black pleated mini-skirt. She looked hot. Cheryl, next to Martin's date felt like a warmed over bowl of scrambled eggs.

In spite of her failure to impress dinner went fine. Turner was certainly the gentleman, and Martin was kind and considerate. Turner behaved like she was the prettiest girl in the room. Martin's date was nice but something of a bubble-brain. A couple times Cheryl thought she caught Martin looking her way. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he think she was pretty too? He seemed pensive. Maybe a little skittish. He was always quick to agree with everything Turner said. Anyone could see Turner was the alpha. Martin was the hanger on. She felt good knowing she was with the top dog. It was a first for her. 

After dinner they went to a show. They saw Cats. She'd seen it before, but at a matinee and alone. Seeing something like this with a group was a new experience. She liked it. After the show Turner suggested they all stop over at his downtown residence. She hadn't known, but Turner was quite well off, and he owned, or rented, a well-accoutered apartment just off the main thoroughfare. Since no else seemed to mind, she agreed to go along. They stayed till well past 1:00 a.m. the men drinking bourbon and the girls having a light wine. 

After a while talking about nothing in particular Turner decided it was time to get Cheryl home. He dropped Martin and his date off first. Cheryl was last to be taken home. This time, rather than just let her go upstairs, he walked her to her door. She reflected on what to do next, as she opened her door. Turner could tell she was a little scared. He politely asked if he could kiss her good night. She supposed it was all right. He gently held her shoulders and gave her a soft kiss on her lips. He said he had a wonderful time, and hoped she had a good time too. She said she had. He asked of he could call her one day next week to take her out again. She said that would be all right too.

Cheryl went to bed that evening feeling lighthearted and happy. Was Turner her Prince Charming?

After Turner dropped Cheryl off he went back to Martin's. Martin was still up, and the whore he'd picked up as a date was still there too. "Well Martin my man. What do you think?"

Martin responded. "Cheryl doesn't get out much."

"Are you surprised? If this wasn't a bet the only place I'd take her would be the kennels."

Martin hedged. "You're being a little harsh. She's a wallflower, but I see potential there."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Tell you what. Let's double again. We'll go someplace else." He looked over at the girl he'd taken out. "You could take Cheryl out and get her fixed up beforehand."

The woman who'd been Martin's date pointed to her chest. "Me?"

"Yeah sure. Why not?" 

Martin's date that evening wasn't a whore like Turner supposed. He assumed all women were whores. The girl's name was Sarah, and she was actually a very nice girl, and she had a serious crush on Martin. "You want me to take her to the beauty parlor, and then someplace to get her something decent to wear?"

Martin smiled. "Yeah. You could call her. Say you thought it would be a good idea if the two of you were dressed like sisters. That would be your excuse."

Turner looked over at the two conspirators. "You think that would work?"

Martin answered. "Sure it would."

Sarah added. "Yeah. Sure. It could work. I'd like the chance to remake our little wallflower."

"There you go." Said Martin. "All you have to do Turner is call her up. Set up a second date, and tell her our little girl here is going to call her about something."

Turner slapped Martin on the shoulder. "You're making it easier for me to win this bet. You're my main man Martin."

Sarah asked. "What bet?"

Martin answered her. "Don't worry about it. I'll fill you in later."

The girl said nothing. If it was none of her business, it was none of her business, but she knew any bet involving a woman and Turner was probably bad news for the woman.

Turner waited until Wednesday before calling Cheryl. He knew his women. An extra day or two wait made them anxious, especially one like Cheryl whose social activities were so limited. He explained away the late call asserting he'd had to leave town. He asked if she was amenable to a second double date with Martin and Sarah. This time Sarah wanted to go on a picnic and go swimming. Cheryl demurred at first, but Turner said Sarah wanted the two of them to go shopping. Sarah had this fantasy about the two girls going as sisters, look a-likes. He'd taken the liberty of giving the other girl Cheryl's phone number so they could hook up for a shopping spree. Cheryl was against a spree saying she lacked the funds. Turner said not to worry. Martin was gong to foot the bill, and if Cheryl was unhappy about it the two of them, he and she, would combine to pick up the tab. 

Turner was so persuasive, and so sincere Cheryl had no choice but to cave in. Thursday afternoon she got a call from Sarah. They would meet Friday after lunch and do the shopping thing. Cheryl had to get someone to cover her Friday afternoon and her Saturday hours, but since she'd covered so many others that turned out not to be a problem. 

Friday afternoon came, and Sarah picked Cheryl up for a day's shopping. 

"First." Sarah said. "We're going to the beauty parlor. If we're going to be sisters, we're going to have to look alike."

Cheryl answered. "I'm all right."

Sarah interrupted. "No you're not. We're going to be a matched set. That means a make over."

Uncertain about what else to say Cheryl went along.

At the beauty shop Sarah insisted they both get their hair done the same way. She wanted both to have curly hair, shorter than what Cheryl had, and it should be highlighted with blond streaks. Cheryl didn't like the idea, but since this was Sarah's idea she went along.

While they were having their hair done they both got manicures and pedicures. Both had their nails thoroughly cleaned and buffed. Clear polish was applied. 

Both had their faces scrubbed and scraped. A new base coat of make up was applied, and then the ladies at the parlor dabbed on the war paint. Each girl got a pink base coat, some additional pink rouge on their cheeks pale blue eye shadow, dark mascara, a pale pink lipstick covered by a clear gloss. 

When Cheryl looked in the mirror she didn't recognize the woman looking back at her. The woman in the mirror wasn't her. The woman in the mirror was pretty, more than pretty, she was stunning. "Is that me?" She asked Sarah.

"You bet it's you!" That was everybody's answer!

"Now we have to get a depilatory."

"A what?" Asked Cheryl.

"We have to get our pussies defoliated. Don't forget we're going swimming. The most embarrassing thing that could ever happen to a woman is to have her crotch hairs peaking out from around her swimsuit, or worse sticking through it. We need to get naked down underneath!"

Cheryl blanched. "Oh No! Not me! That would be wrong to do."

Sarah laughed. "Oh yes you! You need to be a clean shaver down below." She saw the frightened reaction on Cheryl's face. "Believe me. No one will know. But if you don't do it, they might all know something else!"

Cheryl asked. "Are you going to do it?"

"We're sisters aren't we. What goes for one, goes for both!"

For the next forty-five minutes Cheryl sat stiffly as the girls at the parlor lowered her chair back and slowly and carefully denuded her vagina. When they were through Cheryl felt the air wafting around her down there. It was an unusual, not entirely unpleasant, experience. She touched herself. She couldn't remember the last time she was hairless down there. In fact she couldn't remember the last time she deliberately touched herself down there except to wash.

Sarah was irrepressible. "We're off to the clothiers. There's a great little boutique around the corner. It's a little costly, but Martin's picking up the tab, and he wants us at our best."

"Don't you think we should check with him first?"

Sarah was forthright. "Certainly not! This is what he wants. And I'll bet Turner wants it too."

Cheryl thought a moment about Turner. He was so handsome, so kind, such an exceptional man. She wanted to please him. "OK. We'll do it."

"That's a girl!"

Off to the boutique they went. Cheryl was a little on the heavy side so Sarah had to be careful to select something they'd both look good in. She settled on a black one-piece bathing suit for both of them. The suit was shapely, but had enough foundation to guarantee none of Cheryl's baby fat would peak through or cause any slippage or rippling. The shoulder straps were well defined, two inches wide, and provided good support. The legs didn't curl up around the thighs but covered an ample area to prevent any unnecessary displays of cellulite. 

Sarah had a good head about her when it came to clothing. Cheryl was going to need something suggestive, but concealing. Looking around the sports wear she found just the outfit. It was a simple black and white three piece, a short sleeved white button up blouse with a classic peter-pan collar they'd leave unbuttoned at the top. 

She picked out a black mini-skirt. Cheryl's legs were ample up around the thighs so she targeted something that was loose fitting, very short, but flared out from the waist. Pleats would have made her look fat, and a tight mini would have been even worse, but this outward flare looked daring and cute. 

The third component of the outfit was a cloth three-buttoned vest. If they kept things unbuttoned the vest would conceal any unsightly bulges in the middle as well as Cheryl's somewhat buxom appearance. She picked out a comfort fit bra for each of them, and loose fitting tap panties for down below. Last she selected a pair of black lace up shoes with a modest high heel and black thigh high stockings. 

When they were both dressed and standing side by side facing the mirror they did look sisterly. Cheryl was the bigger, heavier sister, but she didn't look fat, only a little more pleasing to the eye. 

Since Cheryl wore glasses that required one more stop. At the optometrists Sarah selected a pair of black horned rim glasses. They adjusted the lenses for Cheryl's vision, and when she put them on they matched her outfit perfectly. She looked younger with the glasses on. They made her look scholarly but like a schoolgirl at the same time. 

"Cheryl you look gorgeous!" Was all Sarah could say, and the truth was Cheryl did look pretty damn good. Nobody would confuse her with Cheryl Tieges, but she still looked awful damn good. Sarah emphasized her thoughts. "You look finger licking good Cheryl."

Cheryl couldn't believe her own eyes. She did look good. Hell she was pretty! Sarah made her look pretty! "Sarah you're wonderful! I feel so good!" She put her arms around the younger woman and kissed her on the cheek. "I love you Sarah! I can't believe it!"

"Wait till tomorrow! You'll have both men drooling. I don't know if I want to be seen with you." 

They both laughed! Cheryl could hardly wait for tomorrow. It was going to be wonderful! She just knew it.

Sarah gave Martin a phone call when she got home. "You're not going to believe what you're going to see tomorrow."

"She looks that good."

"Martin she's beautiful. She's much too good for the likes of Turner."

Martin hung up the phone. He didn't like himself much sometimes. Often those sometimes coincided with something Turner wanted him to do. If they weren't life-long friends, well, so what. It's just a bet, and Cheryl was just another piece of ass.



The Misogynist Ch. 02



Cheryl was really excited! Her whole life was changing. A few weeks ago she'd been Miss Nobody, a lonely woman, almost thirty and on her way to spinster town. Now she had a boyfriend, or at least she fantasized he was her boyfriend. He was tall, good looking, and was looked up to by other men. His name was Turner. He was smart, witty, and he was interested in her. They were going out on their second double date. Today it was going to be a picnic. Imagine! A picnic! 

Turner picked her up a little after 9:00. He'd managed to borrow a client's cabin cruiser. It was a nice one, a forty-footer. He planned on taking Cheryl, Martin, and his date, Sarah out for a little fishing, some swimming, a shoreline picnic, and if they weren't too tired a little dancing at one of the nicer night clubs by the dock. It not only could be fun, but it would certainly put him one step closer to winning the bet.

He knocked on her apartment door. It opened. "Here." Handing her a small bud vase with a single rose. "I saw this on the way over, and thought you might like it."

Turner was holding a small white vase out to her. In it was a beautiful little yellow rose. Cheryl was delighted! "A rose! A yellow rose! How thoughtful." She didn't know what else to do so she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "This is so sweet. What should I do? Can I take it with me and show it to Martin and Sarah?"

"No. I think you should leave it here. Put it in your kitchen or something."

Cheryl was so pleased. "Oh this is so nice." She kissed his cheek again. "Wait here." She reconsidered. "No. Come in while I put it in the kitchen."

He sauntered into her small living room and stood beside a grandfather clock, her one nice antique, while she attended to the rose. He glanced around her apartment. It was small, but, considering her circumstances, nicely decorated. It had the typical apartment carpeting, but hers looked very well maintained. It had that just shampooed look. He bet she'd shampooed it herself, a natural domestic. The living room had a sofa and love seat separated by a small end table with a very expensive looking lamp. There was a heavy looking coffee table, and what passed for an entertainment center. He saw she had one of the older type tube televisions, a DVD/VCR player, but apparently no cable or satellite hook-up. He made a mental record of all the things she didn't have. Every little gift was something that would bring him closer to his goal. 

She came into the living room. "I hope I look all right. Sarah and I went shopping yesterday, and we picked out outfits that are supposed to make us look like sisters."

Turner looked her over. He doubted if she and Sarah would ever pass for sisters. Sarah was small and sexy, and Cheryl was not exactly fat, but a little too buxom to be pretty. However, he had to admit she looked good. Comparing this woman to the one he'd taken out a week earlier, this was a big improvement. "Turn around. Let me get a good look."

She self-consciously spun around.

"Hold the hem of your skirt up a little and spin around again."

She did as he told her.

Her legs were heavy, but the way the skirt flared out made them look positively attractive. She was heavy, but her waist was small, and her breasts, though larger than he liked, looked good in the blouse. He smiled. "You look terrific Cheryl." He knew he needed to pour out more compliments, but he wasn't sure if she'd buy too much. He gave it a try. "That outfit is very becoming. I like the pretty white blouse. It goes well with the mini-skirt and that snappy little vest." In fact as he talked and perused more fully he realized she looked even prettier than he originally thought. The make up, the mini, the blouse, the nylons, the black shoes, and the hair, it was all so different. "I like your hair. Have you put highlights in it?"

"Yes. Sarah said we should curl our hair and add some blond. Do you like it?" She brushed her hair back with her right hand as she asked.

Turner reached out his left hand and touched the right side of her head and then her face. He let his fingers slide around the back of her ear and down around her neck. "I like the look. I like it a lot." He was surprised he hadn't paid closer attention to her complexion. "You have pretty skin. I can tell it's not the make up either. You have a soft, velvety, complexion."

Cheryl blushed.

He chuckled. "Now it's even prettier."

She was leaning back against her front door. He was looking her over so closely. She was afraid she was going to start to perspire. 

Turner leaned further forward and kissed her on the lips. Keeping his face fairly close. "I like the way you look. You're pretty Cheryl."

She felt goose bumps when he touched her neck, and the kiss felt wonderful. It scared her. She felt silly, giddy. She almost giggled, but held them in. She backed around her front door toward the hallway. "I think we better go."

He smiled. "Houston. I think we have a problem."

Cheryl looked up. Scared a little. She knew what the phrase meant, but didn't understand what he meant. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing serious. I just want to recheck your kissing skills."

"My what?"

He didn't give her a chance to think. He put a finger on her lips. "Close your eyes and pucker up." Just as he figured, kissing for her was something she did when she was ten years old. Real kissing was a foreign concept. He'd have to teach her if she was going to be any good, and she was going to need to be good. Putting his arms on her shoulders he leaned forward.

As Turner leaned in to pluck a kiss Cheryl put her hands up against his pectorals. She didn't know quite what to do. This was so new to her. 

Turner stopped. "What's this?"

Cheryl opened her eyes. Looking up like a scared rabbit. "What do you mean?"

"I think we have a confidence problem. Cheryl I'm not going to hurt you, just give you another kiss. You look pretty and deserve another one, but look where you've put your hands."

She was really confused now. She gave him another one of those doe eyed deer in the headlights looks.

"Listen." He said. "You have to learn to trust." He kept his hands on her shoulders and peered directly into her eyes. "Do you know how to swim?"

"Not really. I mean I had lessons, but I've never swum very much."

He explained. "In a little while you'll be out in a boat in deep water with me, Martin, and Sarah. You'll be the only non-swimmer. We'll all be there to help, but you've got to trust."

She was even more confused. "So."

"Well look at yourself. All I want to do is refine your kissing skills." He backtracked a little. "Not that I don't think you have the makings of a terrific kisser, but a little practice is in order." 

She didn't get it. "I can kiss."

"Yes you can, but look at you. I go to kiss you, and you put your hands up to block my every move. I'm not going to bite you. Just kiss you. Now here." He took her hands and put them down on his hips. "You hold my hips while I kiss."

Cheryl felt meek maybe a little humbled. This was making her nervous. "OK."

Turner leaned forward and gave her a nice deep kiss. While he kissed he used his lips to suck hers outward a little. He pulled away with a little smack. "Now. How was that?"

She started to put her hands back up toward his pectorals, but stopped. She didn't say anything. She didn't know what she should say. Cheryl wanted to please him, but she didn't know what he wanted, not exactly anyway. "It was nice."

"No." He said. "Now look." He took her two hands and carefully pulled them so they were behind her back. "Keep your hands there. This is about kissing, but it's about trust too." He leaned forward and gave her another nice deep tender kiss. 

This time she kissed back with her lips puckered up and all soft. 

"Wow! That's a lot better, but I'm still not satisfied. If I'm going to take you out in the deep water today I need to have your trust and confidence, and this is as good a place to start as any."

She didn't completely understand where this was going, but she liked the kissing part, and so far he'd still been a complete gentleman. She leaned back against the door and kept her hands behind her back.

This time Turner took one of his hands and wrapped it around her wrists, more or less trapping her hands behind her back. He could feel her stiffen. "You stiffened!"

"I can't help it. I'm sorry."

He was having fun with this. "Listen, and repeat after me."

She nodded.

"You're my boyfriend."

"She replied. "You're my boyfriend."

He hesitated. "It's OK if I say that. I'm your boyfriend I mean."

She felt giddy. She knew she was blushing again. "Yes. It's OK."

He enjoyed the idea he could make her blush so easily. It made him feel more in control. "Now remember this is about trust. You'll be in the deep water later. Repeat after me. "You're my boyfriend."

"You're my boyfriend."

"Good. Now say.I'm your girlfriend."

"I'm your girlfriend."

"Very good! Now when I say He Man. You say?"

Cheryl was confused. This was new. "I don't know. What do I say?"

"When I say He Man. You say Good Little Girl."

"Come on that's silly."

"Now you're not listening. I'll start over." He was smiling very broadly in an effort to keep her at ease. "Repeat after me. "You're my boyfriend."

"You're my boyfriend."

"I'm your girlfriend."

"I'm your girlfriend."

"Good! Now I say I'm you're he man."

"You're my he man."

"You're my good little girl."

Cheryl smiled this time. "I'm your good little girl."

Turner gave her his biggest warmest smile. "Outstanding! Now I'll point and say something. Then you point and say the follow up. "OK?"

Cheryl had figured out the game. "OK."

He pointed at her. "Girlfriend."

She pointed back. "Boyfriend."

He pointed at himself. "He man."

She pointed at herself. "Good little girl."

He pointed at her. "Sweetheart."

Cheryl giggled. She couldn't help it. Nobody man had ever said that to her before in her whole life. "I don't know what to say."

"Say whatever you want."

She pointed back at him. "Sweetheart."

He laughed and started the whole line of interactive comments again. Everything he said elicited the response he wanted. Finally he shifted gears again. Now I'm going to hold your hands behind your back. I'm going to lean down and give you a kiss. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to keep my hands behind my back. I'm going to close my eyes, and I'm going to kiss you right back."

Together, leaning up against her front door, her submissive and accepting, and him dominant and in control they kissed. Then they kissed a second time.

He looked down at her. "Trust?"

She looked up at him. "Trust."

Turner took her by the arm and walked her to his car. They had to pick up Martin and Sarah, and then they would be off to the boat. As he helped her into his car he took his right hand and turned her head to face him. He caressed her cheek with his hand. "This is going to be a great day."

She smiled like she'd just won a million dollars.

They reached the boat a little after 11:00. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and there was a crisp warm wind, a perfect day for boating and swimming. Turner had already provisioned the boat with goodies and beer. He took the helm, ordered Martin to cast off and they were on their way.

The wind and the movement of the boat were mother nature's invitation to the girls to climb around and lay back on the prow. Turner was careful not to travel too fast as they moved down the river. It was a broad estuary that led into a large bay that eventually flowed into the ocean. The idea was to travel down where the river was widest, do some fishing, and pull in close to shore at one of the more secluded beach locations. 

Martin watched as Sarah and Cheryl set out towels on the prow and enjoyed the sunshine, the wind, and the occasional shots of spray. In their black bathing suits, and the whipping breeze frothing through their hair they both looked beautiful. Sarah was his date, and she was gorgeous. He liked looking at her. He knew she was in love with him, but he thought of her more as a friend with benefits. He knew her, he could break it off, she'd feel bad for a while, but would recover and move on. 

Cheryl was another matter. Though he knew she was there for Turner, Martin felt ambivalent. From a straight physical perspective the ugly duckling they'd originally seen at the bookstore was becoming a beautiful swan. He liked that. He also liked her new found poise, or was it just happiness. The girl on the prow was smiling, laughing, and genuinely happy, nothing like the dour spinster with whom he'd made first contact just a couple weeks before. The lonely little drudge was becoming the fairy princess. It was beautiful to watch, too beautiful. Her happiness was an illusion. Everything was falling into place, just like Turner wanted. He knew Turner was going to destroy this girl. When they were finished there wouldn't be much left. They'd done it before. 

In college Turner's shenanigans, abetted by Martin's behind the scenes planning, had driven a girl to try suicide. That girl hadn't deserved it, but they were a lot younger and a lot more thoughtless. Martin remembered how he had maneuvered the girl into a date with Turner. 

Turner, then as now, was all charm and no substance. He wined and dined that poor girl until she was eating out of his hands. Then he went to work. She was such a nice girl, and he pretended to love her. He said he had a friend, who'd lost his sweetheart in an accident, near suicidal the friend was, couldn't she be nice to him? One thing led to another. Soon the girl was in bed with one then another and then another of Turner's buddies. Turner was the big man at the Fraternity house. They passed that girl around and around. She believed in Turner. She loved him. He used her, he threw her away, and then he laughed about it, just like in high school. She broke down. Martin hadn't liked it, and though he'd never sampled the poor girl, he'd been in on it. Looking at Cheryl he saw the whole scenario playing out all over again.

Turner hadn't changed. He would make this girl feel pretty, be pretty, and then he would dismantle her. Step by vicious step he would unravel everything that was good and pure. The tragedy about the whole thing was this girl, like the others, would certainly see it, deny it, and then allow, even help, it to happen. 

Turner had this mean sadistic streak, but Martin wasn't like that anymore. He knew he had changed. He would continue to do Turner's dirty work because they were friends. He'd always supported his friend. Still, though no girl deserved it, Cheryl especially didn't. Martin would help his friend destroy another innocent girl. He wouldn't like it, but he knew he'd do it. He always did what Turner wanted.

Turner watched Cheryl and Sarah from his seat at the helm. Cheryl really was a fine looking woman. A little heavy, but still she looked pretty good. He wondered how far he could take it. Hell, he wasn't a kid anymore. If he was going hit a home run this might be his best chance. He wondered what it would be like to be a pimp. She was a schoolteacher. If he couldn't get her honestly, he could finagle some pictures. Use the pictures to persuade her to make it a paying enterprise. She might never be a top draw, but he bet there were enough hard up men around to make her a pretty profitable little product. Yes. That made sense. He'd take this homely little spinster and turn her into a whore, his whore.

Turner yelled up to the prow. "Hey girls! Hang on tight. I'm going to turn the boat around and stop." He yelled to Martin as he slowed the boat. "Let's drop anchor here. We can fish and then maybe swim a little."

Martin yelled back. "Got it!" He went to drop the anchor. They were about one hundred yards from shore in about ten feet of water. The spot was deep enough to make it interesting, but still not too deep. It was a calm area, no currents or hidden surprises. 

Turner turned off the engine and reached around to help the girls back into the cabin. "What will it be? Swimming or fishing first?"

Sarah answered. "Let's swim."

Cheryl, not being much of a swimmer kept her mouth shut. If the men wanted to fish a while that was fine with her. 

Turner kicked in. "What about you Cheryl? Fishing or swimming.

"I'll go with the majority."

"Oh come on." Chimed in Sarah. "I'm hot. Let's get wet."

Turner looked at Cheryl. "Want to get wet?" He gave her a meaningful smile. "It'll be all right."

Cheryl looked back at Turner, at Sarah, then at Martin who wasn't saying anything. "OK. Let's swim."

Turner and Martin dove in the water, and swam out about fifteen feet. "Turner called out. "Come on in. It's warm like bath water."

Sarah followed with a dive of her own.

Only Cheryl was left in the boat. She looked over the side at the dark murky water. It looked like it was hundred feet deep, loaded with sharks, and the drop off from boat another fifty feet. She looked at Sarah. "Can you touch bottom."

Sarah disappeared and after several seconds returned to the surface. "It's maybe ten or fifteen feet down. Come on Cheryl."

Cheryl stayed in the boat.

Martin called out. "Come on Cheryl. We'll catch you."

Cheryl didn't move.

Turner swam to the side of the boat. "Sit on the side and dangle your legs. When I give the signal just slide into my arms."

She still just stood there.

Turner was at the side. "Hey girlfriend."

Cheryl looked down. "Boyfriend."

"He man."

"Good little girl."

"Trust me Cheryl."

She slid off the boat and into the water. "Wow! It's cold!"

He'd caught her so her face didn't get wet. Holding her close so no one else could hear he said. "See. I told you. Nothing to fear." He hesitated then said. "Trust?"

Cheryl, holding her arms tightly around his neck answered. "Trust."

"OK. Martin! Come over here. We're going to give Cheryl some swimming tips."

Martin dutifully swam over.

Speaking softly into Cheryl's ear Turner told her. "I'm going to push you over to Martin. He'll catch you."

"No. Don't."

"Trust Cheryl." He pushed her toward Martin who immediately caught her.

She clung to him momentarily but turned and dove right back to Turner. 

For the next five, maybe ten minutes, it was a game. Turner threw Cheryl to Martin. She'd dive back to Turner. With each toss Cheryl gained confidence, and with each toss Martin retreated a few more inches. Cheryl found herself being thrown to Martin and doggie paddling back to Turner. Each time she got back he whispered. "Good girl. Good little girl." After fifteen or so such passes she felt, not just more sure of her own ability, such as it was, but more sure of Turner. On what turned out to be their last pass she pressed her head up close to his face, he put her hands at his hips and kissed her. She lay her head on his chest. He took his right hand and pulled her against him, while with his left hand he caressed her head. He whispered. "You're such a good little girl."

Martin heard the quiet remark. It was all too familiar. He turned and dove off toward Sarah who'd been paddling around on her own.

Cheryl pressed her head against Turner's chest. The water was cool, but she felt so warm. She thought. This must be love.

All four climbed the aluminum ladder back into the boat. While the girls dried off with thick beach towels, Martin and Turner inflated a fifteen-foot raft and filled it with the food supplies, two blankets, two umbrellas, more towels, and an assortment of fishing gear.

Calling to the girls to get in the raft the men used two small oars and paddled their way to shore where the girls laid out the blankets and the men set up the umbrellas. All four fell on the blankets to relax and rest, Sarah and Martin on one and Turner and Cheryl on the other. 




The Misogynist Ch. 02



Turner gave Cheryl a concerned look. "You're not as tanned as any of us."

Cheryl looked herself over. He was right! Compared to the others she was lily white.

"Let's get some lotion on those white joints. I don't want you experiencing any discomfort if we can avoid it."

Cheryl lay on her stomach on the blanket while Turner applied the lotion.

For Turner this was another milestone. He was very careful not to touch Cheryl in any indiscreet places, but he still took full advantage of the opportunity to perk her sensuality. He rubbed his way from the top down, applying a light coating around her cheeks and chin. He wiped the greasy fluid under her chin and around the nape of her neck. He could feel her hackles rise. The soft rubbing was having the desired affect. He took his fingertips and slathered cream around her shoulders and under her arms. The underarm rub tickled and she jumped slightly. He put lotion on her back, and on the backs of her legs. She rolled over and he started to lotion the top of her chest. She stopped him.

"I can get that."

He held the lotion away. "No you can't. This is my job."

Cheryl gave him another of those I'm not sure of you looks, but before she could say anything he spoke just one word. Trust! She lay back down and allowed him to continue with his ministrations. Shortly all her exposed body parts were lathered. She lay there, partly exposed and thanks to the umbrella, partly shielded from the sun's rays. 

Where the black bathing suit touched her skin she felt warm, but she felt warmer elsewhere. It wasn't the sun that made her feel the way she did. When she was a child she'd touched herself occasionally. 

Once when she was touching herself her mother came into her room and caught her. It was then when she found out what sin was. Since that time she still occasionally touched herself, but always with the most profound sense of guilt. Right there, lying on the blanket, with the sun, the water, and Turner, she wanted desperately to touch herself. 

She was having powerful feelings. A lot of it was physical, but there was something else too. That something else revolved around another person. Everything was revolving around Turner. She felt different changed somehow, like she was new! She knew why too. She was falling in love. 

Cheryl looked skyward. Her eyes filled with tears. It was happening. Something she never dreamed ever would. She, Cheryl the wallflower, the worthless nonentity, the poor little homely girl everyone smiled at but never talked to was falling in love. She cast a glance in Turner's direction. He was watching her. He was smiling. She looked away. 

Turner touched her shoulder, and she turned back around. "Penny for your thoughts."

"Oh nothing really. I'm just having a good time."

"Hey. Tell you what. Do you want to rest, or catch a fish?"

She sat up. "Catch a fish."

"Come on." Turner stood up and grabbed two fishing poles, and the store bought bait. Together they walked to the water's edge. "Have you ever been fishing?"

"No. Can't say that I have."

"Well you're in luck. I just happen to be the best fisherman in sixteen states." He baited two hooks, one for her rod and one for his. "Here's how you cast a line." He showed he how to throw out the line.

Cheryl was a quick learner. After only two tries she had her line in the water.

Turner had his in too. "Bet I catch the first fish."

"What should we bet?"

"OK. If you catch the first fish you can kiss me. If I catch the first fish I can kiss you."

She laughed. "It's a bet." Just like that she got a bite. "Oh. What do I do?"

"Don't try to yank it out. Pull firmly and then slowly reel him in.

Cheryl did as instructed. She felt the fish quiver and pull on the line. After a few seconds she saw it in the shallow water. It didn't look very large. She got it up on the shore.

"Well you won the bet. You get to kiss me."

She leaned up and kissed him. "Now what do we do?"

"I think we should send him back home. That OK with you?"

"Sounds only fair." She was having a really good time. This was fun!

Turner worked the hook out of fish's mouth and gave him a little flip. After a few seconds of indecision the fish swam back into the deep water. Turner re-baited Cheryl's hook. She got her line back in the water. Bingo! Another bite! Cheryl had another one! She didn't need any help the second time. She worked, hemmed and hawed and finally got it in. It was the same fish!

Turner looked at her. "He loves you Cheryl."

"Bend down. I won again! Here's my kiss." He leaned down. She leaned up, and they kissed again. 

They fished for another fifteen minutes. Cheryl got another bite but the fish got off the line. Turner got a bite but lost his too. 

He asked. "Don't I get a kiss for at least getting a bite?"

She answered. "Sure."

They kissed again. And then they kissed again. He took the rods and laid them on the ground. They stood together kissing. He made her put her arms behind her back where he held them in one hand. He took his other hand and cupped her head. They kissed several more times in just that fashion. These were wonderful moments for Cheryl. Kissing and trusting, and kissing. She knew it was happening. She was falling in love.

They were wonderful moments for Turner too. Every kiss, every little caress, every second he held her hands he was getting closer to pay dirt. He figured in another date or two she'd be begging for it. Of course, being the gentlemen he was, he'd share his semen. 

They heard Martin and Sarah get up. Turner let go Cheryl's hands and removed them to his hips. "Girlfriend."

"Boyfriend."

"Good little girl?"

"He man."

"Sweethearts?"

"Sweethearts." She pressed her face against his chest. She said it again. "Sweethearts."

Martin was down at the shoreline. "I hate to break this up, but Sarah wants to get back to the boat. Something about a number two."

All four laughed. The men disassembled the umbrellas, while the women folded up the blankets and repacked the mostly uneaten food. Back in the raft, and a few slaps of the oars and they were at the boat. Turner checked his watch. "It's a little after 5:00. If everyone agrees we can stop off at the Fisherman's Diner, get a beer, have a sandwich, and I'll plunk in a quarter if anyone wants to dance."

Everyone was tired, but agreed it was a good idea. In the boat, equipment stowed, and off they went back to the pier for a little more fun before calling it a day. 

On the boat ride back Turner asked Cheryl if she'd like to steer. At first she refused, but after Sarah got a turn Cheryl decided to give it a try. Since they were going straight, and Turner slowed the engine there was little real danger. Cheryl had another one of those once in a lifetime moments. 

Turner was able to stand over her with one hand on her left shoulder. It was more a brotherly protective stance than anything else, but Cheryl liked it.

They reached the pier. Turner got the boat into its mooring, and Martin tied it off. The sun was still high in the sky, but everyone could tell it was a late sun. They were all a little tired, but agreed a few minutes at the nearby eatery would be fun. 

Turner found them a quiet table in the corner. When the waitress came over he insisted he order for everyone. "This place is famous for its crab cakes. They use just the right amount of Old Bay, and they never use filler."

After a short wait the crab cake sandwiches arrived. True to his claim they were scrumptious. 

Turner watched Cheryl eat. He knew she was hungry, and but he enjoyed the way she went about eating. She didn't exactly pick at it; she seemed more to sample each morsel like she was trying to make each bite last. She was savoring the flavor, perhaps the texture of the meal. He couldn't tell for sure. 

He'd seen his share of women scarf up food like it was their last meal. That's what Sarah was doing across the table. Eating like there was no tomorrow. Cheryl was going about it with delicacy. One would have thought, Cheryl being so much heavier, she'd be the hog and Sarah would be the sampler. Some things didn't make sense. He only knew he liked to watch. He thought her eating habits would give added value when the time came. Men liked dainty eaters like Cheryl, not pigs like Sarah.

Turner got up and went over to the jukebox. The restaurant wasn't very crowded. It probably entertained an earlier and then a much later crowd. They seemed to be right in that middle zone both before and after the two busy times. He selected a tune that dated to the 1960's. It was an old love song, a slow song filled with syrupy dialogue. Putting in the quarter he returned to the table. "Cheryl. Would you like to dance?"

She got up without saying a word. 

He took her out on the floor and wrapped his arms around her. His left hand he used to pull her body against his. His right hand he used to cup her head and pull her close to his chest. 

Not knowing the proper steps, he like nearly all the people of his age group faked it. Dancing slowly and in tight circles he pulled her as close as her dared, while he used his right hand to softly rub the nape of her neck. He felt her hackles rise. 

Her hair was matted from the day's activities, but it smelled fresh and clean. He liked the smell of sea air in a woman's hair. Her hair was loose and hung down. It barely touched her shoulders. The blond highlights gave it an attractive sheen he liked. He casually flicked through her hair, wafting it about. He could tell by her reaction that she liked it. 

Cheryl felt so comfortable in his arms. He felt warm and safe. He had big hands, but they felt soft, comforting. He was so masterful, so manly, and so strong. She could feel his biceps press her closer. She didn't want him to think she was a loose woman, but she did want to press against him. As he pulled her closer she allowed herself to lean more heavily against his frame. He had a masculine smell, like Old Spice maybe. She liked it.

Turner had a hard on the size of the Washington Monument. He knew she felt it against her belly. He was a cool head taller than she was so the top of her head was just beneath his chin. He rested his cheek on the top of her head.

As the music played he started whispering the words of the tune. She could hear him. It was like he as whispering endearments to her. She breathed a soft quiet sigh. She wanted this day, this night, this song, to go on forever. She prayed this was not a dream. Somehow she'd become fearful the alarm clock would go off, and she'd wake up, and that it was all in her imagination. She allowed her self to be pulled closer.

The song ended. The music stopped, but he didn't let her go. He took his right hand and gently pulled her hair forcing her head back. He looked down into her eyes. He whispered. "Girlfriend."

She looked into his vivid blue eyes. She was lost in their spaciousness. She felt completely absorbed by this man. She responded. "Boyfriend."

He said. "My little girl."

She responded. "My he man."

Martin was at their side. "I hate to break up the party, but Sarah's tired and wants to go home."

Cheryl turned slightly. She made an effort to straighten her hair. She noticed some of the buttons of her blouse had come undone. Her mini was crumpled. She realized she felt and looked a mess. "Yes. I have to be to work at 11:00 tomorrow."

Turner gave her a concerned quizzical look. "You think you're up to it?"

"Yes. It's a Sunday. We're only open from 11:00 to 5:00. Sunday's this time of year are seldom busy anyway."

He gave her another one of those I'm not sure looks. "I don't know. Maybe you should let me take care of you tonight."

"I'll be all right. Really."

Turner gave her a gentle hug. "We'll see." He had a plan. He'd take her to his house, and prove his gentlemanly intentions. He'd seal the trust piece tonight if he could.

They drove away and on into the night. Turner dropped Sarah and Martin off at Martin's and then started for his own place.

"Where are we gong?" Asked Cheryl.

"I'm taking you home with me.

She started to protest, but he held up a hand.

"Don't worry. I've got a big place. You haven't seen it anyway. I'll put you to bed, and while you're asleep I'll fix up your clothes. You get up in the morning and I'll have breakfast ready."

She wanted to protest. "Turner I don't think I should spend the night at your place. That wouldn't be right."

"Come on Cheryl. Let me do this. I want to. You would make me happy if you let me take care of you tonight."

Brother she thought. This was more than she imagined. What would people think? But he's so kind. He's been so good all day. "I don't think I should Turner."

"Cheryl I want you to trust me on this. We've trusted each other all day. I want to do this. I'll get you to bed, and tomorrow I'll take you to work. When you get off tomorrow afternoon I'll take you home."

She hesitated.

"Please Cheryl. Let me do this for you."

She leaned her head back on the bucket seat. Looking over. He was so sincere, so kind, so good. He was so handsome. She knew she was in love. "OK."

He drove her to his house. It was a modern townhouse set in an upscale suburb. He pulled into the ground level garage, got out, went around, and opened her door. He reached in and offered a hand. She accepted. Putting an arm around her shoulder he walked her to door that led into the house proper. He half carried half walked her up the steps and into the kitchen. From there he lifted her and carried her into the living room. He was surprised. She felt a lot lighter than she looked. He wondered just how heavy she really was. He sat her on the sofa. "I'll be right back." 

He considered stopping in the kitchen and getting a couple sodas, but he wanted to get her undressed and in the shower. Once he had her out of her clothes she wouldn't be able to turn back.

Turner went to the bathroom, turned on the shower, pulled out several big thick towels, a new toothbrush, and found some neutral smelling soap and shampoo. Back in the living room. "I've got the shower going, and some soap out. You get a nice warm shower. I'll find something for you to sleep in."

She stifled a yawn. "I feel really silly."

He came over and sat beside her. "Don't. Just get a warm shower, and clean off the day's grime. I'll find you some sleep gear, and turn down my bed."

