by Gina Messina
“Hey, sweetheart! Wow! You look incredibly sexy in that dress!” he enthusiastically stated when he walked through the door. “Turn around and let me take all of you in,” he said with a low throaty whistle. “Hey, whatever happened to those shoes I got you for your twenty-first birthday? You know what? They would go perfectly with your new dress!”
“You mean the stripper shoes?” she questioned with a confused expression, the buzz starting to wear off at the mention of those plastic platforms.
“Yes! Those shoes are so sexy on you! Quick! Go find them and put them on. Then we can get going. You’re not going to believe what I have planned for us. It’s going to be an unforgettable night!”
Charlie already wanted to forget her birthday. She had a sinking feeling in her gut that it wasn’t going to end well, but she despairingly walked out of the room to find the cheap shoes which she eventually found shoved in an old cardboard box of unwanted clothes in the back of her closet. When she put them on and looked in the mirror, she hated to admit that Sean had been right. They did perfectly complement the slutty dress she had on.
When Charlie came out of the bedroom, Sean swept his eyes passionately over her entire body and then took her arm and led her back to the kitchen where he had another drink waiting. Charlie had been sure she noticed how his face had lit up when she modeled the shoe’s with the dress, but then he let out a small belch. “Spicy Chinese for lunch,” he said without excusing himself. What she’d thought was a smile of admiration had actually been heartburn.
“We need to get going,” he told her, looking at his gold Patek Philippe watch which was another gift he’d bought for himself when he’d been promoted, yet again. Grabbing their coats from the hall closet, he heartily announced, “The show starts promptly at eight!”
Charlie perked up at the mention of a show. She was positive Sean had landed the hottest tickets on Broadway and despite the way she was dressed, orchestra seats would more than make up for it. If Sean wanted to cop a feel when the lights went down, who was she to judge. After all, he went to such lengths to plan the surprise celebration.
But Charlie learned quickly that it wasn’t the great lights of Broadway they were heading to. Instead it was a dingy place in the Battery, far from Times Square. When they entered the nightclub, the first thing she noticed was that the place smelled strangely, almost like scented cat litter mixed with twat and disillusionment. It took several minutes for her eyes to adjust to the very dark lighting. Once they did, she couldn’t believe what she saw. There were twice as many women than men and they were all dressed just as slutty as she was!
“What kind of club is this?” she asked, equally disgusted and curious at the same time.
“It’s a swing club!” he answered with such gusto, she almost got swept up in the moment.
Charlie suddenly felt nauseous. It’s my birthday, not Sean’s, she told herself as he handed her a cosmopolitan and put his arm around her shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. He then led her through the crowd toward the back of the club where there was a small elevated stage. Her eyes first went to a woman who was lounging on a bed center stage who was wearing a black leather bra and crotch less panties. Charlie experienced a mixed bag of emotions while surveying the scene.
When she spotted two naked men on the sidelines, her heart palpitated in a nervous way and she could feel her face redden. Averting her eyes, she looked for any excuse to turn away, but after a few minutes she couldn’t help herself and caved, focusing her attention on the ensuing show.
With a bizarre fascination, Charlie watched as the two men began to bind the leather clad woman’s wrists to the headboard with long satin ropes. Sean still had his arms draped casually over her bare shoulder, then his right hand made its way to her breast and his fingers started grazing her nipple which started to harden. She began to feel light headed, but still, she couldn’t seem to look away. She continued to watch the live sex show and tried to act casual; as if she were watching a gymnastic routine on the television. But then, to her embarrassment, she started to get wet. So wet, she had to take a paper cocktail napkin and discreetly wipe the moisture from between her commando crotch. Truth be told, she wasn’t surprised. After all, every sexual experience she’d ever had was somehow tied up in sleazy, dirty sex and this was by far, the sleaziest, dirtiest sex she’d ever witnessed.
