Chapter One; Hannah
"Don't you be judging me Doc."
"Mr. Hughes it's hard not to judge you when you disappear for weeks then turn up and hand me something like this."
Dr. Stephen Myler pauses once again rereading exerts of the graphic detail scribbled down by myself in the jotter pad to complete the 'homework' he'd set me.
"I'm not entirely sure you're taking this seriously Mr. Hughes."
"You asked me to capture my thoughts," I state leaning forward. "There they are."
"These Mr. Hughes aren't thoughts they're the... well I don't quite know what they are." his fingers leaf through the pages. Stopping at one section in particular and rereading what I've scrawled.
"What do they say about me?" I'm taking the piss; I'm paying through the fucking nose for this session that's supposedly to help me, help that I'm seriously questioning if I do actually need, but I'm taking the piss out of him regardless.
I'm only here to stop the succession of voice mails he's left for me.
"I think you're potentially very dangerous"
Dangerous was a fair description I'd omitted any details surrounding the crippling guilt and horror I suppressed surrounding the unknown fate of Emily, my Head Bar Steward. Simply thinking about her induced a nausea. I prayed silently for her.
Myler continued to leaf through the jotter pad.
"This entry 2 weeks ago ...did you really want to smash someone over the back of the head with a Champagne bottle because a girl took preference of him over you"
"Him" I raise my eyebrow "Mr. flowery shirt ...proper asshole he was ...you know the kind?"
Myler doesn't respond as he now consults the pages in the blue cardboard file sat before him.
"You're taking the prescription I gave you regularly?" He queries.
"Like clockwork" I chirpily reply with an outright lie, suddenly wondering if he can check if the prescription has been collected or not. "Not sure they're doing much good though."
"Perhaps we need to review your dose." he scribbles a note down. Always scribbling is Dr. Myler. "You're tall and weigh what? 90 to 95 kilos I guess ...perhaps we look to adjust the dosage"
"You saying I'm fat Doc" I look over the desk at him and fix him with a stern gaze.
"No...no... absolutely not." He misses my sarcasm and my grin. "Just that well... if they aren't helping you sleep or keeping you calm then ...well everybody's different so a dose that normally works is short of the mark with some people"
"I get you ...it'd be boring if we were all the same"
He doesn't engage just rereads one of the last entries in the diary
"This entry... last Friday... regarding Miss M"
"Ah Miss M" I reminisce of the sweet submission easily garnered in my office in the upper floors at the Dark Star.
"You leave little to the imagination" Myler continues "Is this ...is this a regular pattern for you"
"I don't always share." I quip. "That's not usually my kind of thing."
My mind casting back to the submission, her little black dress on the floor of the office as myself and Ryan the bartender who'd plied her with drinks all night had stripped her between us. I'd placed the leather collar around her neck, which Ryan had secured while I'd attached a lead. This before I'd positioned her bent over the desk and drawn her hands behind her back, she'd willingly let me hand cuff her. I'd taken her from behind. While Ryan had used her mouth. Spit roasting her between us before leading her over to the sofa where she'd straddled Ryan. Watching her ride him while she fixated on me; the moment he'd climaxed in her a second time I'd stepped in and taken her ass as she lay face down on the sofa.
"She was eager to please that one" I continue "An insatiable appetite you might say"
"Some might say your lifestyle is dubious ...I've no doubt it's a contributing factor to the psychosis and the enigma of yourself that your building." Myler surmises.
For the remainder of the time he continues to press me on details surrounding relationships formed, my associations with the various women I'd come into contact with via the Club. Apparently it was an unhealthy obsession Myler classed it as; Hypersexuality or Erotomania technical terms he banded around trying to form an understating of me that I have to be honest I couldn't understand or begin to agree with. He was trying to pigeonhole me. For me it was just fucking.
His advise was that apparently I needed to start to desexualise the women I met; there seemed no fun in that. No point in that at all come to think of it. The club was fast building a reputation born of its liberal attitudes towards sex, spurred by live sex shows, escorts and private rooms. More and more frequently the clientele were openly engaging in sexual activity throughout the club. Security had at first attempted to curb such instances but then we began to permit, or in truth do little to morally discourage the consenting dalliances. "Biggest fucking brothel in town," Errol had joked. Keep the bars stocked, keep the drugs flowing and keep the unsavoury characters out had become the mantra. I'd even taken to, on occasion performing on stage myself with the stream of willing performers we had putting themselves forward night after night. Albeit I wore a mask, on such occasions. Again old wannabe Sigmund Freud opposite of me would have something to say about that I'm sure.