"Where will you sleep?" She was getting increasingly uncomfortable with the whole idea of her being in his house alone with him all night. She would be sleeping in his bed, a man's bed. This wasn't what good girls did.

He sensed her growing trepidation. "I have a spare bedroom. I'll be fine. You'll be fine. What time do you want me to wake you?"

Cheryl had gotten up and was moving toward the sound of the shower. "Please don't forget something for me to wear to bed. What about my clothes? I think I should leave by 9:00 so I can get home and get changed."

She was scared, and he could tell. He calmed her with a soft voice and assurances. "I'll place something for you to sleep in just outside the bathroom door. If you throw what you're wearing outside, I'll take care that you're clothes are cleaned. This is Saturday. The cleaning people were in today, and the bed has been remade with all fresh and clean sheets. It'll be like you're in a motel. Don't fret Cheryl. I'm not going to try to take advantage of you."

Cheryl didn't answer. This was a mistake. She knew it. She should have made him take her straight home. Sleeping at his house in his bed, remade or not, was wrong. She'd just have to gut it out till the morning.

While Cheryl showered Turner went about getting something for her to sleep in. He pulled out a lightweight undershirt and a pair of boxer shorts. Both were white, and though he probably wouldn't get to see her in them he clocked the idea away for future consideration. He bet she'd fit in the tee shirt snugly, and he'd love to see her in his boxers. He'd had other women wear them, and he remembered how delightful it looked. He remembered how their pussies always gaped through the front where he pulled out his hammer to pee. Somewhere down the line he knew he'd get his payday. 

Taking her grimy daily wear he went to the laundry room. Later, while she slept he'd see to it everything was washed and ironed. He'd even shine her shoes. When she awakened in the morning, at 10:00, certainly not 9:00, he'd have her Saturday wear ready. It would be too late for her to get home and change. He was going to make sure she wore exactly the same thing to work she'd worn at the beach. 

His thinking on the clothes was a double-barreled personal treat. She'd wear her beach clothes to work. He was sure they were more daring than anything she'd ever worn to the bookstore before. She'd feel self-conscious all day, especially with the mini on. He bet the loose fitting bra and the white blouse would add a little discomfort along those lines too. 

He bet she had a good imagination. While she leaned over to unpack books, bent down at the shelves to help people make selections, or stretched on that ladder they used to pull down books from higher shelves she would imagine what people watching her were thinking. Second, wearing the picnic clothes would be a reminder of all the things she'd done the day before. It could be a reminder of him and the fun they'd had. In fact, if she connected her self-consciousness with him it could be doubly good. It could turn out she might start feeling more awkward and more vulnerable when she was around him. As long as he kept his cool, and fostered the sense of trust he'd injected, she would grow to feel a greater sense of dependence on him. That he said to himself, was power.

He awakened Cheryl at 10:00 just like he planned. Startled by the lateness of the hour she flew from the bed.

"Hey! Hold up!" He said. "You're only wearing my underwear. Let me get out of the room."

Cheryl blushed and tried to cover her self. Not succeeding she jumped back in the bed and covered herself with the thin sheet. She watched as Turner fled the room. 

On the other side of the door Turner silently laughed. That was great. Those boobs of hers were big, but they were certainly healthy. No droop there! He'd seen enough. She had some nice breasts. Beautiful aureoles and those nipples were pressing hard against the fabric. He'd wished he'd been quicker, but he saw her vagina had been shaved. He slipped into the kitchen to set out a plate. He'd scrambled some eggs, cooked up some sausage and scrapple, and heated up some toast and coffee.

Cheryl was mortified. He'd seen her in nothing but his underwear. He might just as well have seen her naked. What a terrible way to start the day. Crap! It was after 10:00, less than an hour to get home, get changed, and get to work. 

She knew she'd never make it. Over on the end table she espied her clothing from the day before. It was all folded and looked like it had been cleaned up. She slipped over and checked the stuff out. It was! It was all cleaned and pressed! She rushed to the bathroom, wiped the morning off her face, tidied her hair as best she could using one of his combs, and returned to get dressed. It was already 10:15. She put on her picnic clothes. They all felt warm, fresh, and clean. Even the stockings had been washed! Well there was nothing for it. She'd have to wear what she had on to work. 

Turner had just finished popping out the last pieces of toast when Cheryl came into the kitchen. "You didn't wake me when I asked you to."

"I'm sorry Cheryl. I peaked in at 9:00 and you were so beautiful there asleep, all covered in the sheet. You looked like an angel. I didn't have the heart. Forgive me?"

All thoughts of anger dissolved. "Of course. But I don't have much time."




The Misogynist Ch. 02



He placed a plate on the table in front of her. "Here eat a little something, and then I'll get you to work."

She looked down at the eggs and the scrapple. It looked awfully good, and she was hungry. She took one tablespoon of eggs and just one piece of scrapple. She knew she was heavy. If she took too much he would think she was a glutton. "I guess I'll have a little."

"Eat all you want. I made it for you."

She ate what she picked and stood up. "I better go."

He already had his keys out. "I'll drive you in and pick you up afterward." He turned in front of her. After your work I'll take you straight home. I don't want to seem pushy."

She graced him with a big smile. "You're not pushy." She thought how he must have seen her when she got out of bed, but he made no reference to it. He just warned her he had no intention of pushing himself on her. He was a gentleman. How did she get so lucky? He was everything she'd ever dreamed about.

They drove to her work, and he helped her out of his car. He didn't walk her into the mall, but he did stop her beside the car. "Could I have a kiss, please?"

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

He smiled. "Thanks Cheryl. I had a wonderful time yesterday."

She answered hoarsely. "I did too."

As she walked to the mall he waved. "See you later!" 

She turned and waved back 

Yes he'd see her later. He'd take her home like a gentleman. He'd wait till Wednesday to call. They had been at this little dance for just over two weeks. He thought he could get her, or get real close by the coming weekend. He needed to play on her imagination. He had a plan. Something new. Something he'd never tried before.



The Misogynist Ch. 03



Martin walked by the bookstore. He just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought he'd check in on Cheryl. Actually he was kidding himself. He'd gone way out of his way to go to the mall. He wanted to see how Cheryl was doing. Now that he was where he had accidentally planned to be he was afraid to go in. There was something about Cheryl. Something he couldn't put his finger on. She was like a rare art object he thought he wanted but knew he shouldn't be interested in. He had a girlfriend, Sarah. She was pretty, well built, easy to get along with, and terrific in bed. There was nothing Cheryl had he needed. Still, here he was standing outside the bookstore peering around through the window like some peeping Tom. 

What was it about her that fascinated him? It was probably the fact that he knew what was in store for her. Turner was moving ahead like clockwork. The kill, as Turner defined it, was only days away. He supposed spying on Cheryl was like the time he was at the beach when he was maybe twelve. He found this conch. It looked like what every kid wanted. It was big, purplish, and fresh looking and certainly right from the sea. 

He remembered picking it up to listen for the ocean, but when he turned it over there were all these maggots, squirming and writhing around eating this dead mollusk. He threw the shell down and started to walk away, but he had to turn back and look at the damn maggots again. Looking at Cheryl was like looking at those maggots, sort of. The shell was pretty, but the insides were all rotted and decayed. Cheryl wasn't half-bad looking, but he saw the decay, the rotted maggoty insides that were only a few days away. 

Shit! That was wrong. He knew it. She wasn't anything like that old maggoty shell. Still, he thought of her with the same kind of dread.

He watched her from the corner of the window. She had the same black and white outfit on she'd worn on the boat. That meant she probably spent the night at Turner's. Had he already popped her? He might have. Thinking about it made Martin's stomach knot up. He wished he knew why.

She looked damned good. She was heavier than he normally liked, but somehow he didn't see the extra weight. She had pretty legs. They were heavier at the top than maybe they should have been, but for her age and her build they looked sharp. Without any nylons on she looked more naked. He didn't see any spider or varicose veins. When she climbed that ladder he could almost see her ass. She had nice panties on. 

Her breasts were larger than he usually liked, but they looked awfully good. When she bent and turned they sort of swayed and tumbled this way and that. There was a kind of naturalness to the way they undulated that turned him on. He bet they would feel good in somebody's hands. Turner's hands, not his.

Since she'd been out with Sarah Cheryl had started wearing make up, and it looked good on her. The plain Jane was certainly gone. She was pretty. That was the only word to describe her. Cheeks aglow, hair tumbling down in a sort of organized disarray, nose all perky, pert little chin, beautiful clear skin, and the damnedest ears. He bet nibbling on those ears would be a treat for somebody. Turner's treat, not his.

He watched her as a customer started talking to her. The customer was probably asking some questions about books. She knew about that sort of stuff. He used to read a lot, but the Internet more or less put an end to that. He looked at her smile at the man. She had such a sweet smile. He how she held her hands, all dainty and delicate. Her hands looked so small. Her nails had that clear clean look he liked so much. He never thought much of colored nails on women, looked cheap somehow. Her fingernails looked so, so something, so pure. He wondered what it would be like if she touched him with those little fingers. What was he thinking? She wasn't for him. She was Turner's. Damn Turner.

Look at her smile at that customer. What a beautiful smile! Her whole face lights up. He saw how her eyes crinkled all up. God she had big eyelashes! She was one of those kind of people who lit up a room when they went in. All those years she's been hidden under a basket. Now look at her! Why couldn't he get her off his mind?

Martin decided it was time to scram. He didn't want to get caught watching.

Cheryl saw Martin out of the corner of her eye. Why didn't he come in she wondered? She would have liked to talk to him about Turner. Martin was a handsome man in a sort of subdued way. He was tall, not as tall as Turner, and he was well built, though he lacked Turner's muscles. Martin was more the quiet reflective type. Very much like her in that way. If he had asked her out first she'd have fallen madly in love with him. Martin was puzzling, a mystery. 

Turner was there at 5:00 to pick Cheryl up. Like the gentleman he was he took her straight home. At her doorway he asked for and got another set of long warm kisses. This time he took a few more liberties. Instead of holding her hands behind her back, he got her to keep them in front up around her breasts. He held her hands there with one of his. This gave him an offhand feel. Her breasts were just as soft and lush as he imagined them. He thought about when he'd have her on the floor on her knees with her tits swaying back and forth sucking him off, or better still sucking off one of his friends while he watched. That was going to be cool. He kissed her good afternoon and promised to call her later in the week, probably Wednesday. 

True to his word Turner called Cheryl that Wednesday evening. He had two tickets to Thursday night's baseball game, and he wanted her to go. Cheryl decried her lack of wardrobe, but said she whip something up. He agreed to pick her up at 6:00. Since Thursday was her early night off, everything was scheduled perfectly. 

That Thursday on her lunch break Cheryl stopped in at the big mall sporting goods store and one of the sales lady's talked her into a pair of long khaki slacks, sporty tennis shoes, a team tee-shirt, and a team jacket. Cheryl thought she'd be ready. However, when Turner picked her up he was dissatisfied with the slacks. They went back to the sport's store and he bought her a pair of flashy silken shorts and a pair of white knee-highs with the team logo. He even bought her a team baseball cap. Cheryl thought the shorts were too much. They only came just barely below the line of her ass, and though, thankfully, they were a loose fit around the legs they were too tight in the crotch. But since Turner liked them she wore them anyway.

They went to the ballpark and whooped it up. Cheering when the home team got a run or when their pitcher got another K, but in the end the visitors were too much for the home boys and won by three runs.

Turner took her home, but made her promise to go out again Saturday night. He knew of some hidden away restaurant with soft lighting and delicious oysters. He wanted to feed her then take her to a movie.

Saturday came around. Cheryl had called Sarah who agreed to help her pick out something to wear. They shopped Saturday afternoon and got Cheryl a spiffy little black dress. It was a spaghetti strap outfit with a tailored waist and came to just above her knees. Her upper body was covered by a black chiffon long sleeved bolero. It had a black silk collared neckline and black silk cuffs. The rest of the bolero was translucent, and sexy as hell. She purchased a pair of black high- heeled shoes and charcoal colored pantyhose. A form fitting strapless bra held her breasts in place. Sarah told her she looked like a vamp.

That night Turner was blown away by what she had on. He couldn't get over how beautiful she looked. Like he said they went to one of those quiet out of the way restaurants, ordered oysters, and then went to a movie at one of the smaller out of town cinemas. It was one of the last of its kind. Turner explained he liked those old cinemas because of their rustic flavor. 

Cheryl would have preferred something further in the city, but Turner was such a gentleman, so gracious, attentive, and charming she kept her opinions to herself. At the end of the date he asked if he could stop by and see her after she got off work on Sunday. There was something on his mind, and he wanted to talk to her about it. By the time Turner had gotten to the end of the date Cheryl was ready to listen to whatever Turner had to say, and probably ready to agree to almost anything.

That night Cheryl slept the sleep of the angels. Turner wanted to have a special talk the next day. She wondered what he might bring up. She wondered if it might involve a ring. She doubted it, but it was a fantasy she'd been having.

Sunday afternoon at 5:00 sharp Turner was waiting at the front of the bookstore. "Cheryl there's something I'd like to talk to you about. I think it's kind of important."

Cheryl was pleased he was there, and on time. She was ready for anything. "Sure Turner."

He said. "Come on, let's go someplace quiet."

It was a beautiful mid-summer day. In fact July Fourth had just been the week before. Turner drove to a small park that was only a few miles from the mall. They got out and walked down a grassy slope to a picnic table that sat near the big lake that dominated the park. Geese were swimming in the water. The grass was green and freshly cut. The picnic table sat under a big shade tree, she thought maybe an elm or a sycamore.

Cheryl was wearing another new outfit. Today she had on a pale blue button up blouse that sported a snappy little sailor's collar and darker blue nautical scarf she'd neatly tied off in front. The ends of the scarf trailed off between her breasts hinting at their luxuriance. 

Her hair she'd done up in a ponytail. Though it was a little short, the tail gave her an innocent almost child-like look. Her make up was the same subdued pink tones she'd been wearing since their first date. 

Today she'd taken a big risk regarding her skirt. It was a pleated number. To be sure the pleats were broad, and the hem came to just above her knees, minimizing her size, but she felt brave this afternoon. It was a wise choice. The dark blue skirt combined with the pale blue of the blouse accentuated the luminescence of her beautiful complexion. 

She'd finished off her outfit with a pair of dark leather shoes and dark blue pantyhose. If anyone had seen her at the beginning of the summer and looked at her on this afternoon they'd have denied it was the same woman. She was radiant. No longer pretty. She was beautiful! 

Turner for his part was well dressed too. He had on a pin striped button down shirt, dark tan khaki pants, and dark brown loafers. His was the look of the classic up scale yuppie. 

Turner started to talk first. "Cheryl there's something I want to do." 

Cheryl was all dreamy eyed. She thought. This could be it. "Yes."

He paused as though he were gathering his courage. Which in a sort of perverse way was exactly what he was doing. "Cheryl we've been dating for quite some time now, and I think you'd say I've been pretty up front." He wanted to get this right. He faked a sigh. "Cheryl. I'm not the kind of man who likes to take advantage of girls. I'm proud of who I am, and what other people think of me." He paused for just another second. "Just cut in if I say anything you don't like." He gave her a meaningful look.

She smiled. "You're a gentleman Turner. I love you for it."

Things were going just about right. "Cheryl you've got to understand I am a man." He looked at her closely. "Going out with you has taken its toll. I wouldn't be a man if I said otherwise. You're a beautiful woman. I think about you night and day. He needed a question. "Do you feel the same way?"

Cheryl sighed too, only her sigh was real. "You're the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person on my mind when I close my eyes at night." She couldn't have been more honest.

Turner took her two hands in his. "I don't want to take advantage of you. You're so good. But I want more. Cheryl I need more."

Cheryl had been hoping for an assertion of love, maybe even an offer. Still he was really opening up. "I love you Turner. What do you want?"

He thought he had her. "I want to love you. I want to be near you. But first I want to see you."

"See me?" What was he driving at?

"I can't explain it. Call me a voyeur. Call me weird. Call me a pervert. I want to see you as God created you. I want to look at you without the trappings of culture. I want to see the beauty hidden under those clothes."

"You want me to get undressed. You want to see me naked?"

"Not here. Not right now, but say tonight. Let's say we were to meet at some special place, a hotel room, maybe a downtown suite overlooking the city. Say you were to call me to your room, and you'd be there, in God's good grace, waiting for me, and I would come to you and see you as nature intended. Could we do that? Could we do that together?"

The things he was saying were shattering. Not that they weren't wonderful. In a way they were magnificent. They just weren't what she had been expecting. She was at a loss for something to say. She said the first things that came to mind. "What if we did that? What if we met in some motel room and I was naked. Wouldn't that lead to something else?"

"I didn't say some motel room. I would never ask that. It would have to be some place really special, a uniquely beautiful place, a place we'd remember for always." He was going at it now. He sensed he could get it tonight. "A place for only we two."

"You want to have sex with me."

"Yes! No! You're a beautiful desirable woman. A man would have to be crazy not to want you, and some day we will. But not at first! At first we'd just share each other. Share our time, our bodies in a visual way. I want to look at you. Drink you in. Swallow every morsel, but only one bite at a time. I want to exalt in your loveliness, not just the carnal but the spiritual. That we can do together. Later, if something else happens, well we can let nature take its course."

Cheryl was listening intently. He was more than a man; he was a true romantic. This was something like Lord Byron, or Emerson. He wanted to drink in the ambrosia of love before he plunged into the carnality of it. She almost agreed right then and there. "Turner that's probably the most romantic thing a woman could hear. But I don't know. I mean. You say you're a man with your desires. Well I'm a woman. I have my desires too. Doing what you want is taking a big chance. Could I think about it first?"

Turner took her in his arms. "There's no hurry Cheryl. We've got time, all the time in the world." That's what he said. Inside he kept yelling Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! How did I fuck this up? But he didn't say those things. He wrapped his arms around her. "This is a big step. Let me take you home. I know you need time to think. I don't want to force anything. Not on you! Not ever!" 

He helped her to her feet. Together they walked back to his car. They drove back to her car on the mall parking lot in silence. He walked her up to her car. He kissed her once on her lips. There was no other body contact. He smiled down at her lovely face. Her fat fucking bitchy face. "I'm in no hurry Cheryl. I can wait." He kissed her again. Waving he walked down the parking lot to his car. 

Fuck! He knew what he had to do. Somehow he had to get Martin back into this. He needed a wedge. Martin would be that wedge. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started tapping in the numbers.

Martin didn't have to call Cheryl. She called him. She had something important she needed to talk to him about. He hoped it involved a decision not to see Turner anymore. He hoped she'd started to see there was a side to Turner that wasn't very pretty.

He got to her apartment about 5:00. She wanted him earlier, but that was the best he could do.

Cheryl started. "You've known Turner a long time."

"Yes. Since the third grade."

"You're his best friend."

"If Turner has a best friend." He wanted to add, if Turner had any friends, but didn't. "I guess I'm it."

Cheryl was sitting on her sofa. Turner was on a chair that matched. "Turner asked me to do something, and I want your help. Some advice."

"That's why I'm alive. To help my friends." He saw his sarcasm was either being ignored or misunderstood. He hoped it was the first.

"Turner wants to see me without my clothes on."

"I don't follow." He did follow. He knew the routine. This was a good one. It always worked. Get the girl to be undressed and waiting. The excuse was always the same. He just wanted to look. He fantasized about her beauty. He didn't want to touch or take advantage. He just wanted to see for himself. It was amazing how gullible some women were. They fell for it every time. 

"Turner has this fantasy. He wants to see my body. Free of all encumbrances. Free and clean. He promised not to try touch me or to take advantage of me in any way. I told him no."

Martin thought hooray for the little girl from the bookstore. The first to stand up to Turner. There was hope yet. He commented. "You said no. Since then he hasn't called."

"Right. Tell me Martin. What should I do?"

He knew what he wanted to tell her. He knew what he should tell her. But he was convinced if he told her what she needed to hear she would blow it off as jealousy. She'd call and go through with it. On the other hand, if he said nothing committal she might still have a chance. "You shouldn't try to follow your heart. Follow your native instincts. You go into a room with a man naked. What do you think will happen?"

Cheryl was looking off into the far horizon. She was in a dream state. "He'll want to make love to me."

Martin had to break the self-delusion. "He'll want to fuck you!"

"Martin you're crude. Turner loves me. He may want to have sex, but it would be about love, about caring, about maybe marriage."

Martin was losing patience. This girl was a goner. "You go into a room with Turner and you're naked. He'll fuck you. He'll pop your cherry, and walk away feeling like a million bucks. He'll leave you crying."

Cheryl was angry. This was not what she expected from Martin. She expected Martin to tell her how much Turner loved her. How he would propose marriage. How he would swear his love. Not that Turner only wanted sex. She'd never had sex. She'd already decided she would have her first sex with the man she loved. The man who loved her. The man she'd marry. She'd have sex with Turner. Martin had made her mind up for her. She would have her rendezvous. She and Turner would make love. "You say your Turner's friend, but you don't understand him. He loves me. He wants to marry me."

"Cheryl has Turner said anything to you about marriage?"

"No, but I know he will."

"You think he will. Do you think he'll want to marry you after he's had you?"

"He'll choose the right time. I trust Turner. I love him."

Martin knew when he was beaten. Turner was going to get this girl. "Everybody has to make their own choices. You think Turner loves you. You think he wants to marry you. If that's what you believe, then that's what you believe. But I will say one more thing. This isn't Turner's first rodeo. He knows what he's doing. Do you know what you're doing?"

Cheryl got up and walked to her front door. Opening it she turned back to Martin. "Thank you Martin. You've been a big help."

Martin got up and left. As the door closed he saw she'd already picked up her cell phone. Poor dumb woman. Like all the others. They're liars. They lie to themselves. 

Cheryl typed in Turner's number. After three rings she heard Turner on the other end of the call. "Hello."

"Turner. This is Cheryl. Do you still want to see me?"

Turner listened with silent glee. He knew his boy Martin would reel her in for him, but he wasn't ready just yet to pull the trigger. She'd made him wait. Now it was her turn. "I'd love to see you, but I'm busy right now."




The Misogynist Ch. 03



That caught Cheryl off guard. She thought for sure that he knew exactly what she was talking about. She shoveled another heap of shit in her own face. "No, I mean. You said you wanted to see me. I'm ready."

Turner could sense, even over the phone, that Cheryl was groveling, and he loved every minute, every word. "I understand Cheryl, but I really am too busy to see you right now. I'm working on an important client. How about sometime around the end of the week, call me back say Thursday."

Cheryl was crushed. She'd made the leap. This was her big commitment, and he said wait. She felt like a fool. "OK. I'll call back Thursday." She hesitated a second and added. "I love you."

On the other end of the call Turner knew when to back it off. "Me too you. I'll be waiting for your call. Bye now." He hung up.

Cheryl started to cry. She wasn't sure why. She thought he'd come to her. He didn't. He didn't even condescend to say he'd call back. She had to call him. She felt horrible. On the other hand he sad he loved her. That was the first time he'd said it. Did he say it? Well yes, in a way, sort of. She convinced herself he really was too busy. He was a man, and they're sometimes a little bit insensitive. But he said he loved her. It was like Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore. She'd say I love you, and he'd say ditto. Men, she supposed, were like that. That made it all right. She'd wait. She'd get ready. She'd be the girl he wanted. She'd make him so happy. Today was Monday afternoon. Only a few days, just a little while, and they'd be together, really together.

Turner turned back to what he was doing. "Let's see where were we." He pulled the woman he was with closer.

The woman asked. "Who was that?"

Turner answered. "Nobody."

For Cheryl they were the longest three days of her life. She'd become accustomed to the occasional call or visit from Turner. He been so attentive, so considerate, so loving all summer. Then it was like he dropped off the face of the earth. It was her fault. Somehow she had to make amends. If amends meant the surrender of her virginity it wouldn't matter. What was virginity to her if to keep it meant the loss of what might turn out to be her one and only chance at true happiness? She told herself Turner had every right to her cherry. If he wanted it, it was his. 

At 5:01 sharp Thursday evening, exactly one minute after she got off work Cheryl put in a call to Turner's cell phone. After four rings, the maximum before his answering machine kicked in, Turner flipped it open. "Hello."

Cheryl was on the other end of the line. "Turner this is Cheryl."

"Oh Hi Cheryl. How are things with you these days?"

God she thought, he's already forgotten me. "Turner I'm calling about what you asked for. I'm ready."

Turner decided to be coy. "Gee. I'm glad to hear from you. Maybe we could get together sometime." He hesitated just long enough. "Tonight maybe."

Cheryl was ecstatic! "Yes! I just got off work. Where do you want to meet?"

"You know where the Holiday Inn is downtown?"

"Yes. Of Course."

Turner decided to warm up a little. "I hate to put you off. I'm trapped in a meeting for another hour. Do you think we could meet at the bar at say 7:00?"

"I'll be there Turner. Oh by the way. I love you."

He didn't offer much consolation. "See you at 7:00."

Turner got there first and parked himself in a booth in an out of the way corner. He ordered some crab dip and Bourbon. He wanted to be there to see her when she came in. He wanted to evaluate the look on her face when she didn't see him right away. 

Cheryl arrived at 7:00 on the nose. She tried to dress to impress, but her work clothes weren't the best. She had on a crisp white cotton blouse, V-neck, white buttons up the front, long three-quarter sleeves. Even though there was no flab or excess flesh, she was still elf-conscious about the size of her upper arms. 

She wore a black broadly pleated mini-skirt to compliment her charcoal pantyhose and black high-heeled shoes. She carried a black purse that hung over her left shoulder by a thin strap. She was wearing her black horn-rimmed glasses she thought Turner liked, and her hair was in a tight bun with a few errant strands drooping around her face. 

She'd kept her make up to minimum, though it was a lot more than she used to wear; pink lipstick with a layer of gloss, pink cheek rouge, mascara, and a smidgen of blue to highlight her eyes. 

Turner had once said something about the erotic affect of hoop earrings so she'd bought a small pair and slipped them through her ear lobes just before leaving the mall. She hoped she looked good enough. She'd been starving herself and exercising like a NFL football star. She thought she was still heavy, but she was finally able to fit into a size ten.

Turner watched her as she entered the bar. If he didn't know better he'd sworn she'd lost twenty pounds. She looked damn good. Just like a whore he thought. When they wanted something they always turned to the only thing they had, their bodies. She wanted him, and she was obviously prepared to make a deal. 

She looked around, perplexed, a little flustered; she didn't see him right away. Then she saw him in the corner. He waved. She made straight for his booth.

She got there a little out of breath, not from the walk, more from anxiety and a little fear. She spoke nervously. "Hi! I didn't see you."

"I saw you! Cheryl you look gorgeous!" He took another second to throw out some scraps. "You look beautiful. Have you lost weight? I love your earrings. Are they pierced?"

He'd noticed her earrings, and he saw she'd lost weight. "Thank you. I've been cutting back on the sweet drinks." She swung her head back and forth so the hoops would jiggle. "They're new." She wanted to return some compliments. She'd forgotten how handsome he was. The pain of the last week's absence had taken a toll on her. "You look wonderful yourself. You're so handsome."

He smiled. Mentally he gave himself a self-congratulatory pat on the back. Yes he did look good. 

For the next ten minutes they talked about all the usual trivia, the weather, politics, book sales at the store, her new look, his job. He ordered her a drink. She opted for a white wine. 

Then at one of those pregnant pauses all conversations process through he reached across the table and held her hand. "Have you thought about what we talked about?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel."

"What do you want me to do?"

He took his other hand and covered her other hand. "Wait here." He got up and walked into the lobby. He'd already called ahead and reserved a room, but he wanted to drag things out as long as he could. It would add to his excitement and her trepidation. He got the key. He imagined how she must be fidgeting back in the booth. Served her right. But it didn't matter anymore. This was his night to howl and hers to cry.

He came back to the booth. He took her left hand and placed the key in her palm. "Here's what you can do." He shifted gears slightly hoping to add to her anticipation and uncertainty. He thought, God how he loved this. He could see her rising fear. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I'm not trying to force you into anything. You know how I feel."

Cheryl was like a bird on a wire, afraid to move, afraid to sit still. Her eyes were wide as saucers. "Tell me what to do."

He could hear the tremor in her voice. A little more and she'd crack right in the bar. He didn't want that. "Take the key. Go upstairs. Get completely undressed. Fold up all your clothing and place everything on any chair or table that's closest to the front door. Put your purse on top of your clothing. Then go over and sit down in the center of any sofa, couch, or love seat that might be facing the door. After you've done all that, and you're seated comfortably call me on my cell." 

He was coming to the first really good part. "I'll have a housekeeper come in and retrieve all your clothing and your purse." He watched as her eyes briefly lit up. He knew that scared her, but she covered it up quickly. He wanted her to feel, really feel the helplessness. "Are you ready?"

She was scared out of her wits. She must be crazy! Why was she doing this? "Yes."

He smiled at her tenderly. He thought this was great! Like the time he secretly strangled Martin's puppy. It was a little yellow Labrador. They were both eight. Martin never knew exactly how it died. He just found it in the street. It had been fun. Killing the little piece of shit, and then consoling his tearful friend. They'd buried its little corpse in Martin's backyard. Even held a service. Hell. It hadn't really been his fault. Martin just paid too damn much attention to the fucking dog. He gave Cheryl another sweet smile. "Go ahead."

Cheryl got up and started out of the bar.

Turner watched her as she walked away. She looked better, hot, but she was still just another piece of ass, another whore. She needed to practice her walk. That straight-laced good girl stride had to change. He'd get to that.

Cheryl walked through the lobby to the bank of elevators. There were three. She pushed the up button and waited. She thought about what she was doing. What would she do when she got to the suite? She checked the key. It was the ninth floor. Pretty high up. There would be a good view. It would have been nice if it was the Fourth of July. She and Turner could watch the fireworks. What was she thinking? Did she really know what she was doing? He wasn't just going to look at her body. Martin had made that clear. This was about sex. He was going to do her. She'd never been done. God she bet it would hurt. Maybe he wouldn't do anything tonight? Maybe he'll just look at her. That's all he said he wanted to do. If only she could be sure.

The elevator door opened and she walked in. She pushed nine. All the way up she felt the pull of gravity on her stomach, or was the tightness in her stomach from the dread she felt? All the way up she thought. I wished I could call Martin right now. He'd have something to say. She pulled out her cell phone. She dialed Martin's number. It started to ring. No. She closed her phone. She didn't want to hear his voice. The door of the elevator opened, and she walked down the hall to the room. She opened the door and went in.

The room was large and plush. Turner had gotten a nice place for this. There was a large couch across the room. It faced the door. In fact it looked like it had been turned around for that purpose. She doubted if it had been turned just for what she was about to do. It was just coincidence. What to do, what to do.

It was time to get undressed. She slipped off her shoes and put them on the table by the door. Next she drew down her pantyhose. That was easy enough. On the table beside the shoes they went. 

Next cam her blouse. She pulled it from the waistband of her skirt. She started undoing the buttons, bottom to top, one button at a time. Her fingers were shaking. God this was nerve racking! All the buttons were undone. No. She had to undo the sleeves. With her sleeves hanging loose she pulled off the blouse and neatly folded it, placing it on top of her pantyhose. She ran her fingers over the blouse's collar, straightening it.

Next came the skirt. It had two buttons on the side and a zipper. Undoing the buttons she pulled down the zipper. She let the skirt fall to the floor. Stepping out of the crumpled skirt she picked it up and folded it carefully. She placed it on her blouse. Her pretty white cotton blouse.

She could stop any time. There was a mirror above the table. All that was left was her white bra and panties. Her breasts pressed against her bra. She reached behind and undid the bra strap. She let it fall to her elbows, peeled it from her arms and laid it on the skirt. 

Now the only thing left was her panties. She placed her hands on her hips. Using her fingers she slowly slid them down. They curled around and rolled up as she slid them down her legs. Stepping out, she dropped them atop the bra. 

Looking in the mirror she saw herself in the altogether. She had lost some weight. She'd kept her vagina clean and shaved on the off hand chance they'd go swimming again. Now it made her feel even more self-conscious. She looked good though. No varicose veins, no cellulite, almost none, and no stretch marks. 

She was shaking. God why was she so nervous? She knew what she should do. She should call Martin. Get one last outside opinion before going through with this. She reached for her purse. Got out her cell. She punched in his number again. This time she didn't close it up. She let it ring. 

On the other end of the line Martin picked up the phone. Turner had told him just a few minutes before this was the big night. Cheryl had agreed to go naked for him. This was the night he was going to take her virginity. Rob her of her purity was the way he'd said it. Martin had listened with an anguish all his own. His so-called friend, that son of a bitch Turner, was going to steal Cheryl's last remaining personal possessions. First he was going to sear her flesh with his eyes. He would burn away her confidence. Then he would slowly, oh so slowly seduce her. He would slowly deliberately, maliciously, and cruelly steal her identity. Then there would be some final act of degradation. Martin had no idea what that last thing would be, but he knew Turner. Turner would find a way, find something to say or do something that would eviscerate the last shreds of her self-esteem. 

Jesus! Martin wished he'd never been a part of this. Not with this one! This one deserved better. He wanted this one! He spoke. "Hello."

The phone went dead in Martin's hand. Whoever it was had hung up. He checked the messaging part. He recognized the number. It had been Cheryl. He immediately hit the recall button. There was still a chance! The cell rang, and rang, and rang. The answering machine picked up. The cellular user was unavailable. She wasn't answering. 

Martin closed his phone. Then he did something very uncharacteristic. He sat down and started to cry. His lips curled and quivered in sorrow, in mortal agonizing pain. His cheeks pinched up against his eyes. He crumpled his head in his hands and he wept like a child. 

Sarah asked. "What's wrong?"

Martin looked at the naked girl beside him. "She's going through with it. The poor dumb kid. She's doesn't have a clue."

Sarah gave him her own forlorn look. She thought. Why couldn't he care about me like that?

Cheryl looked at the phone as it rang. She knew who it was. It had to be Martin. If she picked it up he would tell her to stop. She would stop too. She'd tell him where she was. He would come get her. It kept ringing. He'd take her home. He'd hold her. She knew he would. She knew how he felt about her. Why hadn't he been the one to ask first? Finally it stopped. She put her phone back in her purse. Put her purse on her pile of clothes, went over and sat down on the couch. 

Beside the couch was the hotel phone. She picked it up. She called downstairs to Turner. He opened his line but said nothing. Cheryl whispered hoarsely. "I'm ready."

Turner closed the lid on his phone. He looked around the bar. Then he called housekeeping and told them where to go, what to pick up, and where to drop it. He got up. Stretched. He looked over at the bar tender. The bartender looked bored. Turner spoke. "Congratulate me. I'm one step closer to collecting on a $2,000.00 bet." 

He sauntered over to the elevators. "Yes Sir! I'm going to enjoy collecting that money from old Ass Hole."

The bartender looked over at the man walking toward the elevators. To him he was just another blowhard. He'd seen a million of them. He wondered what the bet was about. He wondered if it had anything to do with the young woman that he'd been with? Who cared? If was no shit off his nose!



The Misogynist Ch. 04



Cheryl was waiting upstairs in a ninth floor hotel suite completely naked. Turner had managed to talk her into it. Getting her out of her clothes wasn't going to be his crowning achievement, but it was his biggest step yet. 

He'd go upstairs slowly. There was no hurry for what was lying ahead. The longer he kept her waiting the better it was for him. This stage of his plan was a simple one. She was naked, and waiting. He was dressed, and moving. The longer he took to reach her the less sure her situation became. Every minute longer it took him the greater the erosion of her poise and confidence. In many ways just knowing some woman's self-esteem was crumbling was a sexual tonic. He didn't have to see her; just thinking about it was aphrodisiac enough. 

He loved hurting them, women. This woman was going to be a special delight. He was going to win $2,000.00. He was going to degrade, humiliate, and corrupt a worthless bitch, and he suspected he'd be tormenting his friend Martin who he suspected had special feelings for the bitch meat upstairs. 

He'd study her body. He'd stare at her. That always crumpled their confidence. He'd point out how much he loved what she had to offer. Then he'd take her. He'd fuck her in as many ways as he could. She'd be helpless. All her clothes, her personal papers, her cell phone, everything would be unavailable to her. He'd have complete control, total authority. He'd even have the hotel phone turned off. She'd know she was under his complete control, she'd see it, and she'd understand all its implications, but she'd pretend it wasn't true. She'd pretend it was something she wanted as much as he did. He might keep her locked away in the hotel for several days, probably not but it was a thought. For him it would be fun, and for her? Well for her, she'd have her childish fantasies.

Turner stood outside the ninth floor suite where Cheryl was waiting. A housekeeper, a woman, had gone in to obtain her clothes. The housekeeper stepped back in the hall and handed the clothing to Turner. After giving her a parsimonious tip he took the clothing across the hall into the second suite he'd secured. He examined her apparel. He was surprised by the sizes. She was indeed a lot smaller than when they'd first met. He considered; if she'd been taking their relationship seriously enough to lose so much weight she'd be ready for a lot more.

He went through her purse and her wallet. He checked her credit cards, jotted down their numbers, and stashed that information in his own wallet. One never knew. 

And in what he considered a last pointless check he opened her cell phone. Out of curiosity he checked her most recent phone calls. It was an interesting observation! Her last outgoing and last incoming messages had been with Martin! He had suspected something between Cheryl and Martin, but knowing Martin's usual reluctance to join him when he was fucking over some girl he'd doubted his, so-called, friend would ever go against the grain. Martin was his gopher, his dog. 

What could these messages infer in the twisted prurient mind of a sick sociopathic monster like Turner? Were Martin and Cheryl more than just two people playing out their respective roles in Turner's malignant fantasies, or were they merging into something different, uniquely theirs, an item perhaps? Whether they really were or not it mattered very little. Turner had already come to the only conclusion his warped mind could ever have reached. These two were more than what met the eye. He knew he had Cheryl and now with Martin interested in her he had even more reason to fuck her over. Then there was Martin. Martin, he thought, Martin had to be dealt with too, and he knew how. The instrument of Martin's torture was just across the hall. Turner laughed. His laugh degenerated into a fiendish giggle. Yes! While he tortured and tormented the bitch, he would see that Martin had a front row seat. He'd ruin Cheryl, turn her into a whimpering groveling whore bitch, and he'd see to it his best friend got to watch every single little twist and turn.

