The Misogynist Ch 07

So far Martin had managed to circumvent all but one or two of Turner's plans to harm Cheryl. There hadn't much he could do about her first sexual encounter. Turner had orchestrated her deflowering at the Holiday Inn in classic style. The poor girl must have been an emotional basket case that night. Then there was the way he exploited one man's bravado, and an innocent girl's own natural goodness. The trick with the deceased wife was a made to order Cheryl formula for success. She, of course, believed Mike's horrid lies about his wife dying of cancer.

Turner had gotten her in bed with a strange man, Mike, and then was almost successful in using that to further exploit the poor woman again. His third step had been his undoing. He'd gotten greedy. He thought he could use Cheryl to extend his influence with his supervisor. Playing on Cheryl's sense of guilt might have worked had Turner tried it with any other man, but Ryan was such a lewd and vulgar creature she couldn't do it. Up to that point, to Turner's eternal damnation, Cheryl really hadn't understood the viciousness of his intentions, but his attempt to manipulate her into a compromising situation with the pervert Ryan undid him. After that Martin was sure Cheryl had surmised what had been happening to her.

He wanted to kick himself, kick himself on two counts. He should have found a better, more convincing, way to dissuade her from taking that first fateful step. Martin admitted he'd tried, but he'd bungled his chances, and Cheryl ended up paying. In a way he'd helped lead her to her undoing. He didn't think he'd ever live down the guilt and shame of that failure.

But there was another reason he wanted to kick himself. That was the second count. He'd led the girl to Turner like a lamb to slaughter. Turner had gotten her cherry. In his experience, limited as it was, a woman's first time was special, something remembered forever. If it had been him, and not Turner, he'd have done everything he could to make it the most wonderful moment of her sexual life. He would have dressed it up in such a way to make it a warm and forever pleasant memory. He'd betrayed her. Forever, she'd remember her first as being with a vicious cad.

He understood he was obsessing, but he couldn't get it out of his system. He'd led a wonderful human being, a person he'd come to love, into a terrible relationship, and then he'd been a coconspirator in the loss of the one thing a woman can only give away one time, ever. All the good he'd done, all the good he'd been trying to do on her behalf could never erase those two things.

Martin wondered what went on at Turner's from the time Ryan left until the night of the poker party. Certainly Cheryl had known she was in a world of bad things. Luckily he'd secured her escape from the five nights of men, and thanks to the goodness of those same men he'd thwarted Turner's poker night, and then thanks to the goodwill of a very contrite and very married Mike he was able to circumvent Ass Hole's afternoon of fun.

Still, there were other things that bothered him. Cheryl had been ensconced with the bastard nearly a week. Just today he'd made her kiss the head of his penis. She didn't exactly volunteer, but she didn't exactly act like she hated it either. On the other hand, she did say she hated everything about him.

He knew what was really bothering him. He was jealous and feeling just a little possessive and maybe a little put off. Hey fuck, he'd saved her, but she still kissed the head of Turner's prick. Her lips, Cheryl's lips, had touched Turner's dick and he'd watched it! Even after he'd poured out $12,000.00 to pay off the five guys and Ass Hole, and he'd done it to protect her.

Shit, had he done it to protect her, or to keep her for himself? He'd been neglecting his job and career at a time when the whole economy, including his business, was going down the toilet. He could lose his business, his house, his career, and for what, so she could tell him she wasn't even sure if she ever wanted to see him again. Things really sucked!

Cheryl glanced over at Martin as they stepped out on the sidewalk. He'd rescued her from Turner's not two hours earlier, taken her to an expensive clothier and bought her tons of stuff. Now he wanted to take her to lunch, but when she looked at him he seemed really upset. She wondered if she'd done anything wrong. Maybe he'd changed his mind? Perhaps he had already started to regret the lunch offer. Maybe he wished he hadn't bought her anything. She hoped not, but he sure looked unhappy. She asked. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"Look if you've changed your mind it's OK. We don't have to eat. You can just take me home, and I'll pay you for all the things you got me."

"Don't you want to go to lunch?"

"I don't want to if you don't."