Charlie watched as the two men did things to that woman she’d never imagined possible in real life. Sure, she’d watched hundreds of porno videos with Sean, (in the privacy of their bedroom) many of which had multiple people fucking. It always made it difficult for her to keep the characters and story-line straight. Sean would inevitably make her feel stupid when she would ask him to go over the plot, for the second or third time. She could always sense his frustration with her.
“Who cares about the plot?” he would answer, “It’s not important, Charlie! What’s important is that you suck me off exactly like those cute little schoolgirls are sucking off the Dean of the College.”
It’s going to be okay, she assured herself. It’s just like one of those movies only with a live audience. Plus, it’s not like were expected to join the cast. But then, to her shock, when the show ended, a random female from the crowd pushed her way to the stage and dove right in. Charlie’s thoughts instantaneously went to Lexie and the memory made her get even wetter.
She shook her head in a futile attempt to rid her mind of that night (which was impossible to do with the scene unfolding before her) and turned toward Sean. But, he was so hypnotized by the show, he didn’t hear a word she was said when she leaned into him and asked, “Is this a fucking orgy?”
Charlie didn’t need an answer, though, because by the time she’d posed the question, there were more than a dozen members of the audience who’d rushed the stage like tweens at a Justin Bieber concert. The next time she glanced up, there were so many naked people fucking away, she had to squint her eyes just to distinguish where one body began and the next one ended. Sadly, the answer to her question was no longer necessary.
That motherfucker has finally done it. He’d brought her to an orgy and for her thirtieth birthday, no less! Charlie wanted to haul off and kick him in the balls. She considered the countless times he’d causally hinted about how exciting it would be to see her with another man and the many nights he would whisper in her ear, “I want to watch you getting fucked.” Charlie would moan and groan and murmur “That’s so hot, Sean.” But, in her wildest dreams, she never thought that he was serious! She’d thought they were role playing!
“Wasn’t that an incredible show?” he casually asked, as if they’d just seen the Broadway musical Charlie had hoped they were going to that night. Before she could open her mouth and attempt to put into words what she was really feeling, he took her by the hand, “Come with me. I want you to meet a few people.”
Charlie was not only feeling overwhelmed; she was also feeling very inebriated by that time. She couldn’t remember how many Cosmopolitans she’d had, but she knew it was more than one too many! Everything was jumbled together in vivid colors without making much sense-like a Picasso painting she’d once admired at the Met. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a couple standing in front of them. They both grinned at her.
“Charlotte, this is Steve and his beautiful wife, Linda.”
Charlie looked them both over from head to toe and forced a smile of her own. She was pretty sure they hadn’t participated in the orgy which made her feel a little less apprehensive. She wouldn’t have been able to forget the tramp stamp that was inked just above Linda’s ass which was clearly visible due to the low slung hipster pants she was wearing. Or, the waist length platinum blonde hair that was surely the end result of over the counter peroxide. And, who could forget the belly button piercing that was an angry shade of red and swollen, as if it were festering with infection.
Linda’s eyelids were slathered with creamy blue eyeshadow and winged with heavy black eyeliner and dangly chandelier earri
ngs, that resembled tiny disco balls, hung from her earlobes. Charlie tried not to stare at her, but once again she couldn’t tear her eye’s away. It was the same pull she felt when she was talking to someone who had a raging cold sore on their upper lip. The more she tried to avert her eyes, the overwhelming urge to get a better look took over and made her fixate on it all the more.
Steve was just as bad, if not more so. His hair was combed over to cover a scaly balding spot and it was in dire need of a good washing. When she spotted the faded heart shaped tattoo on his upper scrawny right shoulder, she knew that Steve and Linda were a perfectly paired couple. ‘Julie Rocks’ it read in flowery script, across the center of the heart, which was somewhat confounding since she was positive Sean had introduced his wife as Linda, not Julie. Charlie never understood the allure of tattoos. She felt strongly that they were for white trash people which she was pretty sure Steve and Linda were.