Turner had to calm down. He couldn't let his anger get the best of him, not just yet. There was the whore in the other room. He had to lay the groundwork, all the groundwork, and he had to do it well. From now on he had not one, but two shits to fuck. 

Turner checked the mirror. He re-combed his hair, adjusted his tie, unbuckled his pants and re-tucked his shirt. He was going in. He wanted to look cool, calm, collected, and most of all in control. Cheryl was naked, totally. He was fully and neatly dressed. She was vulnerable, helpless, weak, and dependent. He was strong, powerful, and dominant.

Cheryl took up position on the sofa facing the door. Turner was on his way. Some maid or housekeeper had already and picked up everything she owned. Oh, she figured she might still be able to run in the bathroom grab a towel and run down the hall, or maybe wrap one of the bed covers around her naked torso and flee to the elevator. She'd seen that sort of thing in old movies. They were all very funny. She didn't feel funny. 

Sitting on the sofa she never felt more stupid, more out of sorts, more exposed. Why had she done this? She should have paid closer attention to Martin. Yes, she loved Turner. He was her sun, her moon, her stars, but was this really the kind of thing a man in love would do? Was he the romantic she imagined, or was it something else? 

She had to think! No! Turner was real! Martin had been jealous. Turner was the real McCoy! He loved her. This was just his way. He was the true romantic. Martin was the jealous harpy. She'd imagined a man like Turner, the hero, the knight, the rescuer. This night would prove it! Tonight he would prove his love! But why had he insisted on this? Why did she have to sit here, in this strange room, alone, completely naked, and absolutely helpless?

Cheryl was about to bail out. There was still the hotel phone. She reached for the receiver. She'd call downstairs for someone to bring her some clothes. She'd call Martin back! The receiver was dead! Jesus! What should she do next? She looked forward, toward the door. She heard something! Someone! Her stomach was tied in a million knots! The handle of the door began to turn. There it was. It opened. Into the living room of the high rise hotel suite walked Turner, her Turner!

He opened the door to Cheryl's suite. He walked in slowly and casually. There she was, seated on the sofa just like he planned. She had one hand covering her snatch, while the other she had draped over her breasts. He could tell she was hoping to display a pose of calm relaxed indifference, but she was still trying to cover as much as she could. Inwardly he chuckled. They were all always so stupid. She was trying to relax, but that look was one of tension, uncertainty, and maybe a little fear. Good! That was as it should be. His next objectives: undermine the little bit of self-confidence she still had, increase her dependence upon him, and then get all three cherries!

"Cheryl." He said her name softly, lovingly. He walked over to her place on the sofa. For just a second he stood over her, looking down. He smiled. He knelt in front of her. He knelt at chest level just at her knees without touching her. "Cheryl please move your hands away from your body."

She made no move to do anything.

He leaned forward, placing his hands on the sofa, on either side of her hips, still not touching. He leaned forward close enough so their lips were almost touching. He could see the fear, the tension written all over her face. "I see you're scared." He reached forward and gently touched her brow. He very carefully wiped some stray locks of hair away from her face. "Calm down." He pulled his hand back. "There look. You made me touch you, and I promised I wouldn't." He leaned back a little.

Cheryl wanted to get out of the situation. It was a mistake. "Turner I."

He interrupted her. "May I please sit down beside you?"

That took a tiny bit of the edge off, not much, but enough for Cheryl to begin to think. "Yes."

He sat next to her, still not touching. She was facing the front door. "Cheryl look at me."

Cheryl slowly turned her head.

"Cheryl it's only me, Turner. I see you're scared. Don't be. I just want to see you. Look at you." He gave her what he hoped was his most calming reassuring smile. He considered what he had, a real deer, a real rabbit. He tried to take her hand to hold it, but she pulled it away.

"No. Don't." She summoned all her courage. "I want my clothes. I want to leave."

He wasn't surprised. His tone became a little more forceful. "Cheryl look at me."

She turned and looked at him. "I can't stay. I want to go home."

She was right on schedule. He'd heard all this before. "Darling." They always liked that. "No. I can't let you leave, not yet." He started to stand up. He held up his left hand as though he was pointing something out. "I rented the room right across the hall. All your things are just fifteen feet away." He saw he had her full attention. Her eyes were boring right into him, pupils fully dilated, still afraid, still ready to run. "Stay seated right where you are. I'm going to turn this sofa around. I don't know if you noticed there's a television right behind us. I'll turn the sofa around, we'll turn on the television, and we can watch TV and talk. No touching, no advances, and no sex or anything like that. Just two people on the sofa watching TV and having a conversation." He could tell she was listening, but she was still scared for shit. "Hey listen. Once I get the sofa turned around I'll go into the bedroom, and bring out a blanket for you. Would you like that?"

Wide eyed, corneas filling with fluid, Cheryl nodded her head.

Turner got up, lifting one end of the sofa he turned it around to face the television. Without looking at Cheryl, the television, or anything else he went straight to the bedroom, got a blanket, and brought it out. Walking toward Cheryl he opened it and shook it out. "Here you go sweetheart."

She took the blanket and wrapped it around her body. That felt a lot better. He called her sweetheart. That was kind of nice. She breathed a slow, almost inaudible sigh.

Turner heard the soft sigh. Yes! He turned on the television, picked up the menu and remote control, went back, and sat down on the couch beside the girl. He handed her the menu and the remote. "Here. Why don't you pick out something we can watch? I'll be right back."

She looked up at him as he got up. 

"I'm a little nervous, and I think I need to go to the bathroom." He did need the bathroom, but not because he was nervous. His trip to the John was a matter of natural necessity, but he knew his claim to nervousness would get her mind off herself.

While Turner went to the toilet Cheryl rummaged through the television menu looking for something safe they could both watch. She felt a little better. She had the blanket for cover, and the television gave her something to do. She listened for Turner in the bathroom. So he was nervous too. That made her feel better.

He came back out. He'd taken off his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "Did you find anything?"

"Have you ever watched this Show Time show?" She pointed to one of their most popular situation comedies. It had been on for several years, won numerous awards, was a little over the top sexually, but was hugely entertaining. 

He looked at her choice. He'd never seen it. "God I love that show!"

"OK." She hit the remote button, found the channel, and together they leaned back to watch a middle aged housewife get in and out of trouble. 

The show was hysterical. They both laughed as the heroine got into and out of scrape after scrape. Slowly Cheryl started to loosen up. She even let the blanket slip down a little, revealing some breast.

Turner asked. "Would you like something to eat or drink."

Cheryl wondered how he would get anything. She knew the phone was dead. "Sure."

Turner picked up the hotel phone, discreetly pushing the off/on button that was under the stand up phone back to the 'on' setting. He called down to the kitchen and asked for some crab balls, chicken wings, and two bottles of white wine. He asked Cheryl. "Is there anything you'd especially like?"

"No that's fine." She continued to watch the end of the sitcom. She silently marveled that the phone worked for him and not for her, but she kept it to herself not wanting to let on she'd tried to use the phone.

They continued to watch television until the foodstuffs arrived. Like a gentleman Turner went to the door, tipped the waiter and rolled the snack cart near Cheryl was but not quite close enough for her to reach it. 

"Allow me." He popped open a bottle of wine. Poured two glasses, and handed her one. 

Cheryl, clutching the blanket in one hand reached out and took the glass in the other.

Turner fixed her a plate of food. "I see you have your hands full." He took his fingers and started to hand feed her. He held out a crab ball, and she took it on her mouth. "They're good aren't they?'

Cheryl chewed the tiny morsel and nodded her head. He gave her two more. She sipped some of the wine, but continued to clutch the blanket.

He smiled. "You look like Linus in Charlie Brown."

Cheryl laughed nervously. "It's chilly." It wasn't, she was just scared.

"Cheryl. Honey. We came here so you could show me your body."

She stared at him.

"Would you drop the blanket down just a little. I'd like to see your breasts."

At first she clung tighter, but after a second's thought she slowly let the blanket slip to her lap.

He marveled at her breasts, their size, their shape, her aureoles, and nipples. They really were beautiful breasts. He told her. "You have beautiful breasts Cheryl." He wanted to grab, squeeze, and twist them, but knew that had to wait. "They're shaped perfectly. May I?" He went to touch one, but she recoiled slightly. 

He pulled his hand back. "That's OK." He kept talking. "They have a rounded delicate shape, like a fully ripened pear." He saw she was nervous about the comment. "That's how a perfect breast should look." He went on. "You're aureoles have perfect color. They're a beautiful dark brown, and your nipples are mouth watering. They're slightly distended, but not excessively so. You have perfect breasts Cheryl. I knew you would."

She was warming to the compliments, but still chary of anything more.

Turner asked. "May I touch them, please?"

She seemed to stiffen. "You promised."

"I know. I'm sorry, but you're just so, just so perfect. It's hard not to want to touch anything so beautiful."

She whispered. "Well OK. Don't come too close."

Turner reached forward and gently started to touch her right breast. Using only one hand he took his fingertips and drew circles around its edges near where her breast started to protrude from her chest. He drew slightly smaller circles gradually closing in on her dark brown aureole. He lightly touched it. He took the palm of his hand and softly passed it over her nipple. He felt it slightly engorge. She felt it too. 

Cheryl tried to keep up the fantasy that nothing was out of ordinary, but the sensations she was feeling from his fingers and hand were all so new. It was a little dizzying. 

Turner asked. "Cheryl can I kiss you?"

She supposed things were pretty much under control. She could hold out until it was real late, claim fatigue, get the bedroom while he got the couch. Then tomorrow morning he'd get her clothes, and they would be on their way to whatever came next. A kiss didn't seem unreasonable. "Yes. I suppose so."

Turner put his right arm above her shoulders using the back of the sofa. He leaned forward to kiss her. She leaned in his a direction to meet the kiss. In was a long luxuriant kiss. Turner and she had practiced this, and he knew she could handle it. While he kissed his left hand was still busy gently swiping over her right breast. 

He kissed her once, leaned back, and leaned in for a second kiss. She demurred.

Shit. This was going to be harder than he thought. It might not work. "What's wrong?"

"I'm. I'm just not ready."

"Cheryl what are you supposed to be ready for? I'm just kissing you. I'm only just barely touching one lovely breast. I just love looking at you, kissing you, touching you. I'm asking for so little."

"I know but."

He interrupted. "No one's making any demands. No pressure."

She tremulously replied. "I know."

He looked at her tenderly. "Girlfriend?"

She didn't say anything.

He tried again. "Sweetheart?"

She sat stiffly still.

Turner knew he had to do something or he'd ejaculate in his pants. There was only one way to win tonight, and that was to surrender. "OK. Wait here."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get your clothes."

"Why? Are you angry?"

"No not angry. Disappointed maybe. Feeling betrayed a little maybe, but not angry."

"I'm sorry Turner. I'm trying."

"I know." He was up and heading for the front door.

Cheryl got up, wrapped the blanket around her self and followed him. She felt horrible. She was letting him down. She was afraid she might lose him. He'd been a complete gentleman. She was backing out. What was she afraid of? This was Turner. Her Turner. "I'm sorry Turner. I'm just not ready."

"It's OK." He was going to lose the fucking bet after all.

He walked across the room, opened the door, stepped across the hallway and retrieved her clothes. Turning he walked back to where Cheryl was hiding in the blanket. He re-crossed the hall and reentered her suite. He kept thinking, all this fucking work for nothing! He reopened the door to her suite. She was standing, slightly leaning against the back of the couch. The blanket was wrapped around her waist. She was giving him a standing full frontal view of her breasts. No lower body yet, but he sensed pay dirt. He dropped her purse on the table and tossed her clothes out in the hallway. He moved directly to Cheryl. He swept her up in his arms. "Cheryl" He used a soft hoarse whisper, his best gimmick.

"Turner please forgive me. I'm so scared."

He held her close against him. He kissed her deeply. Bending slightly forward he lifted her and started to carry her to the larger of the two bedrooms. The blanket dropped to the floor. He'd already seen to it that the bed spread had been pulled down. He carried her in and laid her gently on the bed. "Don't be afraid Cheryl. It's me Turner. It's only me, and I love you." He'd saved the best for last.

Cheryl looked up at Turner. Her's was a face of pure innocence completely free of guile. "Don't hurt me." She held out her arms, lips puckered, tentatively waiting for a kiss. 

He kept screaming to himself. Home Run! Home Run! He started kissing her all over. He kissed her face, her neck, her shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her and slowly started working his way down toward her breasts. They were big, but firm. Lying on her back he could see there was no droop or slack. He kissed around the top of her right breast. In no hurry. He knew the slightest slip up and he'd be back to ground zero.

Cheryl was scared to death. This was all so new, too new. She tried to gently push him away. It still wasn't too late.

He felt the pressure. He kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear. "Girlfriend."

She was so scared but responded. "Boyfriend."

He softly murmured. "Love."

There was that word again. She whispered. "Love."

He was careful from then on, but he knew it was in the bag. They lay on the bed, and kissed. He slowly, ever so slowly took off his own clothes. She barely noticed his transformation.

He had her on her back He lay partially atop and partially beside her. His right arm was behind her head softly caressing her neck and hair. His fingers gently tickled up and down the nape of her neck. He could feel her hackles rise. His left hand started to slowly rub up and down the right side of her body. Slowly he worked his way back to her right breast. He carefully swirled his left hand around her breast in ever tightening circles until he reached her aureole. He pulled her slightly forward and placed a tender kiss on her right nipple. He felt her shiver. He heard her sigh. It was time for more bullshit. "I love you Cheryl. I love you."




The Misogynist Ch. 04



She half whispered half-whimpered. "I love you Turner."

He continued to caress her breasts. Even for a big girl they felt good. He worked his hand down around and over her stomach. He felt her tense up slightly so he simply rested his hand there while he kissed her lips and kept applying affection to her neck and head with his right hand. 

He returned to her stomach with his left hand. He played with her navel. She wriggled a little. He leaned down and kissed her navel. 

He took his hand and started to squeeze and compress slowly and carefully as he dropped lower to her abdomen. Finally he reached her vaginal area. She was certainly nervous and scared, he could sense that, but there was something else going on too. Her natural womanly needs were starting to kick in. He pressed his hand against her vagina. The soft clean skin, free of body hair, its velvety softness, was highly erotic.

While kissing her lips and face with more fervor, Turner started to softly rub up and down her labial lips. He felt her press back with her hips. He continued to rub up and down, first softly, then firmly. He allowed one finger to slide up and down just on the outer edge between her lower lips. She quivered. He did it again. She responded by pressing further against him. She wrapped her arms around his head and shoulders.

Turner allowed himself to lean down and kiss her breasts, gently sucking on each protruding nipple. He used his tongue to lick around her aureole and flick softly against her nipples. The reaction was electric. He could sense her joy. With his tongue and mouth exploring her breasts, his right hand holding her head and neck firmly but not too tightly, and his left hand pressing then penetrating the inner sides of her labial lips he knew he was pushing her in directions and toward feelings completely new to her.

He rolled closer so that his penis pressed against the side of her body. He felt her stiffen. He took her right hand and pulled it down so that it touched his manhood. She didn't fight him, but she didn't do anything more than just let her hand rest there. It was good enough. 

He used his left hand to penetrate a little further inside her vagina. It was warm and wet. He started to slather her juices from the inner areas of her vagina to the outer areas around the surface of her labia. He got her nice and wet. He reached his left arm around her lower back and pulled her forward so that she pressed against his lower abdomen and his penis. He pressed his penis harder against her, while he used his hand to pull her closer and a little further downward. Her vagina was pressed exactly against his penis. His manhood was just against her labia. He started to slowly undulate up and down, allowing his shaft to slide softly against the outside of her vagina. 

Cheryl pushed against him slightly. She whispered. "No don't. I'm afraid."

He whispered back. "I love you. I won't hurt you. This is what love is darling."

He called her darling. She was scared. His thing was right against her. If she let him, she knew it would hurt. She'd read about it. She knew it would hurt terribly. But she felt so good. His body felt so firm, strong, powerful. He loved her. She heard him say it. He called her his darling. 

He kept up the pressure. He used his fingers to gently open her labial crevice. He pressed his penis in between her lips. He hadn't penetrated her vagina, but he was almost inside. He pushed just a little more and felt the outer edges of her womb. He could slam it in if he wanted to, but the pain might be too much and would ruin the moment. He pressed a little more allowing the head of his cock to just break into the outer edge of her uterus. 

Cheryl felt his penis against her vagina. She felt it as it swiped between her labial lips. The head of his thing kept touching her clitoris as it went up and down outside her vagina. It felt so good. It felt exciting. She was so sensitive. God she never dreamed how it would really feel. Then she felt him as his thing just punched against and then barely slipped inside her puss. It hurt a little, but was such a new sensation. It was the first time something beside a tampon or one of her fingers had ever gone in there. This was bigger than a finger and bigger than a tampon, and it was hotter than anything she'd ever felt! Oh God she thought, what if he went in further. It would surely hurt.

Turner pressed in a little further. He had to think about something else, anything else, if he didn't he'd pop his cork then and there. He regained control. He pushed in further. He heard her gasp.

She whimpered. "Oh it hurts Turner."

He knew it was time. It was going to hurt, hurt a lot, but it was too late to pull out. He pressed in further. 

Cheryl reached down with her hands to try to push him away, but he was too strong, and she was too weak. Not weak from weak muscles, but some other kind of weakness! Sure she was weaker than he was, but she felt weak more like she couldn't get coordinated. She kept having these strong sensations, these emotional spasms, a quivering feeling, and loss of equilibrium. She couldn't explain it. It was odd and crazy, but crazy in a good way and in a bad way at the same time. She whimpered. "Oh Turner. Oh Turner." She wanted him to go on. She wanted it to stop. Afraid! Excited! Lost!

Turner slowly but surely pressed all the way in. It was tight, but he'd been in tighter spots. He attributed her lack of extreme narrowness to her naturally larger body. It was still tight though, and felt incredibly good. 

Cheryl started crying. She was weeping and moaning. It hurt! Got it hurt! He was tearing her open! But it felt good too. He was inside her body. He was inside her. She'd never, ever, felt anything like what was happening to her. 

Turner was all the way in. In as far as he could go. He didn't move, didn't pump, didn't try to add or decrease the pleasure or pain. He needed to feel the sensation of power and control, and he felt she needed to feel him inside her.

After several more seconds of inertia he slowly started to slide, or rather squeeze, in and out. The more he moved the easier it became, but she was still tight! He felt the need to go! He started pressing in and out trying to get in further and trying to move faster. Then it hit! He couldn't hold out any longer. He rammed in as hard and as far as he could. He discharged his semen into her vagina! He shot his load!

She was excited. It hurt. It felt good. It was sore! It was delightful! Then she suddenly felt his thing it was getting bigger inside her, and then she felt his stuff. He was pouring himself inside her. God he was ejaculating his sperm into her pussy. It felt wonderful, and it was hot. His sperm went really deep up inside. Way up further than he was. It was so hot! Oh no! She was going to get pregnant! Oh my! A baby! She didn't care. It would be his baby. Turner's baby! 

She wrapped her arms around him. Oh how she loved this man. His thing was getting smaller! She could feel it shrinking. Why was that? She didn't want it to get smaller. She still felt so wildly excited. Was that the end? Wasn't there anymore? Oh it didn't matter. She'd had sex for the first time. She'd had sex! No! She'd made love for the first time. She was making a baby with the man she loved. Turner and she would have a child. They'd get married, buy a house with a big yard, and a fence. They' do it all. Oh God! It still hurt so much! Why was she still so hot? Wasn't she supposed to get tired now? That's what all the books said.

Turner rolled off. He kept his right arm under her head, but he started to drift off to sleep. Wow he thought. He got her! She got the great man's spunk! What a lucky girl! And he knew she'd gotten off. He'd gotten her cherry, got himself off, and he got her off too. He drifted off to sleep. He had other plans for when he woke up, plans that involved his new receptacle. He'd get to that in the morning.

If a fly had been on the wall that night it would have seen some things had and hadn't happened. Cheryl had lost her virginity that was for sure, but she'd missed the bigger picture, the greater glory. Turner had dipped his stick in her vagina, but he'd come up short, way short. The big man with the big plans, and the big mean streak, was a little man in one big way. Someone once told an old story about two men pissing over the side of a bridge. One commented on coldness of the water. The other commented on its depth. If Turner had been there that night pissing over the side that bridge he'd have said neither.

To be sure, Cheryl had experienced her first sexual encounter. She'd lost her vaginal cherry, but real sexual fulfillment was something that hadn't occurred. Real gratification would never come with Turner. The true joy a man and a woman feel, that moment of genuine rapture associated with mutual love, respect and the joint ownership of honest intimacy would come from another man, a man who was at that very moment walking the floors of his own home, cursing himself for his stupidity, and wondering and worrying.

In another part of town Martin was up, wide awake. He was mad at himself for letting her go through with her misguided rendezvous. He felt like a Judas. He'd delivered her into the hands of the meanest most low down son of a bitch he knew. He'd done it, or allowed it because of his own stupidity. She was gone. Gone from him. Gone for good. She'd follow that bastard to hell. His star, such as it was, if it ever was, was destined to fade into inconsequentiality. He was Turner's friend, Turner's boy. That's how she'd see him, her lover's lackey. He'd allowed it! He'd abetted it. He knew that bastard, his best friend, would ruin another innocent, and in the end she'd blame him as much as she'd blame Turner. Oh what a fucked up mess! What a fucking fucked up mess!

Cheryl lay there in bed. Her pussy hurt. It really hurt. It had been her first time, something new, something completely new. Her pussy ached, but she was still so hot, really hot! She hadn't wanted him to stop. She needed more! While he drifted off to sleep she did the only thing she knew how to do. She started manipulating her pussy with her fingers. She hadn't done anything like that since she was in high school. It took he forever, but eventually she felt a rise, and then a little extra pop. She didn't fully get it. She would later, but she'd had to bring herself to climax, such as it was. She didn't know what she'd missed. She'd find out later with another man, but Turner had let her down. He just didn't have the right stuff. Cheryl drifted off to sleep. But she believed she was in love, Oh was she ever in love.

The next morning, 8:00 sharp Turner woke up. He gently started kissing Cheryl's ear till she was aroused. "Good morning sleepy head."

Cheryl yawned and stretched. "Good morning to you my hero."

He pulled her over and started kissing her.

She was quick to respond.

He started rubbing the sides of her chest, then her breasts, and last her abdomen. He pressed his hand down on her vagina. "How's everything downtown this morning."

Cheryl got self-conscious. "I'm sore." But she quickly added. "But happy. Incredibly happy."

"I'm so glad." He kept rubbing her vagina, and started slipping his fingers in and out and up and down her slit. 

Cheryl started to moisten almost immediately. "What time is it? I have to get to work."

"It's early yet. Only 8:00, we've got time." He started snuggling her neck and her ear.

Cheryl had given up her virginity the night before, but she was still very much a novice. Her puritanical background, the soreness she felt between her legs, and her natural introversion were all sending her the same message. Get up, get dressed, go to work. "Turner I have to get ready for work."

He rolled back over on his back. "OK. Can I pick you up this afternoon after you get off?" It was all the same to him. It had only been a few hours since he shot his wad, and he liked a day or two off before swinging the old hammer again. 

"I'd love that Turner."

He didn't waste any more time. "All right. I'll see you then." He got up, got dressed, and before one could say swift kick in the ass, he was out of the suite.

Holy cow she thought. He didn't waste any time! Cheryl got up. Wow was she sore. She checked the clock. If she got up and dressed right away she'd have just enough time to get home, get cleaned up, and get to work. She went into the front room where it had all begun to get her clothes and get dressed. She found her purse, wallet, and cell phone on the floor, but her clothes were missing. She looked all around. They weren't anywhere nearby. Oh shit she thought. He'd thrown her clothes in the hallway the night before. She bet someone probably took them away during the night. She had nothing to wear. Absolutely nothing to wear. 

She grabbed her cell and hit the button for Turner. It rang the requisite four times and pronounced the unavailability of the cell phone operator. Shit. He had his cell phone off. What to do? There was only one other person she could call. She hit the button for Martin's cell phone. It rang twice before he picked up. "Hello."

"Hello Martin? This is Cheryl."

"Oh Hi Cheryl." He hadn't slept a wink all night. God he was upset. He wanted to throw his phone into the wall. He wanted to yell, but he didn't. He was polite. Good old polite Martin. Fucking polite Martin. "How was last night?"

"Oh Martin it was wonderful. Turner loves me so much. You were so wrong. I'm so happy." Just what Martin didn't want to hear! "But I have a problem. We left all my clothes in the hallway last night. I'm up in this high rise suite with no clothes." 

"Where's Turner?"

"He left before I found out about the clothes. Martin I don't know what to do?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the Holiday Inn downtown. Could you help me?"

Martin answered. "Stay cool Cheryl. I know just where you are. What's your room number?" She told him. "You're in luck. They have a small boutique in their lobby, and I know its open on Sundays. I'll stop in, pick something simple for you, and go right up. It's 8:15 right now. I can be there in about an hour. That OK?"

"Oh Thank you Martin. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He hung up his cell, got dressed, and went to town. On his way in he kept telling himself Turner must have gotten her, but he might not have had his way completely. The bastard probably grabbed her clothes on the way out just to be a prick. 

He got there a little after 9:00, stopped in the boutique and picked up a little white romper set. No bra, no panties, just a little white set, just enough to get her to her car and back on the road. When he got upstairs where she was waiting he rang the bell and she opened the door. She was wrapped in a blanket. He handed her the bag with the romper. "It's the best I could do on such short notice." 

Cheryl took the bag. "Thank you so much Martin. I'll only be a minute." She ran back to the bedroom still wrapped in the blanket. A few seconds later she came out wearing the little romper.

God he thought, she's adorable. She looked so delightful in that little one piece. "You've lost weight."

"Yes. Thank you. Turner said something too."

For some reason her comment really pissed him off. He knew the bastard had gotten her. "Tell me. Did he fuck you?"

Cheryl didn't like the way he said that. She bristled. "We made love Martin. Real true love. He held me in his arms, he kissed me, and yes we made love, glorious, passionate, wholesome love!"

He wanted to yell, holler, smash his fist in the wall, or something. "Well good for you!" He turned to leave. She followed him out of the suite.

They took the elevator to the cellar parking lot. He helped her in her car and waited while she started her engine. "Don't bother to help me anymore. I'm all right now. Thanks again anyway." She put her car in gear and drove down the ramp without bothering to look back.

He got in his car and pulled away. He was doing it again. He choked up a little like he wanted to cry. Oh fuck he said to himself. Men don't cry! Not over shit like this! Some women are just stupid, too stupid to see the fucking shit staring them right in the face. His problem was what shit was he thinking of? The fact that Turner was a fucking cobra intent on tearing her sweet little ass apart, or maybe the fact that she was too blind and too stupid to see who really cared. Why was he doing this he wondered? Why was he losing sleep over her? That was his fucking problem, he knew why.

That was the last Cheryl saw or heard from Martin for several weeks. Her next weeks were totally devoted to Turner. Martin ceased to exist. He was off the radar. 

Turner took her everywhere, the movies, dinner, horseback riding, golf, the theater, bowling, even professional wrestling. Each date began and ended always the same way. He picked her up. They went out, had a good time, and he took her to his house where they had sex. Later the next morning he'd take her home so she could get ready for her part time job at the bookstore. 

All the time Turner slowly worked changes in the girl, a little more make up, darker eye shadow, more mascara, brighter lipstick, shorter skirts, higher heels, and skimpier bras. All with one purpose in mind, turn the sweet girl he met into a hardened whore.

Turner tried to get her to vary the sex. He managed to get her to let him go down on her. They tried doggie style, something she liked a lot. But he couldn't get her to suck him off. He knew he had to come up with something new if he was going to win the bet. It was already August. 

He was running out of time. He realized, if he was going to get this done he'd have to pull a different kind of trick. He'd have to cheat, find a way to force her to come around. He thought certain drugs might work. There was a low potency sex drug he heard of. He thought the name was Sedure. It was supposed to be something like what they said Spanish Fly was, if Spanish Fly ever even existed. He considered trying Roofies, but knew that wouldn't work. With Roofies there was loss of memory. She'd know she'd been given something. The whole love and kisses routine was getting boring anyway. He wanted to fuck her over in the worst way. She was a pig, but she refused to come through completely. He needed something new, something nasty, and something really for shit. He needed pictures.

He thought about enlisting Martin again, but since his first shot with Cheryl, Martin had been impossible to find. He was always out of the city or deep in some really big job. Turner of course knew why. He'd stayed behind outside the Holiday Inn that first time. He'd watched as Martin had showed up and rescued the naked Cheryl from her high rise prison. She'd told Martin about her lost cherry, he was sure of it. Now he was avoiding the both of them. That ass hole Martin really cared. What a stupid, romantic, moronic chump!

Pictures! That's what he needed. The little schoolteacher would be totally traumatized. She'd do anything to keep pictures off the Internet. That's the way he'd have to go. It was like cheating, but he had to. He was running out of time. It wasn't the $2,000.00 either. It was the principle of the thing. He had to win the damn bet. 

The more he thought about it the better it sounded. They always slept at his house. He'd set it up, turn a camera on, and then show her what he had. From then on she'd be his slave. Oh Turner he thought, too cool for words. One clever guy!



The Misogynist Ch. 05



Cheryl and Turner were out back sitting beside Turner's pool. Cheryl was wearing a too tightly fitting two piece that Turner insisted she buy. He was dressed in a casual pair of khakis, light green polo shirt, and loafers. As usual they'd spent the night at Turners, and since Cheryl was off on Saturday's this was a good time for the two of them to just talk and compare notes.

Turner had been thinking about a number of things that he believed would expedite his chances at winning the bet he secretly had arranged with some other men. He wanted to present his ideas in ways that would arouse the least suspicion, and increase the speed at which the bet could be won. He had until Labor Day to win, but it was already August. He was still pretty confident in his ability to manipulate what Cheryl thought, but in some ways her strict upbringing was, even now, a retardant. He'd thought seriously about secretly filming her having sex and using the footage as a wedge, but he still wanted to try another way first.

Looking over at her he already saw how pervasive in some ways his influence had become. He had gained a profound influence over the style and kinds of clothes she wore. For one thing the two piece she was wearing that very afternoon was way too small. He'd made her buy several white swimsuits a few days earlier, saying they better exhibited her tan. He really made her buy them because when they were wet they were almost completely transparent. Cheryl was bothered by the transparency, but had agreed. He knew it was because she was so enamored of him and of his assurances that she'd never have to wear them when they had company. Her breasts were pouring out of the top and oozing from the bottom at the same time. Her panties were clearly too tight in the crotch, if one looked at all they could see the cleft between her pussy lips Her camel toe as some people described it, was on display for all to see. 

Her regular clothing had undergone a transformation as well. Most of her blouses and dresses plunged deeply down the front usually giving much more than just a glimpse of cleavage. 

Bras had become a thing of the past. Lately he had her in form fitting chemises and camisoles that held her breasts loosely in place but still permitted significant movement. The soft textured material also had the affect of abrading her nipples inducing their almost constant protrusion. On days when the weather was cooler or in the evenings as the sun went down she was a sight to behold. It left her in a state of almost constant self-consciousness, a mood that always increase her suggestibility..  

He'd gotten her out of the habit of wearing panties too, except in the most extreme situations, and those extreme circumstances had recently been reduced to only times when her minis were so short the absence of panties would have meant an eyeful for any passerby. He loved leaning his hand over and fondling her pussy when they drove down the street. She never failed to blush.

Cheryl's make up had undergone a Turner directed transformation as well. The discreet pinks and blues had been replaced by harsher and cheaper looking hues. She wore much too much mascara, and her eyelashes were always artificially enhanced. Once when they were standing in line to get tickets for some show or another he deliberately he took his fingers and smeared her lipstick. She had to stand there, in line, all smudged. She was mortified.

Turner's next objectives involved some body modifications. He wanted her to have a tattoo with his name on her ass, and he was looking for ways to get her to have her nipples and pussy pierced. He thought he could get her to do it if he played his cards right.

His prime objective, however, was, and had always been to get her in bed with another man. He believed today was the day he'd go in that direction. He had a plan. It had been one he'd used in college to get a girl to sleep with Fraternity Brothers. He believed Cheryl was a ripe candidate for this. He reflected on it as they relaxed by the pool.

"It sure has been a beautiful day hasn't it?"

Cheryl answered. "I love it out here by the pool."

"You're beautiful in that suit. It accentuates your dark tan, and the shape of your magnificent body." Even after several weeks Turner saw how his slightest compliments inspired a rash of red. He could get her to blush at the drop of a hat.

"Turner I should be thinking about getting home. I do have to put in some hours tomorrow at the bookstore."

"Let me take you home." He paused; this was the time to ease into the new thing. "Cheryl have I told you about my cousin Mike?"

"No I don't believe you have. Who's your cousin Mike?"

"Mike is a younger cousin who was married until just a few weeks ago."

"What happened to Mike?" She was always the curious type. To Cheryl someone who had stopped being married, that might mean anything.

"Well Mike married his high school sweetheart. She worked while he went to college, and once he graduated he worked to put her through. It was a marriage made in heaven, and after both had earned their degrees they squeezed out a couple of puppies. Everything had been going fine until about a year ago." 

Turner looked over and saw Cheryl was all ears. "Then they found out about his wife. Carol had cervical cancer. Everything stopped for the both of them." From there Turner went on, in great and grisly detail as he discussed the chemotherapy, the radiation treatments, the loss of her long golden hair, her inexorable weight loss, the destruction of her personality, her increasing dependence on the love and nurturing of her devoted husband, and her ultimate slip into a comatose state. "She put up a good fight, but you know how it is. She died. Mike hasn't been the same." 

"That's a shame." Cheryl, being the empathetic type, was genuinely saddened.

Turner started going into Mike's story, the quest for the right doctors, the best treatments, his struggle to put up a good front in the face of ultimate and final catastrophe, and how in the end her death meant his as well. "Yeah, now he just stays at home. He has a nanny for the kids, and all he does is sit around and mope, cry, and rant at God."

"What? Can't you do anything to help? He shouldn't just sit around."

"I thought of a lot of things, and I've tried to help him. He's just not into anything. He wants to die." 

"That's such a shame."

"He likes you though. He's seen you at the bookstore, and when I told him I was dating you. He talked about the natural goodness he saw in you, and how much you reminded him of her. You know, your sweetness and all like that."

"Like that what?"

"Well you are a warm caring person Cheryl. You do care about other people. You wouldn't do what you do if you weren't."

Cheryl was glad Turner connected her feelings with her real job as a teacher of disadvantaged children. That's how she felt. "It's a shame we can't find someone for him. I mean someone who might at least listen."

"That's why I brought him up Cheryl." Turner gave her one of his serious, sincere, concerned looks. "I thought maybe you could go out with him." He saw her look, and it was a little askance. "I don't mean an official date. I mean just as someone who might lend a sympathetic ear." 

"You mean like an apostle of goodwill."

"Yes. But I thought better of it. It would never work."

"Well why not?" She asked.

"First I know you would never do it, and second I don't think you should."

"If you think I could be of help Turner, I'd be willing at least to give it a try."

"Come on Cheryl. That's asking too much."

"No it's not. It sounds like he could use a shoulder."

"I don't know Cheryl."

"Why don't you call him?"

"Well." He hesitated. "I guess I could. You sure you wouldn't be offended?"

"No."

"You wouldn't change your mind?"

"No."

"You wouldn't get mad if he wanted to take you someplace expensive?"

"Now you're getting silly. Go ahead and call him. If he agrees, I'll go out with him."

Turner reached over to the table and picked up his cell phone, holding up one finger. "I'll be just a minute." He dialed the number, and after a few short rings he heard a voice on the other end. Cheryl listened to Turner as he talked to his cousin. 

"Hello Mike?" Pause. "Yeah this is Turner." Pause. "I was wondering. Are you doing anything tonight?" Pause. "No. You remember the girl who works at the bookstore? She said she'd like to go out with you." Pause. "She knows." Pause "Believe me it's not pity, at least not exactly." Pause. "Yeah, she's right here." Pause. Cheryl he said he wants to talk to you." Turner handed Cheryl the phone. He listened while Cheryl talked to his cousin.

"Hello is this Mike?" Pause. "Yes. Turner told me how unhappy you are. I'm sorry about your wife." Pause. "Would you like to talk about it?" Pause. "Turner knows how you feel. If I could help, I'd like to." Pause. Cheryl could hear his voice quiver on the other end of the line. "Let's get together and talk tonight." Pause. "Mike you won't be in the way." Pause. "Are you familiar with the Holiday Inn downtown?" Pause. "Say maybe two hours?" Pause. "Yes, I'll see you there." Cheryl hung up the phone.

Cheryl had liked the sound of Mike's voice, and she liked the things he said. She could tell this was a person, a human being in trouble. She had to help. "Turner Do you mind if I go see him tonight?"

Turner answered. "I don't mind Cheryl, but only if you think it's the right thing to do."

As soon as Cheryl left Turner was on the phone again. This time it was Martin. He got him on the line. "Hey Martin. Guess what?"

Shit thought Martin another Turner interruption. "OK What?"

Cheryl's on her way to the Holiday Inn. Old Mike going to bag her tonight. Use the old dead wife story." Turner hung up. "Ha Ha. Ha Ha." He'd pulled a fast one on Martin.



Cheryl met Mike at the same Holiday Inn where she'd surrendered her virginity a few weeks before. When Cheryl got to the restaurant Mike was already there, sitting in a booth not too distant from where she and Turner had met earlier. As soon as she entered Mike stood up and gave her a tremulous wave. She went right over. 

The man helped Cheryl get seated, and went to the bar to get two cokes. Before returning to the booth he took an eye dropper and squeezed two droplets of a mild narcotic in the the girl's drink. It was the first of two chemicals he intended to give her. This one tended to lower inhibitions and increase a person's susceptibility to suggestion. Mild and tasteless, it could only help. He returned to the booth,

Taking a sip from his drink Mike spoke first. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Cheryl swirled her straw in her drink, sipped some and answered. "Turner told me how desolate you've been. It's the least one person can do for another."

"You're so good Cheryl. I've felt so alone. You can't imagine."

Cheryl could imagine his loneliness. Taking another sip of coke she reflected on how she'd spent the better part of her life an outsider looking in at other peoples' happiness. She immediately saw the pain and loneliness on his face. He looked about as forlorn as any man could. If she could assuage his unhappiness even a little it would be a blessing for both of them. "Being alone isn't easy. Especially, I imagine, after you've shared so much with another person."