He felt awash in feelings he didn't understand, and he was scared about the direction of the conversation. All he wanted to do was be with her, but she was acting like it would be a problem for her. He wanted to tell her he wanted to take her to lunch and show her off. He wanted to retell her all the things he'd said at Turner's earlier, but all he could get out was. "Well it's up to you."

Cheryl had thought they'd go to lunch. There was a lot she wanted to say. She had a lot of questions too, but now she wasn't sure. "Well, you can just take me home."

No! He thought. This can't be! "I don't think taking you home right now is a good idea."

"I'll be all right."

"No, I'm worried about what Turner might do. I think you should stay and hang around with me for at least a day or two."

God she thought that was a close call. "Yes. I suppose you're right. So where did you want to go to lunch?"

Close call, what a relief he thought. "Let's go downtown. There are several great eateries where all my friends go. You don't mind if I show you off a little?"

That could have many meanings she thought. He could be putting her on display like Turner. But Turner never took her anywhere except out of the way hide away type places. Martin wanted to take her to the main city, maybe the Galleria! Maybe he actually does want people to see him with me? "Downtown sounds fine."

He opened her door and helped her in, then went around and got in himself. "OK, off we go, how about the Galleria?"

"Yes I'd like that."

It was as though as soon as he turned the engine on his mouth started moving. He couldn't shut up. "Have you ever been to the Galleria?"

"Yes."

Before she could add anything he was off and running. "I love their food. They have some of the best seafood. I especially love their crab cakes. They use that good old Maryland recipe."

She started to interject, but he kept right on going.

"You know that Old Bay Seasoning. Some people prefer lobster, but I think crab meat is sweeter, and you don't have to dip it butter."

"I like crab meat too." That was about as she could get in.

"We'll get seats in the middle of everything. It's still early, and a lot of people will be there. I want everybody to see you."

"Why?"

"Let me correct that. I want everybody to see you with me. I want people to think you're my girl."

"Don't over do it Martin. I said we'd eat lunch together that's all."

"Don't spoil the fantasy Cheryl."

She started to say something but he interrupted again.

"You remember that old movie 'It's a Wonderful Life' where the little girl looked at Jimmy Stewart when he was boy and said 'I'm going to love you till the day I die.' Well Cheryl."

He looked over at her. "I'm going to love you till the day I die."

The car started to swerve. "Martin. Watch the road!"

He laughed. "Oops!"

He toned it down a little after that. They got downtown and parked in one of the many underground garages. He helped her from the car and, taking her arm, walked her to the elevator that took them to the restaurant.

They walked in and were seated right away. It was late for lunch, but still a little early for the dinner crowd. He arranged to have a table almost exactly in the center of the main dining room.

The waiter came, dropped off menus and asked if they wanted a drink. Cheryl opted for a white wine. Martin asked for a Jim Beam over ice.

Cheryl remembered. Bourbon was a man's drink. "You like bourbon?"

"Honestly I'll drink most anything, but I think bourbon suits me best. I can't explain why."

"I've heard bourbon is a man's drink."

Martin screwed it up. "I don't know about what a man drinks, but I know how a man is supposed to treat a woman." He got stupid. "I could be so good to you."

"Martin let's just enjoy lunch OK?"

"I'm sorry." Crestfallen he added. "It won't happen again."

"You Promise?"

He smiled. "No."

The waiter came back with their drinks. Cheryl ordered the crab imperial. Martin ordered two crab cakes. Each got a baked potato and green beans.

While they waited he doodled on a piece of paper. He kept drawing hearts and writing their names in them. Every now and then he'd hold one up and show her.

"Cut it out Martin. Try not to ruin the afternoon."

He grinned. "Everybody's looking at you."

She blushed.

He grinned again. "They all think you're pretty."

"Look, if you don't cut it out I'm leaving."

He grinned yet again. "OK." Then he added. "But you are awful pretty sitting there in that dark blue suit with that gorgeous white blouse."

"That does it! I'm out of here."

He got serious. "I'm sorry. Come on. I'll stop."

Their dinners came and both ate in relative silence. Each commented on they're platters, praising the food. Martin offered Cheryl a bite of his crab cake, but she declined. She didn't offer him any of her imperial crab.