I bet she has a smelly twat, she’d immediately thought as soon as Sean had introduced them to her.
“Hey, we’re hosting an after-party at our place. Would you like to join us? The more the merrier!” Steve asked while licking his lips and ogling Charlie’s crotch. She grabbed the hem of her dress and tried to pull it down as Sean eagerly reached for his over coat.
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” he answered so quickly it made Charlie spiral into a full blown anxiety attack. Seriously? They probably live in a trailer park in New Jersey, she thought to herself while her head was spinning and she was finding it difficult to catch her breath.
“Sean, I’m…I’m not feeling well,” Charlie leaned over and discreetly whispered into his ear. “I’m having an episode.” Sean immediately knew what she meant by ‘episode.’ Ever since Charlie had her first crippling anxiety attack at their wedding reception, any stressful situation would trigger what they referred to as ‘episodes.’
Sean shook his head, undeterred. If Charlie was expecting him to change course for the night, she was sadly mistaken. Instead, he said, “Here, take this,” reaching into his pocket and handing her a little pale yellow tablet. “It will help you relax.”
“But I’ve been drinking,” she reminded him.
“It’s perfectly harmless. It’s an herbal supplement. It will make you feel better.” He smiled as he raised her hand to her lips, urging her to part them and swallow the tiny pill.
Charlie opened her mouth, popped the pill and then took a healthy sip of her drink
“That’s my birthday girl,” he asserted proudly, putting his arms around her shoulder and guiding her toward the front door where Steve and Linda were anxiously waiting.
“I love your shoes,” Linda commented with admiration when they were standing out front waiting for a cab. “I have the same ones, only mine have purple glitter in the heel.”
Charlie didn’t know how to respond to that. Not only was she embarrassed that she’d worn them out in public, now she was doubly mortified that this trampy skank owned the same ones.
Feeling strange, Charlie looked over her shoulder at Sean and thought she was seeing double. Her head was all foggy and everything around her seemed as if it was going in and out of focus. “What the fuck was that pill you gave me?” she hissed at him, which to this day, is the last thing she remembers saying that night.
The next twelve hours were a psychedelic blur. When she woke up the following morning in the comfort of her own bed, she was more than relieved. Sean rolled over and faced her. “What a night!” he exclaimed, then leaned into her and gave her a chaste peck on the cheek.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"I hate the concept of the clog! It's fake, it's ugly, and it's not even comfortable! And I hate the whole concept of comfort! It's like when people say, 'Well, we're not really in love, but we're in a comfortable relationship.' You're abandoning a lot of ideas when you are too into comfort. 'Comfy'—that's one of the worst words! I just picture a woman feeling bad, with a big bottle of alcohol, really puffy. It's really depressing, but she likes her life because she has comfortable clogs."
Christian Louboutin
Oh my God! Charlie knew she had been right!
When she walked into the office, she immediately spotted a shoebox perched on top of Dr. Harrison’s mahogany desk. Payless, it read on the side of the shiny bright orange and white box, which was so gaudy, it stood out like a sore thumb. She would’ve had to have been Helen Keller to have not noticed it sitting there. Charlie eyed it uneasily, but didn’t say a word because maybe she’d been mistaken and it was just a box with receipts. Her father used to keep all of his receipts in a shoebox until tax time.
Perhaps Dr. Harrison is just getting organized and preparing her year-end taxes? she hopefully thought, while a brief sense of relief overcame her. That would be better. It’s not professional to accept gifts from your psychiatrist!
“This will be our last session until next month,” she heard her state while scanning her calendar. “My husband, Paul and I, are taking a much needed vacation. We’re heading up to the Vineyard for a couple of weeks to visit with relatives. Every few years we have a big family reunion at my cousin’s house on the Cape.”