He wrinkled his face slightly like he was about to cry. "You have a kind face Cheryl. You're a kind person." He had another sip of his coke.

"Well tell me about yourself. I want to get to know you." She took another sip of her drink.

For the next several minutes Mike talked extensively about himself, his career, his deceased wife, their children, and what their plans and been. He talked at length about the more personal details of their lives together. He talked about their intimacy, the way he and she would cuddle, hold each others hands, share tender moments, how they'd lay in bed together just holding each other. His eyes moistened with unspent tears. 

He talked about their last weeks, her deterioration, her inability to perform sexually, and how they just held each other. He talked about how they couldn't look beyond the immediate. They'd planned so much together, and all the things they'd hoped to do had to lay silently, as though on a table beside them, unbidden and undone. 

He talked sadly and longingly about how much he missed her womanly warmth and affection. He really emphasized the private moments they shared, the love, the caring the joy, and now the bitter emptiness.

Cheryl listened with rapt attention. She could tell Mike had been suffering. She wished there was something she could do. She even told him. "I wish there was something I could do."

Mike's eyes started dripping the tears he'd refused to shed all those weeks. He reached across the table and held her two hands. "You're so good Cheryl. You're such an angel."

Cheryl was deeply moved, but was afraid it was getting too late, but her feelings for Mike and his special circumstances were so impelling. "Mike I have to go home. I have to work tomorrow."

He held her hands even more tightly. "Don't go. Don't leave me tonight. Please stay with me. I need to be with someone tonight. I can't be alone. Not tonight."

Cheryl was so moved she almost cried herself. "I just can't stay with you. I have my responsibilities, and there's Turner."

He crushed her hands in his. "Turner wouldn't care. He'd understand." He was clinging to her hands. "Cheryl I can't be alone tonight." 

"What do you want me to do?" She didn't know what else to say.

"Cheryl." He paused as though he were about to break down. "I." There was another lapse. "Can I just hold you? I mean, let me sit beside you. It would mean. I might just need to hold on to someone. Just for a little while. I don't know if I can make it." 

Cheryl was torn. Doing what Mike was suggesting was akin to going to bed with another man. It could be seen as an act of betrayal. He was asking a lot, but she could see he was so desperate. "I don't know Mike." She sipped her coke again.

Mike implored. "At least just stay a while longer."

Cheryl looked at Mike. She had to call Turner. "Mike, would you excuse me a moment?"

Mike looked terrified. "You won't go?"

"No, just give me a minute." 

Cheryl stepped away to the ladies room and called Turner on her cell. "Turner, I'm afraid to leave Mike alone. I'm going to spend some time with him this evening. Is that all right with you?" On the other end of the line Turner gave his assent.

As Cheryl dialogued with Turner about spending some additional time with Mike, he was quietly taking an eye dropper and introducing the second chemical in Cheryl's coke, a newer milder form of one of the many date rape drugs that had found their way on the black market but one that was also considered something of a sexual stimulant. This chemical had all the right qualities, with just minimal side affects.

Cheryl returned to the table. "Is there someplace we could go and talk some more?" She sipped more of her coke.

Mike took another sip of his coke. "We could get a room right here."

Cheryl didn't want to go that far. Sipping at her coke again she added. "No. I don't think we should."

He let her hands go. Took another sip of his coke, held his head in his hands for a second, and wiped the tears from his face. "I'm sorry."

Cheryl was beaten. She finished her coke. She saw this man was desperate beyond all measure. She sensed his growing ennui. His was a desperation that might lead to something even more drastic than just continued loneliness or drunkenness. He was acting positively suicidal. "We could go upstairs and talk some more. Maybe holds hands on the sofa."

He grabbed her hands again. He was visibly shaking. "Cheryl."

They went to the counter and ordered a room together. Cheryl was so considerate she even offered to pay, but Mike insisted. They went upstairs to the sixth floor to one of the more moderately luxurious suites. 

The events that followed were all too predictable. Mike and Cheryl held hands, they held each other. They lay on the sofa. One soft kiss led to another, then another, then her blouse was off, his shirt was gone, her skirt, his pants, their shoes.  

Into the bedroom he carried her. They kissed, cried, and kissed some more. Mike was gentle. He was careful, he was slow. Cheryl never reached any personal pinnacles, but she had the pleasure of knowing she'd restored a wonderful man to some level of sanity if only for a little while. 

They redressed, and left together. He swore his love, and vowed she had his complete confidence. Turner would never know. He respected and cared for her too much. He begged her to call him if she and Turner ever separated. She would always have his undying devotion. He would never forget what she'd done for him.

She was a little bleary eyed, a little wobbly, when she got in her car and drove home. Any feelings of guilt were washed away by the good deed she had done. She hated to think about it exactly, but she had used her body in a sexual way to bring warmth and comfort to another human being. Some might consider that amoral, but that night Cheryl felt like Mother Teresa.



On the way home she hiked her dress up around her waist and used her fingers to massage her pussy. She wondered what was wrong with her. Now she'd been with two men, and that thrilling special thing she'd read about still hadn't occurred. She'd learned to like the feeling of a man's thing inside her, but something was still missing.

As Cheryl left the hotel parking garage Mike opened his cell phone and punched in the number of his friend. "Hello Turner. All I've got to say is! Great piece of ass! Giving her the line about the dead wife was all gravy. I'll mail you a check in the morning. Thanks buddy." On the other end of the line there was a soft chuckle.

Turner decided he had another call to make too. He punched in Martin's cell number, but got no response. He remembered Martin was in another city. He remembered the hotel his friend always used when in that town. He called the hotel desk. No, they told him that person had checked out just a few hours before. 

Turner chuckled and said out loud to no one in particular. "That dumb son of a bitch cut his business meeting short so he could rush home and save the stupid bitch." He wondered who was more stupid, Martin or Cheryl. He was getting a hard on thinking about it. He went in on the bed and masturbated.  

The next afternoon when Cheryl got off from work Turner wasn't anywhere to be found. He'd promised to stop by once she got off. She called his cell.

Turner picked up his cell phone. "Hello."

"Turner why aren't you here?"

"Oh, it's you. Why should I be?"

Cheryl was perplexed. "Why shouldn't you be?"

"Tell me Cheryl. Why should I have anything to do with you after what you did?"

Cheryl was quiet on the other end of the call. He knew. Somehow he knew. Mike had promised. She knew he hadn't gone back on his word. How did he find out? "What do you mean?" She decided to play dumb.

"Do you think Mike wouldn't call me and tell me everything?" He couldn't wait to spill his guts. How wonderful you were. How great the sex was." Turner waited a second for effect. "What are you Cheryl? You say you love me and then fuck somebody else."

"It wasn't like that Turner. He needed someone. He was so pathetic. I couldn't abandon him."

"So you decided to abandon me!"

"No I love you!"

"Then what about good old Mike? You don't love Mike but you fucked him."

"It wasn't that way. It wasn't that way at all!"

Turner knew what to say next. "I don't know Cheryl. I don't like this."

Cheryl was in a panic. She didn't want to lose him. "Tell me what to do! Turner I'll do anything. What do you want me to do?"




The Misogynist Ch. 05



He played out the string. "I can't talk about this right now. I'll call you back."

Cheryl was absolutely crushed. Turner was the only man she loved, the only man she ever loved, the only man she ever wanted to love. He was about to drop her. She couldn't let that happen. What could she do? She needed help. Who was there? There was no one. No, wait! She'd call Martin. Martin would know. He'd help her. She punched in Martin's number. Martin was her only real hope. He'd save her. He'd help her get Turner back!

Martin was exhausted. He'd taken the red eye to get back home. He picked up his cell, let it ring, and checked the call once it stopped. Shit he thought. Cheryl. He called her back. "Hello Cheryl?"

"Oh thank God I reached you. Martin I need your help. Can we meet someplace and talk?"

Martin didn't want to go through any more of this with Cheryl and Turner, but he knew he would. "I'm free right now, but I'll be out of town again tomorrow."

Cheryl was relieved. "I'm leaving the mall. Can we meet at that little restaurant across the street? The local one. You know Sallie's?"

"Give me thirty minutes."

Cheryl was standing outside the restaurant when Martin pulled in the parking lot. He saw her standing there so demure, so vulnerable. It was gut wrenching. She looked so beautiful. What was wrong with him? He'd fallen in love with one of Turner's toys. All he thought about was her, but when he got around her he was inarticulate. Looking at her all he could think about was wrapping his arms around her kissing her and loving her. What a fool he'd become. He sidled up to her and asked. "You want to go in and get something to eat?"

She answered. "No, my stomach. It's tied into too many knots."

His was too. He offered an alternative. "What about the park down the street?"

Cheryl knew the park. She'd been there with Turner when he proposed the nude visit. "Sounds OK, I'll follow you over."

They both drove to the park and literally found the same picnic table she'd used before. They sat down across from each other. Martin could see she was nervous. He correctly figured she was uncomfortable being with him. It was breaking his heart.

He gave her a quick once over. She had on a pale yellow blouse. It was a little too daring for his tastes, and he saw her nipples were pressing against the cloth. She looked beautiful, but she had on too much mascara and too much eye shadow. Her lips looked succulent, but they weren't Cheryl lips. Too much red. Turner had been a busy man. God he hated that bastard.

"Turner I need your help."

He figured she did, and he'd already surmised what it was about. "Let me guess. Some how, some way Turner influenced you to fuck some other man." He wasn't pulling any punches today. "Now he's, shall we say, disappointed, saddened, even heartbroken at your infidelity."

"I hate you Martin. It wasn't like that."

This was killing him. "Tell me sweet Cheryl. How was it then?"

"His cousin's wife recently died."

Martin interrupted. He gave her a very fake expression of remorse. "He was so lonely, almost suicidal. He just needed someone to hold. He just couldn't bear to be alone another night." He poured it on. "You're so good Cheryl. You're so special."

"I hate you! You're a son of a bitch!" 

"Am I wrong?"

"Technically no, but that's not how it was. It wasn't like that at all."

Martin led her to the next step. "Right! Now Turner is unhappy, he's saddened. He doesn't know if he wants to see you anymore, but he'll call." He saw she'd heard exactly that. "Let me tell you what happens next. He doesn't call. You wait, but finally you cave in. You call. He tells you he missed you, but now he's cynical. He can't trust you. His faith in you and in all women has been destroyed. He will agree to see you again, but there will be conditions. You'll have to perform some kind of penance. That penance will involve yet another man"

Cheryl was just about ready to leave. She went to get up. "You're a bastard Martin."

As she got up to leave he grabbed her arm.

"Let me go!"

"Don't you want to know what the conditions will be?"

She kept trying to get away, but he wouldn't let her.

"He'll tell you from now on you can sleep with others, but he's going to pick them out. He'll even have a man waiting for you the first night you see him again. That will be the condition! You'll sleep with other men. You'll fuck them, and they'll pay Turner."

She broke free and started running up the hill.

Martin yelled after her. "He's going to make you his whore Cheryl!"

She ran even faster.

As she disappeared up the hill he yelled. "Don't do it Cheryl! Don't let him do it to you!" If she heard him she didn't let on. Oh Christ, Martin thought. She's going straight to hell, and there's not a God damn thing he could do stop her. He remembered the old Buck Owens song. Yes, she's got a tiger by the tail it's plain to see, and there won't be much when he's through with me. 

Martin knew there wasn't anything, not a God damn thing he could do. She had to learn for herself. He slammed his fist against the picnic table. Damn! That hurt! He yelled at the table "Turner, you bastard!" He sat down on the bench. There was one thing he could do. Really only one thing. He could wait. He'd wait and see. He knew how it always ended. In the past the poor girl was always left with nothing but the ashes of a broken heart and her broken dreams. This time when the poor girl came crashing down he'd be there. Maybe he couldn't rescue her, but he could be there at least he could just be there.

Cheryl ran to the top of the hill, got in her car, and pulled away. She kept saying. "I hate you Martin. God I hate you."

Cheryl waited a week and Turner never called. She couldn't wait any longer. She punched in his number on her phone. After just three rings someone picked it up. It was Turner.

"Hello."

"Turner this is Cheryl. I've been waiting for your call. I got worried. I thought maybe something had happened to you."

He sounded glad to hear from her. "Cheryl I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you."

What a relief. He'd been thinking about her. "You're all I think about. Can I come see you?"

"You can come over tonight."

She was ecstatic! I'll be there. What should I wear?"

His voice grew exponentially more serious. "Things are going to be different from now. Do you understand?"

"Oh yes. Yes sir!"

"I can't see myself as your boyfriend in the same way. Things have changed. Do you understand?"

"What ever you say Turner is what I want. I'm yours. I'll change. I'll make it up to you. I promise."

He replied. "I'm having an important person over for dinner tonight. He's my supervisor. He's an important man, my career and my future are in his hands. If you come over tonight I'll expect you to do things you won't like, things you've never done before. But, even if you do something you don't like, remember you'd be doing it for me, whatever you do it's for me."

Cheryl was only half listening. Turner would take her back. She'd have him back. So what if he wanted to punish her. She'd get him back. Once that happened she'd show him how much she really loved him. He'd forget Mike. He'd learn to trust her again. She'd see to it. 

She reached Turner's at 7:00. He opened the garage for her and handed her a package. "I want you to put this on. My boss and I will be having dinner tonight, and a little after that we'll have drinks in the living room. Food has been ordered. You'll serve. You'll be my maid. Later I might have something else for you to do." He looked at her with almost no expression. "Make up your mind right now. What's it to be maid and hostess, or good bye?"

"I'll be your maid. I'll be your hostess. I'll work for you, tonight, tomorrow night, as long as you want. I love you."

He looked at her and smiled just a little. He put his arms around her and kissed her. She kissed him back almost feverishly

"We'll consider tonight a test." He turned and started up the steps to the main house. Turning slightly he said. "Follow me."

Cheryl dutifully followed her lord and master.

Turner led her into the living room and pointed upstairs. "You haven't seen the rest of my house. If you go upstairs and walk all the way to the end of the hall you'll find a room to your right. Starting now that's your room. Go on up and get ready. He paused and with something of a half smile added for emphasis. "My little maid"

Cheryl didn't care. If this was the penalty, she'd pay it. She went off to get ready.

Turner phoned his friend who was coming that evening. "My man I've something special for you this night. You're not only going to get a free meal, but you're going to get a free blow job."

Cheryl went into the room Turner had designated as being hers. It was small and bare, though it had a nice double bed. There was a single dresser, a bed stand with a lamp, and one window. She went to the window and pulled back the curtains. It was clear but she couldn't see very much. Next to the bed there was another door. She opened it and found a small bathroom. It had a tiny shower, sink, medicine cabinet, and a toilet. Nothing elaborate, but certainly functional. She went back in and sat on the bed.

She opened the package Turner had given her. It really was a maid's uniform. Not some skimpy French maid outfit, but a real honest to God maid uniform. She quickly stripped off her own clothes and hung them up.

She decided to get dressed. There was a skimpy brassiere that offered almost nothing in the way of support. With her large breasts she knew she'd be bouncing around all night. 

There was a pair of loose fitting and equally scanty panties. The panties were virtually transparent in front, and bunched with tiny ruffles in the back. Near the bottom of the panties in the back was a small bow. The tails of the bow seemed to hang inordinately low. She wondered if they would show beneath the dress.

She turned to the dress. It was a black silken outfit. It buttoned up the front so she stepped into it and pulled it up. Starting at the bottom, at the hem, she buttoned the uniform to the top. It fit snugly around the waist but more comfortably around her breasts. The hem came to just above her knees. 

It was long sleeved with stiffly starched white cuffs that also buttoned. She felt the cuffs and wondered if they were cloth or perhaps a mixture of cloth and some other material, maybe some sort of plastic. 

The cuffs were uncomfortably tight, but nothing as compared to the neck. Around her neck was a very tightly fitting peter-pan collar certainly made of the same stiff white material as the cuffs. It pinched her neck, and she wondered just how long she'd be able to stay in it. There was an attractive little white apron that she wrapped around her waist and tied off in a neat bow in the back.

Then came the shoes and stockings. She put the stockings on first. They were black and went to just above her knees. In fact the top of the stockings almost exactly met the hem of the dress. Some sort of sticky substance held the stockings in place. 

Last were the shoes. They were a luminescent black patent leather with a low heel and a thin strap that held them on in front. Once she put them on she recognized them as a sort of modified Mary Janes. They were like shoes she'd worn when a small child. Recalling her childhood shoes and how uncomfortable they were she wondered if she was in for the same discomfort tonight. Once they were on she knew the truth, these shoes were far worse.

In the package she found two ribbons. They were obviously intended for her hair. She took a brush from her pocketbook brushed out her hair, fluffed it, put a part down the middle, and tied the sides off into two little pig tails. 

Looking around one last time in the package she found a small assortment of make ups. She applied the red lipstick and lip gloss, the pink cheek make up, dark mascara, and pale blue eye shadow, and last some black liner for her lashes.

All done Cheryl turned and looked herself over in the mirror. She fit comfortably into a size ten. Her breasts were full but they didn't sag or droop. They were quite perky actually. Her legs were always larger at the top but they looked damn good. In fact the more she looked the better she liked what she saw. As far as maids went she thought she was something of a hot mama! If this didn't turn Turner's head, nothing would.

The way she figured it, if she were really good, that meant being a really good maid, pretty, pert, and sassy! Turner's passion would be rekindled. He'd love her even more. He'd understand about Mike in time. Maybe she did overreact to Mike's terrible situation, but it had just broken her heart, and she thought she had done what Turner wanted her to do. She knew it had been wrong afterward, but it was almost like she'd been drugged or something. Mike's entreaties had been so poignant and sincere. 

Cheryl went downstairs with new resolve. Tonight Turner would learn to forgive. There had been a little bump in the road, but they'd get beyond it. She knew he loved her. That was all that mattered.

As Cheryl descended the stairs Turner was still on the phone. He'd already called his prospective guest, now he was on the phone with somebody else. "Hey Martin, my good old buddy."

Martin recognized Turner's voice. He wondered why he was calling him. He thought he was out of town on a business meeting. "Yeah Turner what's up?"

"Oh I just thought I'd give you a heads up on Cheryl."

Martin was pissed already. "What about Cheryl?"

"Well you know our good pal Mike got her the other night. Guess what?" He waited for Martin.

"OK what?"

"I've got little Miss Pussy Pants all dressed up like a maid. Tonight she doesn't know it yet, she's going to go down on our chummy older friend Ryan. I'm going to watch."

Martin was seething on the other end of the line. Turner knew what he was doing. He knew there wasn't a thing Martin could do since he believed he was still half way across the country. 

Turner went on. "Yeah, I'm going to watch, and you know what else? I'm going to video tape the whole thing. I'm going to make pictures. Yes pictures of our little Cheryl giving head. Then you know what I'm going to do?' 

Martin was silent on the other end.

"Come on Martin guess. What do you think I'm going to do?"

Martin was apoplectic, but he held his cool over the phone. "Tell me Turner old buddy old pal what are you going to do?"

"I knew you'd be interested. Well here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make up a batch of pictures, and I'm going to sell them back the Cheryl. Every time she fucks someone she gets a picture back."

"You're a barrel of laughs Turner. Not even Cheryl will fall for that." Martin wanted to kill the son of a bitch.

"Oh she will. I'm going to set a ceiling, say twenty maybe twenty-five pictures. I'll number them. It'll be like a count down at Cape Kennedy. You know twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three and so on. 

Martin was getting madder and madder. "It sounds like you've got everything all figured out old buddy."

Turner could almost hear Martin's teeth gritting. "I sure do. Not only that. Guess what else?"

"I can't guess. You tell me."

"I'm going to make our little Miss School Teacher request a leave of absence, say one year. I'm thinking about having her move right in with me. Once the pictures are all bought back I'll sell her the tapes. Only we'll do that in house so to speak. Sounds great don't you think?"

Martin let out a fake laugh. "You're one of the great ones Turner."

Now that he had the knife deep in his friend's back Turner decided to twist it a little. "Oh I forgot why I called. I'm giving you first crack at the pictures. You want to buy in early Martin, or are you willing to settle for say sloppy twenty-fourths and twenty-fifths?"

"Don't hold your breath good buddy. I've got to go." Martin closed up his cell phone. He knew it was too late for Cheryl tonight. Turner had her, but there was still time maybe. "I've got to either kill the bastard or beat him to a bloody pulp. He's a fucking chicken shit at heart. If he takes pictures or makes videos I can get them. I know I can."

Turner barely heard his friend. His comments to Martin had gotten the better of him. He'd gotten so excited talking about what he was going to do that he'd fucking popped a load in his drawers. Thank God he wore jockeys. He'd be able to give Cheryl her marching orders, and then run upstairs and change pants. He chuckled to himself. Just talking about ways to fuck over this girl and his friend, it was nearly as good as sex. Hell, it was sex.

Cheryl was at the foot of the steps. She twirled around. "How do I look?"

Turner smiled. "You're beautiful. Come over here and sit down. Here is how it's going to be tonight. 

Cheryl walked over and sat in the chair Turner proffered.

"Tonight you're a maid and you're a servant. You'll have two main responsibilities, and you better do everything right."

Cheryl nodded her head in a sort of exaggerated proof of understanding and a partially phony exhibition of enthusiasm. 

"First you'll be our little waitress. I want to see you scurrying around the table tonight, just prancing and dancing. I want to see those knockers of yours bounce and jiggle. Understand?"

"Yes sir. I'll prance, scurry, bounce and jiggle, anything for you sweetheart." She thought it could be fun, certainly degrading, but worth the humiliation if it made her Turner happy. 

He went on. "Later after we eat we'll go into the living room. I'll expect you to kneel on the floor at my feet. Got it?"

"Yes. Kneel at your feet. Yes your majesty!"

At some point, while we men are talking I'm going to send you over to my boss."

"Go over to your boss."

"Then I want you to kneel down in front of him, pull down his zipper, slip out his penis, and then I want you to suck him off."

Cheryl sat there on the chair. She was absolutely flabbergasted. "No."

"No! You mean yes!"

"No please! Turner! Don't make me do that! Oh gosh no. Turner I'm a good girl. I've never done anything like that. I'm a good girl." She walked over and tried to sit on his lap.

He pushed her away. "Fuck that shit. You let Mike fuck you didn't you? You can do this. Be thankful I'm not giving him your pussy. He gets your mouth. You understand!" He was getting mad. He was afraid she might not do it.

Cheryl was crushed. She knelt at his feet putting her hands on his knees. This was awful The worst thing ever! She begged. "Oh please Turner I'm sorry about Mike. I thought you wanted that. Turner! Don't make me do this. I'll do anything, but please."

He interrupted. "You have to pay a penalty. You're going to suck off my boss, and you better act like you're enjoying it." He had to give her another reason. He reached out his right hand and caressed her cheek. She pressed her cheek against his hand like some dog begging for a treat. 

Turner chided her. "Think of it this way. You suck him as payment for your bad behavior with Mike, but when you suck my boss's penis I'm paying too. I should never have let you go see Mike. Your sucking my boss is my penance."

Cheryl didn't agree with his reasoning, but she loved him so. Maybe he was right. Maybe if she did this terrible thing, a thing she'd never ever done, it would in some way expiate what she'd done with Mike. She felt so ashamed. She thought what she did with Mike was charity, but Turner saw it as fornication. Turner was behaving like her father. She didn't like that, but if she did this thing, this dirty thing, then it would all be all right. She sniffed. She felt like crying. She turned her face and kissed the palm of his hand. "Turner please?"

Turner pushed her face away and took her two hands holding her wrists together and her arms up in front of her breasts. "No, and that's final. Go and sit over there." He pointed to a chair near the dinner table.




The Misogynist Ch. 05



Cheryl got up and walked over and sat down on the chair. She wished that she was dead. She sat there and thought of Martin. She hated him. Why did he have to be right all the time? She'd show him. Turner loved her. He really honestly did. She just knew it.

The doorbell rang. Turner looked at Cheryl. "Go answer the door. I have to change pants."

Cheryl went to the door, opened it. The man who stood in front of her looked older, gruff, and foul. "Good evening. Are you here to see Turner?"

He looked down at the young woman. He leered at her breasts. He seemed to drool as he looked at her uniform. He coughed and sniffed. He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sport coat. It left a slight smudge of snotty moisture. "Yes I am pretty lady. You must be Cheryl."

She didn't know quite what to say or do. She knew already this was going to be the worst night of her life. Just looking at this obviously licentious prurient old man, it made her skin crawl. She gulped. "Yes sir. Won't you come in?"

He gave her a lascivious smile. "Come in." he said. "Yes I'd love to come in."

She pretended not to understand the double meaning of his words. "Follow me please."

"I'd follow you anywhere." He said with a suggestive wink as he ogled her breasts again.

Turner came down the steps. "My what a pleasant scene." He looked at the older man. "Have you met our little hostess?"

The older man responded. "Yes, and I think she's adorable."

Turner looked at the older man. "Are you hungry, or would you like a drink first?"

The older man knew the real treat came after dinner. He didn't want to wait. "No let's eat."

For the next forty minutes it was Cheryl's responsibility to bring out the food, set the dishes, keep the water and wine glasses full, and just generally keep moving so both men could to enjoy her body. Cheryl did as Turner had instructed, she jiggled and wiggled at every opportunity. 

With a minimalist bra her breasts gave the older man a real treat. She hated herself for what she was doing. The whole time she kept trying to put Martin's comments out of her mind, but one refrain wouldn't go away. Over and over it kept ringing in her ears, "He'll turn you into a whore. He'll turn you into a whore." That was exactly how she was starting to feel. But every time she told herself, only for tonight. Tomorrow things will be better. Tomorrow it will be just she and Turner. She believed that. She had to believe it.

Finally they got to the desserts, and then it was over. Turner stood and invited his guest into the living room. Cheryl followed along behind carrying a whiskey bottle and two glasses. The old man liked Scotch, an old man's drink. Cheryl reflected young men drank Bourbon, but the drink of the night was Scotch.

While the old man slowly eased himself into a lazy boy, Turner took up position on the sofa. Cheryl assumed her seat of subservience at Turners knees. She kept telling herself it was just for one night, but God it was degrading.

The old man started talking. "That's a fine piece of flesh you've got there Turner."

Turner took his right hand and fluffed her hair. "Yeah, I'm kind of proud of her."

"I take it she's only worn your colors."

Turner responded. "I'm her first. She answers only to me right now."

The old man looked her over like she was a piece of meat. "Has she any experience, in say, more sophisticated things?"

"No this one's still a novice."

Cheryl was amazed at the direction of the conversation. She wore no man's so-called colors. She wasn't a horse, and as far as being a novice she was, and she intended to stay a novice. One man, one woman, one way, that was her style. What did he mean she answers only to me right now? Right now what? The old man and Turner were talking like she was some whore, or some piece of meat. She was neither.

The old man said. "So she's limited."

Turner answered. "She's ready for something new tonight if you're inclined?"

The old man looked at Cheryl. He snapped his fingers. "Come here girl."

Cheryl couldn't believe it. She looked up at Turner with pleading eyes.

The old man spoke again. "Come here girl."

Turner grabbed her by the chin. "You heard him. He's waiting."

Cheryl softly whimpered. "Turner, please."

The old man spoke. "I thought you said she was ready."

Turner looked over at the man. "She is sir. Wait just a minute." He leaned down to Cheryl. "No bullshit. Get your fat ass over there and do what you're told." His look was more than intimidating, it was downright evil. 

Cheryl got up and slowly, tremulously, hands held tightly in front of her breasts. She walked over to the older man.

He said. "Kneel down."

She knelt.

"Now take your hands, unzip my fly, and pull out my penis."

Cheryl was visibly shaking. She glanced over at Turner but saw no sign of sympathy. What was happening? He was enjoying this. She unzipped the old man's fly and tentatively reached into his pants. The cloth of his pants was rough, the metal zipper scraped against the back of her tiny hand.

"Come on." Grumbled the old man.

She found his thing. It was sort of small, and felt kind of stringy and greasy. It was hidden in curly nappy hair. Already she was sure he hadn't washed lately. She pulled it out of his drawers. When she got it outside his pants she looked at it. It was awful looking. It was really ugly, all brown, bent, wrinkled, and he wasn't even circumcised.

The old man looked down at her. "Kiss it."

She made pretend she was kissing it.

"No." He said. "I mean kiss it!"

She leaned forward to kiss the old man's penis. Her eyes saw it from inches away. It was soft and soggy looking. Limp not hard. A drop of pee was starting to ooze from its linty looking head. Her lips were a fraction of an inch away. She could smell stale urine, maybe a little fecal matter. Her eyes were crying out for salvation. Her lips were snarled back in rejection. Her heart had stopped beating. Nothing mattered. She was destined, no doomed, to take this hideously ugly thing in her mouth.

At that moment, at that precise second another part of her body came to her rescue. Her mind, her confused and misguided heart, her hands, none of them were any help, but her olfactory senses had gone through enough. From, her nose, to her brain to her stomach unknown and unknowable signals were sent. 

Her stomach first churned and then with a resounding rush everything she'd eaten earlier in the day swept up her throat, past her soft and hard pallet, over her tongue and teeth over her lips, and out onto the old man's lap.   

She vomited. Out came fresh tuna, rye bread, shards of partially digested lettuce, pickle, mushy potato chips, and tomato. Once the last of the solids were expelled she retched. She fell to the floor, resting her body on the palms of her hands. She heaved and hurled the last bits of food and a wholesome supply of phlegm from her body out on the carpet. She coughed. She gasped. She clung to her stomach.

The old man jumped from his chair pushing the sick girl away. "Get that bitch away from me! Get that filthy bitch out of here!"

Turner jumped to his feet. "Mr. Varicose I'm sorry. I'll punish the bitch. Believe she'll regret this insolence."

The old man was already halfway out the door. "See to it shit face, or I'll see to your fucking career!" Slam, the front door closed echoing the old man's anger. He was gone.

Turner turned on the helpless girl. "You bitch! You fucking worthless bitch! You'll pay for this! Fucking whore bitch! He was a paroxysm of uncontrolled and uncontrollable expletives. He was utterly and completely apoplectic! Finally he yelled. "Get your ass upstairs. Get you fucking ass upstairs."

Cheryl was terrified. She knew he had to mean the room she'd changed in. She ran as fast as she could up the stairs, half running half falling because of the slippery heeled Mary Janes. She'd get to that room, change into her clothes, and escape. Up the stairs she fled down the hall, into the tiny bedroom. She slammed the door shut. She ripped off the maid's uniform. Grabbed her own clothes. She heard the doorknob behind her turn.

Looking at the door she exclaimed. "Oh shit, oh No!" There standing in front of her, grim faced and mean was Turner. He was twirling a belt in his right hand.



The Misogynist Ch. 06



Cheryl hadn't been able to suck that awful of man's penis. She'd thrown up, and fled to the room Turner had designated as hers. Then just as she was slipping into her clothes to escape this terrible place she heard the door slam behind her. Turning she saw Turner. He was just standing there, smiling. He had a belt in his hand.

He slowly, almost solemnly locked the door. Grimly he looked at Cheryl. She was only half dressed and clearly terrified. God he loved this. "You bitch! You dumb fucking whore bitch. That was my supervisor. I promised him a good time. And what did you do? You puked your filthy guts outs out all over his suit." 

Cheryl backed away from the bed. She retreated to the farthest corner of the room. "Turner I'm sorry. He was so dirty. The thing you told me to do was so dirty. You were wrong to tell me to do that."

He curled the belt behind him as though it were a whip.

She cringed back as far as she could. "What are you going to do? You can't do this. Look at me. It's Cheryl. You're Cheryl! I love you. Turner, men don't hit women!"

He was enjoying every entreaty, every groveling little whimper. He lived for moments like this. He swept out his arm bringing the belt around swiftly and viciously. It struck! It hit Cheryl fully around her left shoulder and across her chest, nicking the soft tissue of her left breast.

Cheryl felt the belt like a lightening shock! It hurt! "Turner no!"

He brought the belt down on her shoulder. Another swift stroke! He broke the skin on the top of her shoulder. He swept in another time. More blood! Bright crimson stripes appeared on her upper body. He lashed out again.

Cheryl scrambled from the corner, but fell to the floor face down on hands and knees.

He unleashed a flurry of swift savage strokes across her lower back and behind. Blood oozed from a dozen tiny wounds. He slashed the belt down her soft thighs causing new welts to emerge. 

Cheryl leaned up timidly. She tried to fend off the blows with her hands and arms, but her feeble defenses only enraged the mad man more.

Turner slashed and whipped, and mauled the beautiful young woman. Finally, having had his fill he ripped away the last shreds of her clothing. Took the heap of wadded cloth, opened the door, and threw it all in the hallway. Glaring down at the shattered woman he growled. "You're not going anywhere for a while." He left the room locking the door behind him.

Unknown to the monster and poor girl on the third floor, at that very moment Martin was ringing the front doorbell. He'd been out since early evening trying to locate Cheryl. Everywhere he looked he had turned up nothing, so he drove to Turners figuring she was still there.

Turner, still out of breath from the beating he just given the girl, opened the door. "Hey Martin! Good to see you, come on in." He thought. What a great coincidence! He could entertain his best friend, while the girl his best friend had fallen in love with was upstairs bleeding. "What can I do for you?"

Martin didn't beat around the bush. "I've been looking for Cheryl, and can't find her anywhere."

Turner glibly replied. "Oh she left maybe forty minutes ago with another man. You remember old Ryan?

Martin nodded.

"Yeah. They hit it off right away. Ryan offered to take her to his place and show her a good time. And you know Cheryl. Always ready for a new adventure. That's the last I saw of her." 

Martin didn't believe a word he said. He knew Ryan. He was a filthy old pervert, and Cheryl would never have gone anywhere with him. He also knew Turner was trying to portray Cheryl as some kind of newly minted whore. But to Turner all women were whores. Cheryl had been played like a Cherokee fiddle, but she was certainly none of the things Turner made her out to be. "Thanks man. Look I can't stay. Got to get back to catch a plane, and get back to work. If you see Cheryl let her know I was asking after her." He shook hands with the bastard and left.

Turner replied. "Sure man." As Martin walked back down the sidewalk to his car the other man closed the door and went back upstairs.

Martin drove down the street and pulled to the curb. He had to think. He was certain Cheryl hadn't gone anywhere with Ryan, but he decided to pay the old man a visit anyway. He'd have to call his business associates in the morning and beg off on the meeting. Considering how many times he'd covered for them he knew there would be no problem there. That would give him some time to figure out what was going on. He'd seen Turner in action many times before, but he was meaner than he used to be. He knew his methods, but something told him Cheryl was in more trouble than just a broken hymen and broken heart. Martin put his car back in gear and pulled off. Let's go see Ryan, he thought.

Turner spent the next forty minutes in his living room looking over the video tape of Cheryl and Ryan. It wasn't much, but he got five pretty good shots of her almost touching the old man's penis with her lips. He was getting bored with the bitch anyway. He could duplicate the pictures and go with his original twenty-five guy plan, but what difference did it make? He'd go with five guys, good guys he knew. He could still get her to put in for a leave of absence. He wouldn't want her by then, but it would serve the pig right. She'd also have to call in and quit her little bookstore job. In her condition someone would ask questions.

He unlocked and opened the door to her bedroom. He saw her cowering in the corner. She looked small and scared. It made him feel great. Re-locking the door he went straight to the tiny bathroom and turned on the shower. Leaning out he snarled. "Get in here bitch."

Cheryl got up slowly. Every bone in her body ached.

Turner snarled again as he handed her a bar of soap. "Get in there and wash your ugly ass off. Don't try to adjust the water. Keep it hot. Hot is good." 

Cheryl walked to the edge of the shower stall. The water was so hot hefty wafts of steam rose from the floor. She stepped in. It was horrible, just short of scalding. She took the soap and started to clean her tattered body. The soap seared her torn flesh as much as the hot water. She wanted to scream. Cry out. Anything! But she was afraid to make a sound. She glanced at Turner standing at the bathroom door. He had the meanest look on his face. Why hadn't she seen this before? Why hadn't she listened to Martin? Where was Martin now? As the hot water blistered her broken flesh and the soap heaped added pain on her cuts and abrasions she cried out in her mind. Martin! Oh Martin! I need you!

As though he was reading her mind Turner derided. "By the way, our boy Martin was just downstairs. He was asking about you. I told him you went out with Ryan. He said, knowing you, that figured. Told me he had to go back out of town for another business meeting, probably won't be back for at least a week." Turner wanted to rub it in. "By the way, the last thing he said was you deserved everything you got." 

Cheryl listened through the cascading water. Her tears quickly mixed with the soapy stew. She didn't know what to think. Martin had certainly been angry, but did he feel that harshly? She hoped not. She prayed not. 

Turner order her out of the shower, threw her a towel and made her follow him to the bed. He commanded. "Kneel down in front of me."

Cheryl knelt at his feet, her body between his legs.

He pulled down his pants and held his penis in two fingers. "Now you're going to suck this off."

From somewhere, from the deepest reserves of Cheryl's being came a renewal of courage. "No."

Turner grabbed her by the hair and jammed her face between his legs, her mouth a scant half inch from his flaccid penis. "I said suck it!"

Cheryl still had her courage up, but not enough to go the distance. In a split second she thought she could bite his penis, but fear overtook her. Instead she quickly turned her head to the side and bit deeply into the uppermost part of his inner right thigh.

"Ow!" Turner yelled. He threw her across the floor. "You bitch!" You fucking whore bitch. Look what you've done." He looked down at his thigh. She hadn't broke the skin but her teeth marks were there, vividly red, soon they'd be a dark blue, then ugly black bruises. "I'm going to fuck you up for this." His mind was racing. He wouldn't touch her again. She wasn't worth another drop of his semen, but he'd follow through with the rest of his plan. 

Turner glared down at the helpless girl. She already backed herself into another corner. He reached from behind and pulled out the five pictures he'd printed from his computer. "Take a look at these."

Cheryl, in spite of the pain of aching muscles and the cuts and scrapes deftly reached out and pulled back the pictures. She looked at them in horror. 

Turner saw the look on her face. "You want those pictures and the tape that made them?"

Cheryl wasn't stupid. If he had five pictures now, they could become fifty by morning and a million on the Internet by lunchtime. Still, she had to hear him out. "Yes."