As dinner started to wind down Martin added some serious topics to the discussion. He talked a little about the economic outlook and how it was impacting the company he was trying to keep going. He asked after her school. Had the economic downturn affected the public schools? She had little to say on the matter, only that pay raises had been deferred and everybody was upset by that. He tried very hard to appear to be knowledgable about her job. He wanted her to think he wasn't just some dick driven jack ass.

Cheryl listened to Martin, and took part where she could. She wondered whether this was his line or if he was really sincere. After Turner she couldn't be sure about anything Martin said. She wished she could, but she just couldn't. While he talked her mind wandered. He was very charming, and didn't have that macho razzle dazzle. She couldn't tell, maybe he was really trying. She wondered what it would have been like if it had been Martin on that first date. She asked him. "Did you ever wonder what might have happened if you had asked me out first?"

He looked flustered at first, then stricken, last just sad. "That was the biggest mistake of my life."

Cheryl was curious. "Would you have tried to find a way to get me into bed?"

He was dead on serious now. "There are different kinds of women. Some are ready to go to bed because they like sex. Some will go to bed for a lark. Then there are women a man just doesn't try to get into bed. You're that third kind. I don't mean you're not worth taking to bed. It's that you're a good girl. Not that those other women aren't good, but there are degrees of good." He was getting tongue tied and knew it. "Not that a woman who likes sex doesn't deserve and shouldn't get total respect. I mean women tend to be different, but all women are special, each in their own way."

"Am I special?"

"You're very special. Look I'm no Casanova, but I know special and pure."

"You think I'm pure? Even now?"

"Cheryl you're pure, and good, and clean, and just who I've been looking for."

He was making her uncomfortable again. "I think we should leave now."

He knew it. He blew it again. He kept coming on too strong. He guessed, when someone wants someone, really positively wants them, they positively screw it up. He helped her up, left a too generous gratuity, and escorted her to the front door.

Cheryl saw the size of the tip. Nothing like Turner she thought.

After seeing to the bill with the waiter he suggested. "I think you should come home with me." Holding up his hand to avert protest he added. "Nothing intended by that. I just want to keep you away from you know who. I have plenty of room. You'll have privacy plus security."

"You live very far?"

"Actually." He hesitated. He didn't want her to think he was hauling her off to Hell's half acre, it was a cool two hour drive to his real home, but he wanted to be completely honest. "Actually yes but it's a nice place. I think you'll like it."

"I want to get back to my apartment tomorrow."

"We can do that."

"OK."

He put the car in gear and pulled out of the garage. They were in for a long but generally pleasant ride. It was the weekend, no workday traffic.

And it was a long drive. The lazy late evening sun slowly drifted over the horizon, giving off a soft yellow glow. It was late summer, already September. The evenings were cooler now, and they were headed for the water's edge. Martin's home was in the backwater on the eastern shore of a large east coast bay. It was quiet, free of the noises of the city, only the crickets kept up a constant chatter. An occasional bat flitted low across the sky; sporadically night eyes lit the side of the road, perhaps a fox, maybe just a cat, maybe even a bobcat. A gentle land breeze seemed to hold the end of season mosquitoes at bay.

Cheryl drifted in and out of sleep, gently soothed by the melody of the tires and the hum of a nearly quiet engine. Martin glanced over at her as she lazed in the passenger seat, heavy lidded eyes, lashes long and exquisite, head occasionally bobbing then jerking upright. She had her left hand in her lap, palm upward. Her right hand was pressed against her cheek, elbow pressing on the arm rest. Fresh pink, soft hands, tiny even for a woman. The cuffs of her blouse wrapped each delicate wrist.

Her hair, in a bun earlier, had started to unravel. Soft luxuriant tendrils of dark and light brown drifted down around her face. The pearls in those delicate ear lobes glistened. Her lips looked soft, inviting. Her neck was long, arched, the pearl necklace he'd bought for her encircled it. Her tailored jacket was still buttoned, but her breasts were earnestly pushing against the buttons and silken fabric of her blouse. He watched as she breathed how they rose and fell. It reminded him of the waves on the shoreline of the ocean softly undulating.

Here he thought was what the poets pondered, beauty in its purest form. He had to have this woman, possess her. Not in the carnal sense, that he wanted too, but in a different way. He wanted her to love him to think of him the way he thought of her. He wanted to share with her. Share anything, a morning cup of coffee, a child's happiness at Christmas time, anything and everything.

