Sarah Hammond was the hottest girl I knew. She was tall, curvy, with the kind of limber athleticism of a professional gymnast that was both physically intimidating and sexy as hell. We'd matched on Tinder on Friday, and somehow we hit it off.
I thought it was a scam at first--a woman in my area out of my league that wanted to date me, of all people--but a few text chats, then phone calls, quickly dissuaded me of the idea. Like many attractive women, she was far more relatable than she let on at first. After the first few conversations, I figured she was just looking for love, like anyone else.
We set up a date on Wednesday at this fancy steak restaurant. She was wearing a beige turtleneck sweater, tight blue jeans, and black ankle boots that made her seem even taller than she already was. Her outfit was a perfect combination of artful and attractive, and seeing her in person felt almost too good to be true. Her long, straight blonde hair went down over her shoulders in a silken waterfall.
It was like seeing a real angel. Her face lit up when she saw me. "Sam?" she said. "I didn't think you'd be this early."
I grinned. "I didn't think you'd be, either. Maybe we have something in common."
She threw her head back and laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, soft and easy on the ears. I suddenly found myself blushing, and it made my ears feel hot. I hated that I could get embarassed so easily, but in front of a girl like her--well, it just felt natural. She had the kind of face you could tell secrets to.
"Nervous?" she said brightly, fixing me with those green eyes of hers.
I nodded, and then Sarah broke into a warm smile. "That's okay, Sam. I am too."
We sat down and ordered drinks. While we waited, Sarah told me she had her own practice downtown. She was a cognitive therapist--one of the best in town. When someone had a personal problem, she was the one you visited. It wasn't a surprise that most of her patients were men, but she had a way of controlling them that was impressive and just a little unsettling.
Many had been with her for years, but never left. It was as if she had a kind of hold on them, and the prospect of understanding what that meant both excited and terrified me. She was leaning forward on the table with her arms crossed, her forearms pushed up against her chest to make it seem bigger. I wasn't sure if she was doing it on purpose, but I was trying very hard to maintain eye contact and not glance down.
As we had our dinner, something else I learned was that Sarah had never had a long-term boyfriend before. Considering how good she looked, this was surprising.
"Why not?" I said. "I mean, you're a really interesting person, and, well, the truth is that you really are attractive."
"I always wanted a relationship on my own terms," she said. "I guess I scare men away too quickly."
"Oh yeah?" I said, raising one eyebrow. Sarah was tall and pretty, but I wasn't sure how that could scare anyone away. If anything, the added element of mystery only made her seem more attractive. "Why's that?"
"Sometimes I see things in men they don't want to know about themselves," Sarah said matter-of-factly. She smiled again. "It's sort of an occupational hazard when you work in psychology."
"So you're the kind of psychologist that likes to analyze others, huh?" I said.
"It's what I do," Sarah said. "It's like palm-reading, but for personalities. Most of it's pop-science crap, but don't let that stop you from learning more about psychology. Some of it can be really useful."
"Sure," I said. A grin crept across my face. "You want to analyze me?"
Sarah rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. Clearly, she was used to this. I guess this was just another occupational hazard of working in psychology--dealing with smart-asses like me. She searched my face carefully.
"You hurt someone a long time ago," she said gently. She suddenly reached across the table and touch my hand. "Am I correct?"
That caught me off guard. I swallowed, stared down at the table. I glanced up at her nervously, but she only gazed at me with a kind of curious sympathy.
"I broke up with her," I said quietly. "I admit I wasn't the best boyfriend to her. Not then, at any rate."
Sarah tilted her head and studied me. "What happened?"
I tried to grin, just to look less vulnerable in front of her. I failed. "We weren't right for each other," I said. "Things were good for a couple years. Then it was like a switch went off in her head. She suddenly became too controlling, too demanding. But instead of communicating with her, I ghosted her. I just couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. I'm not a bad person, Sarah."
"You're not, Sam," Sarah said. "Sometimes everyone makes mistakes. Even the best of us."
"That's nice of you to say, but that's what everyone tells me," I said, hunching over my meal.