Turner grinned. "Here's how it's going to be. First, I know you're wondering will there only be five pictures, or will he make hundreds and spread them all over the place? Well you won't know will you? But here's what I am going to do. I've five pictures and one tape. They'll be no multiple copies, no Internet, no long term suffering or worry for you. All you have to do is a few simple things. Are you listening?"

Cheryl nodded her head.

"First, you'll sleep and fuck one man a night for five nights. Each man will give you two envelopes, one will be money for me, and the other will have one pretty picture. Then we're going to have a nice poker party. There will seven poker players, me, the five guys you slept with, and Martin. At the party you'll be our sweet little hostess. As our sweet little hostess you'll serve drinks, chips, and pretzels, and at some point you'll crawl under the table and suck off the five guys. You won't get to do me. You're too filthy for me. And you won't do Martin. 

After the poker party you'll have one more special job. I have one man who wants a command performance. Once you do him you'll get your tape." He paused for emphasis. "I've been thinking about your work schedule. You obviously can't go back to the bookstore so tomorrow you'll call them up and tell them you're through for the summer. It's only two more weeks anyway. We'll take a few days to clean to clean your filthy ass up, and then we'll start our schedule. If we run over you'll have to call your school and request a leave of absence."

Cheryl looked up. "No."

Turner grinned. "I have the pictures. I have the tape. You do what I say. All the parents of the nice little children you teach I'm sure would love to see what their little school mom does on her summer vacation."

Cheryl cringed. She was trapped.

"No answer for that. Stand up. I want to start your rehabilitation."

Cheryl stood up.

Turner pulled out a bottle of alcohol and starting pouring it over Cheryl's body. The pain was intense. She cringed and started to weep. She knew he was only using alcohol because it hurt. Still, no matter what the pain, she also knew things would heal more quickly. She might make it back to school. She'd make it back if Turner followed through on his plans. If he changed his mind she didn't know what would happen.

Turner finished with the alcohol, pulled down the bed sheet. "Get in bed. I'll be up in the morning and we'll do the whole shower alcohol thing again." He turned, unlocked the door, stepped out, relocked it, and walked down the hall leaving Cheryl to her tears.

Martin had gone straight to Ryan's where he found him home. They'd talked for several minutes. Ryan denied any knowledge of the events Martin described. Martin was sure something had happened, but he was equally sure neither Ryan's nor Turner's stories were true. He bet something had happened that neither of the men had liked, and he bet whatever it was had ultimately worked to Cheryl's disadvantage. He'd have to go home, get some sleep, and decide what to do next. One thing, he had to find Cheryl. 

Turner was a busy boy the next three days. Cheryl got her twice daily showers and alcohol rubs. By the third day most of her scrapes and scratches had largely healed, though her skin was dried out from the alcohol. He continued showering her, but shifted to witch hazel, something that restored some moisture. He had to slap her every now and then to keep her mouth shut, otherwise she was minding pretty well. He'd been busy on the phone as well. He'd set up a five night schedule for Cheryl that would start soon, the date for the card party had been set, and he'd called Ass Hole. The way it worked he'd just win the bet by a day. 

Martin had no luck locating Cheryl. He'd gone back to see Turner who gave him some cock and bull story about her quitting the bookstore the last two weeks so she could visit her parents. Martin had learned enough about Cheryl to know her parents were the last people she'd ever want to see again. 

He was up against a stone wall until he went to see Mike. Mike was his last hope, but turned out to be the mother lode. Turner, ever the braggart, had invited Mike to be one of several men who would screw Cheryl on consecutive nights. In fact Mike knew all the details, five guys, five nights, five envelopes, five pictures. The scene of the crime was to be the same Holiday Inn, even the same room Turner had gotten her the first time. 

Martin shuddered to think of the humiliation that would have been in store for her if he hadn't gotten wind of the thing. But armed with what he'd found out he went to work. It was easy to call the Holiday Inn, give a plausible lie that got him the nights Turner had reserved the room. The men didn't matter. He had a good idea who all five were. They were all probably married. Turner was the type to cover his ass if he could, a married man would never squawk. Martin assumed Cheryl had never left Turner's; that he'd been keeping her, probably against her will, using the pictures as blackmail, to keep her under wraps. He bet he'd put Cheryl in there the first afternoon and deliberately leave her all five days and nights. That was the kind of crass bastard his one time best friend was.

Came the day of the first visit and, sure enough, Turner showed up with Cheryl in tow. She was garbed in a long coat. Martin guessed she was naked underneath. He watched discreetly as Turner took her up, and shortly came back down through the lobby. Martin had secured the suite directly across the hall from Cheryl's. His plan was simple. He'd intercept each man, one at a time, and lay it all out.

The night of the first rendezvous Martin sat across the hall with his door slightly ajar. The first of the five got off the elevator, checked the room numbers and went straight to Cheryl's. The first man up was a salesman who worked for a prosperous local firm. Martin knew him well, nice man, wife, four children, not the type to really get too involved with Turner, but still he was there. 

Martin opened his door and stepped into the hall. He quietly called over. "Hey Bob."

Bob looked over in absolute disbelief! "Shit." He made as if to run, but Martin stopped him. "Come on in here. I have a story to tell." 

He took Bob in his suite and gave him the whole low down, every detail, all the facts. Bob was aghast. He had no idea. Martin told him what to do that night and later at the party. Martin told Bob not to worry. In fact, when Martin found out what Bob had been asked to pay, Martin handed him the money. The only condition he placed on him was to promise not to tell Cheryl who was helping her. He sent Bob across the hall.

Bob knocked on Cheryl's door. It opened and he saw her. She was terrified. She was naked, and quite obviously on the verge of tears. He spoke to her. "Do me a favor and go get something to wear."

Cheryl fled to the bedroom and came out wrapped in a blanket.

They sat down together on the sofa. "Here." This envelope is for you, and this one is for Turner." Bob tried to offer some consolation. "Tomorrow when Turner comes give him his envelope, and if he asks you anything, tell him we had sex all night." 

Cheryl looked at him in disbelief. "Why are you doing this?"

Bob gave her the most complete answer he could. "I was led to believe you were something other than who you really are. When I found out the truth, well, things changed."

Cheryl never felt so relieved. "Tell me who talked to you? What aren't you telling me?"

Bob did the best he could to put her at ease, tell her as much as he could, and still not betray the man across the hall. "All I can say is, for the next few nights no one will hurt you. Let's just say you have a guardian angel, and leave it at that." He leaned forward and did something he'd never intended. He kissed her on her forehead. Cupping her chin in his hand he said. "You're a good girl. Someone is watching out for you." He got up and left.

Cheryl wondered who it was. Then again, maybe she already knew who it was.

The next four nights followed the same script. Martin intercepted each man in the hall, explained the whole story, gave them the money they needed, and sent them in. Each man did his part, he assured her of her safety, told her she was a good person trapped in a bad situation, and left with assurances someone was looking out for her. 

Each afternoon Cheryl handed an envelope to Turner, and he made his usual comments about her being a whore. Cheryl spent the rest of the time nibbling on the trays sent up by the hotel and wondering about Martin. She thought about what he'd said. He'd said a lot of things, but he never talked about having feelings for her. She thought it was funny in a tragic sort of way. If Martin had taken her out instead of Turner she would certainly have fallen for him. At the time she was ready for any man. Since Turner she just didn't know. Maybe it was better just being alone. She just felt so sad.

By the end of the fifth evening Cheryl sighed. There was only a poker party and one special person ahead of her. She worried. How was it all going to turn out?

Turner pulled out all the stops for the poker party. He ordered a platter, got chips, dip, pretzels, a quarter keg of beer, whiskey, bourbon, scotch, and all sorts of other items. And of course he had Cheryl. She was to be premier entertainment of the evening. He had it all planned. They'd play cards, drink, have a good time and sometime during the evening Cheryl would crawl under the table and suck each one of them off. All of them except Martin, she was warned not touch Martin. 

The guys all showed up between 7:00 and 7:30. Turner had Cheryl ready in a new outfit. Tonight she had on a simple white silk V-necked blouse and comfort fitting bra. It was short sleeved, and it gave everyone a generous view of her delicious cleavage. She wore a black mini-skirt that came to mid thigh, still no pleats so her legs were displayed to their best affect. No stockings tonight, short white socks and black patent leathers. Make up was minimal, and her hair was brushed back and held in place with two barrettes. Even the most critical observer would have had to admit she was ravishing.

Martin by choice was the last to arrive. As he strode in he saw her. His heart skipped a beat. He'd forgotten just how beautiful she was. He noticed she was behaving in an outgoing friendly fashion toward all the other men, even Turner, but at once he realized she was deliberately avoiding any contact with him at all, no comments, no nearness, no eye contact, nothing. He imagined it was either because he made her feel self-conscious or perhaps his association with Turner had impacted her outlook. He remembered the last time they'd spoken. She had fled, literally running up a hill to get away. He hoped it was self-consciousness and not antipathy. 




The Misogynist Ch. 06



After a few rounds of whiskey and beer the men retired to the large back screened in porch for cards. As they played each man got to call his own game. Turner was a stud man. Martin liked five cars draw. The others each had their preferences. Pot sizes varied with each man's belief in the facility of his hand. Turner won a few, Mike won one, Bob was the big winner. Martin, unable to concentrate, lost every hand. 

Cheryl circulated around the table restoring drinks, bringing fresh cold beer, and trying to be cheerful and polite. The men for the most part ignored her, though Bob went out of his way to be polite and considerate. After a while it seemed Cheryl had more or less taken up a semi-permanent roost near Bob's seat. 

It was terrible. Bob was directly across from Martin's seat. He got to see every move, even the slightest nuanced twists of her delightful body. He watched her as she smiled and flirted with the other men. He saw how her eyes crinkled when she laughed, the way she tossed her head that made her hair flip. He watched as her delicate little hands rested on Bob's wrist. It left a hollow feeling in his stomach. He wished she'd pay a least a tiny bit of attention to him. 

Martin saw how much Bob enjoyed the attention. He'd never been a jealous man, but tonight he was green with envy.

Turner noticed everything too. He delighted in the misery Martin was experiencing. 

It might have been Martin's imagination but, keeping a discreet eye on Turner, he got the impression Cheryl's attentiveness was being deliberately steered so as to minimize her contact with him. It hurt being so close and not being able to touch or talk to her, but he reminded himself it wasn't about him, it was about her. Still it was hard to concentrate on the cards. 

She was so damned vivacious, though he could see she was tired and there were signs of strain. He wanted to get her out of Turner's clutches, but he knew there was still the video tape, that meant the card party and the date with Ass Hole. The bet, the damn bet. A person could never be sure where one simple decision would take them. If there was ever a day he wished he could take back it was the day they negotiated the bet.

Cheryl circled the table serving and trying to be entertaining, at the same time keeping an eye on Turner. He was a mean son of a bitch. She had her orders, and knew what she had to do. All the men at the table, excepting Martin and Turner, had been the same men who'd visited her at the hotel. They'd all behaved like gentlemen. To the best of her knowledge Turner had no idea what had actually gone on. Of course, by now she knew who her guardian had been. It had been Martin. 

Martin was a problem for her. He was someone she could easily love, but his connection with Turner was disquieting. If she ever got out of the mess she was in Martin would be one of the last men she'd ever want to see again. She was afraid he'd always be a reminder of the horrid things Turner had done and tried to do; things she wanted to put and keep out of her mind once and for all. There was a time when Martin might have been just the man for her, now she was fearful he carried too much baggage. It hurt thinking about it.

Turner watched the card play with little interest. His big moment would come when he sent Cheryl under the table. Sure he wanted to humiliate and ruin her, but he wanted to watch Martin's face as each man got his semen all over that pretty white blouse. In truth, getting at Martin was the purpose of the evening.

Around 11:30 Turner made his opening gambit. "Well fellas, I think its time we moved on to some other entertainment while we play."

All the men smiled. They knew exactly what Turner was talking about.

Turner looked at Cheryl. "Cheryl honey, I think the guys could use some stimulation. Why don't you take care of things?"

This was the moment Cheryl had been dreading. She hoped it wouldn't come up. Everybody had been so polite all evening. 

Bob spoke up first. "Ah you know what? I'm kind of bushed, and I promised my wife an early evening. If the rest of you fellas don't mind, I'm going to pass." He quietly got up.

Turner tried to stop him. This wasn't what he planned. "Hey pal, you can't leave yet. You're the big winner." 

Mike was next. "He's right Turner. It's been a long day. I'm bushed." He got up too.

One after another the other three men made their excuses, got up, said good bye to Turner, and gently hugged or kissed Cheryl as they went out the door.

Turner sat at his seat in disbelief. Only he and Martin remained at the table. Cheryl stood beside and behind Turner.

Martin looked over at his so called best friend. "Well Turner it looks like the big card game is over." He got up to go.

Turner sat n his chair. "Fuck you Martin." He looked at Cheryl. "Clean this fucking mess up and go to your room." He got up and went straight upstairs to bed.

As Martin reached the door he turned back to look at Cheryl. Turner was gone. "Are you going to be all right?"

For the first time all night she acknowledged his presence. Still picking up glasses and condiment plates she looked over at him. "I'll be OK."

Martin closed the door, got in his car and drove home. He knew he'd lost her, but there was still one more hurdle. He was going to finish this. He'd gotten her into this mess, he'd get her out. He just had to figure out a way to get at Ass Hole.

As it worked out Martin's problem regarding Ass Hole solved itself. Not two days after the poker party he got a call from Turner. He said he needed him to help out with something and it couldn't wait. It was something that involved Cheryl. Martin knew Turner would use him if he could. He bet this call was something that included Ass Hole.

Martin got to Turner's at 11:00. He rang the bell. Inside Turner was expecting him, and had the house intercom on. Through the speaker he told Martin come on in the door was unlocked and that he and Cheryl were on the back porch.

Turner had a spacious townhouse with an overlarge second story porch. In fact they had just used it to play cards. It had a solid concrete floor and sweeping overhang. It was shady most of the time. A wide stairway led down to the backyard swimming pool. Martin had been there hundreds of times. He knew his way around.

Walking through the living room and dining area he spotted Turner and Cheryl out back. At first he couldn't quite make out what was going on, but as he got closer he saw the whole scene. He wanted to throw up. One look at Cheryl and where Turner had her made his stomach twist into a dozen different knots. Turner had her kneeling on the cement floor beside his chair.

He could tell with one look Cheryl felt at least as badly as he did. Well. No turning back now, Martin sauntered on out to the porch. "Hey! What's up?" 

It was a joke. There wasn't much else he could have said. He knew from Cheryl's attempt not to be seen and Turner's smarmy smile this was a set up. Turner wanted him to see Cheryl in this situation. He wanted to see what he would say and do. Turner in his own malignant manner was trying to twist and torture not only Cheryl but his former best friend as well.

Turner used his foot and pushed out a chair from the table. "Have a seat. I have a favor to ask."

Martin, doing his best to ignore Cheryl, sat down and gave Turner a quizzical look. "Well?"

Turner started in. "As you can see I've got my little girl all dressed up, but I can't take her to the party."

Martin was getting the idea.

Turner caught the off hand look and swiftly went on to disabuse his friend. "Let me clear this up. Cheryl and I were going to a kind of party this afternoon, but a few minutes ago I got a call from Alexia. She wants me to go out with her this afternoon. Well I couldn't let her down."

Alexia was a new thing to Martin. "Who's Alexia?"

"Alexia's my new girlfriend. She wants to take me out boating. Martin I just couldn't turn her down."

"What about Cheryl?" Martin paused. This was awkward. "I mean, I thought?" 

Turner leaned forward and caressed Cheryl's chin. "Oh she's my little girl, but you'd hardly think I'd call her a girlfriend. Look at her. She's too fat, and besides, she sleeps around too much." He chuckled maliciously. "Tell Martin you sleep around too much."

Cheryl looked off in the distance. Martin could tell she was trying to distance herself from what was happening. "I sleep around too much."

"There. See Martin. She's a pig. You can't expect me to have a pig for a girlfriend."

Martin tried not to look at Cheryl, but he couldn't avoid it. It didn't really matter anyway. The only person who still thought she'd been sleeping with other men was Turner. Both he and she knew the truth though she didn't know he knew. She was on the verge of tears. He ignored Turner's remark. "You want me to take Cheryl to the party?"

"No. Not at all! Ass Hole is going to do that. You remember old shit face. He likes taking Cheryl to parties. Besides she'd much rather go with him than with you. Tell him Cheryl."

Cheryl looked at Turner with a quizzical look.

"Tell Martin you'd rather go the party with Ass Hole."

Cheryl looked at Turner. "I'd rather go to party with Ass Hole."

Turner reached down, put his hand on her head, and twisted it so she was facing Martin. "Don't tell me. Tell him."

Cheryl was forced to look at Martin. "I'd rather go to the party with Ass Hole."

Martin was suddenly pissed and not doing a very good job hiding it. "Nice pet you've got there. Tell me does she roll over too?"

Turner rubbed it in. "Oh Come on Martin. Cheryl and I are pals. I bend over and she licks my ass. She my private ass licker! You know! Get it?" He was on a roll. "Hey watch." He turned to Cheryl. "Martin wants you to roll over." Turner stood up.

It was then Martin saw Turner had her on a leash. She was wearing a small metal collar with a short length of chain attached. 

Turner stood up and slowly walked away from the table. "Come on Cheryl roll over for Martin."

He watched in horror as Cheryl rolled over away from the table while Turner held the leash. Then as Turner walked back seat she rolled back. 

Turner sat back and shook the leash up and down. "Good girl. Now hold your paws up and pant."

Cheryl held her hands up in front of her chest and pretended to pant like a dog.

Turner looked over at Martin. "Isn't she just the prettiest little thing? He took his hand and ruffled her hair. 

Martin sat there white knuckled and helpless. 

Turner leaned forward and gently jiggled her left breast. "Look at how big and full they are. Isn't that something Martin?"

"Yeah that's something Turner."

Turner wasn't through. "Cheryl lean up and let Martin read what's on your little collar."

Cheryl leaned forward and perched up as best she could since Turner held the chain and wouldn't let her get very close.

Martin had to lean forward to read it. The collar was a narrow piece. It was a solid circle that surrounded her neck till it got to her throat. There he saw an oval shaped metal tag. The tag held the ends of the collar together with two tiny metallic bolts, one on each end of the tag. He read what it said: Cheryl, Turner's little Puppy Dog.

Cheryl, to the best of her ability, was pretending nothing was wrong. She knew until she got the tape she was at Turner's mercy. 

Turner leaned down and gave her a big soggy kiss on the cheek. He stroked her wet cheek. "You like it when I kiss you on your floppy little jowls don't you."

Cheryl looked away from both men. "Any time Turner."

As quickly as she spoke Turner took the loose end of the leash and with a padlock affixed it to the bottom of the glass topped table.

Martin looked at Turner, but made a deliberate effort to avoid eye contact with Cheryl. She didn't need any more of what Turner was dishing out. Martin got the whole picture, and didn't like it. "I see. Well what am I supposed to do?"

Turner gave Martin a big smile. "Old Ass Hole won't be here until 1:00, but Alexia wants me at her house not later than 11:30. I thought maybe you could baby sit till old Ass Hole got here."

"You want me to baby sit, but you want Ass Hole to take her to the party."

"Well technically it's not a party. Old Ass Hole and a couple of his friends want to have a party. Cheryl is the entertainment. I agreed because I'll get a piece of it. You don't mind." As he was speaking he'd already picked up his car keys." If I leave now I'll just have time to make it to Alexia's. Man I don't want to keep her waiting."

Martin waved his so-called friend off. "Go on. I'll see to Cheryl."

Turner stood up. He turned back to Cheryl. "Give your ever loving man a good bye kiss." 

Cheryl was hardly in a position to reach Turner and kiss him good bye, but that wasn't what Turner had in mind anyway. He reached down, unzipped his fly, and pulled out his penis. "Here you go Cheryl. Kiss us good bye."

Cheryl squirmed and wiggled her way to where Turner was standing. He made no effort to get closer. When she reached him she leaned up as best she could and kissed the head of his penis.

"Oh come on Cheryl. I need more love than that."

Cheryl pulled against the chain as best she could, nearly choking in the process, but she got closer to his penis. She pressed another kiss on the end.

He looked over at Martin. "You have no idea how long we rehearsed to get that right." He re-zipped his fly and started for the front door.

Martin called out. "What about the chain here. Where's the key?"

Turner yelled back. "Old Ass Hole has it he'll unlock her." With that he was out the door.

Martin looked down at Cheryl. God she was pathetic but so beautiful too. "I understand why you're letting him do this to you, but I still don't like it"

"Oh Martin let's not go into it. OK?"

Martin was as pissed at Cheryl as he was at Turner. "I don't like this."

Cheryl squirmed around a little. Every move caused the chain to rattle against the table. 

Martin looked her over. "Jesus Cheryl. What kind of outfit is that?" 

She blushed in embarrassment.

Actually it was a pretty outfit, not something to be worn out in public, but pretty none the less. It looked like a very short white mini-dress, low scooped neck, tightly cinched just under her voluptuous breasts in what he thought they called an empire waist. It had tiny little capped sleeves. All in all she looked adorable. Excepting for the fact the material was translucent and revealed as much as it concealed, he really thought it was pretty. She was wearing tight white nylon knee highs and white patent leather shoes that were held on with a small strap in front. She wasn't wearing any panties, and he could see her denuded vagina He gulped.

Since Martin had taken notice of her attire Cheryl became more self-conscious. Unintentionally she pressed her head against the edge of table.

Martin saw the movement and recognized her humiliation. He got down on his knees right in front of her. "Cheryl I think you're just beautiful."

Cheryl, blushing, looked down and away. "You have no idea how much I hate that man. Anything he gives me, no matter how pretty, I hate it, just hate it.

Martin wanted to hug her, squeeze her, and kiss the pain away. "Let's get this leash unhooked." He went to unsnap the tiny padlock.

Cheryl held up her hands and tried to push him away. "No don't Martin." She gave him a look of genuine fear. "Turner might get mad."

"I don't give a shit what Turner gets. It's coming off." He reached forward and deftly twisted and turned the little lock till it unsnapped.

She made a feeble attempt to stop him, but correctly guessed he was getting it off no matter what she said or tried to do. "Please Martin. You don't know how it is."

He was sitting on the ground right in front of her. Looking at his watch he looked back at her. "Well you can tell me. "I've got time."

"Oh please Martin. Don't make me. Everything is all so mixed up."

"You can say that again. The last time I saw the two of you he and you were at the poker party. You were still his main something. Now he's on his way to see someone else, and he's left you behind to be carted off by one of the most, low down mean men I know."

Cheryl put her hand on Martin's arm. "It's not what you think."

Martin was in a mood. "Tell me what I think." He didn't have to do this. He knew the truth.

"You think that Turner doesn't love me anymore. Well the truth is he never did. It's all been some sick joke."

Martin wanted to interrupt tell her she was finally right, but knew that would only hurt her more and weaken his chances.

She went on. "You were right, right all along. Turner doesn't know the meaning of love. Love to him is something dirty."

Martin stopped her. It was all he could do to keep from touching her. "Shut up and listen." He wanted to tell her about the bet, but knew that would only hurt more, and probably ruin any chance he had, and he desperately wanted a chance. Especially now! "Listen! Turner can't take advantage of you, not anymore, not after today." He paused. This was harder than he thought. "I know about the pictures. I know about the tape. I know about the visits to the hotel." 

He wanted to explain things to her, but the words weren't there. He said the only thing he could think of. "Listen to me Cheryl. I love you." He waited a second to let it sink in. He felt like an utter shit a stupid school boy. He'd meant what he said, it just wasn't what he meant to say. "I'll repeat that. I love you Cheryl." He hesitated again. This was killing him. "I'm saying this because what I'm going to tell you next will certainly make you hate me."

Cheryl interjected. "I like you Martin. But love? I don't know."

He put his hand on her mouth. He was shaking nervously. "Don't say it. Don't say anything for at least five minutes."

He started telling her about the bet. How she was the first girl that walked through. That Turner took one look and knew he could do it. He could do it because she looked so vulnerable. He explained how he was in on it from the start. Originally it was all about helping his friend to win $2,000.00 from a creep. He only copped out when he realized how he felt. He tried to explain. Martin saw from the expression on her face that she didn't want to believe a word.

"I don't believe any of this. Turner is just a sick man, but if this is true you're as sick as he is." She hesitated then went on. "I'm getting as far away from him and from you as I can."

Everything was blowing up in Martin's face. He had one more card to play. "You know the guy whose coming here today?"

Cheryl answered. "Yes. I know who he is, and I hate him."

"He's the guy that made the bet. If I could persuade him to acknowledge the bet, would you believe me?"

"Believe what? That you're as sick as Turner?"

"Will you believe me if the guy admits the bet? Then if he admits to the bet will you listen to me?"

"He won't. There was no bet."

"Would you believe him?"

"I'll keep an open mind."

Martin was beyond reasoning. He'd admitted his true feelings. He knew he was a fool. "Cheryl I'll repeat. I love you. Let me be the one. Let me be the one to love you."

"What you want to be the next one who sells me or rents me out?"

"No I don't want to hear that shit from you about me. That's Turner. That's not me. I've been as much under Turner's control as you or anyone. I can see that now. I want you. All I want to do is love you. Lavish you with affection, kisses and hugs. Buy you presents, make babies with you. I want you all to myself. I'm going to prove myself to you. I don't want you to hate me. Please. I want to love you I want to care for you I want to make you happy." He was losing his poise. He was completely fucked up.




The Misogynist Ch. 06



"You want to take care of the fat girl right!"

He could hear the self-deprecation. "What's your dress size? Ten? Twelve?"

"Ten."

"You call that fat? You're not a size six or size four. Yes you're buxom. But you're hardly fat. A little fluffy maybe! Soft in all the right places! No fat is the wrong word. You're built like a woman. You're not a ten-year, you're a size ten. There's a world of difference."

Cheryl shifted her weight on the floor. She wouldn't look at Martin. She couldn't. It was hard for her to believe he had anything to do with what Turner had done to her. "You know Turner made me have sex with other men."

"I know he tried to make you have sex with other men. I've known that from the beginning. I even know who all the men are. They're all the same birds who were at the poker party."

"Why haven't you had sex with me?"

"Cheryl." He was exasperated. "I don't do that. Never did. Not when we were in high school, not in college." He paused to let what he said sink in. "Besides. With you it would be especially bad."

"Why Martin am I that ugly?"

"Cheryl you're not ugly. You're beautiful. I just couldn't do it."

"You feel sorry for me."

"I feel angry for you. I feel sorry for myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I could have, should have stopped this. I could have prevented it. I've wanted you. Yeah! I really have but in a different way. Cheryl I could go home right now and jack off. It wouldn't be that much different than taking advantage of some girl. I want you but it has to mean something. You understand?"

Cheryl was confused. Martin was confusing her. She knew Turner had used her, but she'd tried to hide from it. Martin wasn't letting her hide from his behavior. It was like he'd turned her whole life back upside down. Actually worse! Before Turner she was lonely and alone. Turner came along and she had someone. Now Martin made her lonely and alone again, but he wanted to make her have someone, him. What was she supposed to think? She looked at him. If he had been first, ahead of Turner, she would have been the happiest girl in the world. He just wasn't first. One man had lied, said he loved and took advantage, now a second man, a man complicit in the first man's lies said he loved her too. 

What was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to think? She looked at him. "You remember not so long ago Turner wanted to see me without any clothes on?"

"Yes I remember."

"You know I was still a virgin then."

"I figured that."

"You remember what you said."

"I remember it all."

"You knew what he was going to do."

"If you think about it, I even told you what would happen. You said you were prepared for it."

"Martin I didn't think it would go the way it did."

Martin wanted to console her. He couldn't. He realized she was starting to come to terms with what had happened. It was costing him his best chance at happiness. "I knew he was setting you up. I knew he'd take advantage of you. I didn't know how far he'd push it. I wish I had known."

"Would you have done anything different?"

"It's too late for that now, but I would not have helped him get you into that hotel room."

"I think you're lying Martin. I think you still love Turner."

"I don't love Turner. I loathe Turner. I loved the idea of Turner. Turner the reality is the lowest form of garbage. He's nothing but a bad dream. Cheryl let's both get past him. I'm ready. Are you?"

"I want to hear what that other guy, the guy you call Ass Hole says."

"If he comes clean will you? Will you try not to hate me? Cheryl, please, if he tells you about the bet, you won't, you know."

"I don't know Martin. I don't know."

This was more than Martin could stand. He reached out and grabbed Cheryl by the shoulders. He pulled her as close as he could. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head. He let her go. "OK. We'll wait."

She turned her head back around. "Tell me something."

"You name it anything! What?"

"Those men who were at the poker party, you knew they came to the hotel to see me."

"Yes."

"You know none of them touched me."

"Yes."

"Were you the one who stopped them?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I knew you had to get a picture from each one, but I didn't want them to hurt you."

"What did you say to them?"

"I told them the truth."

"You mean about me, and about Turner."

"No, I told them about Turner's game and Turner's bet."

"They believed you?"

"They know me."

"That's supposed to mean something?"

"Yes."

The two of them sat together on the floor. Cheryl dressed in a little see through, Martin in a pair of old denim jeans and tee-shirt. Her trying to figure out how to put the pieces of her life back together, him wishing, praying, she'd find a way to forgive him, and maybe include him in her future.

The doorbell rang. Martin called through the intercom. Come on in Ass Hole! We're on the back porch.

Ass Hole appeared dressed in casual attire. "I'm here for Cheryl."

Martin pointed. "There she is."

Ass Hole leaned down to unfasten the chain holding her to the table but saw it was already loose. Unperturbed he said. "It's going to be a hot time in the old town tonight Cheryl baby."

Martin put his hand on Ass Hole. "There's something I want you to say to Cheryl."

Ass Hole flinched back. "Yeah what?" Ass Hole had this churlish smirk on his face, and Martin couldn't handle it. He jumped on him and punched him right in the nose. Before Ass Hole could retaliate Martin had clobbered him in the jaw and plunged a powerful fist right into the center of his stomach. Ass Hole was bleeding from the nose. His jaw was already twice its normal size, and he couldn't breathe. 

Cheryl watched Martin's angry outburst in disbelief.

Martin looked at Ass Hole. "Tell Cheryl about the bet."

Ass Hole responded. "What bet?"

Martin corked him in the right eye, and then sent another powerhouse into his left eye. "Tell her, or I'll turn you into a cripple."

Ass Hole was finished. Never a fighter always a bull shit artist. "Turner and I had this bet he couldn't get you in the sack and then get you to jump in the sack with me before the end of summer."

"What was the bet for?" Martin held his fist over Ass Hole's face.

"Two thousand dollars."

"Who won?"

"Turner won." He looked at Cheryl. "I had to pay him $2,000.00 plus another $1,000.00 because he delivered you before Labor Day. That was an extra $1,000.00 for being ahead of schedule."

Martin backed off. "Tell her good bye."

Ass Hole looked at Cheryl. Through bloody lips he said good bye. 

Martin spoke again. "Next time you see Turner tell him you and Cheryl had some good clean nonsexual fun. Don't say anything about me. He'll know anyway. And if I hear anywhere that you've said anything bad about her." He pointed to Cheryl. "I'll find you and break both your legs."

Ass Hole was ready to come clean. He squared his now clearly broken jaw. "Cheryl. Turner doesn't care about you. He hates women. You were a bet. I'll bet he's out right now finding some other girl he can fuck over. He was bragging about some poor bitch named Alexia just last night." He looked at Martin. "That's my story. I'll admit I'm a piece of shit, but what about you Martin old man? What about you?"

Martin gave Ass Hole the thumb. "You're out of here."

While Ass Hole fled Martin turned back to Cheryl. "If you hate me I'll understand, but at least let me get you out of here."

Cheryl wanted to cry. No she wanted to die, or at least disappear. "It's not that easy."

Martin saw the look on her face. "Look Cheryl. You know the truth. You know how I feel. You've got to believe me."

She answered. "No. It's not that."

He interrupted. "Then what is it?"

"I'm a schoolteacher. I take care of other peoples' children. I have my reputation Teaching is all I have."

"He can't hurt you where you work Cheryl."

"Yes he can. You see there's this tape."

Martin tried to console her. "I know about the tape. You and I both know today's date was the final pay off. In a little while he'll have no more hold on you. Your teaching is secure. I guarantee it."

"Martin you're crazy. Turner knows everything. He knew about you before you came today. He bragged about how he was going to fuck you up. He'll ruin you and me. There's nothing anybody can do."

"If I fixed it, if I got it all fixed so there was no tape, no fear of anything getting out, and no more fear of Turner, would you give me a look?"

"Martin I don't know. I'm just too tired to care."

"Look. Let's do this. Let's get you out of this outfit, though you're as pretty as a shiny new penny in it. Let's go out to eat. We'll talk some more. I have so much I want to tell you."

Cheryl nodded. "OK."

"OK what? OK, let's go eat? OK, I'll give old Martin a shot."

Cheryl was ready to just gush forth with an ocean of tears. She held them in. "Let's just eat first."

Martin took what he could get. "Wait here I'm going downstairs and get a pair if snips. I want you out of this stupid collar."

Cheryl waited while Martin got something to cut her out of her collar. He was back with a small tool box. He went to work. It took no time at all. "Like everything Turner." He said. "The collar was made of some really cheap shit." Lifting Cheryl to her feet he wrapped a blanket around her. "We have two stops to make. First I'll run into a Walmart and find something cheap and easy for you to wear. Then we'll go to a real clothier and dress you up the way you should be." 

He picked her up, carried her to his car, and settled her in the front seat. In a jiffy they were at a Walmart. True to his word he was in and out in minutes carrying a small bag.

"Here I'll keep a look out while you slip this on. It's only a simple house dress, but it will get us to our next stop."

Cheryl pulled out a simple blue dress, and slipped into it. She noticed it said size twelve. It was a little large.

Down the road they sped till Martin found the clothier he wanted. It was a little boutique set off from the main drag. "I've bought things here before. They have everything. Even make up!" He got out, walked around, and helped her from the car. His courtesy was more than Cheryl was used to. 

They went into the boutique together. Martin spoke up first. He used his most quiet and discreet voice so as to draw no attention to himself or to Cheryl. "I have a beautiful lady here who needs a complete make over. She needs underwear, dresses, shoes, stockings, and make up, the works."

For the next hour and forty-five minutes Cheryl and two sales ladies went from item to item to item. They selected brassieres, panties, stockings, shoes, dresses, slips, make up, everything. Cheryl went back into one of the dressing rooms with one of the sales ladies to get prepared. 

Martin explained they were going for an afternoon lunch, then back to his house for a rest. Later that evening he was taking her out for a night on the town. 

Cheryl came out, and she looked completely different from the forlorn waif he'd first seen at Turner's. She was dressed in a smart looking dark blue business suit. It had a crisp white blouse, a smartly tailored jacket, and very attractive A-line skirt that came to just above her knees. The shoes she had on were dark blue with approximately three inch heels. Her legs were decorated with dark blue nylons. 

Make up was sparse. Cheryl had perfect skin, and it was hard to improve on it, but there was a hint of pale pink blush, pink lipstick with a trace of gloss, and just enough blue eyeliner to give her a faintly exotic look. Her hair was done up in a tightly fitting bun with just a few wisps of hair escaping down around her face. She wore the same dark glasses gotten so long ago.

When she walked out Martin whistled. "Boy Oh boy. Are you a dish!" he gave her a crisp smile, then a frown. There's still something missing. While she'd been dressing he'd slipped over to the jewelry counter. He pulled out a couple boxes. Here try this stuff on. In one box was a pair of pearl earrings, a single pearl for each single piercing. Then in a second box came a beautiful pearl bracelet, and the last box hid a magnificent pearl necklace. Last he held out a small diamond wristwatch. "See if this fits."

Cheryl put all the jewelry on and looked in the tall three angled mirror. She had to admit it. There was no denying. Even she had to admit she looked pretty dog on good.

Martin spoke first. "Cheryl you're lovely absolutely beautiful!" As she admired the jewelry he thought to himself. Getting rid of Turner will be easy, getting her to look past his involvement to see his true feelings now that would be daunting challenge. He had to do it. He just had to do it.

It was then that Cheryl noticed Martin had changed clothes as well. He had on a dark blue suit, white shirt, and black wing tipped shoes without any socks. "Where are your socks?"

"Come on." He said. "Socks are for sissies."

They left the boutique arm in arm. Martin was holding on to her like she was some priceless art object. He carried a second set of bags filled with evening clothes for her. All the sales people commented on how radiant the two of them looked. Both Martin and Cheryl overheard one of the sales people comment on how the two of them obviously belonged together. Martin prayed Cheryl would take that comment seriously.



The Misogynist Ch. 07



So far Martin had managed to circumvent all but one or two of Turner's plans to harm Cheryl. There hadn't much he could do about her first sexual encounter. Turner had orchestrated her deflowering at the Holiday Inn in classic style. The poor girl must have been an emotional basket case that night. Then there was the way he exploited one man's bravado, and an innocent girl's own natural goodness. The trick with the deceased wife was a made to order Cheryl formula for success. She, of course, believed Mike's horrid lies about his wife dying of cancer. 

Turner had gotten her in bed with a strange man, Mike, and then was almost successful in using that to further exploit the poor woman again. His third step had been his undoing. He'd gotten greedy. He thought he could use Cheryl to extend his influence with his supervisor. Playing on Cheryl's sense of guilt might have worked had Turner tried it with any other man, but Ryan was such a lewd and vulgar creature she couldn't do it. Up to that point, to Turner's eternal damnation, Cheryl really hadn't understood the viciousness of his intentions, but his attempt to manipulate her into a compromising situation with the pervert Ryan undid him. After that Martin was sure Cheryl had surmised what had been happening to her. 

He wanted to kick himself, kick himself on two counts. He should have found a better, more convincing, way to dissuade her from taking that first fateful step. Martin admitted he'd tried, but he'd bungled his chances, and Cheryl ended up paying. In a way he'd helped lead her to her undoing. He didn't think he'd ever live down the guilt and shame of that failure. 

But there was another reason he wanted to kick himself. That was the second count. He'd led the girl to Turner like a lamb to slaughter. Turner had gotten her cherry. In his experience, limited as it was, a woman's first time was special, something remembered forever. If it had been him, and not Turner, he'd have done everything he could to make it the most wonderful moment of her sexual life. He would have dressed it up in such a way to make it a warm and forever pleasant memory. He'd betrayed her. Forever, she'd remember her first as being with a vicious cad. 

