Hooked

by Gina Messina

  “So did he?” Dr. Harrison questioned.

  “Of course he did!” she answered in a tone that even she recognized as self-righteous. “I got picked up all the time back then. I was young and fresh, not quite twenty yet. And I was skinny too. So fucking thin, I almost didn’t exist. Men love big tits and tiny waists,” she boasted, then peered down at the dimply fat that now covered her thighs and plunged even deeper into a state of despair. “And it didn’t take him long, either.”

  Charlie had caught a whiff of his after-shave when he drew near and remembered how it had smelled just like freshly minted money, which happened to be her favorite scent. His hand then purposely grazed her outer thigh as he leisurely inched his way up to the bar. Her legs were crossed in a way that highlighted the long slit in her dress and she immediately noticed the way his eyes swept down from her cleavage to her ankles. Charlie had fought the overwhelming urge to take his hand and guide it under her dress, allowing his fingers to work their magic. She had smirked, envisioning the look on the bartender’s face if she were to let him take her to the edge of climax right there on that very barstool. I’ll probably get free drinks all night long, she’d figured.

  “My name is David,” he had murmured softly, his voice thick with a British accent that was so damn sexy, it turned her on almost as much as his shoes had. She immediately inspected his teeth, which thankfully, appeared to be well tended to. She’d heard from an old friend who’d spent a semester abroad that the English had the most horrid teeth. Fortunately, David’s were gleaming white. She imagined how they would feel nibbling her ear and neck.

  “I’m Charlie,” she responded in her most seductive voice, flashing an equally perfect pearly white smile that had undoubtedly cost her parents a small fortune.

  Charlie leaned forward on the sofa and rubbed her temples, remembering how his striking pale blue eyes had found hers from across the room and how his dark wavy hair complemented his perfect skin. “Of course, I immediately noticed the thin platinum wedding band on his left hand,” she told Dr. Harrison.

  “So David was married then?”

  Charlie did a double take then disregarded the question. Didn’t I just tell her I saw a ring on his fucking finger? she asked herself. What the fuck is wrong with this woman?

  “Would you allow me to buy you a drink?” he had asked with confidence in his voice. She’d nodded her head slightly and ordered another martini and they effortlessly fell into an easy conversation.

  “So you’re from England?” she had asked.

  “Is it that obvious?” he teasingly responded, making his accent even more prominent than before.

  “Well, you’re definitely not from Oklahoma,” she remarked playfully, tilting her head down and glancing sideways in his direction when he laughed out loud.

  “No, I don’t suppose I am. I actually live in London.”

  “I figured,” she muttered while sipping her drink, making sure her lips lingered on the rim. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was wondering what it would take to get in her pants.

  “Very intuitive of you,” he replied, his voice slightly rough. She also didn’t have to look down at his trousers to know he was getting aroused.

  “I usually don’t share this with strangers, but I’m a mind reader and for a small fee I can read your fortune,” she flirted, giving him a small knowing wink.

  “Really? So what else can you tell about me?”

  Besides the fact that you want to throw me down on a bed, pull my dress up and fuck me? she seriously considered. “Well, let me see… you’re married.” She arched an eyebrow in the direction of his ring. “You’re wearing a suit, which means you’re here on business.”

  “So far, I’m impressed.” He leaned in closer, allowing his knee to press against hers. “Anything else you want to share with me?”

  “Hmm, your flirting with me so that means either you have an open relationship or you cheat on your wife.”

  He wasn’t embarrassed by her observations nor did he act guilty. He didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, he merely chuckled and asked with confidence, “How much did you say for a reading??”

  “Seven hundred and ninety-five dollars.”

  He laughed. “Tell me more about yourself,” he said with a beatific smile on his face which she took as a really good sign.

  David explained that he was in New York City on business and would be leaving in time to spend Christmas with his wife and twin boys. She was drawn to his dry sense of humor when he flirted with her in a playful manner. They spent the rest of the evening talking but to her disappointment, he didn’t attempt to make a pass at her. At least not until later in the evening, when she got up to leave and extended her hand to say goodbye. Charlie had tried to act disinterested but despite her effort to appear blasé, she was absolutely certain he knew that she found him attractive, irresistible even.

  When she offered her hand and their fingers met, he pulled her into him and whispered, “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.” She felt his hot breath on her ear and immediately responded when he pressed his body up against hers.

  “What did you tell him?” Dr. Harrison asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “I told him I was sorry. That I didn’t go out with married men.”

  It was a lie of course. Charlie didn’t have a problem sleeping with any man she wanted, even if he was taken. She’d even had a short fling with one of her college professors the second semester of freshman year. And, he’d been very married! Apparently not married enough though, to resist sleeping with one of his students. But it only lasted a few weeks—not because he realized what he was doing was wrong. It was because his wife came down with Crone’s Disease and he felt too guilty about cheating on her when she was so ill. It was no big loss, though. He certainly hadn’t wowed her in the bedroom and to make matters worse, he wore sneakers everywhere they went (which was only into his tiny office on the third floor of the Fine Arts building to have mediocre sex) but still, it grated on her nerves! Charlie couldn’t stand a man who wore sneakers, unless he was an athlete, of course, and preferably wearing them on a tennis court with shorts that showed off muscular calves and a rock solid ass.

