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!