He understood he was obsessing, but he couldn't get it out of his system. He'd led a wonderful human being, a person he'd come to love, into a terrible relationship, and then he'd been a coconspirator in the loss of the one thing a woman can only give away one time, ever. All the good he'd done, all the good he'd been trying to do on her behalf could never erase those two things.

Martin wondered what went on at Turner's from the time Ryan left until the night of the poker party. Certainly Cheryl had known she was in a world of bad things. Luckily he'd secured her escape from the five nights of men, and thanks to the goodness of those same men he'd thwarted Turner's poker night, and then thanks to the goodwill of a very contrite and very married Mike he was able to circumvent Ass Hole's afternoon of fun. 

Still, there were other things that bothered him. Cheryl had been ensconced with the bastard nearly a week. Just today he'd made her kiss the head of his penis. She didn't exactly volunteer, but she didn't exactly act like she hated it either. On the other hand, she did say she hated everything about him. 

He knew what was really bothering him. He was jealous and feeling just a little possessive and maybe a little put off. Hey fuck, he'd saved her, but she still kissed the head of Turner's prick. Her lips, Cheryl's lips, had touched Turner's dick and he'd watched it! Even after he'd poured out $12,000.00 to pay off the five guys and Ass Hole, and he'd done it to protect her. 

Shit, had he done it to protect her, or to keep her for himself? He'd been neglecting his job and career at a time when the whole economy, including his business, was going down the toilet. He could lose his business, his house, his career, and for what, so she could tell him she wasn't even sure if she ever wanted to see him again. Things really sucked!

Cheryl glanced over at Martin as they stepped out on the sidewalk. He'd rescued her from Turner's not two hours earlier, taken her to an expensive clothier and bought her tons of stuff. Now he wanted to take her to lunch, but when she looked at him he seemed really upset. She wondered if she'd done anything wrong. Maybe he'd changed his mind? Perhaps he had already started to regret the lunch offer. Maybe he wished he hadn't bought her anything. She hoped not, but he sure looked unhappy. She asked. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"Look if you've changed your mind it's OK. We don't have to eat. You can just take me home, and I'll pay you for all the things you got me."

"Don't you want to go to lunch?"

"I don't want to if you don't."

He felt awash in feelings he didn't understand, and he was scared about the direction of the conversation. All he wanted to do was be with her, but she was acting like it would be a problem for her. He wanted to tell her he wanted to take her to lunch and show her off. He wanted to retell her all the things he'd said at Turner's earlier, but all he could get out was. "Well it's up to you."

Cheryl had thought they'd go to lunch. There was a lot she wanted to say. She had a lot of questions too, but now she wasn't sure. "Well, you can just take me home."

No! He thought. This can't be! "I don't think taking you home right now is a good idea."

"I'll be all right."

"No, I'm worried about what Turner might do. I think you should stay and hang around with me for at least a day or two."

God she thought that was a close call. "Yes. I suppose you're right. So where did you want to go to lunch?"

Close call, what a relief he thought. "Let's go downtown. There are several great eateries where all my friends go. You don't mind if I show you off a little?"

That could have many meanings she thought. He could be putting her on display like Turner. But Turner never took her anywhere except out of the way hide away type places. Martin wanted to take her to the main city, maybe the Galleria! Maybe he actually does want people to see him with me? "Downtown sounds fine."

He opened her door and helped her in, then went around and got in himself. "OK, off we go, how about the Galleria?"

"Yes I'd like that."

It was as though as soon as he turned the engine on his mouth started moving. He couldn't shut up. "Have you ever been to the Galleria?"

"Yes."

Before she could add anything he was off and running. "I love their food. They have some of the best seafood. I especially love their crab cakes. They use that good old Maryland recipe."

She started to interject, but he kept right on going.

"You know that Old Bay Seasoning. Some people prefer lobster, but I think crab meat is sweeter, and you don't have to dip it butter."

"I like crab meat too." That was about as she could get in.

"We'll get seats in the middle of everything. It's still early, and a lot of people will be there. I want everybody to see you."

"Why?"

"Let me correct that. I want everybody to see you with me. I want people to think you're my girl."

"Don't over do it Martin. I said we'd eat lunch together that's all."

"Don't spoil the fantasy Cheryl."

She started to say something but he interrupted again.

"You remember that old movie 'It's a Wonderful Life' where the little girl looked at Jimmy Stewart when he was boy and said 'I'm going to love you till the day I die.' Well Cheryl." 

He looked over at her. "I'm going to love you till the day I die."

The car started to swerve. "Martin. Watch the road!"

He laughed. "Oops!"

He toned it down a little after that. They got downtown and parked in one of the many underground garages. He helped her from the car and, taking her arm, walked her to the elevator that took them to the restaurant. 

They walked in and were seated right away. It was late for lunch, but still a little early for the dinner crowd. He arranged to have a table almost exactly in the center of the main dining room. 

The waiter came, dropped off menus and asked if they wanted a drink. Cheryl opted for a white wine. Martin asked for a Jim Beam over ice. 

Cheryl remembered. Bourbon was a man's drink. "You like bourbon?"

"Honestly I'll drink most anything, but I think bourbon suits me best. I can't explain why."

"I've heard bourbon is a man's drink."

Martin screwed it up. "I don't know about what a man drinks, but I know how a man is supposed to treat a woman." He got stupid. "I could be so good to you." 

"Martin let's just enjoy lunch OK?"

"I'm sorry." Crestfallen he added. "It won't happen again."

"You Promise?"

He smiled. "No."

The waiter came back with their drinks. Cheryl ordered the crab imperial. Martin ordered two crab cakes. Each got a baked potato and green beans. 

While they waited he doodled on a piece of paper. He kept drawing hearts and writing their names in them. Every now and then he'd hold one up and show her.

"Cut it out Martin. Try not to ruin the afternoon."

He grinned. "Everybody's looking at you."

She blushed.

He grinned again. "They all think you're pretty."

"Look, if you don't cut it out I'm leaving."

He grinned yet again. "OK." Then he added. "But you are awful pretty sitting there in that dark blue suit with that gorgeous white blouse."

"That does it! I'm out of here."

He got serious. "I'm sorry. Come on. I'll stop."

Their dinners came and both ate in relative silence. Each commented on they're platters, praising the food. Martin offered Cheryl a bite of his crab cake, but she declined. She didn't offer him any of her imperial crab.

As dinner started to wind down Martin added some serious topics to the discussion. He talked a little about the economic outlook and how it was impacting the company he was trying to keep going. He asked after her school. Had the economic downturn affected the public schools? She had little to say on the matter, only that pay raises had been deferred and everybody was upset by that. He tried very hard to appear to be knowledgable about her job. He wanted her to think he wasn't just some dick driven jack ass. 

Cheryl listened to Martin, and took part where she could. She wondered whether this was his line or if he was really sincere. After Turner she couldn't be sure about anything Martin said. She wished she could, but she just couldn't. While he talked her mind wandered. He was very charming, and didn't have that macho razzle dazzle. She couldn't tell, maybe he was really trying. She wondered what it would have been like if it had been Martin on that first date. She asked him. "Did you ever wonder what might have happened if you had asked me out first?"

He looked flustered at first, then stricken, last just sad. "That was the biggest mistake of my life."

Cheryl was curious. "Would you have tried to find a way to get me into bed?"

He was dead on serious now. "There are different kinds of women. Some are ready to go to bed because they like sex. Some will go to bed for a lark. Then there are women a man just doesn't try to get into bed. You're that third kind. I don't mean you're not worth taking to bed. It's that you're a good girl. Not that those other women aren't good, but there are degrees of good." He was getting tongue tied and knew it. "Not that a woman who likes sex doesn't deserve and shouldn't get total respect. I mean women tend to be different, but all women are special, each in their own way."

"Am I special?"

"You're very special. Look I'm no Casanova, but I know special and pure."

"You think I'm pure? Even now?"

"Cheryl you're pure, and good, and clean, and just who I've been looking for."

He was making her uncomfortable again. "I think we should leave now." 

He knew it. He blew it again. He kept coming on too strong. He guessed, when someone wants someone, really positively wants them, they positively screw it up. He helped her up, left a too generous gratuity, and escorted her to the front door.

Cheryl saw the size of the tip. Nothing like Turner she thought.

After seeing to the bill with the waiter he suggested. "I think you should come home with me." Holding up his hand to avert protest he added. "Nothing intended by that. I just want to keep you away from you know who. I have plenty of room. You'll have privacy plus security."

"You live very far?"

"Actually." He hesitated. He didn't want her to think he was hauling her off to Hell's half acre, it was a cool two hour drive to his real home, but he wanted to be completely honest. "Actually yes but it's a nice place. I think you'll like it." 

"I want to get back to my apartment tomorrow."

"We can do that."

"OK."

He put the car in gear and pulled out of the garage. They were in for a long but generally pleasant ride. It was the weekend, no workday traffic.

And it was a long drive. The lazy late evening sun slowly drifted over the horizon, giving off a soft yellow glow. It was late summer, already September. The evenings were cooler now, and they were headed for the water's edge. Martin's home was in the backwater on the eastern shore of a large east coast bay. It was quiet, free of the noises of the city, only the crickets kept up a constant chatter. An occasional bat flitted low across the sky; sporadically night eyes lit the side of the road, perhaps a fox, maybe just a cat, maybe even a bobcat. A gentle land breeze seemed to hold the end of season mosquitoes at bay. 

Cheryl drifted in and out of sleep, gently soothed by the melody of the tires and the hum of a nearly quiet engine. Martin glanced over at her as she lazed in the passenger seat, heavy lidded eyes, lashes long and exquisite, head occasionally bobbing then jerking upright. She had her left hand in her lap, palm upward. Her right hand was pressed against her cheek, elbow pressing on the arm rest. Fresh pink, soft hands, tiny even for a woman. The cuffs of her blouse wrapped each delicate wrist. 

Her hair, in a bun earlier, had started to unravel. Soft luxuriant tendrils of dark and light brown drifted down around her face. The pearls in those delicate ear lobes glistened. Her lips looked soft, inviting. Her neck was long, arched, the pearl necklace he'd bought for her encircled it. Her tailored jacket was still buttoned, but her breasts were earnestly pushing against the buttons and silken fabric of her blouse. He watched as she breathed how they rose and fell. It reminded him of the waves on the shoreline of the ocean softly undulating.

Here he thought was what the poets pondered, beauty in its purest form. He had to have this woman, possess her. Not in the carnal sense, that he wanted too, but in a different way. He wanted her to love him to think of him the way he thought of her. He wanted to share with her. Share anything, a morning cup of coffee, a child's happiness at Christmas time, anything and everything.

He turned off the main road. It was a short distance to his home, not long at all. It was dark. She wouldn't get to see it all until the morning. "Cheryl." He called again. "Cheryl we're almost there."

She looked up. "Oh it's dark."

"You've been asleep."

"What time is it?"

"Almost 9:00."

He made another turn and pulled into the short driveway. "Sit tight while I get your door." He got out, got her door, and helped her out of the car. They walked the few steps to the porch. He opened the back door, and turned on the light.

"Oh my!" She gasped. "This is beautiful."

"You like it?"

"This is your home?"

"Here let me show you around." He took her around and gave her a quick tour. They walked through a spacious foyer into the main living room. A large flat screen television graced a wall diagonally from an enormous picture window. 

It was dark outside, but had it been day light they would have seen the shoreline of a rather large river. Pointing to the right he said. "Over there on the left side of the hall is the main bedroom. You'll sleep there tonight. On the right is a den, and two more bedrooms are further down. Here come this way." He walked her to her left and showed her the dining room. 

Across the dining room table was a long bar. On the other side of the bar was the kitchen. "This is where I do my best work." He smiled as he pointed to the kitchen utilities. 

"Follow me." He took her back to the living room and pointed to a double stairway. "Up the stairs to the right is another bedroom, and to the left is a bathroom. He squeezed her hand. "You won't need it. There's another bathroom in the main bedroom. That will all be yours tonight."

"Martin this place is beautiful. Is it really yours?"

"Not exactly, the bank holds the paper. I'm paying down a mortgage, but someday I hope it's mine."

She looked around the living room and the dining room. "You did all this yourself?"

"All by myself."

"You have excellent taste. I'm surprised."

He squeezed her hand again. "Why would you be surprised? I love you don't I?"

"Don't go there."

He did it again. I don't have anything for you to wear. But I could get you a clean shirt, and maybe a pair of boxers."

"You wear boxer shorts?"

"It goes with the territory. You know bourbon and boxers."

She remembered Turner wore jockeys. She thought they looked a little silly. "Yes I'd like to get into something more comfortable. I could hang up my suit, and the wrinkles will fall out during the night."

"Wait here." He slipped into the main bedroom and came out with a blue buttoned down shirt and a pair of light blue boxer shorts. "For the lady." He handed her the apparel.

She replied. "Where should I change?"

Martin pointed to the bedroom. Then he got up. "No wait. Let me show you." He walked her to the bedroom door, pointed inside, but before walking away he showed her the lock. "This will keep the scary creatures out."

She looked at him. "Are there any scary creatures here?"

He smiled. "No, not one."

She smiled back and closed the door. She slipped out of her jacket, skirt, and blouse. Took off her nylons and shoes, but left her panties and bra on before she put on the shirt and boxers. The shirt was too large, she expected that, but to her surprise the boxers weren't that bad around the waist. Not tight but snug. 

She went into the bathroom. There were two toothbrushes, one looked brand new. He hadn't had time to put out a toothbrush had he? She brushed her teeth, washed her face and hands, and found a hair brush she used to comb the last strands of the bun out. She didn't feel really clean, but she did feel more relaxed. Looking herself over in the mirror she liked what she saw. His shirt looked good on her. She thought the boxers were neat. They had a slit in the front for his thing if he needed to pee. If she didn't have her panties on she could have reached in and touched herself. She went back to the living room. 

Martin was sitting on the sofa. The television wasn't on, which was a surprise, but he had two pads and pens out on the coffee table. "Let's play a game."

She sat down beside him on the sofa. "OK, what?"

"I'll name something, say a favorite musical group. While you put something down on your pad, I'll write something on mine. Then you name something and we'll do it again. It'll be like a list where we compare our favorite things."

She liked the idea. All Turner had wanted to do was watch television. Martin was clearly different. She said. "I'll go first. Favorite movie." Martin wrote and Cheryl wrote. She asked "OK. What have you got?" 

He said. "Saving Private Ryan. What did you put?"

She said. "Sleepless in Seattle."

"Now it's my turn." He said. "Favorite music group."

She put Dixie Chicks.

He put Led Zeppelin.

Next she said favorite pie. He put cherry, she put apple.




The Misogynist Ch. 07



On and on they went, favorite cookies, best actress, best actor, best car, favorite novel, favorite poet, best president, worst president, least favorite meat, most favorite way to fix beef. They played for nearly an hour, and not one thing matched. Finally Cheryl looked up. "Face it. We have absolutely nothing in common."

He smiled back. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing"

She started to stare at him. It was like she saw him for the first time. He had large brown eyes, long lashes she thought for a man, a well shaped nose, which may have been broken once. His teeth were white and straight, hair a dark brown but with a few streaks of gray. He was aging early maybe. He needed a shave. Turner had sported a pierced ear. Martin wore no jewelry. His hands were well shaped, neither too large nor too small. He wore no rings. It looked like he'd been biting his nails. She wondered if it had anything to do with her. His mouth was pretty typical, nothing to write home about. Of course, her experience in judging male mouths was pretty limited. He wasn't what someone would call handsome, but he was easy on the eyes. He was muscular, not as muscular as Turner, but he looked well built. She liked the way he looked. He'd have handsome sons and pretty daughters. 

Martin watched as she looked at him. He wanted to kiss her. If he could just get up the nerve, but he knew he'd been overbearing about that kind of stuff all day. He said to himself. Don't fuck things up tonight. Think of the long haul. Oh look at her, how beautiful she is. 

She started leaning toward him. He leaned in her direction too.

Slowly their faces moved closer. Her eyes were on his. His eyes were glued to her lips. 

They were within an inch of each other. 

He could smell her natural fragrance. She had a scent to die for. There was something about her that mesmerized him. 

She could smell his aftershave. It was something like Old Spice. Turner used English Leather. At first she liked it, but it got kind of cloying after a while. Martin's scent was different. She knew she'd never get tired of it. It had that kind of quality. 

He was leaning as close to her as he dared, maybe a fraction of an inch away. He wanted her so much. God let it happen. Just a kiss! Tonight that's all he needed just to feel her lips on his.

She felt his breath against her cheek. It was a warm healthy smell, no whiskey, no odor, just, well manly she guessed. They were so close. Maybe, if they had just one kiss. One kiss wouldn't hurt.

Their lips touched. His were warm and firm. She thought a man's lips a real man's lips. Turner's had been hard always pressing. Martin's were firm but pliant too.

He felt her lips. They were warm, somewhat soft, not soggy, not wet, but moist and soft. They had a wonderful soft warm flowery feel, like fresh honeysuckle. He moved just a smidgen closer.

His movement broke the spell. Cheryl put her hand up between their mouths. She turned her head. "Enough. I have to go to bed."

He sort of leaned, turned, and sighed. "Yeah I think you're right. I set the clock early. I'll get up and fix breakfast. Is there anything you'd like?"

She didn't look at him, didn't want to. "No anything you fix will be fine. I'm not a big breakfast person."

He got up. Nervously he moved away from the sofa. "You know how to lock the door. You know where the bathroom is. I'll be upstairs if you need me." He stumbled around the coffee table and shuffled to the stairs and turned around. "Goodnight Cheryl." 

She hadn't gotten up yet. She felt weak. She wondered this must be what it feels like to be silly putty. She looked up at him where he stood at the first step. "Goodnight Martin."

He turned and started up the steps. In a short minute he was gone and out of sight.

Cheryl sat very quietly on the sofa for another minute or two. She touched her lips with two fingers. She wiped away a few miscreant tears that had stumbled out of her eyes. She leaned back on the sofa for just a few more moments. She wondered what was happening to her. She got off the sofa and went off to bed.

Martin couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned all night. He knew why too. Everything he ever wanted was downstairs in his bed. It drove him half mad.

Cheryl for her part didn't go straight to bed. Earlier she'd skipped showering. Now she knew she needed one. It wasn't because she felt especially dirty, though her last shower had been at Turner's, a thought and place she'd like to forget, it was more like that would be the only way she'd be able to settle her nerves. She drew a nice hot one. Not hot like it had been at Turner's when he was hurting her, but still nice and warm. She lathered her body with Martin's soap, and washed her hair with his shampoo. It felt good. It was like his shampoo was more lathery. It didn't make sense, but nothing made sense anymore. When she finished she took two of his big towels and dried off. She pressed one up hard against her face. This is Martin's towel. She used another towel to dry her hair, and then used his hairbrush to comb it out again. 

Every few minutes, for no apparent reason, she took her fingers and touched her lips. She touched the places where his lips had touched hers. Completely dry she put his shirt and his boxer shorts back on. It felt good to have his clothes on. She didn't understand why, but they were comforting for some reason. She pulled his boxers up tight against and into her crotch. She squeezed her vagina. She thought his pants were in her womb. She felt silly, but it helped her fall asleep.

The next morning a bleary eyed Martin was roused by the alarm clock. He got up and quietly went downstairs. He had big plans for the day. It was Sunday, and Cheryl didn't have to see any kids until Tuesday. He knew teachers had to plan ahead, and they had rooms to prepare. He didn't know if Turner had let her do her room, but he still wanted to keep her at his home one more day. He had a boat. It wasn't as big as the boat Turner had said he'd borrowed from a friend. He never borrowed anybody's boat, he had to rent one. No his boat wasn't so big, but it was still a nice one. He bet Cheryl would get a kick out of steering it. He wanted to go out and catch flounder. They were bottom feeders, and the river was full of them. She'd have a terrific time. They'd come back, fry or broil them up and have a real fish feast. 

He knew she didn't have any clothes so quickly before he started breakfast he grabbed a pair of his overalls. They were clean and with some big safety pins he had she'd fit right into them. They could cut the legs off short, as short as she wanted them. 

Martin was excited. He'd fix a big breakfast. She could have her choice, scrapple, sausage, bacon, scrambled or fried eggs, crisp toast or hot pancakes. Everything would be ready. First a breakfast feast, then fun with the boat, some cool flounder fishing, and a terrific fish dinner. Maybe later they could play checkers or scrabble or something, anything that would require talking and sharing. It would be such a cool day! 

Martin was about half way through fixing breakfast when Cheryl walked into the kitchen. He hadn't planned on waking her just yet hoping to have everything but the eggs done. 

Cheryl walked into the kitchen fully dressed in her business suit. Hair done up, make up on, nylons fixed just right, high heeled shoes clicking across the hardwood floor. She looked radiant, but that wasn't the plan.

"Cheryl your up."

"Yes I heard you out here so I thought I better get going. We have to get back to the city. I have to prepare my classroom tomorrow, but today I have to go back to Turner's"

"Back to Turner's! Why?"

"He still has my purse and all my papers. I can't drive my car or do anything without them."

Martin was coming apart. "Wait a minute. I'll get your papers for you when I go get the tape tonight."

"No I need to get back anyway. My room will be a mess if I don't."

He panicked. "Look I'll help you get your room ready. I don't have anything to do tomorrow."

She smiled. "Now how do you think that would that look me an unmarried woman bringing a strange man in to school on an off day?"

"I don't care. I'll do it for you anyway."

"Martin it wouldn't be about you. It would be about me."

He was desperate. "I thought we'd go boating, maybe go fishing." His voice was starting to go to a higher octave. "We could catch flounder, cook them up later. Have a real fish feast." He looked at her like his mother or his dog had just died.

"Martin I already went boating with Turner, and you remember we caught some fish that day too. I have to get back to get ready for my children."

That's right he remembered. She had already fished and boated with Turner. Why would she want to do the same thing with him? "I just thought it would be fun. Look I have a pair of my overalls. We could fasten them tighter with these big safety pins." He showed her the giant sized pins. "It would be fun."

"No come on Martin. We had a good time last night. I got to see your house. Now I have to get home. I have to get ready for work."

He surrendered. "Well at least we can enjoy this big breakfast." He said it with a huge very artificial smile. He'd do anything to keep her at his house a little longer.

Cheryl walked over to the counter, looked over the things he'd cooked, picked up a piece of bacon and a piece of toast. She bit into the bacon and then bit off a small piece of toast. "There, breakfast has been served. I told you last night I'm not a morning eater."

"Won't you at least have a little more?"

"Martin we have to go."

What had gone wrong between last night and this morning? Something had happened last night. He'd felt it, sensed it, knew it. She knew it too. Had it been a dream? Oh shit. He felt like his life was being ripped to shreds. He capitulated. "OK, I'll go start the car."

She watched him walk toward the door. "Do you me want to clean up the kitchen?"

He didn't turn around. He didn't want her to see his tears. "No just leave it."

Martin got control of himself once he was in the car. She'd said she wanted to get back today. What he'd been planning had been wishful thinking, a dream. He had to stop pushing. Calm down. Relax he told himself. It is what it is. If she loves him or falls in love with him then it'll all end happily. If she doesn't well, she doesn't. There was life before Cheryl. There will be life after Cheryl. That's what he kept telling himself anyway.

They drove back in very little traffic. It was a lovely September morning. Birds were chirping, the sky was a beautiful blue, and Cheryl was exuberant. She chattered most of the way back about her job, the coming school year, the children, and the people she worked with. Martin tried to keep up, but her enthusiasm was disquieting. 

"You have no idea how wonderful the children are. I'm a special needs teacher. The youngsters I work with all have something that makes them different from others."

"Oh really? Like what?"

Cheryl went into great detail about all of them. Most of the stuff she talked about went right over Martin's head. He'd vaguely been aware of most of the afflictions she mentioned, but he'd never seen anybody with the ailments she discussed. When he was in school they were stay at homes or considered special education kids. They were kids to be avoided, like what they had was contagious. He told her as much. She didn't appreciate it.

"I know you don't understand what I'm talking about." She tried to explain. "All people are special in some way. Each and every human being has a gift. It's my job to help these little ones find what they possess that makes them who they are and who they will become."

Martin explained his college days had been largely spent with business classes, mathematics, and economics, all pretty dry stuff. He tried to explain he'd been trained to see consumers not necessarily people. A consumer could be a person, even a child, but it could be a company, a factory, a country, anything that used resources and could produce a profit. 

Cheryl wasn't interested in any of that. Her whole life revolved around helping people. Martin tried to explain how he helped people by enabling producers to make more products. She understood she just didn't see it the same way. 

"Martin I understand what you're saying, but everything you do seems to be geared not to helping people, but only in making money."

Martin wanted to change the subject since he wasn't looking any better talking about his money grubbing compared to her humanitarianism. "Tell me about some of the people you work with."

Cheryl responded. "Let me tell you about our new vice-principal. He came in about mid-year. His name is Allyn, and he's been wonderful for me. He's been a real mentor. He knows and understands children, and the children all love him."

Martin already didn't like him. "Is he married?" 

"No, he says he isn't ready yet. He's only two years older than I am. That would make him about your age wouldn't it?"

Martin liked him even less. "Yes sounds like we're the same age."

"Oh I want to tell you. He's only been teaching for about six years. He went to Princeton and then Hopkins for his graduate studies in childhood diseases. He spent time at the Kennedy-Krueger Institute working with the mentally challenged, and he worked a year at St. Jude's."

"My, the guy sounds like a genius."

"Oh he is. You'd be amazed, but he isn't at all snooty or stuck up. In fact this summer he went to Bolivia to work with Habitat for Humanity, you know the organization Jimmy Carter is associated with."

"Yes I know about Habitat for Humanity. Tell me, can he walk on water too?"

"That was a cheap shot Martin. He's a wonderful man. You could learn a lot from him considering what you've been doing all summer."

That hurt, really hurt, but he didn't let on. Hell she didn't know how much work he'd put in trying to keep his faltering business above water, and though the $12,000.00 he'd forked out to protect her didn't sound like a lot, it would have been a help regarding his company's chances. He didn't tell her though. She was too wrapped up in this Allyn and his career. "You're right Cheryl. I'm sorry, it sounds like Allyn is a great guy. Any girl would be lucky to get hooked up with him."

"I think he's wonderful." 

Most of the rest of the drive was accomplished in either silence, in small talk, and in avoidance of the big hurdle ahead of them when they reached the city. As they talked Martin realized there were sides to Cheryl he'd never known, and in fact never tried to uncover. All summer he'd been thinking of Cheryl as this innocent lamb, some helpless innocent little girl, and she was an innocent and she was unknowing about some things. But she had a life, a career, and ambitions. Maybe her dreams weren't exactly like his, but she had her dreams and goals. 

It bothered him. Their paths had converged because of a bet. Once the reason for the convergence was removed he worried there might not be any reason for their continued association. The only reason he could come up with was his love, but she didn't seem disposed toward him in that way, last night notwithstanding. 

Cheryl glanced over at Martin. She'd had a rough summer, but he'd had a rough one too, at least as far as she could tell. He'd been in a box most of his life, a box with neatly defined parameters. His acquaintance with her had burst those boundaries. In some ways his life was in shambles just like hers. His whole life, like hers, in many ways was being redefined. She thought she'd learned a lot about herself. She realized she could take it. Later today she was going to find out if she could dish a little out. 

How had Martin been handling things? She thought it probably took a lot of ego strength to go against a lifetime of second fiddle subservience. His manhood had never been tested the way it had been this summer. He'd always had Turner to fall back on. There was strength in him. She could see it. 

She thought of the comparison between Martin and Turner. Turner had come off as the strong male image, the power player, the leader, but underneath he was weak and shallow, maybe even a little effeminate. Martin had come across as the side kick, and sometimes the character or worse the shill, but inside there was a manliness that, though often hidden, peaked through when needed. Turner was like a turtle, hard and tough externally but mushy inside, Martin was softer on the surface, but there was real steel under the surface. Turner she realized was all bullshit. Martin was all man. 

They reached the city. The time had come to face the demon.

Cheryl spoke first. "Martin this is something I have to do."

"Cheryl I don't want you to do this. He'll hurt you."

"No he won't. I bet he gives me my property and the tape, and that will be the end of it."

"You sound a lot more confident than I am. I've known this guy most all my life. He's a bad one Cheryl."

"It's all for show Martin. When he doesn't have anybody to show off for he's weak."

"Who would he show off for?"

"You, I think a lot of it has been to impress other men, you especially. Without any applause, your applause, he's a broken reed."

Martin was impressed by Cheryl's outward show of resolve. He told her. "Gosh, Cheryl, you're getting some backbone. I'm proud of you." He only hoped this new strength didn't backfire on him.

"You see why I have to do this."

"I guess so, but just the same I want you to do me a favor."

"Make it quick. I might lose my nerve." She smiled.

"Let's run over to the mall and buy you a new cell phone, when you go see him carry the phone in your hand. We'll preset it with my number, if he comes at you, or tries to hurt you just hit the button and I'll come running."

"I don't think I'll need it, but if it will make you feel better we can."

"Thanks."

Together they traveled to the mall and Martin bought her a new phone. Whether she needed it or not she'd at least have it. And if she didn't need it, she'd have a phone that he'd know the number to later.

From the mall they drove straight to Turner's. Cheryl called ahead and made sure he was home. He was. Martin parked a block down the street. 

Martin had a concern he wanted to clear up before she took any new risks. "Cheryl I want to ask you something."

"Yes what?"

"I noticed yesterday you have marks all over your body." He touched her arm. "They're on your arms, your shoulders, on your back, and on your breasts."

She sat stiffly. "Yes."

Well they look like somebody took a whip or something and beat you. Did Turner do anything?"

Looking straight ahead, avoiding any eye contact, she answered. "Yes. He beat me with a belt."

"Oh God Cheryl I can't let you go in there. He'll hurt you again."

"No Martin it's something I have to do myself."

"Cheryl for God's sake let me at least go with you."

Cheryl gave him a hard stern look. "No I'm doing this myself and I'm doing it alone. If you keep this up I'll leave the phone here in the car, go in alone, and when I come out I'll never speak to you again."

Martin was both terrified at what she said, and a little proud too. She was taking a terrible risk, but he was proud of her determination. She'd grown a spine over the summer. He answered. "Take the phone. If anything, I mean anything looks at all suspicious to you hit the button. Promise me you'll do that."

She looked over. "I will." She checked the phone. "Wish me luck."

He reached out and touched her shoulder. "Cheryl."

She leaned over. Their lips connected. They kissed. Both of them felt the electricity.

He looked at her with an intensity she hadn't seen in him before. "I'm here Cheryl."

She looked in through the side window. "I know." She turned and started up the street to Turner's house. No matter what happened in the next few minutes that bastard in the house would see her standing straight and tall. All the summer's lies and manipulations had to be faced, and if he came after her? If he came after her, she knew, well, she knew she had Martin. Her stomach churned. She was glad she'd skipped breakfast. She was scared as she walked up the sidewalk to the door, but she knew, she knew she had her rock. He was back in the car.



The Misogynist Ch. 08



Martin sat in the car and watched Cheryl walk toward Turner's. Once she went inside he'd pull closer. He reflected on how she'd changed. She gone through a lot, more than most, and certainly more than she deserved, yet she was stronger, stronger by a country mile. He couldn't imagine her doing anything as courageous as facing up to a bully like Turner when the summer began. She was such a jittery little sparrow in June, now she was a mature woman about to beard the lion in his den. He hoped she remembered what the cell phone was for.

Cheryl walked to the front door and rang the bell. For a nickel she'd run and let Martin do this, but she knew she had to be the one. She was just starting to understand she had to fight her own fights. She couldn't depend on other people, and she certainly couldn't let Martin do this. 

Turner frightened her. He was mean. He hated women, and he especially hated her. But she had to try. Where did she get the nerve to try what she was doing? This was something clearly out of her territory. Of course she knew where her strength was coming from. Her strength was sitting back in the car. All summer, through all the horror, all the fear, the humiliation there had been one constant, one defender, one protector, and one compass, Martin. He'd been right all along. He'd been there all along, and he was there right now. 

She still wasn't sure how she felt about Martin. That wasn't right. She wasn't sure how she wanted to feel about Martin. He'd been her rock, her great support. She loved him for it, but did she actually love him? If she loved him, really loved him, it would require more than what's happened so far. Certainly he was everything she'd have wanted in a man once, but that was before Turner and all the lies. Martin had been a part of that, a big part of that. Sure she felt gratitude, but she felt anger too. Anger at herself for being so starry eyed, certainly anger at Turner for being a cad, but there was anger at Martin too. Yes she felt gratitude toward Martin as well, but was gratitude the same thing as love. No she knew it wasn't. 

If she loved Martin, if she was going to really love him, it would have to be based on something more than the terrible events of the summer. In fact, if she was going to love any man, whether it was Martin, or anybody, it would have to be as an equal. She knew to achieve that kind of loving relationship she had a lot more growing up to do. Before she could commit to Martin she had to commit to herself. That commitment began right here at the doorstep of the monster.

Cheryl heard someone on the other side of the door. They called out. "Who is it?"

"It's Cheryl."

"Is Martin with you?"

"No."

The door opened. "What Martin couldn't make it?"

"He's waiting down the street."

"What he was afraid to see me."

"No he's just waiting down the street."

Turner gave Cheryl a smarmy grin. He stepped back from the portal. "Won't you come in?"

Cheryl stepped in the house. She looked around quickly and thought, same shit hole as yesterday. "I'm here for my personal papers and the video tape."

Turner, still smiling, answered. "They're right over here." He turned, reached around, and lifted up a paper bag. "Here you go. Everything's inside. Go ahead. Check."

Cheryl stepped a few feet away and opened the bag. She pulled out her purse and looked through it. She saw a tape at the bottom of the bag. "This is the right tape?"

"Everything's there just like I said."

Cheryl closed the bag, and stood as erect as she could. "Thank you. I'll be leaving now." She started for the door.

Turner moved between her and the door. "Not just yet sweetheart."

Cheryl tried to move around him. "We're done. Let me by."

Still with the same ugly look. "Don't you want to kiss your Turner good bye?"

"No. Let me by."

He started toward her. "Why? What are you going to do? You said yourself the big hero is hiding down the street." He moved closer, she retreated back. 

"He's waiting for me. If I don't leave soon he'll come get me."

"Who, you mean our Mr. Martin? I don't think so." He kept inching her further back, further away from the door. "Our little Mr. Martin can't stand up to me. I could break him like a pretzel, and he knows it." 

Turner had her backed into a corner. She kept her hands behind her back. She knew what she needed to do, but couldn't push the button. "Leave me alone Turner. We're through. Just the sight of you makes me sick."

He was on top of her, arms straddling her body. He towered over her. "You don't mean that." He moved his hands to her shoulders.

For a second Cheryl thought she could kick him in the groin, but saw he had his legs at an angle. The move she contemplated was impossible. "I said let me go."

He started rubbing up and down her arms. "Nice jacket, nice blouse. Did Martin get them for you?"

She took her one free hand, the one without the cell phone and tried to push him back. "Let me go Turner. Martin will be here any minute."

"No he won't. He's afraid of me. That's why he didn't come in himself."

Cheryl didn't answer him. She kept trying to push him with her free hand, while she kept her hand with the phone hidden. "Let me go."

He had her jacket open and started unbuttoning her blouse. "I think you need to get undressed Cheryl. I have a nice little bedroom upstairs for you. Remember? We'll go up and make mad passionate love, just like we used to."

She pushed the button and dropped the phone on the floor. Using both hands she tried to hold him off. "Let me go."

Turner had her blouse open and was squeezing her breasts when he heard something hit the floor. He saw the cell phone. "Awe. Did we call our Martin?"

She was trying her best to keep his hands away, but he'd already slipped her bra over her breasts. He started squeezing her nipples. It hurt horribly. "Yes, and he's going to fix you good."

Turner kept manipulating her nipples. They were turning an angry red. "Oh please now Cheryl." He leaned forward. "Give your old Turner a kiss."

Just then the front door opened.

Turner looked ahead at the wall past Cheryl's face. Shit he thought when he reached to get the paper bag he'd forgotten to lock the door. The idiot's in the house. A voice confirmed his thought.

"Let her go Turner."

He Turned and saw his old friend standing at the door. "Sure Martin." He started for his old friend.

Martin didn't hesitate. He knew all Turner's tricks. He moved forward and threw the first punch. It swept through empty air. 

Turner swung back and hit Martin a glancing blow on the chin.

Martin threw a round house at Turner's jaw and clipped him a glancing shot.

Turner stepped back, but not before hitting another arching blow at Martin's jaw.

Martin made a leap forward and threw a quick combination to the chest and the stomach. The stomach shot got him. Turner crumpled over.

Martin ran to Cheryl. "Get your things let's get out here."

Cheryl fell into his arms. "Martin I was so scared."

"You did good Cheryl. That took courage to come in here and face him alone."

Cheryl looked up. "Martin! Look out!" 

Turner had grabbed a large heavy green glass vase. It was easily two and a half feet tall. He swung it down with both hands. The blow was directed squarely at Martin's head. Cheryl threw up her hands to ward off the blow. It hit her left hand full on. She heard the sickening sound of breaking bone. But the vase still connected solidly with Martin's head.

It was a shattering shot, through Cheryl's upraised left hand right into the back of Martin's head, just behind the ear. Martin collapsed to the floor.

Turner stood over Martin. Still wielding the vase he laughed. "So it goes for our one time hero."

Cheryl was desperate. She knew her hand was broken, but if she didn't act fast Turner would land another, perhaps lethal, blow on the now helpless Martin. There was a stand with several umbrellas beside the door. It was all she saw. She ran for it!

Turner spun around intent on preventing the girl from escaping. 

Cheryl reached for an umbrella, turned, and swung with all her might at her attacker.

Turner tried to avoid the blow. He stepped back, not far enough! The heavy handle of the umbrella missed his head but landed heavily on his left clavicle. There was a loud crack! He screamed! "You broke my collar bone!" He fell to the floor crying out in pain.

Cheryl delivered another punishing shot at the same spot, and received another welcome cry of pain. She threw the umbrella across the room and ran to where Martin was slumped on the floor. "Martin! Martin!" She screamed. There wasn't any response. 