Well, that settles the matter. She’s definitely not married to a rich lesbian. Charlie suddenly felt a pang of disappointment. She’d hoped that Dr. Harrison was different, unorthodox. Someone who colored outside the lines. But alas, she was just like everyone else. Typical wealthy East-Sider rushing to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city to vacation on an overpriced island where everyone looked and acted the same. An island where boat shoes and sandals were considered chic.
Of course, you’re going to the Vineyard, Charlie glibly thought. She was more than certain that the majority of the state of Massachusetts was crawling with a plethora of her shrinks inbred kin. It was a well-documented fact that only fifty-two pilgrims had made it alive onto Plymouth Rock and thirty-three of them had been men. Those poor women settlers must have suffered something terrible!
“I have some homework for you while I’m away,” Dr. Harrison announced, then got up from her chair and brought over the garish orange shoebox. “I want you to wear these for two to three hours each day,” she said while holding out the box for her to take. Charlie squeezed her eyes shut and pretended not to hear. Maybe if I ignore her she’ll go away. But when she opened them back up, her shrink was still standing there. Dr. Harrison looked down at her and added, “In public,” with what Charlie viewed as a sadistic twinkle in her eye. Seeing the determined look in her psychiatrist’s eye, she knew there was no getting around it.
Charlie reluctantly took the box from her doctor’s outstretched hand and slowly removed the lid. When she peeked inside, her eyes widened in horror.
“These are the ugliest things I’ve ever laid my eyes on!” Charlie yelped, staring down at a pair of black pleather clogs that were most definitely made in some poor village factory in China. China! Nothing good ever came out of China. They were even uglier than the clear plastic stripper shoes Sean had made her wear during her birthday strip tease, which, come to think of it, were probably made in China too! I simply won’t do it. I’m just not capable. Who the fuck wears clogs’ in this day and age? she mulled over to herself.
Charlie recoiled and gripped one of the clogs in her hand, promptly dismissing her doctors Yale degree. If this was her idea of therapy, then all bets were off. Perhaps it’s time to find a new shrink? she mulled over to herself. Someone with a little compassion. Someone who isn’t suddenly competing with me in the fashion arena.
Charlie had been keeping close tabs on her doctor’s new shoes and realized she was being trumped every week. Why just last Wednesday, her doctor had been wearing a pair of crocodile McQueen’s that were a limited edition. Only two hundred had been made from wild Caiman skins and they had to be ordered a year in advance.
When Charlie had asked Marco to find her a pair, he broke out in a fit of laughter. “Charlie, if you aren’t Princess Diana, which we know you ar
e not, then you’re not getting on that elusive list! I don’t care if you go down on the Queen of England herself, those shoes will never adorn your feet!” Charlie couldn’t fathom how her psychiatrist had managed to get her hands on them!
“Isn’t this a bit excessive?”
Charlie wanted to tell Dr. Harrison that what she was asking of her was sadistic not therapeutic, but didn’t want to piss her off for fear of being punished even further.
Dr. Harrison grinned sympathetically. “It’s part of your treatment, Charlie.”
“This is not therapy. This is fucking torture!” she barked back, taking the top of the box in her free hand and flinging it with deadly accuracy across the room toward the wastepaper basket. It seemed to whir through the air in slow motion then it hit the edge of the basket and bounced off the rim, propelling back like a boomerang or homing pigeon. When it hit the floor by her feet, she sensed that it was going to be much harder than she thought to get out of this.
“Now, now, having a tantrum won’t get you anywhere.”
“I can’t wear these…these…” Charlie couldn’t even bring herself to call them shoes.
“They’re clogs, Charlie and you can certainly wear them.”
From the tone of her doctor’s voice, Charlie knew she wasn’t going to change her mind. She immediately recognized what was going on. It was a public shaming and she’d never even seen it coming. It just didn’t seem fair. What good could possibly come from this? Why is my psychiatrist messing with my head and what did I ever do to her to deserve this? she angrily questioned, with her pulse rapidly accelerating and her temperature rising. She couldn’t seem to wrap her head around what was happening.
