Charlotte's Sexy Web Ch. 03

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I said, "Tell me about it."

"I try, I seduce students when I can, I bring young guys home with me. I take them in my office here. I pick them up sometimes, if I can."

This conversation was going in a disturbing direction. What did Charlotte actually do and think about on the days when I wasn't around? That was actually most days in any particular month.

She had more to tell, "Sometimes they reject me, call me a dried-up spinster. They have no idea who I really am."

This character was running herself down, using self-pity in a way that I had never heard from Charlotte before. I had noticed that she had been acting older than twenty-six ever since she opened the door. She even looked older, somehow. Michelle, the mistress of roles, would have been impressed.

Then she decided to end the game. As I was pulling my clothes together, she said, "I think it's time that you go."

I didn't want my date with this strange new person to end, "Why don't we get some coffee?" There were nearby diners on Seventh Avenue where we could go.

"Not today, but soon, I promise."

I pushed it further, "I'd like to see you again, I'm always around campus."

"Of course. You can meet me here. All I ask is that you phone me - you know my office hours - so we can work out the time."

"Maybe we can go out somewhere too."

"I know, we can go to the Cloisters. I can show you some things up there." The Cloisters was a museum of medieval art in upper Manhattan. The ironic thing was I had already been there with Charlotte twice.

But this isn't Charlotte, or is it? She had the same clothes, the same hairstyle, same almost everything - but a different bearing. This wasn't my real girlfriend. I had been through this before in games; I felt I was falling for a person who had been created in the mind of someone else.

At least she seemed calmer now. "Don't forget your books." I had indeed been ready to walk out without them. Then she said, "You're really a very sweet young man." That didn't sound like Charlotte at all; she never referred to me as "young." Well, Charlotte No. 2, my bar pickup, had pointed out our age difference.

She couldn't quite let me go yet, "You're not going to brag about this with your friends, are you?"

"Of course not. Why did you think that?"

"I just know how you guys are."

This paranoia was also something new, but it wasn't entirely misplaced. I did have a couple of friends that I probably would have told about this. Now I really wanted out, so I said goodbye, unlocked the door, and went. I decided that twenty minutes was the right amount of time for the gap.

Part 2

When I got back after walking around the around the neighborhood she seemed agitated again. She grabbed me and pulled me into the room, "Paul, I'm glad you came back." Well of course I came back, I always did after a role ended. First I needed to confirm that it was indeed over.

"Charlotte, this is you, right?"

"Definitely, I'm back."

She pulled me over to the near sofa, that one I thought of as "my couch." It wasn't too difficult to sit on the cushions - although being on one of those plastic subway seats was going to be hard for a few days.

I thought that maybe was going to offer sex with me again, but that wasn't it. She wanted to talk - her need to talk was urgent.

"Oh my god, I'm such a bitch."

"Come on, you're not. But you certainly know how to play one."

"No, you've seen my inner bitch, I love it, I love being a bitch."

"Michelle always says . . ."

"I know, it's just an act. But if you can think of it, and then do it - I know it's a part of me."

I saw she had poured drinks for us and these were on the coffee table. Hers appeared to be a vodka and tonic, mine was white wine. For a moment I wondered if she had a few during my absence. But she didn't seem drunk now, and I knew she rarely if ever drank to excess.

She said, "You remember the bar pickup games. I treated you so badly, and I enjoyed it."

"All right, what did you enjoy about them?" I remembered what I liked about them, which was that after the games were over she had fucked me about as well as any guy could hope for.

"I liked flashing my panties at you, denying you sex, thinking you'd go home and jerk off thinking of me. Because I'm the queen bitch, I'm too good for any man, nobody gets to fuck me, I take care of my own needs."

I didn't know how seriously to take this. Maybe she was starting another role without telling me. But that would break an unwritten rule; one had to give other people foreknowledge of what was happening.

"But I get weak," she continued. "I get hungry for cock, and I give in to my impulses.

I tried to put a little levity into this, "At least you're hungry for my cock."

Instead of answering she picked up her drink and took a gulp from it. She continued to hold her glass as she said, "When the bitchiness comes out, I'm not sure what to do with it. I need to be put down, be put in my place, but I also want to rear up, show my claws, tear a man to pieces." She put her hands up as if to show me those claws.

I realized I had indeed seen those claws the times her characters had abruptly banished me from the apartment.

Her knees were up on the couch, just touching me. Every now and again she tapped me or poked me with her hand. She continued, "That's why I need to be spanked hard, why I need a belt put to my ass, I need to be humiliated, I'm so ashamed."

This was not turning into a relaxing evening. But in the previous months I had leaned on her for advice and support, so I supposed I owed her some therapeutic time if she needed it now.

I said, "Ashamed of what?"

"Of being a bitch, a cunt, a slut."

This slut thing was new. I said, "Charlotte, are you doing okay right now?"

She seemed reasonable, "Why, don't I seem okay?"

"Ah, frankly - not at all."

She found this amusing. Then she immediately had a new tack. "A couple of times last summer I walked around the streets with a skirt on and no panties."

"Oh wow. And you didn't invite me along for these excursions?"

"Okay, next time if this is one. Anyway, I liked it. I liked the hot air around my body, around my pussy." This reminded me of Michelle and her fondness for garter belts. "I actually liked it too much. My pussy was wet the whole time. I was so horny I couldn't stand it."

This was heady stuff for me but she seemed to be having some kind of meltdown today. Maybe she was just making up these events.