Turner was crying on the floor. "Get an ambulance. You've broken my collar bone."

Cheryl was apoplectic! She was certain Martin's injury was serious. She was a teacher. She'd had some training in first aid. He'd been hit on the head, and he had passed out. Certainly it was a concussion, and a serious one. Every second mattered! She fumbled with his body. She knew she had to act fast. What did they say? Shock! What happens when the body goes into shock! She remembered! It's like when one has car trouble, the first thing a person does is to turn the engine off. If she didn't act fast his whole system could shut down. He could die! 

"Martin! Martin!" She yelled." She got his head flat and started doing the only things she could think of. She slapped him on the cheek. She pushed his stomach in. Thank God he's breathing! She yelled again. "Martin! Martin! Wake up! Oh please wake up." She felt him start to stir. It had been three maybe four minutes, a long time for a concussion. His eyes were open. She cradled his head in her arms. "Martin. Oh please God make him wake up." She kissed his face, his eyes. Her hot wet tears dribbled on his brow. "Oh God please don't let this man die."

There was a faint murmur. "Cheryl?"

"Yes Oh yes! Martin you're awake."

He was incoherent. "Cheryl let me get breakfast."

She realized he was out of it. Short term memory loss! Yes, she remembered that much. "Martin please stay awake for me! Stay awake!" She crawled the few feet to where the cell phone had fallen. She found it and punched in the 911 signal. Thank God for 911 and the new cell phone systems. 

There was an answer on the other end. "Hello. 911."

"Yes send an ambulance to." She shouted Turner's address. "My boyfriend has a terrible concussion. Hurry He may die!"

The operator on the other end started to give her instructions. She advised her to stay calm. Help was only a matter of minutes away. They kept Cheryl on the line, keeping her calm, and giving her help. She cradled his head, kissed his cheeks. She wiped her tears from his forehead. She heard the sirens. Yes, help was on the way! "Stay awake! Martin! Please God make him stay awake!"

The paramedics rushed through the front door. One spoke up. "Who's hurt?"

Turner cried out. "Over here! She broke my collar bone!"

Cheryl was holding Martin tightly. She called out over Turner's whining. "No over here! My boyfriend has a terrible concussion."

One paramedic looked at Turner's injury. "Don't move!"

They then went straight to Cheryl and the still hallucinating Martin, while one went to work the other asked. "What happened?"

Cheryl pointed to Turner then the vase. "He hit my boyfriend with that vase"

The paramedics worked feverishly. Stretcher on hand, body board too, neck brace materials at the ready. In an instant they had Martin on the stretcher and headed for the ambulance.

While working one of the paramedics looked at Cheryl, and then pointing to Turner who was still crying and whimpering. "We'll get someone here for him in an instant."

Turner whimpered. "She broke my shoulder."

The other paramedic reminded him not to move. "We'll get another team right away." A third paramedic had already made the call.

They wheeled Martin to the ambulance. Cheryl followed.

One of the paramedics saw her hand. "Let's look at that. It looks like you broke your hand."

Cheryl responded. "Don't worry about me." She Pointed at Martin. "Take care of him."

The paramedic answered. "We can get you're hand too."

On their way to the hospital one paramedic ministered to Martin. The other saw to Cheryl's hand. As they traveled they saw the second ambulance speeding to the house. "You're other friend will be picked up in a few seconds."

Cheryl already stuffed with some sort of pain killer said. "That man's nobody's friend."

They sped to the hospital, and got Martin settled. He was awake and somewhat alert, but wasn't thinking clearly. 

"Where are we?' 

"We're at the hospital darling. Turner hit you on the head with a vase."

"Why'd he do that?"

"Don't worry. The doctors are fixing you up."

"You called me darling."

"Yes I guess I did."

"You're kind of fuzzy. I must be dreaming."

The doctor looked at Cheryl and interjected. "That's not unusual. He sustained a pretty hefty blow to the head. He'll be in and out." Having already been apprised of the essentials he added. "Your broken hand might have saved his life."

Cheryl leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Here that. I saved your life. It's not every girl can claim they saved their sweethearts life."

Martin was having trouble getting a clear visual image, but he heard every word. He was starting to remember. The trip to Turner's to get the stuff, the fight, Cheryl's courage. Mostly he was thinking about what she'd been saying. "You called me your sweetheart. I'm your sweetheart, and you called me darling. I know I'm dreaming."

"You're not dreaming." She looked up. "Is it all right for him to talk like this?"

"Let him talk. Keep him awake. We'll be taking him for tests in just a few moments. You'll have to wait here."

Martin heard the doctor. "You'll wait won't you?"

"Of course I'll wait."

"You're very courageous Cheryl."

"You're starting to feel better aren't you?" She responded

"I'm so proud of you. You're a brave little girl." He paused and sighed. "You're my brave little Cheryl."

Cheryl stiffened. That was the kind of thing Turner used to say. From now on she wasn't going to be anybody's little girl. Not anymore. Not ever. 

A few seconds later they were wheeling him out to take tests.

Her hand tightly wrapped Cheryl stayed at the hospital. Martin was given a series of tests. The doctor returned with some information. He had been hit quite solidly, and there appeared to a slight fracture, almost imperceptible but present none the less. There was no internal bleeding, and no serious swelling. Yet his brain was certainly bruised. They recommended he should stay in the hospital for a few nights, and then return home for complete rest for at least two weeks. 

Cheryl listened and marked her calendar. The doctors assured her he'd have good care while in the hospital, and once home he could be left on his own much of the time if he agreed to stay put. Cheryl decided, as long as her hand didn't interfere, there was no reason why she couldn't prepare her school room, and start school on time. When Martin was released from the hospital she'd bring him to her apartment. He'd be able to manage alone for the few hours she was at school. When she explained this, Martin seemed more than just a little happy.

He listened to Cheryl's suggestion. Martin relished the idea of staying at her place. 

The hospital staff found Martin a bed. Cheryl spent the night. Martin was in and out all night. Sometimes he was coherent. Other times he lapsed. He complained of headaches, but that was to be expected. From time to time his vision blurred, but mostly it was his confusion that worried her. 

During the long night Cheryl found herself almost desperate to share some affection with him. Martin lay there so helpless. She wanted to cherish him. It wasn't love, not the kind of love she'd always fantasized about. It was more like the love one develops for a wounded animal, a bird with an injured wing. Twice she climbed in beside him on the bed while he was in one of his delirious phases. She wrapped her arm around his head, careful not to cause any more harm.

She occasionally leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Once she kissed his lips. They felt softer than before, almost feminine. He looked so vulnerable, frail even. He was a good man. Yes there was real goodness in him. But he'd done wrong things. He'd done, or allowed to be done wrong, bad, things to her. Could she forgive that? Would she ever be able to forget that, probably not? 

On one occasion during the long night when he was out of it she lay her head on his chest. She pulled open the gown he was wearing. His chest was hairy, not like Turner's almost nude chest. Martin had a good hairy chest, not too much hair but enough to make him look manly. She rubbed her hands through his chest hair. It had a good feel. 

She looked at his belly. Turner's had been rock hard, abs of steel. At first she thought that was wonderful, but it occurred to her it was more a mark of vanity than real manliness. She looked at Martin's stomach. It wasn't soft, but it was a little rounded. He had body fat, and it didn't seem to bother him. She rubbed her hand over his stomach. It felt warm to the touch. She liked it. Cheryl leaned down and kissed his stomach just above the navel. She plucked his navel. He had an inny. She kissed his stomach again. She rubber her cheek against it, he felt warm and smooth. 

She found herself fantasizing. She liked this man's body. It was real, not the product of hours in a gym.

Cheryl checked out his arms. He had muscles, but they weren't as big as Turner's. Martin's arm strength came from honest effort, not some metal machine.

There was another place on his body that inspired her curiosity. Dare she look? Cheryl peaked down at his groin. It was covered by the bed sheet and a thin blanket. She shouldn't look. But what difference would it make if she did? She slowly slid the coverlets down to the tops of his legs. They had cut his underpants off. She remembered he wore boxers, a man's underpants. She kept her head on his stomach while she looked at his crotch. She couldn't see his thing. She slid down a little further to get a better view. There it was! It was really pink, he had been circumcised, and for what it was worth considering she thought in all the pictures she'd seen they were funny looking, his thing looked kind of nice. 

She wondered if she should touch it. Or maybe just touch near it. Turner made her touch him once or twice. She hadn't liked it. She never looked at Turner's, didn't want to. There was something different about Martin, always had been. She wondered what it was that made him so different to her. 

She slowly slid her hand across the lowest part of his tummy down to the top of his body just above his place. He had curly hair down there. Her fingers were at the edge of the hairy area. She took her fingertips and softly rubbed just above his thing. Should she? She reached just a little further and put her fingernails just at the top of his thing. She used her fingertips and carefully skimmed across the top. It moved! She touched it again. It started to move again. She pulled her fingers and hand away. She'd seen and done enough.

Suddenly she felt something caress the back of her neck. She felt shivers going up and down her back. Martin had awakened and he had placed his hand on the nape of her neck. His touch had sent a tingling sensation up and down her back. Now it emanated out all over her body.

"Cheryl?" She heard Martin's soft voice.

"Yes Martin." She quickly got up and moved back to her chair, pulling his covers up over his body as she moved. His eyes were only half open.

"Oh nothing I must have been dreaming."

"That's right Martin. They said you'd dream and hallucinate all night. How do you feel?"




The Misogynist Ch. 08



He reached out with his hand and touched her arm. She felt another quiver of electricity. "Good knowing you're here."

'Yes I'm here."

He drifted off back to whatever state of mind he was in, asleep or partly comatose she couldn't tell.

She watched him with a forlorn sense of futility, a feeling of impending loss. She could have loved him. If he had been first there was no telling where things might have ended up. He was and had everything a woman wanted, but. There was always that but. Oh why do things always have to be that way?

Around 9:00 that Monday morning Martin seemed alert enough to comprehend what was going on. Cheryl reminded him about her room, told him she had to go to school, but she'd be back.

Martin told her to do what she needed, but go home and get some rest. If she called from time to time he'd be happy. He told her again how much he loved her, and how much he worried about her.

Cheryl didn't reciprocate the love note, but she agreed to call, and she agreed she needed some rest. True to her word she called twice from school, and once more when she got home. She promised to try to stop by after her first day and look in on him.

Martin told her she needed to take care of herself first. Calling to check was good enough. 

Later that same morning after leaving Martin at the hospital Cheryl pulled her car into the school parking lot. It was just a little after 11:00, and she hadn't gone home yet. She opted to get her room unpacked and the majority of her posters up, and then return home for a nice shower and good nights rest. The school doors were open. Several other teachers were also taking advantage of the last day before the students arrived.

The first person she saw was Allyn. She hadn't seen him since June. He'd been to Bolivia working with Habitat for Humanity. He looked like a Greek God. Hair, already sandy, was bleached from the sun, hearty tan, not an ounce of fat to be seen. He was wearing a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts, a light blue polo shirt, tennis shoes without socks, and neck adorned with a thin strand of cowry shells. He was the embodiment of good health and right living. Like Martin he was every woman's idea of what a man should be, but without the baggage. She waved down the hall.

Allyn saw Cheryl and waved back. He was talking to one of the younger female teachers. Watching Cheryl go in her room he thought she looked different. Bidding adieu to the young lady he wandered on down to Cheryl's. "Good morning! How was your summer?"

Cheryl smiled back. "Busy and eventful how was yours?"

"Busy." He replied. "What happened to your hand?"

Cheryl gave him an abbreviated and greatly altered version of the truth. 

He watched her while she talked. He was amazed at the physical changes the summer had wrought. She was certainly thinner, but she looked more mature. She'd reminded him of a plain Jane at the end of the year. Now he was looking at ravishing vixen. He was getting aroused just watching her. He thought she looked tired too. "You look marvelous Cheryl."

Cheryl was flattered. She realized she liked being complimented by this man. She knew him as one of the good guys, a man a woman would be proud to be seen with. "Thank you Allyn."

Allyn saw Cheryl wince as she tried to pull posters from the cabinet. "Here let me help." He stepped in and took over the poster pile. "Tell me where you want them."

"Oh no." Cheryl responded. "You have your own chores."

"Nonsense you need help."

Cheryl was doubly flattered. What a gentleman she thought. She sat down and allowed him to place, staple, and thumb tack the posters in the places she indicated. She liked looking at his thin muscular legs, his lithe lean torso, and his strong arms and hands. He was so handsome. He looked so different from the painfully weak man she'd recently left at the hospital.

The two of them talked and flirted for hours. Cheryl was delighted by the attention. He said the kindest most thoughtful things. She could tell, though he admired her body, he was more interested in her mind. She imagined herself at home with him, both of them grading papers together, or discussing the special needs of some child. She and Allyn had so much in common. She thought about the man in the hospital. She cared about him, but she had so much more in common with Allyn. 

Allyn was glad to help, and even more glad to be first in with this beautiful woman. He reflected on the sweet young Latina he'd promised to marry back in Bolivia. That was never going to happen. And now that he'd broken things off with the young teacher down the hall he could take this one out. He looked Cheryl over. She'd be a real prize.

Cheryl called Martin late that evening. He seemed to be doing well. He said he missed her terribly, and he loved her. She knew how he felt, he wouldn't stop telling her, but she wasn't committing herself again until she was absolutely sure especially as it related to Martin. He might be the one, but he was a constant reminder of somebody else, somebody she wanted to forget. Then there was Allyn. He was new, honest, clean, and apparently available. She reflected on Allyn. He certainly had it all, and without any baggage.

Over those first four days of school Martin was confined to a bed in the hospital. They'd done a second round of tests and decided to keep him around another night or two. Cheryl was so exhausted after each day's work she just couldn't get up the energy to make it over to see him. She called every night. He told her how much he cared. She gave him what assurances she could. 

Meanwhile Allyn had become such a help. He was her strong right hand. Each day during school hours he made a special point of visiting Cheryl's room at least twice maybe three times. They ate lunch together, and after school he insisted on walking her to her car. He poured on the charm.

Cheryl was flattered. She felt privileged. Around the school Allyn was Mr. Everything to everybody. Half the unmarried staff mooned over him, and yet he was devoting all his attention to her. When he asked her out she could hardly refuse.

Martin's recovery wasn't smooth. The head injury was worse than the doctor's at first thought. He kept having almost unbelievable headaches. Some were so bad as to be blinding. Then there were prolonged period of ennui. He'd get in a funk, become disoriented, and lose his sense of time and place. Dizziness was a constant problem. Still the doctors couldn't explain the cause. They attributed his difficulties to the force of the blow, and the extended time he'd need to recover. Eventually they released him into Cheryl's care. She took him to her apartment and set him up in her bed, while she took command of the sofa. 

His first days at her apartment were uneventful. He spent most of his time sleeping. Bathing was a problem. He'd frequently lose his balance, and required Cheryl's help regaining his equilibrium. His headaches affected his emotional aplomb, and on a few occasions when Cheryl was talking he'd lose his cool and verbally lash out. He didn't mean to, his head just hurt so much. 

About the middle of his second week at Cheryl's she had made the decision to go out with Allyn. Martin noticed her getting all dressed up. "Are you going out tonight?" He asked.

Cheryl had been careful about what she'd said to Martin the entire time he'd been with her, and even though Martin repeatedly reasserted his affection she'd assiduously avoided any terms of endearment. "Yes you remember I mentioned Allyn?'

Martin's senses went on full alert. "Oh you mean the Peace Corps guy?"

"Habitat for Humanity."

"You're going out with him?"

"Yes, he invited me to dinner and then to a play."

Martin flushed. "That's nice."

Cheryl saw the look and understood. "You'll like him Martin. He's coming up to get me in a just a little while."

"I'm sure I will."

Neither Martin nor Cheryl said anything else. Cheryl was glad. She didn't want to start anything. Martin didn't either. He knew he hadn't been the best company lately, and he knew he'd never be able to stand up to the competition, and competition it surely was, in his current state. 

He was stuck. He loved her so deeply, but he understood love can command but never force obedience. If she wanted someone else, someone who did the same things she liked and wasn't a reminder of bad things from her past, then he was the odd man out. He loved her. He loved her so much, too much even. They said love is blind. He understood how it could blind a person's reason. If he didn't care half so much he'd be able to negotiate the treacherous waters of attraction and rejection, but he did care, and he cared too much. When he should have been flattering he was demanding, when he should have been smooth he was abrasive. He couldn't help himself. She just took his breath away. 

His desperation must have been apparent. If he lost her it would kill him. But he loved her too much to try to put her in a cage. 

While Cheryl got ready Martin did the best he could to become as presentable as possible. He got on a pair of levis, a Tee-shirt, and some sneakers. He'd face the truth standing up. It would be what it was going to be. He was afraid. Dreadfully afraid, but he had to face the facts, whatever they may be. He had to face Allyn. He kept reminding himself, before he was a moonstruck love sick headache driven cripple, he was a man. Not much of a man maybe, but still a man. He'd take what life handed out.

Allyn arrived, and he looked just like the Adonis she'd described. Wearing a magnificently tailored dark gray pinstriped suit, black wing tipped shoes, and carrying an umbrella, he was every bit the dapper man about the town. It was like looking at someone he'd known nearly all his life. It was just like looking at Turner. He wondered if Cheryl noticed any similarity.

Cheryl came out attired in a beautiful dark blue dress. It had a low cut V-neck, short sleeves, and the hem came just slightly below mid-thigh. It had a tightly tailored waist, and a hint of ruffle around the collar and sleeves. She looked absolutely ravishing. Her dark heels and dark nylons accentuated her taut legs. Hair up in a bun, gold-dangling earrings, and the wristwatch Martin had gotten her. Her make up was perfect. Martin's stomach turned. He was afraid he was going to throw up. She was so beautiful, going out with another man, and leaving him here. Was there anything worse that could happen he wondered. 

Cheryl introduced Martin to Allyn, a subtle message as to who took precedence. Allyn spoke, and then took her arm. Together the two of them left. They left Martin all alone in Cheryl's apartment.

Allyn took Cheryl out and they had a wonderful time. He was the consummate gentleman. He did everything right. Cheryl felt like the belle of the ball. After their date he took her home, and they kissed just outside the apartment complex. Martin watched discreetly from a slightly opened curtain. She let the other man kiss her. It killed him.

For the next several days Martin made a pointed effort to avoid any conflict with Cheryl. In fact he avoided talking at all. When she was home from work he stayed in her bedroom. They ate their dinners in silence. Cheryl was glad Martin hadn't caused a scene. And she was even happier that he'd made no attempt to inquire after what she and Allyn had done. 

Martin knew the jig was just about up. She had moved on. He was a part of her past, a fifth wheel, an albatross. It was getting close to decision time. After Allyn took Cheryl out a second time he knew it was time to disappear.

The evening after her second date with Allyn Martin asked if they could talk. Cheryl wasn't excited about having any conversations with Martin because she knew where it would probably end up. She agreed though, believing she owed him that much.

He asked her how she felt about him and things in general.

She tried to explain her sense of gratitude, but her gratitude shouldn't be misinterpreted. She cared deeply about him, but she didn't love him. The way she said it was that she loved him but wasn't in love with him. It was a scary thing for her to say. She wasn't sure if it was true, and she was afraid how he might take it. But his response was sobering. She remembered later the expression on his face, and the things he said. 

His expression was one of almost unendurable pain. She'd never seen such agony, but it was a controlled misery. He never, not once begged or pleaded with her. He'd looked at her and told her he still loved her, but he understood he couldn't make her love him if it wasn't in the cards. He told her he wanted her to have what she wanted for herself. He told her he didn't particularly like Allyn, but that wasn't his call either. If she loved Allyn and wanted him, then Martin was sure he'd be good for her. He didn't want to cause any trouble.

That had been the end of it. Martin never put up a fight. He never begged, never pleaded, he didn't, not once get mad and yell. He seemed fatalistic about the whole affair. When they said good night, with him returning to her bedroom and her going back to the couch she almost wished he had put up something of a fight. 

The next morning right after Cheryl left for work Martin got his things together. There wasn't all that much to collect, just a pair of shoes, some old socks, a couple pairs of pants and a shirt or two. The razor, soaps, deodorants had all been hers. He threw everything into a plastic bag, and called a cab. He decided not to bother with a note. No post mortems he decided, that would be like whining. He'd go down with his head held up. The taxi took him to where he'd last left his car outside and just down the street from Turner's. Luckily no one had bothered it. He got in, started it up, and drove off. He had to get home. He had a business to salvage, a house to clean up, and a life to get back in order. He thought he could fix the first, certainly take care of the second. The third he wasn't so sure of. 

When Cheryl got home that first night she saw Martin was gone. Everything he owned had vanished. The apartment was clean, immaculate. He left everything exactly where she liked things to be. Checking the bedroom she saw the bed had been remade, the dirty sheets had been cleaned, folded and put away. Even the towels he'd last used had been washed, folded and put away. The toothbrush he'd used was gone, and in place of the partially empty toothpaste they'd been sharing a brand new tube rested. She checked the refrigerator. Martin had liked certain types of lunch meats and other types of drinks and salad dressings, mostly things she didn't like. She saw everything he liked was gone, and had been replaced by things she preferred. Everything everywhere was exactly how it had been the day before he'd come. It was like he had never been there, like he'd never existed.

At first she thought she should call. She had his cell number, but then thought better of it. He probably expected a call. He was probably jealous and this was some kind of temper tantrum, some kind of manipulative trick to get her to feel guilty. Well she didn't feel guilty. He'd participated in a mean trick, and then he'd made up for it and helped rescue her, but she'd saved his life and then helped with his recuperation. They were even, even Steven. He was right to leave. Now she could devote more time to her work, her career, and enjoy Allyn without having to wonder or worry about somebody else. It was like it was June all over again. She was fresh and clean, no sordid tricks, no being manipulated. He was gone, and she could start over. She could start over with Allyn. 

Her last thoughts on the matter were if Martin wanted anything he could call her. But he never did.

For Martin the drive back home was long and lonely, but he made it. The left over breakfast foods were still out on the table, just where they'd left them weeks ago. Only when he saw them now they were dried and rotted. Flies had planted their eggs, maggots had been born, eaten the meat, and spawned into new flies. He took all the plates, the pots and pans, the silverware, and threw them all out. The shirt that she'd last had on that morning so long ago, and the boxers were still on the bed she'd slept in. He threw them out too. He remade the bed, changed the sheets and threw them out. They still had her scent. That was something he couldn't bear. He wanted to go fishing, but he knew he had to get back to work. He started making phone calls. Maybe it wasn't 'too late to save the business. 

For Cheryl the next few days grew into weeks. She found herself caught up in another whirlwind romance. Allyn took her everywhere, saw to her every need, and satisfied her every whim. She was attended to, coddled, and spoiled. She hadn't felt this special, this necessary, and this important since early in the summer. For some reason she knew it couldn't last, but when it did come to an end it came in a completely unexpected manner.

Allyn had been such a gentleman on every date. He never tried to take liberties, and he seldom made an effort to do any serious kissing. There had been the occasional attempt to put his hand down to her breasts, but she'd skillfully moved them away. There had never been any protests. He was nothing like the lascivious Turner trying to have sex constantly only to go to sleep afterward. And he was nothing like the almost juvenile Martin whose greatest passion seemed to have been in making proclamations of love, though she admitted to herself she never left him an opening much beyond that. So when Allyn revealed his truer, baser, nature, she was taken by surprise.

It had occurred on an evening when everything had gone quite well. She remembered feeling extra romantic. They'd gone out to eat. Then he'd taken her to another show. Allyn loved the theater, as did she. It was always such a delightful time. Often after the theater they would stop off at one of the many late night clubs to get a sandwich and perhaps a late night libation and discuss the finer points of the performance. These were always special times for her.

Then on this one occasion they stopped at a night spot he'd never taken her to before. She thought standing outside it looked a little more raucous than most of the places he liked, so when he suggested they go in she was a little put off. 

When they went in everything seemed fine, at least at first. But after his one martini and her customary white wine, he suggested they imbibe something a little stronger. From out of nowhere he produced a small packet of what she immediately recognized from a class she took as being cocaine. He ladled out a line of the white power on the table and whiffed it up his nose. Then he laid out a second line and offered it to her. Of course she declined, but he was insistent. She resisted. She had no intention of putting something in her body she knew was dangerous. He took the second line of white powder himself. Then he laid out still another line and demanded again that she try it. He even got a little belligerent. She asked why he thought she needed that stuff. 

That's when she could tell the powder was taking control. He got nasty. He accused her of being frigid. He said he'd been nice to her for nearly a month, but every time he tried to get close she got cold. He accused her of not trusting him, that cocaine was a harmless drug and would only make her feel better. He said it would loosen her up, make her feel more lovable.

The things he said were numbing. She didn't think she was frigid, and she couldn't remember him making any serious advances. What was she supposed to just fall head over heels in love and jump in the sack because he was personable and considerate? She didn't want to use some chemical to loosen herself up. She was loose enough. And what was it about the trust thing? Trust! She'd heard that one before! She'd trusted one man and paid for it dearly. She wasn't going down that road again. She just wasn't going there. That's when it occurred to her. There was only one man she'd grown to trust, and she'd sent him away!




The Misogynist Ch. 08



When he took another line of the white stuff she knew that was her signal to run.She remembered how she jumped from the table and fled out the front door. But since it had been Allyn's car they'd come in she was left without any means of real escape. Fortunately, Allyn did come back outside, and after some long and serious pleading agreed to take her home.

He apologized profusely the next day over the phone, but she'd come to understand that even Allyn had a dark side, a side she had no interest in. They agreed to stay friends, and she agreed to think about going out with him some time in the future, but for the time being they'd cool their heels.

It had been that event that brought Martin back to her consciousness. In all the time she'd known him, even with the horrible bet, she'd never really seen a darker side. In fact, if he had an unpleasant side, it was his almost slavish loyalty, his dog like devotion, his unending professions of love. She remembered subliminally her belief that no one could love someone that much. That he had to be either lying or had some ulterior motive. She wondered had she misjudged him after all. Had she been only looking for a darker side, when with him it really was love? 

The tragedy of it was that maybe she'd found out something too late. Turner was a phony and a beast, but Allyn in his own way wasn't much better. Everybody had learned he'd been fiddling with another one of the young teachers before he started dating her. Cheryl had just pretended it hadn't been true so she keep on feeling the way she wanted. Self deception, she'd been good at that once before.

Maybe for her love wasn't ever going to be all bells and whistles. Maybe love was something that didn't strike out at one like a bolt of lightening. Maybe love, real love, was something a lot softer and a lot quieter. She knew one thing. That after Allyn she really needed someone to talk to, someone she could rely on, and yes someone she could hold and be held by. She knew who she needed. She brushed the tears out of her eyes. She knew that was too late.

After her misguided cocaine date with Allyn she decided to go on the wagon. No more dates, no more men for six months. She had girlfriends. She'd stick with them. In fact they'd all agreed to go shopping downtown and stop in at the Galleria for lunch. She'd start her life anew. Fresh start, a clean break, no more men, and no more stupidity.

Martin had a tougher row to hoe, but the economy had started an upturn, and with it his business. It had been close sledding, but his colleagues had held their ends up well. Once he got back in gear his end of the business started to show results. There were no women in his life, for him that was over. Certainly there were women available, plenty of women, nice ones from good families, he just wasn't interested. By late October he had started to breathe a little easier, the business was back and the heartache didn't hurt so much as long as he kept busy.

It was near the end of October when he got a call from an associate. They were all meeting at the Galleria. A new business opportunity was opening up, and they wanted Martin in on it. What the hell? He agreed to go.



The Misogynist Ch. 09



Two people, drawn together by a bet, meet, perhaps fall in love, but separate, one to pursue another love and the continuation of a career, the other to salvage a business and forget the heartache. As each grapples with their demons they plod forward; spinning off, errant comets into different realities. They wonder if the decisions they made were good ones or were their choices just a series of incidental emotional blunders. They wonder where their decisions will lead them, happiness, loneliness, heartache, maybe despair.

------------

Two one time almost sweethearts found adrift aimlessly, apart and alone. Do they wonder where the other is? Has he or she found someone else? Are they happy? Do they feel the same gnawing ache?

------------

Cheryl had spent her life in a world of unreality, of dreams, fantasy men, make believe heroes. First Turner satisfied every wishful thought, the perfect man, the caring lover, but an unreal dream was shattered by his deceit and her denials. Then there was Martin, Turner's best friend, a man drawn by her sincerity. He attested true love, but admitted complicity in the first man's wickedness. Could he be trusted? Cheryl assumed the worst. She drove him away. Last was Allyn, perfect education, perfect background, perfect avocation, perfect man, but he had a thing for drugs and so it ended. 

Was Cheryl the victim of external forces, or was she the victim of her own imaginings? Had she fended off three wrong headed self serving men, or had she discarded the gold in the pan because of the filth in the stream? She just didn't know.

Then there was the heroic Martin. He'd been the great man's best friend never knowing that it was his inner strength that was the source of the other man's power. Without Martin Turner was nothing. Then Martin rose to the rescue of the woman. But in his success was his own undoing. In rescuing Cheryl he unleashed her moral strength. As she grew he ebbed. He loved her but couldn't articulate the way he felt. The more he tried the further he pushed her away. 

Here were two star crossed lovers, if ever two such people existed. Could their lives be saved? Was there to be a happily ever after to this story, or would these two good people continue to drift, one off into lonely spinsterhood, the other into a solitary life devoted to the grim acquisition of wealth. Only God or perhaps the seating decisions of the head waitress at a classy downtown restaurant had the answer. 

------------

Cheryl and three girlfriends got out of the car at the same time. They were early for lunch, but knew it was easier getting a table before noon rather than later. It was one of those quarterly professional days. The morning had been spent listening to some older guy talk about how they should be teaching their classes. 

Most of them bet the guy hadn't seen the inside of a classroom in twenty years, but that wasn't what they'd come to gab about. Another new teacher had shown up two days earlier replacing a young mother to be. The new teacher was a mature man, maybe thirty or so. He'd been hired through a Federal program called Teach for America. 

They'd found out the guy was a Coast Guardsman who'd dropped out after two stints in the Middle East. He wasn't married, and apparently didn't have anybody on line. All the girls had been trying to find someone for Cheryl since Allyn turned out to be a stinker. They were already plotting how they could get the new man and Cheryl hooked up. Cheryl laughed them off.

As they were seated one of the girls, Debbie, opined, "We all just feel horrible for you ever since we found out what a jerk Allyn turned out to be."

A second girl, Faye, interjected. "The new guy looks pretty good. You could do worse."

Then another, Alice, piped up. "You need a man Cheryl. You're too pretty to go around unattached."

Cheryl countered their arguments. "I don't know. I'm already a three time loser. I think it's the single life for me."

Debbie butted in. "Three. I thought there were only two."

Faye spoke up. "Yes. You only mentioned the creep from the summer and Allyn. Who's number three?"

"Well the creep from the summer had a best friend who kept trying to get to me. I held him off." Beyond that Cheryl was noncommittal.

Faye proffered. "You were right. The creep's best friend was probably just as creepy. He only wanted to get you know what."

Cheryl chided her friend. "Not really. The best friend I think might really have had feelings for me. I just couldn't handle him knowing who his friend was."

Alice clapped her hands. "Bang, bang you shot him down."

Cheryl interrupted. "Not exactly."

Debbie added. "Bang, bang he hit the ground."

Before Cheryl got in any more all three sang in harmony. "Bang, bang ole Cheryl shot him down."

"No it wasn't like that at all. We talked and he said he wanted what I wanted. He wouldn't try to hold me if I didn't want him."

Faye was spot on. "Uh oh, sounds to me like he might have been a keeper."

Cheryl laughed. "I still have his cell phone number if you want it."

Debbie popped up. "If you didn't want him, why have you held on to his number?"

Cheryl gave her a confused look. "I don't know. I guess I just never cleaned out my contact list."

Alice held out her hand. "Here, give me your phone and I'll delete it for you."

Cheryl answered. "No that's all right."

Debbie giggled. "Uh oh, somebody's still got a thing for someone."

Cheryl was piqued. "No I just don't want to clean my contact list yet."

Faye bubbled up. "Oh sure, we get it."

Cheryl was getting tired of the conversation. "Can't we change the subject?"

Alice wouldn't quit. "Yes, she's still carrying the flag."

Debbie scolded. "Let's shift gears. What do you think? Is it too soon to start thinking about baby showers and baby gifts?"

Cheryl's love life was dropped. There were too many other more important things to investigate, and they only had a little while.

------------

As the girls were chattering about boys, babies, careers, and students another group was being seated on the other side of the restaurant. Their conversation followed a similar pattern.

Five men were seated; Brian, Fred, Bill, Robin, and Martin. All were involved in the development of the same product. Each had his own area of expertise. It was a good group. They'd found each other almost by accident, and over the last three years had worked in harmony. 

Martin in one respect though, was the odd man out. All the others were married and had children. Worried about their friend the married four had made it a secondary project to hook Martin up with a likely marital candidate. So far they hadn't much luck.

While they waited for the menus and their opening drinks Brian quipped. "Hey Martin, found anybody yet?"

"Haven't had time to look, been busy."

Robin asked. "Busy? Doing what?"

"You ought to know Robin it's been on your end where we've hit the snags."

"Oh low blow," Chirped Bill. "Still that begs the question. When are you going to introduce us to somebody?"

"Right," Said Fred. "My wife wants to meet someone."

"I'll let you know."

From there the men drifted into conversation about the product they were developing and the upcoming sales show. Things were looking good. If all went according to plan they'd not only have a good product to sell, but they'd make a tidy piece of change in the process. They'd agreed to put most of whatever they made into more research.

------------

On the other side of the restaurant the girls had ordered their salads and iced teas. Talk about men and the new guy had ebbed Conversation centered on children and what they were eating. Being teachers lunch breaks were short, and what with fighting traffic back to school they were nearly out of time. They asked for their check and stood up to leave.

------------

Back with the men, most were on their second drink. Their lunch could last longer since their meeting wasn't till late. They were in no hurry. 

Just as their food arrived Brian looked up. "Hey Martin, Isn't that the girl you were dating this summer?"

Robin chirped again. "You mean was trying to date."

Martin turned to look, as he turned his friends looked up as well.

------------

It was hard not to notice five men all at one table staring at the same group of women. One of the women noticed. "Does anybody know any of those guys over there?"

The women all turned and spotted the ogling men. 

Martin recognized her first. His face turned to ash. All his buddies were laughing and talking. Only Martin was still.

Cheryl saw him. He looked white as a sheet, like he'd seen a ghost. She turned her head pretending she hadn't seen him. The other girls knew better. They caught the look on her face. This was someone she didn't want to talk about.

As they continued out the door Alice asked. "Did you know that one man Cheryl?"

"No. Never saw any of them before."

The girls knew she was lying. No one said anything.

As they stepped from the restaurant to the parking elevator Debbie had to get in one more. "I don't know Cheryl, but if he is the one who matches the phone number you won't delete, give it to me I'll call him."

"It wasn't him. If it was he's a creep."

Faye heard that. "Didn't look like a creep to me."

Alice was there. "He's a fox. Maybe I'll go back." She made as if to go back.

Cheryl intercepted her. "Come on we have to get back to school."

Faye added. "Looked like a fox to me."

Cheryl tried to shut it off. "I didn't know the man."

Faye had a comeback. "You mean know as in the Bible or know as in know?"

Cheryl was losing patience. "Give it up will you?"

Faye hammered back. "No you give it up."

"OK it was him. Satisfied?"

Faye still wasn't done. "You still like him don't you?"

"Please!" Cheryl couldn't think of anything else to say.

All the women, all the way back kept quiet. They knew a little more about Cheryl. There was someone still out there, someone she at least thought about anyway.

------------

Back at the table Martin regained his composure. "Yes that's her."

"Yes and she sure saw you pal," Quipped Brian.

Robin added, "She's quite a looker."

Martin retorted, "Shut up Robin."

None of the men pursued it. They knew an injured player when they saw one. They left him alone.

------------

The mens business meeting went pretty much the way they expected it. They got some information and gave some up. The five member team that included Martin agreed to meet again in a week to reassess where they were. Until then they each had their own work to do. Martin got back in his vehicle and started home. It was a long drive and he had a lot to think about. 

------------

Back at school Cheryl spent the rest of day hiding in her room, arranging posters, cleaning boards, and rechecking grades. She had no desire to get hooked up with any of the other women. She was afraid they'd bring up the man at the restaurant. When school time was over she packed up her materials and drove back home to her apartment.

That evening Martin just couldn't get interested in anything. He'd seen her again. She looked more beautiful than ever. She'd been wearing a white blouse and a black skirt. Her hair was done up in a bun, and even from a distance he could see she was wearing pearls. Were they the pearls he'd bought her? He hoped so. He had her phone number. Should he call her? No. She was probably busy with that Allyn fellow. As far as he was concerned Cheryl was out of his life. Why did he have to see her again?

Cheryl went home and microwaved some chicken nuggets. Maybe a little more salad and a nugget or two would settle her stomach. She had to unwind. She went in the bedroom, took off her clothes and lay down. How long had it been since he'd been here? He'd used this bed. She could still imagine his scent of Old Spice. 

She remembered how frail and weak he was. She hadn't been fair. It hadn't been right comparing Allyn with Martin. Allyn had just come back from South America. He'd been in the best of health. Martin had just sustained a concussion. He'd suffered a concussion saving her. She slapped herself. Don't think that way. No mistaken gratitude. She wasn't going after anybody out of gratitude or guilt. 

Did she love him? She didn't know. What she did know was she was always thinking about him, worrying, wondering. Had he fully recovered? What if he still had those terrible headaches? Had he regained his equilibrium? What if he'd found a new girlfriend? He probably had. Like Faye had said he was a fox. He was a fox too. She hadn't thought about that in a long time. Any girl would have been glad to be his girl. What was wrong with her?

Cheryl curled in a fetal position. She took her fingers and started to touch herself. She felt up and down her special place. She used her hand and squeezed it. She reprimanded herself for being so weak. She pinched where it was most sensitive. She hadn't done anything like this in weeks. She kept thinking about Martin. She kept rubbing up and down her furrow. She felt warm and she was getting wet inside. She pinched again. She wondered what it might be like to be in bed with him. She kept rubbing. She took her hands and pushed her breasts together. Using her palms she rubbed over her aureole till her nipples started to engorge. Cheryl rubbed her left cheek against the pillow. She wiped a few errant tears from her eyes. She drifted in and out somewhere between sleep, arousal, and remorse. Oh Martin she thought. Martin what if it really was supposed to be you?