  “So that was the end of it?”

  “Of course not! When I turned to leave, he took me by the elbow and pulled me in even closer while his other hand grazed my backside. I could feel the hardness of his muscles through his shirt. Then he looked me straight in the eye and told me he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Charlie had been more than turned on when he held her gaze for longer than necessary.

  “Then he reached into his wallet and handed me his business card.”

  “So you called him, then?” Dr. Harrison questioned with a tone in her voice that sounded like surprise.

  “Of course I fucking called him!” she shouted back. “Only a complete dimwit wouldn’t have called him! David held the golden ticket to my fabulous future with those outstanding $795.00 Louboutin’s. To those shoes that were supposed to take me places I’d only imagined.”

  Sitting there, Charlie was in a quandary as to why her psychiatrist was so surprised that she’d called David. It was more than frustrating having to constantly spell things out for her as if she were a five-year-old. Indeed, any sane woman would have done the same thing, she assured herself before considering that night further.

  She’d been lying in bed in her apartment, pondering the beauty of both David and those shoes. She knew it would have been smarter to make him wait but he was going back to England in a few days so she didn’t want to risk missing her window of opportunity. She grabbed her bag and rummaged through it to find the business card he had handed her a few hours earlier. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. She imagined the feel of his hard body and pictured his soft lips grazing her own. Charlie laid there with her cat, Sneakers, (named for the four white socks on its paws, not for the married art professor) and envisioned him inside her and the swee
t look of delight he would have on his face when she took him deep into her throat.

  “I’m positive it was nearing midnight when I picked up the phone and called his cell phone,” she told Dr. Harrison.

  “It’s Charlie. What time and where?” she had asked.

  “When he answered the phone and I heard the pleasant surprise in his voice, I was sure the tiny deserted island I’d created in my closet would no longer remain empty,” she declared to her doctor with a wicked grin.

  “I’m sorry, time’s up. I think we made significant progress. Don’t you? We can finish exploring this next week, okay?”

  Charlie didn’t want to have to wait a whole other week. Not to mention, she really had nothing else to do for the rest of the afternoon. It made her angry to have to stop right when she was getting to the crux of the issue—to the really zesty and super spicy stuff. She suddenly experienced an urgent craving for Indian food and considered picking up take-out from Ali Dhaba for dinner since Sean had just texted to say he wouldn’t be getting home until well after midnight.

  “Classic,” she mumbled under her breath as she got up (loud enough for Dr. Harrison to guess she heard her, but not loud enough for her to be sure) which was a tactic she’d picked up from Sean when he wanted to be a bigger asshole than he already was.

  “We should book a double session next time,” Dr. Harrison suggested, sensing her frustration. “Before you leave, make sure to see my receptionist, Sally, about scheduling it.”

  When Charlie got home late that afternoon after having killed three hours at the Gucci boutique, her Bichon, Coco, enthusiastically greeted her at the door. “At least someone’s happy to see me,” she said, kneeling down and patting the dog on its head. Scooping Coco under one arm, Charlie headed toward the bedroom to put away her new Gucci python platforms which had just set her husband back almost a grand. She felt completely depleted! Mentally drained from her therapy session and for once, grateful to have the apartment all to herself. Her five-year-old daughter, Layla, was spending the night with Charlie’s sister, Carrie, and she wasn’t expecting Sean for hours, if at all; as he was no doubt holed up in some lavish hotel with his current young tart, Lizbeth, a twenty-three-year-old Columbia grad student who was his latest pet project.

  She could only imagine the things he was doing to her, the molding and shaping he had so brilliantly mastered, the sucking and fucking he’d so expertly honed. She decided to skip dinner in favor of a pint of mint chocolate chip Haagen Dazs ice cream and then crawled into bed, exhausted by the notion of what that poor girl must be enduring.

  That night, while trying to fall asleep, she reminisced about David and tried to remember the last time she’d worn those fantabulous Louboutin’s. She shut her eyes tight and attempted to focus. But as hard as she concentrated, her mind kept coming up blank. Sadly, she couldn’t seem to remember.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “One shoe can change your life.”

  Cinderella

  When Charlie walked into the office the following week, she immediately noticed that Dr. Harrison must have done some serious shoe shopping! For the first time, she was impressed with her doctor. More impressed by her new shoes than her long list of credentials and fancy Lexington Avenue office. Good for her! She peered down at the very sophisticated navy peep toes she was wearing and felt smug, taking credit that her own good taste had rubbed off on her shrink. It looks like she even sprang for a much-needed pedicure, she noted. All of a sudden, her doctor’s feet weren’t painful to look at. Thank you! she gleefully thought, grateful that she wouldn’t have to spend the next few months looking down at those hideous sandals or something even worse, as if that were even remotely possible.

  “Where did we leave things?” Dr. Harrison questioned while fumbling with her notes. Notes she’d only started taking last week (she mostly doodled before) and annoyingly tapped her foot in a blatant effort to draw attention to her new peep toes. It was almost as if she wanted Charlie to make a comment about them.