"I was in Washington Square. All these damn NYU students were around." What was so bad about NYU? "I was thinking, here I am in my demure little skirt. Good Charlotte, always gets good grades, works hard at her job, none of them know what I really am, a bad girl with no panties, a dripping pussy. A girl who wants a man to spank her and then fuck her right on a bench. Then everyone would know what I really was."

"Hey, I'll volunteer for that. Although maybe not with a real bench in the park."

"I don't know if you deserve it. From now on I should just send you home with a soiled pair of panties so you can shoot your wad into them."

Besides her obsession with underwear she was showing a grudge against me - or maybe this was faked too, I hoped. But we didn't seem to be in a game here. If this was real it was rather unsettling. She had seemed relatively calm and rational for nearly a year and this new emotional state of hers was a surprise.

"Ah, clean underwear would be fine. Or I could wash the other ones and bring them back."

She ignored me and finished her drink. I could see the alternatives here, dial it back a notch or turn it up. I decided on the latter.

I said, "Just wondering, what was all that trash talk about Michelle?"

"Michelle." Just one word. Perhaps I had made a mistake, but I couldn't take it back. "She does strut around, doesn't she? So clever, thinks she's hot shit." God, let me go back two seconds, let me for once have a do-over. "The princess from Bayside, thinks she's a queen now." I had never heard a whiff of snobbism from Charlotte before this.

I briefly considered that she had taken some mind-altering drug. Except for the two times I saw her use pot I had never known her to have any interest in them. She didn't seem drugged, but how would I know all the possible effects of the drugs out there?

She continued, "Michelle has to learn that I'm the empress, I outrank her."

I called her on this, "Charlotte, what is bugging you? I mean, if I may be accused of false modesty, it can't be me - I'm not that big a deal."

"No, that's not it. It's the idea of it. You're going to marry Michelle, I think, maybe after you graduate. Who's going to marry me?"

Perhaps that was something she wanted to take back. I stumbled into saying "Well, it's not like you're too old for me; it's more like I'm too young for you."

She pondered this for a second, "How can you stand me, how can anyone stand me?"

I tried to rein her in, "Come on, let's be. . ."

"No really, I'm such a cunt. Why don't you slap me around, slap the bitchy look right off my face." She pushed her glasses back and leaned towards me.

I heard that all too clearly, "No, I won't do that. Your backside is one thing, I won't hit your face."

"But I need it, I want it. You think you're such a nice guy, you're not capable of that?" She did qualify it; she even laughed a bit. "I mean, don't overdo it, I think you know what I mean.

That sounded like a role-play concept, the paradox of letting yourself go yet maintaining some control over the situation for the sake of sanity.

"You haven't touched your wine." She picked up my glass. "Here, you little fucker." She tossed the liquid into my face.

My eyes stung a bit, of course, but I wasn't really that angry at her. But I knew now how serious she was. I decided to do it even if it felt like a sin for which I would have to be forgiven.

I said "Okay." I cupped her chin with my hand and I just tapped her, a mostly symbolic slap. Then I did it again, and followed it with a backhand across her other side.

She looked pained but she didn't protest. She kept her face forward. "Do it again."

"No, absolutely not, that's more than enough. Charlotte, I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Have you seen your ass lately? I'd say that my pain isn't even close."

I realized she was trying to be funny. I wondered if all this was an elaborate way of breaking up with me. If it was it was certainly an imaginative way to dump somebody.

I leaned back on the sofa, "What have we done?"

"I don't know, what do you think we've done?"

I felt frustrated enough to just say what was on my mind, "Well, what do you want from me? Do you want me to stay tonight, do you want me to stay in your life in general?"

"That would be yes on both counts. Is that what you want too?"

I didn't hesitate, "Yes, that's what I want."

I sensed that her craziness was over, at least for the moment.

"Charlotte, I love you."

"I love you too. Maybe that's just fine for the time being."

"Would you please put some music on? I think we both need to relax."

"Of course. And also, I'll freshen your drink." She laughed at her own joke.

After she had done that said, "You're quite the horny sub, aren't you?"

I must have looked confused because she explained, "When I was whaling away at you, your, ah, member went right up. I was quite impressed."

"I'll take that as a compliment, although as I said during all that, it's not like I had a choice."

"You are quite perverse, my dear, enjoying domination and discipline by a woman."

"Well, my dear Professor, you like dominating men. By the way, how are things going with your panties crisis?"

"Oh that. Here, take a look." She spread her legs and showed me her crotch.

"Still don't have any, I see. Maybe you'd like a little more cream in that pie?"

"Young man, you are shameless. You are absolutely the worst student I've ever had."

I smiled at her, "I'll concede that. But, you are obviously glad such a bad student registered for your course."

*****

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gunhilltraingunhilltrainover 5 years agoAuthor
It has occurred to me . . .

. . .that this group of 1970s stories *are* satires - or at least an examination of - the Baby Boomer attitudes of the time. College students in New York saw the city falling apart around them but didn't have a clue about what to do about it. The anti-war protests of the age cohort immediately before offered no model about how to deal with the urban crisis. Sex and partying and music, already part of the college scene, became even more important.

gunhilltraingunhilltrainover 5 years agoAuthor
It's good to hear from the Greatest Generation

Dear Anonymous: I do admire that you and yours fought with the Old Breed at Okinawa and Guadalcanal. The Baby Boomers only had conflicts like Vietnam (which, yes, many of us evaded, although as for myself I didn't become eighteen until 1973), the War on Poverty and the Culture Wars. All three resulted in defeats or at best stalemates, although that wasn't entirely our fault.

AnonymousAnonymousover 5 years ago
BBNG;DR

This site is for erotica. Isn't there another site for Baby Boomer navel-gazing?

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