------------

Two hours and ninety miles away a lonely man was jogging. He'd tried push ups. They hadn't worked. He did a couple dozen sit ups. He hated them and stopped. Maybe he'd jump in the river. The water would be icy cold. He wasn't one for sexual self stimulation, but he'd thought about it all the way home. He stopped in the middle of the dark road. No one was looking. He bent over, put his hands to his face and started to cry. He was no sissy, and he certainly wasn't a crier, but sometimes the tears just came out. He'd done so well for so long, but seeing her today. He just couldn't help it. He slowly started to walk back home.

------------

Up in the city a lonely woman reached for her cell phone. She punched up the forbidden number. She didn't dial it. She just looked at it. She could go down to a phone booth and dial it from there. He'd answer it. She'd hear his voice. There would be no way he'd know it was her. 

What if she punched in his number right now but hung up before he answered. He'd check the number. Would he remember? He'd remember. He'd bought the phone. He'd know she'd called. What would he do then? She punched the number. It rang. She let it ring just two times and hung up. OK let's see what happens. She put the phone down. She went back to touching herself and thinking about the man she'd called, no hadn't called. 

------------

Martin got home. He thought he'd better check his cell phone. Maybe one of the guys had called about something. He picked it up, punched the green button. He saw it! Only one call! Hers! Cheryl had called him. He stared at the number. He was frozen, frozen with fear, excitement, dread, delight. 

Martin punched up her number. It rang. Someone picked up the other end. Hello? It was her. "Hello. Cheryl?"

"Yes this is she."

"This is Martin. Had you called earlier?"

"Why yes." She had to be careful. "I saw you today and was wondering how you'd made out since your injury."

He hesitated. She sounded so wonderful. Her voice was a soprano and had a beautiful childlike innocence. "It took a while, but the headaches did go away. Every now and then I still get dizzy, but it passes pretty quickly." He couldn't let it stop there. Not now! "How have you been?"

She listened to his voice. She'd forgotten its natural manly resonance. His voice had a strong, healthy, reassuring quality. "I'm fine." She had to say something more. "School's going well. I have some new students who I've been able to help." She wanted to keep it going. "What have you been up to?"

What a relief. "I've got my business back on track. We were at a preliminary meeting today when we, I, saw you." He needed to say something nice no he better not. "I read today was a professional day for teachers. I'm glad you guys get those things. Teachers work hard."

Cheryl had to find out the other thing. "I was wondering are you seeing anyone."

What should he say? If he lied and pretended to be seeing someone it might cut everything off, but of he told the truth she might think he was still carrying a torch. Shit! He was still carrying a torch. "No I'm not seeing anybody." He had to ask. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"I was dating Allyn. You remember him?"

"Yes."

"That didn't work. Right now I'm going solo."

"Me too." Oh please hold your tongue ass hole. Don't make a fool of yourself.

She was out of gas. She wanted to keep it going. She wanted to invite him out. She didn't, "Well it was nice talking to you."

Martin was dying. He kept mentally yelling into the phone don't hang up. Please stay on the line. He had to say something, "I uh."

Cheryl interrupted, "Maybe we could see each other some time."

He breathed the sigh of a man on death row who'd just been given a reprieve, "That would be nice. I'll be back in town on Saturday."

"Oh."

"Yes my old college is playing they're crosstown rival. It's always a good game."

Cheryl answered too quickly and regretted it, "I don't like football."

Crushed again Martin responded, "Oh OK. Well maybe."

Cheryl kept it going, "Maybe we could meet for coffee before the game?"

He was saved! "That would be great, I mean very nice. Did you have any place in mind?"

"You remember the coffee shop in the bookstore?"

"What time?"

"How about 11:00?"

Martin was back in business! "11:00 sounds fine."

"OK. See you then."

"OK. Till then." They both hung up at the same time.

Martin jumped for joy. He had another chance. He was going to see her again. He had to decide what to wear. He'd get two tickets from his friend. Maybe she'd like to go? Maybe it would rain and they wouldn't have to. Maybe he'd just decide not to go. He could make up some reason. If he had tickets and it was reasonably warm maybe she'd go. No, if he got to see her he didn't want to waste good talking time watching football. Nothing was going to spoil this. He'd figure out something. Tonight he knew he'd be awake all night. He was too excited. He stuffed his feet back in his jogging shoes. He couldn't sit still, not now!

Cheryl got up and sat beside the bed. Had she done the right thing? She wasn't sure. What was she saying? Was she crazy? Of course it was the right thing. He'd been in her thoughts every waking moment since he'd left. Turner and Allyn were nothing. It had always been Martin. She had to make plans. She wasn't throwing herself at his feet. She would go to him as an equal. She hated football. What does one wear to a football game? What if it rained? Why couldn't it be something like in door volleyball? 

------------

The days dragged by for both Cheryl and Martin, but Saturday finally arrived. It was a windy blustery day. Dark clouds hung ominously over a low gray sky. The smell of a cold fall rain filled the air. 

Martin parked his car and went inside. He wanted to be early. He had two tickets in hand, blankets, slickers and thermos in the car, but he had no intention of going to the game. He was wearing a lightweight dark blue windbreaker over a light blue plaid cotton button down shirt. He had on a comfortable pair of jeans and low cut hiking shoes. He carried a baseball cap, but had no intention of wearing it. He'd spent too much time getting his hair to have that just so casually crumpled look. He walked in, found a seat at the counter and waited.




The Misogynist Ch. 09



Cheryl arrived early too, earlier than Martin, but she waited in the parking lot watching to see him go in first. She carefully scrutinized what he had on. He looked handsome. Appreciating his attire she made modest adjustments to her own. She'd doubled up below the waist wearing both slacks and a skirt. Seeing his jeans she squirmed out of the slacks and went with the knee length dark brown plaid pleated wool skirt. Up top she had on a long sleeved tan V-necked button up blouse. She allowed the top three buttons to remain unbuttoned. This she thought would give him a hint at her cleavage and something to fantasize about. She wore a pair of dark brown high heeled boots that came to just below the knee. Over her arm she draped a lightweight light brown suede jacket. 

Cheryl had worked on her hair and make up most of the morning. She kept her hair in a loose bun that allowed several errant strands of chestnut hair to escape around her ears and neck. She made sure one loose strand slipped nonchalantly near her left eye. She'd kept her make up simple, a hint of blush, pale pink lipstick with a smidgen of gloss, a scant amount of eyeliner and mascara. She wanted to look natural and casual. Instead of her wired rimmed glasses she'd bought a pair of tortoise shell frames that matched her outfit. She thought they made her look scholarly.

Out of her car she navigated the sidewalk to the bookstore and the coffee shop. When she saw him she thought he looked even better than she remembered. She waved.

Martin saw Cheryl as she walked in. She took his breath away. He gulped. He realized he was about to experience the most important moments of his life. He stood up, and pulled out a stool, "Hi! It's good to see you."

Cheryl took the stool and answered, "Good to see you too."

He'd been rehearsing what he wanted to say all morning. He had everything scripted. Now he couldn't remember anything, "You look nice."

She was hoping for a little more, but nice would have to do. She could tell he was nervous. She was too, "Thank you."

Damn he thought, "Would you like a coffee?"

She faced the counter and batted her eyes, "Yes. I'd like a small cup of their regular blend."

His jaw hit the floor. He gulped again. Facing the waitress who was waiting patiently he said, "May we two coffees get? I mean may we get some coffees. No I mean can we have two small coffees, regular blend?" He blushed.

Cheryl had never seen Martin blush. She thought it looked cute. She smiled.

He turned redder. He shakily reached for the container that contained the packets of sugar and sweet and low. He almost tipped it over, "Want some?"

Cheryl reached over and took a single packet of sugar. As she reached for the sugar she allowed her blouse to part slightly, "Yes thank you."

Martin saw the cleavage. He saw her breasts as they pressed against her blouse. Oh God! They were so big and firm, shaped perfectly. She took the sugar packet and bit it open with her perfect white teeth. Her lips were like beautiful succulent cherries. They were so delicate looking. They needed to be kissed. He desperately wanted to kiss them. She smiled at him. Those big beautiful eyes! Those long eye lashes were gorgeous. She had such wonderful cheeks, and that chin was to die for! He got a glimpse of her ears. She was wearing the pearls he'd bought her. 

"Martin?" 

Oh Jesus. He'd been ogling her, "Cream?" He passed her the cream.

She relished the affect she was having. He was so handsome, and a moment earlier so poised and confident. In seconds he was reduced to a quivering bowl of jelly. He was becoming a nervous wreck! She loved it! He needed a kiss, but he'd have to work for something like that, "Thank you." She poured a droplet of cream into her coffee cup.

He watched her hands pour the cream. She such tiny hands, she was wearing clear fingernail polish. Her nails were clipped back, not long and clawed like the nails of many women. Her nails were just right.

"Martin are you going to fix your coffee?"

"Oh yeah, OK." He fumbled with the cream and poured some in, lifted the cup and tasted it. "Good coffee isn't it."

"Yes very good."

He drank some more, careful not to slurp, a bad habit he had. "How have you been?"

"Good."

"I've been good too."

"I'm glad."

This couldn't go on. He had to say something. "Actually I'm lying."

"Lying?"

"I haven't been good at all." He started to say more. His hands were shaking. He wondered if she knew the affect she was having on him. He felt like a gutless spineless coward. 

She interrupted. "I haven't been that good either."

Relieved that she'd stopped him from making a bigger ass out of himself he responded. "Why? What's been the matter?"

"I've been missing someone."

He swallowed some more coffee, gulped a third time, and asked. "Really anybody I know?"

Cheryl put her coffee cup down. She thought he's acting stupidly. Doesn't he know? She couched her next sentence carefully. She wanted to lead him in the right direction. "I've been worried about you."

"I've been worried about you too." He wished he could control his shaking hands. He needed to do some jumping jacks or something. 

"Why have you been worried about me?"

"I've been worried about how you might be. No I mean I was worried that you would be happy. That's not what I mean. I mean I want you to be happy."

She caught the Freudian slip, "That's very considerate Martin," She smiled, "You know what would make me happy right now?"

"No what?"

"If you decided you didn't want to watch a football game."

"What football game? What do you want to do?"

Cheryl mulled the possibilities over in her mind. She wanted to sit somewhere in a place where they'd be side by side, a sofa maybe. But she couldn't decide where that could be. If she asked him back to her apartment he might get the wrong idea. Both of their vehicles had bucket seats. He might be staying at a hotel, but that was out. "Can you think of some place where we could go and talk?"

Martin wanted to do exactly that. Where could they go? He didn't want to take her to some stupid restaurant. It had to be someplace private. Not her apartment, not his hotel room, his parent's house was out, maybe the college. "We could go to the college library. They have reading rooms." 

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

No it was a stupid idea. What was wrong with him? He made it worse. "I figure most people are tuned to the game. They'll be either at the game or in a dorm watching on closed circuit." 

"Won't that be a little silly, not to mention uncomfortable."

"Hey guess what! I have two blankets. We could just go someplace, buy a coke and a burger, and sit in the back seat of your car."

"Why my car?"

"My car is too big. You might think I had the wrong idea, but your car is smaller. We'd be closer, but safer." He was afraid he'd overstepped. He hoped not.

"OK I'll get my car. You get the blankets. Meet me out front."

His idea worked! He helped her from the stool. "Be just a minute."

A few minutes later they were both in Cheryl's car driving out of the city. Martin suggested a quiet country lane where there wouldn't be any traffic. Cheryl took him at his word, followed his directions, and found the secluded spot. Martin got out and helped Cheryl in the back seat. He climbed in the back too. There wasn't much room.

Martin shrugged his shoulders. Looking over at Cheryl he said. "Here we are. What do you want to talk about?"

Cheryl wasn't in the mood to talk. She'd only kissed him one time. She needed another taste. Sitting to Martin's right she leaned forward and around, taking her right arm she moved it across his chest to his left shoulder. She cocked her head slightly and kissed him.

Martin leaned around to his left. He put his left arm around and on her right shoulder. He kissed her back.

That first kiss was a melody of warmth and constrained sexual passion. He wanted to ravish her. She wanted to sort through her feelings. He was an easy man to feel good about. She was just. She was just afraid.

Her lips were warm and moist just like he remembered. She had that same kind of warm ambrosial scent, honeysuckle or something. It was natural and fresh. Her skin was soft. Her hair had its own fragrance. It felt silky. He lightly touched the nape of her neck and felt her hackles rise. The hair on her neck was especially soft. 

She melted against his body. Her shoulders fit snugly within the canyon of his arms. He felt her breasts press against his chest. He didn't need to touch or hold them. It was enough just to feel their soft warm presence. 

He was careful with her. She felt delicate. He loved the way she felt, so warm, soft, pliant, alive. Holding her the way he was made him feel whole, complete. He understood what it felt like, what it meant to be a man, a real man. She made him feel masculine. He loved her so much. He pressed his cheek against her and kissed her ear.

Her last recollection had been of an injured man. This man was the strong person she remembered from the time they were at his house. 

She remembered wearing his shirt and boxer shorts. His lips were firm, not hard, insistent but not pressing. His arms felt strong and sure. He still had that spicy aura. The feel of his flesh was sturdy and smooth, hard but not coarse. His hands were firm on her shoulders and on her waist, fingers warm dry and comforting.

She remembered both Turner and Allyn had claw like hands with fingers constantly moving manipulating. Martin's weren't any larger, but they felt larger and firmer. There was no furtive fumbling. He was holding not exploring. 

She liked the feeling and the feelings his hands evoked. She could almost taste his breath on her cheek. It made her feel more alive. He had big shoulders, not as big as Turner's, but his seemed more assuring, more muscular without being overpowering. Kissing him, feeling his embrace she felt comfortable, secure, loved, and happy, really happy. It was silly she knew, but it felt like she was at home when she was in his arms.

They kissed and cuddled for over an hour. Outside it started to rain. The windows fogged up. They nestled closer. The afternoon waned with the two of them lazing and dozing next to each other, close to each other. He had his right arm around her shoulder, his left he kept in her lap or on her waist. He didn't feel the need to touch any of her personal places; just having her so close was enough. 

She rested her head under his chin, one arm behind his back, the other on his lap. She saw how his thing was big in his pants. She thought about touching it but didn't. She was afraid it might ruin the specialness of the afternoon. 

They might never have left, but even the most enjoyable moments reach an end. They returned to the front seat. Cheryl drove Martin back to his car. On the lot outside the bookstore they sat and talked and kissed a little longer. They agreed to stay away for one week, but would meet again the next Friday. Martin was supposed to pick a place and arrange a date. They both agreed not to go too far next week. No sex, just more getting acquainted.

------------

It was another one of those really long weeks. Every day dragged by. Every night required an extreme act of will not to call. He went to bed early knowing the next wake up brought him closer to their next date. It didn't matter. He lay in bed awake all night. 

Their next date had to be a great date. He wasn't taking her to some any theaters or movies, or symphonies, or anything like that. He absolutely didn't want to go anyplace where he and she sat silently and watched somebody else. He wanted their date to be a talking time a time they'd share ideas, thoughts, dreams, and plans. 

He called his colleague and friend Fred. Fred said his wife wanted to meet someone. Well it looked like the time had come. What better kind of date than to go to a friend's house, have a home cooked dinner, sit and chat and watch children run around. Fred's house had all that.

When Fred got the call he told his wife. She was excited. She started planning a big turkey dinner. It wasn't Thanksgiving yet, but it was that turkey time of year. What better way to get to know Martin's new girlfriend, and introduce her to one of Martin's friends.

Martin wasn't through. He had a whole week and every day every minute was crowded with thoughts of her. Cheryl needed a reminder about their next date. What better reminder than a present. What to get, not flowers, not candy. She was a teacher, an introvert, and a dreamer. Cheryl considered him something of a clod. She needed something from him she wouldn't expect. 

He went to a bookstore and plowed through everything they had and decided on a book of poems, it wasn't just poems it was a book of sonnets, mostly love sonnets. Hell, he figured all sonnets were about love. He read every one over and over. He'd never felt this way before. Him reading poems, love poems! He wrote a little note inside, something stupid, something about how the poems said what he couldn't; he mailed it off on Tuesday.

------------

The week was tough on Cheryl too. She couldn't keep a secret, not a secret like this. She visited every teacher friend in the school and told them about Martin, yes the cell phone man. They were all delighted. They wanted to know when they could meet him. She could hardly focus on her job. 

On Thursday she got Martin's present, a book of sonnets. Nobody had ever given her anything like that before, not ever, not in her whole life. She knew all the sonnets, but she read them over and over anyway. She put the little book on the pillow beside her when she went to sleep. What a wonderful, thoughtful gift. Who would have dreamed a bumpkin like Martin could be so romantic. She had a name for him. He was a bumpkin, her bumpkin. What a wonderful gift. What a wonderful and thoughtful man. 

She had to buy him something too. What should she buy? She wouldn't buy him any clothes, no ties or anything like that, certainly no jewelry. What would be something that he'd absolutely think was off the wall, unnecessary, inappropriate, and had no utility whatsoever. She could get him a music box, maybe one of those glass snow mobiles. No he wouldn't even understand those things. She kept staring at her bureau, at her high school picture. That was it! She'd get a double frame, put her high school picture in one side and leave the other side blank. The next day she bought the frame. When they met on Saturday she'd give him the picture. He wouldn't know what to do. Stupid idea yes! But something he would want? Yes!

------------

Saturday night arrived. Martin picked Cheryl up at her apartment. She was stunning. She wanted Martin to drop his jaw. Wearing a black sleeveless low cut V-neck dress, tailored waist, hem just above the knee, accessorized with black high heels and nylons. She kept her hair in a bun, black glasses for the scholarly look, and minimum make up. It had the expected affect. 

Martin was wearing a dark gray suit, white shirt, and black loafers. He saw Cheryl and wondered whatever happened to the frumpy confused girl of yesteryear. He felt like he was the luckiest man alive.

"Where are we going?" Cheryl asked.

"It's a secret, but I think you'll like it."

Martin drove to Fred's, helped Cheryl from the car. "We're going to have dinner with some friends of mine."

This was a surprise to Cheryl. She half expected a trip to the theater, or maybe a movie. She asked." It sounds like a wonderful idea, but why in Heavens name would you choose dinner at friends as a date?"

"Well I'll tell you." He drew in a breath. "I wanted to go someplace where we could talk. Fred and his wife are very nice. You'll like them. We won't be in some stuffy restaurant, and we won't end up at some dumb theater or some boring symphony watching other people perform. We'll be able to sit back, put our feet up, and talk. You know. Get better acquainted."

Cheryl wasn't put off just a little perplexed. She liked the theater and enjoyed the symphony. To her they weren't dumb, stupid or boring. "It's OK. I just never thought of that kind of thing as a date."

"Look at it this way. We go to a theater we sit side by side and watch other people. We never get to look at each other and share and talk. We waste time." He smiled and took her hand. "Truth is all I want to do is be with you." 

He saw the expression on her face. She wasn't happy. He retraced his steps. "Look. If I had to go to a symphony in order to be with you, I'd do that. He teased. I might even learn to like Batch."

"You mean Bach."

"OK, Bach, him too. Cheryl all I want is to be with you."

"You're with me tonight."

"And I love it."

------------

They walked up to Fred's door, Martin rang the bell, Fred opened it, and welcomed them in. They all sat down in the living room, Fred, his wife Doris, Martin, and Cheryl.

Doris started, "Martin says you're a teacher."

"Yes I teach elementary special needs children."

"What kind of special needs?" Doris inquired.

Cheryl took a few moments to give everyone the abbreviated version of her job. 

Looking at Fred she said, "Martin said you and he are partners."

"Yes we work together," Fred gave Cheryl the abbreviated version of what he and Martin did. 

When Fred finished Doris proffered, "Well I guess that leaves me. I'm a house wife. All I do is stay home, raise kids, clean house, and fix food."

Cheryl laughed, "Sounds like you're the only one with a real job."

Everyone chuckled.

Cheryl asked, "Martin says you have children. I see the pictures on the wall. Are they here?"

"No we farmed them out tonight. They're with their aunt Madeline." Fred went on, "But we have about ten thousand pictures if you're interested."

Doris castigated her husband, "Fred."

Fred laughed, "We have two little girls, Susan's nine and Elizabeth is seven."

Cheryl perked up, "My middle name is Elizabeth."

Martin said softly, "Cheryl Elizabeth what a beautiful name."

Cheryl blushed.

The evening went as expected. Everyone continued to chit chat. Dinner was delicious. Doris had baked a turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes, an oyster casserole, string beans, sauerkraut, sweet potatoes, and for dessert two kinds of pie, cherry and apple. Cheryl had a piece of cherry, and Martin had apple. Afterward the two men went to the living room while Cheryl and Doris cleaned up the mess.

In the kitchen the two women exchanged remarks.

Doris commented, "We've been worried about Martin. We think he met someone over the summer who broke his heart. It was touch and go. September and October were tough. We're glad you came along."

"I think I'm the summer person you mentioned."

"You?"

Martin and I were distantly connected by a friend of his. The friend turned out to be a monster. I kind of blamed my problems on him." She nodded in the direction of the living room.

"That friend had a name?"

"Turner."

"Oh Jesus. You didn't get mixed up with him?"

"Yes but it was Martin who rescued me."

"I love that man."

"I do too."

"Does he know?"

"Not exactly."

"Stringing him along?"

"A little bit." Cheryl digressed, "I do love him, but I want to take this slow. You know, once bitten twice shy."

Doris chided, "Not with Martin."

"Meaning?"

"Martin's the real deal. He loves you. He'll make you happy."

Cheryl finished drying the last dish, "We'll see."

Doris put her hand on Cheryl's arm, "Don't hurt him Cheryl. If you're not in it for the total package, don't hang around."

"What total package?"

"He wants to marry you. He told us." 

"We'll see," was all Cheryl said. The two women went back to the living room. There were a few more pleasantries, but it was late. Martin and Cheryl thanked their host and hostess, and bid them a good evening.




The Misogynist Ch. 09



On the way home Martin asked, "What did you and Doris talk about?"

"You mostly."

"Me?"

"She said some woman broke your heart over the summer. That you loved me, and that you wanted to get married, and if I wasn't ready for the total package I should cut bait and let you get on with your life."

"What did you say?"

"I said we'd see.

Martin slumped, "OK. You didn't say no."

"Didn't say yes either."

They drove back to Cheryl's in silence. When he dropped her off at the door she asked, "Martin I don't want to be a problem."

Martin didn't like the way that sounded, "You're not a problem."

Cheryl continued, "This Tuesday is another professional day, half day actually. I've arranged to have my car picked up for repairs. Would you mind picking me up at school. The day ends at 3:00, but I'd like you to be there a little earlier, say 2:00."She hesitated, "Would that be too much trouble?"

Big sigh of relief, "Not at all."

"There's another thing."

"Anything."

Cheryl pinched Martin's nose, "Let me choose the date next week."

"Sure."

Cheryl wasn't finished. She fished out the present she'd prepared, and handed it to him. "Open this when you get home."

"For me?"

As she got out of his car she growled, "Now who else would it be for?"

"Wow a present!"

Cheryl leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek, "Go home Martin." As she walked up the steps she chided, "But be back at my school Tuesday not later than 2:00."

He called out the window, "Yes ma'am!"

Martin drove home feeling pretty good. Things were looking up. About half way he pulled over. He had to see what she got him. He found a double picture frame, her picture on one side, the other side blank. He flipped out. It was time to buy a ring.

Cheryl went to bed that night with an agenda in mind. If anything was going to happen with Martin he needed to be put in his place.

-------------

It was Tuesday, 2:00. Martin pulled in the school parking lot, got out, and walked up to the school. He got a visitor's pass, got Cheryl's room number, and found it, "I'm here."

Cheryl answered, "Good. Come with me." She grabbed his tie; he was wearing a tie, and led him down the hall.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll find out." She pulled him down the hall to the door marked staff only. She walked him in. The teachers were sitting around two big tables. Cheryl wrapped Martin's tie around her hand till he was bent over. His face was almost in her hand, "Hello everybody." 

All the teachers, including Allyn looked up. She took Martin's tie and yanked his head back and forth. "This is Martin." She turned around and kissed him a deep warm full kiss on the lips. He blushed. 

Cheryl looked back at the teachers, including Allyn. "He wants to marry me." She looked at Martin. "Ask me to marry you."

Martin answered, "Will you marry me?"

Cheryl hesitated. The room was deadly silent. She turned back around and gave Martin a winsome smile and another kiss, "I'll think about it."

Martin stood there numbly. Cheryl had things on her mind. Right now she was showing him off. He worried that she was worried, but he liked being shown off.

Cheryl looked at Faye, "Think he's a keeper?"

Faye nodded, "Definitely."

Looking again at Faye she cocked her head in Martin's direction, "He's mine." Still pulling him by his tie she started out the teacher's room door, "Come dear we have to get my car."

Martin willingly followed. They got her car at the dealership. She kissed him through the window, "Follow me back to my place."

Whatever Cheryl was thinking he knew it troubled her. If it troubled her it troubled him, "I'm with you dear."

They drove back to Cheryl's and parked on the lot in front. She went in. He followed. 

In the living room Cheryl pointed to her sofa, "Sit."

Martin sat.

Cheryl went to her bedroom and changed clothes. She slipped on a simple cotton bra and panty set, a simple white short sleeved blouse, peter-pan collar. She left the top button open. Both collar and sleeves were slightly ruffled lending the blouse an added dimension of femininity. Over her panties she pulled on a pair of loose fitting dark blue satin shorts. Barefoot she went back to the living room, walked to the sofa, and plopped down on Martin's lap.

He started to put his arms around her waist.

Cheryl pushed his hands down to his sides, "No." She took her two hands and put one on either side of Martin's head. She cupped his head and kissed him. Still kissing she moved her hands around his neck. 

Without moving he kissed her back.

Cheryl unbuttoned his shirt, starting at the top she slowly worked her way down to his waist. She pulled the shirt out, unbuttoned the last two, and pulled his shirt down so that it trapped his arms. She kissed him some more. She tried to rip his T-shirt off, but it was too sturdy. She went to the kitchen, got a pair of scissors, returned to Martin's lap, and cut away his T-sheet. 

She went back to the kissing. She kissed him on the mouth, biting his lower lip. He said ouch. She worked her way down to his neck. Using her fingernails she lightly touched around the back of his head and the upper portions of his back. She saw the hair on his neck respond. He sighed. She kept kissing around his neck, under his chin slowly moving down to the top of his chest. She kissed both his nipples. Her fingers found his shoulders and rubbed them softly. Up and down his arms, inside near his underarms she kept wiping her hands over his smooth flesh. She felt him getting hard through her shorts.

She asked, "You like this don't you?"

"I like that I'm with you."

Cheryl slipped backward off his lap her legs still resting on his upper thighs. She took her right hand and unzipped his pants. She reached in and pulled out his penis. She didn't go overboard touching him, but she looked his thing over. It was certainly big and hard, a vivid pink, it curled around upward and arched backward toward his stomach. She reached forward and touched the end with her fingertips. It got even bigger. 

She remembered that old man's penis, how ugly it looked. She tried to remember what Turner's looked like, but she'd never gotten a good look at it. She never wanted to anyway. She thought Martin had a handsome penis. She thought about touching it again but didn't. 

Cheryl slid her legs off his lap and stood up, "Put that thing away and get dressed."

Martin was a little surprised, but did as he was told. She sounded cold. Whatever was on her mind it was something she wasn't ready to share. He got up, pushed his penis back in, re-tucked his shirt, and tidied up. 

"You have to leave now. Pick me up at 4:30 on Friday." She walked to the door and opened it, giving no hint of emotion she said, "Till Friday then?"

Martin walked to the door and offered to kiss her good bye, but she turned her face away, "Friday."

As Martin walked to his car, he reflected on what had happened. The scars of the summer for her were still fresh. She wasn't sure of anything. She loved him, he was sure of that, but she was still afraid. He knew what he had to do. If she had a skinned knee he'd fix it with Neosporin. Her pain was in the heart. He knew he could fix it. He had the balm she needed. 

------------

It was another long week for Martin. He wondered what kind of date she had in store. She had become unpredictable. It could be anything.

He decided she needed another present so he went to one of the gift shops in the mall. Once he explained the situation the sales girl was very helpful. She helped him pick out a music box. He'd never have thought of something like that. It played the song that went with the movie Sleeping Beauty. He mailed it off without a note on Tuesday. 

The rest of the time he spent jogging, taking cold showers, and doing push ups. He figured if things continued this way he'd be in the best shape of his life, or considering the lack of sleep, he'd be dead. 

------------

Cheryl got the music box on Thursday. She opened it and listened to the tune. Hugging the box to her chest she'd finally come to terms with herself. Now she understood what she needed to do.

------------

Friday finally came and Martin was at her door promptly at 4:30. Inside his coat pocket he had another gift he hoped to give her before the weekend was over. He knocked on her door, and it opened.

Cheryl gave him a businesslike look, "You ready?"

"Yes."

Cheryl carried a small valise. They walked to her car. He held her door, and then got in on the passenger side, "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Cheryl drove for over an hour. They traveled well outside the city down several quiet back roads till she came to a shady intersection on the edge of a town known only for its one private school and being the birthplace of one of the nation's worst presidents, "We're here."

Martin looked around, "Where's here?"

Cheryl pointed to a small sign in front of an old farm house. The sign read 'Countryside Bed and Breakfast', "There." She led him up the steps and inside where she greeted the concierge, made a few quiet comments, got a key, and signaled Martin to follow. They went upstairs.

She opened the door and stepped aside, "You first."

Martin went inside.

Cheryl followed, "Get undressed and wait for me, while I go to the bathroom."

Martin did as he was told. 

Cheryl went to the bathroom, opened her valise and got out a negligee. It was a simple item, actually only a translucent little white chemise. It had a low scooped neck, cute little capped shoulders and hem that barely covered her rear end. The whole thing was trimmed in lacy little ruffles. There were no panties. She brushed her teeth, combed out her hair and tied it off in front with a little white silk ribbon. She pinched her cheeks to add a little color and stepped back in the main bedroom.

Martin was sitting on the bed in his T-shirt and boxers. He didn't know what to do.

Cheryl walked over and sat down beside him, "I want to thank you for the present. I listened to it all week."

She looked radiant, never more beautiful. He felt like he was in a dream. This couldn't be happening to him. "I'm glad you liked it. I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to that stuff." 

She leaned forward and kissed him.

He didn't need anymore cues. He wrapped his arms around her and they fell back, side by side on the bed. She offered no resistance.

At first he just kissed her mouth, but soon he was kissing her eyes, her nose, cheeks, around her neck and her ears. He was careful not to be too aggressive. He rested his hands on her hips, and only slowly started to explore her body. He pressed his hands against her breasts outside the chemise. Carefully he reached under the apparel and started to caress her breasts. He rubbed over her aureole. He fondled her nipples until they became engorged. He slipped the chemise from her shoulders and tenderly kissed each rosebud. Her nipples responded.

Cheryl laid still bedside him enjoying his hands as they wandered over her body. This was all new in a different way. No squeezing, poking, or pinching. He was just wonderfully gentle. She kissed his lips with a new fervor. Her skin started to feel warmer and dryer. Powerful sensations were starting to flow upward from her private place. She rubbed up and down his sides.

Martin pulled her free from the constraints of her chemise. He kissed his way down to her stomach where he generously and lovingly kissed and caressed her abdomen and navel. He took one finger and traced circles around her navel.

Cheryl sighed and squirmed slightly. She felt very warm, and she could sense her growing wetness.

Martin reached low enough to feel the top of her vaginal places. He softly rubbed up and down over her labia, careful not to touch inside. 

She felt his hand. She pushed against it.

He slowly took his fingers and began massaging her slit. He felt the wetness. He took a finger and allowed it slide along the cleft between her lips. She pressed against his finger.

Martin wanted to enjoy her as fully as possible, and he wanted her to experience what he had to offer to its fullest. He lowered himself so that his face was adjacent to her vagina. Using his tongue he kissed and tongued the outside of her pussy. He slathered his tongue along her slit. He pressed his mouth against and inside her puss. He leaned up with his mouth and nibbled on her clitoris. He took his lips and sucked on it, pulling it away.

Cheryl had never had these experiences before. They were new and exciting. Her sexual juices were flooding out of her cavity. Martin was driving her wild. She squirmed and tried to get away, but he held her by the ass against his face. There was no escape. 

His hands held her ass cheeks and squeezed them tightly, while he kept plunging his face, his mouth, and his tongue deeper into her puss. She started quivering, shivering. He was relentless. She was helpless against the onslaught. Her whole body was afire. She felt like her vagina was aflame. She pushed against his face. Nothing, nothing ever, felt like this before. She'd had little self induced orgasms, but he was pushing her to extremes she never imagined. She felt like she was flooding his mouth with her wetness. She was so hot! It was more than she could bear. 

Like a wave it passed over her, through her, inside her. She climaxed in a way she never conceived possible. She squirmed, shook, she wrapped and squeezed her legs against her head. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him as far into her as she could. It was a paroxysm of pleasure. She cried out, she squealed, she whimpered, she cried, "Martin oh Martin stop! Stop! Please stop!

Martin felt and tasted her pleasure. He enjoyed her warm salty taste. He knew she'd reached a pinnacle, and anymore would only lead to discomfort. He continued to kiss the outside of her pussy. He kept on rubbing her body with his hands, but he stopped pressing his mouth and tongue inside her. He crawled back up to where her face was. He kissed her all over. She whimpered and cried quietly. "Martin. Martin."

They lay together side by side. He kept his right hand cupped over her pussy, occasionally applying soft pressure. She'd had a significant sexual experience, and as yet he hadn't tried to penetrate her with his penis. 

They lay there together, she resting against him while he gently rubbed and caressed her. 

Cheryl took her hands and held his head. She kissed him again and again. "Oh Martin I never felt this way before." 

"I love you Cheryl"

"I love you Martin."

He believed she was sufficiently rested. He returned her kisses and slowly started to rub his manhood up against her slit. He was gentle at first, only softly pressing and sliding his erect member up and own the outside of her vagina, but gradually he realized he had he had to act. He pressed his manhood against and slowly inside her vagina. She felt tight, but not uncomfortably so.

He remembered she wasn't a virgin, but he also knew she needed to experience real sincere sexual love not just someone's carnal lust. He'd give her all he could as gently and as tenderly as he could. 

Cheryl felt him press against her. She'd just had such a pleasurable experience, and having had sex with Turner and that other man she doubted if anything could be better than what Martin had done already. She loved Martin. He needed her, and she wanted and needed him.

Martin pressed slowly and steadily deeper into her vaginal cavern. His needs were great, but he believed her needs were just as acute. He wanted to prolong the experience. He pressed in and pulled out. He continued to kiss her. He slowly pressed inside again, a little further, a little deeper. He withdrew again.

Cheryl felt him go inside her. She liked the sensation his man thing had. He filled her.

Martin pressed in again, going still further. This time he was almost all the way inside. He still withheld a little. He rested with his penis deep inside. He continued to kiss her face, her neck, and her lips. He pulled out again. The next time he knew he had to go all the way.

Remaining outside for a few seconds he used his fingers to caress her vagina. Then he pushed inside again. He pressed slowly and deeply as far as he could go. He felt like he was near if not actually at the end of her uterine cavity. He pushed as hard as he could. He started to push and pull in and out, slowly at first, but with greater emphasis with each steady thrust.

Cheryl felt Martin. He was all the way inside her. He was big and he felt hot inside her. She pushed back against him. She arched her back and started to rhythmically flow back and forth with his strokes. He felt so good, so warm, and so powerful inside her. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced. 

He kept thrusting. She kept up with the rhythm. Together they reached a crescendo. With a mighty series of thrusts he penetrated as deeply as the laws of physics allowed. He couldn't hold back. He ejaculated all his juices deep inside.

Cheryl felt him deep, oh so deep inside her, then she felt his semen pour forth. It was hot, incredibly so. It went oh so deep. She was absolutely apoplectic. She experienced a series of sensations never imagined. She exploded with pleasure mixed with some pain. She climaxed as she'd never had before. She quivered, shivered, shook and cried out. 

He hammered in as hard as he could. It was an unbelievable rush of pleasure and fulfillment. Then it was done. He knew he'd soon begin to recede. However, rather than pull out he continued to press hard against her. He held her body tightly to him, while his manhood slowly but inexorably ebbed. 

She felt his manly organ slowly wane. She was too tired to do anything but lay contentedly in his arms. She murmured in his ear, "I love you." She thought to herself this is what it meant to be a woman, really a woman. This is what it means to be really loved. He loved her, really and truly loved her. She felt complete. She felt like she was his, his person, his woman, his possession. She couldn't imagine a better feeling, to be so completely alive and so completely dependent. Yet at the same time she believed, she knew, he was just as dependent on her and just as much her possession as she was his. Yes he was her man, hers body and soul. She could surrender to this man, because he was willing to surrender to her. He was no lie. He was real, her reality.

She squeezed as close as she could. She whispered, "Promise you'll never leave me, never hurt me. Promise you'll always love me."

He crushed her to his chest. He murmured in her ear, "I'm yours Cheryl. I belong to you. If you left me or if I lost you I would die."

They held each other close. Together, in each others arms they fell asleep. Later that night, two more times, they reawakened and performed the same human ritual. Each time was wonderful. By the morning they were completely entwined, two people had become a single entity. Two had become one. 

The rest of the weekend was an unending series of new experiences. They went hiking. They visited the little shops, bought souvenirs. They bought ice cream and shared their flavors. It was a truly an idyllic time. They sat on benches and made up names for children. They talked about the future, where they might live, the furniture she wanted, college savings accounts, vacations, but mostly they talked about love. When Sunday came both were emotionally and sexually exhausted. 

When they reached the parking lot of Cheryl's apartment Martin decided it was time to pop the question, "Cheryl this has been the most wonderful weekend of my life."

"Mine too Martin."

"There's something I have here." He reached in his pocket and pulled out the small box.

Cheryl saw the box and immediately knew what it was. She didn't want to be cruel, but she had everything mentally scripted. It had to be her way, "Don't give me anything today."