  Perhaps we’re finally going to make progress, she thought happily, but then decided to ignore the shoes. As hard as it might be, she didn’t want to give her doctor the satisfaction of a compliment. They really were quite spectacular and she wondered if she might be able to discreetly snap a picture of them without her doctor noticing. If she got the chance, she would text it to Marco. He would know who they were by. Marco knew every new season’s shoe by sight (which was one of the reasons she admired him so much).

  “I was just about to tell you about David,” she replied in a tone that most women reserved for best friends—not that Charlie had many friends’ worthy of mentioning. She’d always had a problem identifying with other women.

  “Yes, David,” Dr. Harrison murmured, “The married business man from London.” She tapped her pen against her notepad. Between her shoe tapping and pen tapping, the noise was incessant and started to grate on Charlie’s nerves.

  “You’re missing the point,” she exclaimed in an agitated voice, wishing the damn tapping would stop. “It wasn’t about David; it was about those shoes. Those shoes I would’ve killed for if I’d been given the opportunity.”

  “Okay, then, why don’t we start out with you telling me about what happened with David and we can take it from there.”

  “Well, I was on my way to meet him for dinner. He’d sent a car to pick me up and I remember being grateful about not having to walk. The snow hadn’t let up and I was wearing suede heels. They would’ve been ruined if I had to hoof it all the way across town! Suede is very unforgiving, you know, especially in wet weather.”

  For a brief moment, Charlie pictured those buttersoft Fendi shoes and the barely-there nude silk dress with the threadlike satin straps and Chantilly lace hem. Between the short dress and sky high heels, her legs had looked like a catwalk models. She ran her fingers through her hair and then touched the base of her throat, almost expecting to feel the three-strand choker of pearls that had encircled her long neck that night or the crystal hairpin that had loosely held her long hair away from her face.

  Charlie also remembered the ride uptown. She’d been electrified and full of anticipation. She had no idea how the night was going to end, but was sure it would be chock full of thrills and new experiences. An evening she would never forget. When the car pulled up curb side, at The Metropolitan Club on 61st and Park Avenue, she was pleased. The well-appointed building commanded a corner spot overlooking Central Park South. It was impressive and she couldn’t help but think, He isn’t some phony putting on an act just to get me in bed. It was clear David knew what he was doing. There was something so sexy about a man oozing with confidence. It certainly hadn’t hurt that he had the goods to back it up.

  “So he sent a private car for you?”

  “Yes, not a limo but a Town car. He was a classy guy.”

  When Charlie had entered the foyer, the maître d’ greeted her and told her that Mr. Simon was waiting in the upstairs bar then took her coat and escorted her up the curved staircase. She had felt like a high-society lady that deserved respect and not a twenty-something year old off to have a one-night stand with a married man. When she walked into the wood paneled bar, holding her shoulders back and taking long strides to show off her bare legs, she had felt good about herself. More confident than she’d felt in a long time. She recognized David by his broad shoulders and wavy dark brown hair and walked toward him. He was sitting on a barstool with is back facing the door, so she snuck up behind him and leaned in close, then breathed in the expensive scent of his cologne and murmured into his ear, “I’ve arrived.”

  “Looking back on it Charlie, I’m sure you realize this was an arrival of a different kind, no?” The way her psychiatrist stressed the word ‘different’ made her suddenly feel cheap. It was the polar opposite of how she’d felt on that night.

  “What are you insinuating?” she asked with a clipped tone of voice.

  “I’m not insinuating anything, just making an obse
rvation.”

  Why does she always speak in riddles? she questioned. Why can’t she be more direct? Charlie appreciated people who spoke their minds and didn’t mince words. She hated fucking double talk.

  “Why don’t you continue,” Dr. Harrison hastily stated, trying to move the conversation forward in a constructive way.

  “When David turned to face me, our eyes locked for a split second. Then he signaled the bartender and ordered me a martini. I was impressed that he remembered what I’d had the night before, and even more impressed by how he took charge of the evening. I like a man who takes control. It’s funny, but I still remember how I felt myself blush when he handed me my drink and our fingers touched.”

  “What happened next?” Dr. Harrison questioned with an eagerness that bordered on uncomfortable.

  “David was more charming than I’d remembered! While we sat at the bar I felt really comfortable with him. So at ease. Like I was sitting in my own living room. Then we were escorted to a private dining room he’d arranged and that’s when things got really intense.”

  Charlie was starting to feel sentimental and she was also starting to feel slightly turned on. Actually, more like very turned on! She hadn’t considered David and that steamy night for years. She’d almost forgotten how he’d made her feel so attractive. So desirable. Truth be told, she hadn’t felt desired for years. At least not since right before Layla was born and she’d put on twenty pounds; twenty pounds that Sean never let her forget.

  “Charlie, let’s try to move a little faster," Dr. Harrison said in a frustrated tone. Charlie could see the flash of irritation cross her face as she turned her eyes to the door of her office and added, “My waiting room is beginning to get jammed up.”

  Is she serious? Charlie wondered if she commanded her husband the same way when they had sex. Hurry up and get me off. My pathetic patients are waiting. She met her eyes and gave her a condescending smile before continuing.