What bothered me wasn't the fact that Mindy dominated nearly every aspect of our relationship when we were together. What bothered me--in a really fucked up way--was that I enjoyed it.
"You know what I think you need?" Sarah said thoughtfully. "What you need is to move on, to think of something else."
She wrapped her lips around her straw and sucked on her milkshake. As the white, milky cream disappeared into her mouth, her eyes flitted up to me, wide and innocent, and I suddenly imagined what it would feel like to have those lips around me, the power of her mouth on my cock. It was at that moment that I knew I was going to go to bed with her that night.
I glanced down at her neck. A small, silver spider dangled from her throat. It was an odd choice for a piece of jewelry, but I didn't ask her for fear of sounding impolite. Yet there was something undeniably sinister about the symbolism, as if I was the fly, about to be caught in her spiderweb.
Sarah drove me to her place after dinner. It was a few miles off the main road, a grand, Victorian mansion that sat comfortably hidden amongst vast, empty fields and forests of great oaks. If it was anyone else, I would have been alarmed at how remote our location was, but somehow being with Sarah just made it feel cozy.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" I said, as we parked in the wide, circular driveway in front of the mansion. The headlights painted the tall, wrought-iron gates of the estate in a sheen of gold.
"Being a licensed doctor does have its benefits," Sarah muttered.
When she shut off the engine, a vast, deep silence settled in around us. Combined with the pitch black of the evening sky, I realized just how lonely everything seemed, like we were the last two people on Earth.
Sarah ducked and stepped out of her car. "Come on," she said. "You must be tired. Let me make you another drink."
Together, the two of us climbed the flight of stone steps to her front door. Something in the corner of my eye caught my attention. There was another car parked in the driveway, but Sarah steered me away with one hand squeezing my buttocks in an eerily possessive gesture that failed to set me at ease.
She inserted the key and we stepped inside. Her home was massive--even from outside, looking in, it was impossible to really appreciate the grandeur of her mansion until you were inside it. The sense of scale and silence of the place reminded me of a cathedral, and it was then that I realized how isolated we really were. If anything happened, we were on our own.
Sarah switched the lights on, lending an air of comfort to the place. It was immaculate and modern, with the overhead flourescents and electric fireplace, and colorful throw rugs of a 21st-Century palace. As Sarah disappeared into the kitchen, I stood in the foyer, not sure where to stand or how to behave. This was the grandest place I'd ever set foot in, and I was as out of my element as I could be.
Sarah came back holding a drink in each hand. They seemed identical. She handed me one. "Your poison?" she said, lifting an eyebrow salaciously.
I examined the clear liquid carefully and grinned. "What is it?" I said, taking the glass. "Looks delicious."
"A bit of gin, a bit of vermouth, and something special just for you," Sarah said sweetly. She took a sip of her own drink, furrowing her brow in concentration. "Cheers."
We touched glass and drank. It was strong and delicious. When I was done, I felt this warm ball of flame explode in my stomach and spread to my toes, and I suddenly felt much more comfortable in this cavernous home. My face began to blush with heat. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever met, Sarah," I said.
"Thank you," Sarah said primly. She tugged on my wrist, heading upstairs. Evidently, she wasn't one for beating around the bush. She took what she want and got it. I liked that in a woman. "Now come on, Sam. The night is young."
The second floor of the mansion was far less intimidating but no less grand. The wide balcony overlooking the first floor, with its carved wooden balustrades, provided an authoritarian view of the living room, fit only for a queen gazing down upon her subjects. The white carpet was so plush and soft that my feet sank into it with each step, making it a struggle to walk. It was like treading through snow.
We reached a comparatively narrow hallway and turned into one of the master bedrooms. It had one of those massive, king-sized beds with a sturdy wooden bedpost in each corner, arranged like pawns on a blank chessboard. The queen, of course, was Sarah, who suddenly spun me around, pulled my face in with both hands, and kissed me with the sort of hungry passion that could tempt even the strongest man.
"Have you ever screamed in bed before, Sam?" whispered breathlessly.
I shook my head.