"Well I am going on a good old fashioned date tonight Doc" I honestly forward information as I stand to leave my side of the desk, raising my eyebrows. "Perhaps she'll be the one ...to positively challenge my energy into wanting ...needing someone as a person not just a notch for the bed post"
"A girl from the club?"
"Elite Singles." I again give him the truth of the girl I'd connected with and been exchanging vanilla messages with for several weeks now "Thought I might as well see where my paid subscription might get me"
"I almost feel sorry for her" he states rising and handing me back the note pad "While wondering if I'll find out about her in the pages of this next time you decide to grace me with your presence"
"Are you getting off on this?" I joke.
"Are you taking this serious?" he responds reiterating a question from earlier.
I simply shrug my shoulders and offer a lopsided grin as I slip from the office and pull the door to on him without so much as a goodbye.
Crossing the reception Melanie sits behind her desk. A cream blouse disappointingly buttoned to the neck today. She greets me with a pleasant enough smile. "Good session Mr. Hughes?"
"So so" I reply "I've had more fun recently... can you pop today on the tab please?" I continue as though I'm paying for drinks at a bar or restaurant.
Her cheeks flush a little. "Am I booking you for another session?"
"With him ...let's take a rain check" I sign the sheet of A4 she places on the desk without reading the details.
"With you Miss M" I smirk "I'd love to arrange another session ...one on one this time though... Let's leave the barman out of it"
**********
She's perfect.
I sit their opposite of her captivated.
Her eyes sparkle as she sips from the glass of red wine the Waiter has just replenished.
Time has flown by as we sit there in a secluded corner of my favourite French Restaurant, Le Clair du Lune.
I let Hannah tell me all about herself; 32 years old, she works for a big accountancy firm, representing a number of their blue-chip clients. She's her own place in the suburbs on the far side of town from me. She has family local, a mother and stepfather. Her elder brother has just gotten engaged on a holiday in Bali and she's a younger Stepsister who's away at her first year of University studying English I think she said. She's lived alone for three years since a slightly acrimonious split and harbors ambitions to get a cat soon. Not even that detail puts me off.
"You're too young ...and beautiful to be lost amongst the crazy cat women" I offer drawing a flushed tint to her cheeks and an appreciative smile.
Even the mundanities fascinate me; there's something about her, so refreshing, so intelligent and most of all so physically beautiful.
She'd walked in wearing a little black leather jacket over a short dark red dress that accentuated her perfect physique. Wavy brown hair framed a classically beautiful face. I'd obviously seen a selection of profile picture on the dating app but they genuinely did her no justice, I couldn't have asked for her to be any more perfect.
I told her about myself and she'd listened intently seemingly un-phased, and aware from my profile, that I'd been married. I'd touched on my estranged relationship with Jack, to which she'd sympathised with me but not been judgmental enough to offer any unqualified advice, understanding it must be difficult so deliberately she didn't dwell on the subject.
I'd not gone in to great detail on the club; perhaps it's growing reputation might go against me. Although she apologetically claimed to have never heard of the Dark Star.
"Maybe I could check it out some time?" she offered.
"I try not to turn down customers but depending on where this goes..." I take a sip of a fine French Red "...I like to keep work and personal life separate."
"Depending on where this goes? ...so, it's going somewhere is it?" she gently teases answering her own question as the waitress sets a chicken dish before Hannah and a Rare Steak in front of me.
"I hope so." I sincerely state.
It's with regret that I find the bill placed in front of us all too soon. I settle the balance with a firm rebuttal when she offers to meet me half way.
"Nonsense" I insist placing my card on the silver tray next to the invoice receipt.
"I'm paying next time then," she offers finishing her coffee and taking a mint from the saucer.
"So there'll be a next time?" I ask on a delay as I hold the door open for her on exiting the restaurant. "Or are you just insisting on being a modern Woman?"