He turned off the main road. It was a short distance to his home, not long at all. It was dark. She wouldn't get to see it all until the morning. "Cheryl." He called again. "Cheryl we're almost there."

She looked up. "Oh it's dark."

"You've been asleep."

"What time is it?"

"Almost 9:00."

He made another turn and pulled into the short driveway. "Sit tight while I get your door." He got out, got her door, and helped her out of the car. They walked the few steps to the porch. He opened the back door, and turned on the light.

"Oh my!" She gasped. "This is beautiful."

"You like it?"

"This is your home?"

"Here let me show you around." He took her around and gave her a quick tour. They walked through a spacious foyer into the main living room. A large flat screen television graced a wall diagonally from an enormous picture window.

It was dark outside, but had it been day light they would have seen the shoreline of a rather large river. Pointing to the right he said. "Over there on the left side of the hall is the main bedroom. You'll sleep there tonight. On the right is a den, and two more bedrooms are further down. Here come this way." He walked her to her left and showed her the dining room.

Across the dining room table was a long bar. On the other side of the bar was the kitchen. "This is where I do my best work." He smiled as he pointed to the kitchen utilities.

"Follow me." He took her back to the living room and pointed to a double stairway. "Up the stairs to the right is another bedroom, and to the left is a bathroom. He squeezed her hand. "You won't need it. There's another bathroom in the main bedroom. That will all be yours tonight."

"Martin this place is beautiful. Is it really yours?"

"Not exactly, the bank holds the paper. I'm paying down a mortgage, but someday I hope it's mine."

She looked around the living room and the dining room. "You did all this yourself?"

"All by myself."

"You have excellent taste. I'm surprised."

He squeezed her hand again. "Why would you be surprised? I love you don't I?"

"Don't go there."

He did it again. I don't have anything for you to wear. But I could get you a clean shirt, and maybe a pair of boxers."

"You wear boxer shorts?"

"It goes with the territory. You know bourbon and boxers."

She remembered Turner wore jockeys. She thought they looked a little silly. "Yes I'd like to get into something more comfortable. I could hang up my suit, and the wrinkles will fall out during the night."

"Wait here." He slipped into the main bedroom and came out with a blue buttoned down shirt and a pair of light blue boxer shorts. "For the lady." He handed her the apparel.

She replied. "Where should I change?"

Martin pointed to the bedroom. Then he got up. "No wait. Let me show you." He walked her to the bedroom door, pointed inside, but before walking away he showed her the lock. "This will keep the scary creatures out."

She looked at him. "Are there any scary creatures here?"

He smiled. "No, not one."

She smiled back and closed the door. She slipped out of her jacket, skirt, and blouse. Took off her nylons and shoes, but left her panties and bra on before she put on the shirt and boxers. The shirt was too large, she expected that, but to her surprise the boxers weren't that bad around the waist. Not tight but snug.

She went into the bathroom. There were two toothbrushes, one looked brand new. He hadn't had time to put out a toothbrush had he? She brushed her teeth, washed her face and hands, and found a hair brush she used to comb the last strands of the bun out. She didn't feel really clean, but she did feel more relaxed. Looking herself over in the mirror she liked what she saw. His shirt looked good on her. She thought the boxers were neat. They had a slit in the front for his thing if he needed to pee. If she didn't have her panties on she could have reached in and touched herself. She went back to the living room.

Martin was sitting on the sofa. The television wasn't on, which was a surprise, but he had two pads and pens out on the coffee table. "Let's play a game."

She sat down beside him on the sofa. "OK, what?"

"I'll name something, say a favorite musical group. While you put something down on your pad, I'll write something on mine. Then you name something and we'll do it again. It'll be like a list where we compare our favorite things."

She liked the idea. All Turner had wanted to do was watch television. Martin was clearly different. She said. "I'll go first. Favorite movie." Martin wrote and Cheryl wrote. She asked "OK. What have you got?"

He said. "Saving Private Ryan. What did you put?"

She said. "Sleepless in Seattle."

"Now it's my turn." He said. "Favorite music group."

She put Dixie Chicks.

He put Led Zeppelin.

Next she said favorite pie. He put cherry, she put apple.