Chapter Thirty Eight

I hadn’t been spending that much time with George, but it had impacted the rest of my obligations. Even though I was young, I was having a difficult time finding the energy that I needed to keep going. Everyone in my life except George was suffering from my absence. I hadn’t seen Katie for weeks and Susan & Aggie were working extra hard to keep up. Juanita was not only covering for me at the club, but I had placed her sexual desires on the back burner too. I was feeling guilty because I felt like everyone was covering for me. If that wasn’t enough emotional strain for me, there was a huge weight still on my shoulders because I hadn’t confessed to George. I resolved to take care of that problem on Friday. I just couldn’t go on like this.

On Tuesday night after we had closed up the club, I went back to Juanita’s office to tell her thanks for the extra time off she had given me lately. It was about 2:30 AM and all the other employees had left. I was explaining to her how sorry I was that everyone had to cover for me in my absence. I could tell that she was a little angry with me for good reason. Her office was probably not the best place to have this conversation because she had a pile of bills on her desk, and a lot of work yet to do. Worse yet, I had to ask for Friday night off so I could at least resolve my immediate problem with George. I hadn’t worked a full week in a month, so she was livid when I told her. I cannot even begin to explain why her anger occasionally turned into an abusive sexual need, but it happened again that night. I’m sure that jealousy was a factor, because she thought of me as her girlfriend. I hadn’t ‘taken care’ of her needs lately and that made it worse. She grabbed me and bent me over her desk and began to spank my ass with a ruler. I was hoping that she wouldn’t leave any marks, but knew enough not to say anything as that would only make it worse. Luckily she tired of beating me quickly and forced me to my knees. She put her hands behind my head and began to harshly grind my face into her crotch. She tired of standing, removed her panties, and sat on the desk. She spread her legs, grabbed me by the ear, and pulled my face close to her crotch. “Smell that you little fuck. You let it get dirty didn’t you?” She let go of my ear and began to masturbate, slapping and fingering herself roughly. She held her labia open with her left hand and was abusing herself with her right. “Don’t you see that this is all your fault? It’s you that makes me so crazy; it’s you that makes me hurt myself.” I knelt down in front of her and pushed her hands out of the way so I could finish her off. I was tired and really wanted to get this over with, plus I really didn’t want her to actually injure herself. It didn’t take long before I brought her release. As was always the case, she was filled with remorse afterwards. I told her that it really was my fault this time because I had been neglecting her. She wouldn’t accept my apology, saying that really wished she didn’t have such sick needs. She was crying, full of sincere remorse. I embraced her for a minute, tried to console her as quickly as possible, and hurried to the bathroom to wash my face before I left.

On the drive home it dawned on me that I had little pent up sexual frustration of my own. I hadn’t had an orgasm in months. The song on the car radio was Lesley Gore singing “You Don’t Own Me” for the first time I really listened to the lyrics:

You don't own me, I'm not just one of your many toys
You don't own me, don't say I can't go with other boys

And don't tell me what to do
And don't tell me what to say
And please, when I go out with you
Don't put me on display, 'cause

You don't own me, don't try to change me in any way
You don't own me, don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

Oh, I don't tell you what to say
I don't tell you what to do
So just let me be myself
That's all I ask of you

I'm young and I love to be young
I'm free and I love to be free
To live my life the way I want
To say and do whatever I please

A-a-a-nd don't tell me what to do
Oh-h-h-h don't tell me what to say
And please, when I go out with you
Don't put me on display

I don't tell you what to say
Oh-h-h-h don't tell you what to do
So just let me be myself
That's all I ask of you

I'm young and I love to be young
I'm free and I love to be free
To live my life the way I want...

It was almost as if someone knew I would be listening to that radio station at that moment and wanted to send me a message.

***
George lived at his apartment Monday through Friday. He usually only stopped there for a couple of hours on Friday evening after work. He would play a record or two, have a martini to unwind, and wait for the traffic to dissipate before packing up his dirty laundry from the week and heading out to his father’s estate where he spent the weekends.

I left the shop at noon on Friday filled with determination. I was on a mission. My first problem was that I would be preparing a dinner in a bachelor’s kitchen and had no idea what cookware and spices were there. I thought I had better go check it out before I even went to the grocery store to buy the ingredients. George had told his maid Maisie that ‘his special someone’ would be coming by and to let me in. When she answered the door, I could tell immediately that I wasn’t at all what she expected. First of all I hadn’t bathed; working at a dry cleaners is pretty sweaty work. I hadn’t changed my clothes yet either and was wearing what I usually worked in. In short I looked like a train wreck, but after a few minutes of ingratiating myself to her I think she started to actually like me even if she had no idea what George saw in me. I set to work taking inventory of what I would need to prepare the meal. Maisie came into the kitchen with me and showed me where everything was. She was quickly getting the idea that I knew what I was doing, at least in the kitchen. When I had finished, I told Maisie thanks and “Sorry to interrupt your work, it was nice meeting you.” She still had a bit of a quizzical look on her face as I dashed off.

I went back home, packed everything I would need for the evening including toiletries, clothes, shoes, and a few items from our kitchen that were lacking at George’s. I had to go to two different grocery stores as the first one was out of Italian sausage. When I returned to George’s apartment Maisie seemed a tiny bit annoyed that I was back. She probably had hoped to finish her cleaning and be gone before my return. I’m the sort of a person who literally attacks the kitchen when there is cooking to be done. Maisie stood there for about five minutes just watching me as I washed some fresh spinach and set it aside to dry, and started mincing fresh garlic. I dumped a tub of ricotta cheese into a mixing bowl, threw the fresh garlic in there, and began vigorously chopping the spinach when she said “You don’t need any help do you?” I said “No, but thanks a lot for offering.” When she came back a half hour later, I had the ricotta mixture chilling in the fridge, the sauce simmering on the stove, most of the mess cleaned up, and was grating some mozzarella. “What are you fixing for dinner? It smells delicious!” I told her that I was making a spinach lasagna with a nice salad and garlic bread. She was still watching when I finished grating the cheese, so I asked her if she could watch the sauce while I ran back to the car to get the rest of my stuff. I put a big stock pot on for the noodles, threw some olive oil and about a teaspoon of salt in the water, and dashed out again. When I returned I draped my clothes over a chair in the living room and put my shoulder bag on the floor. I was putting the noodles into the water, when Maisie said “this looks like a great recipe, can I have it?” I replied that I never used recipes, or even measured anything, but that if she got a pencil and a piece of paper, I would be happy to tell her how to make it. She helped me finish putting the meal together while I showed her how to make it. By the time we had the Lasagna put together and ready to bake, the salad made and chilling in the fridge, and all the pots and pans washed up, Maisie and I were friends.

She left at about 3:30 which left me just enough time to get ‘all dolled up’ for George’s arrival. I showered and wrapped a towel around myself and padded into the kitchen and put the lasagna in the oven that I had preheated. It was 4 O’clock, if he arrived at anytime between 5:30 and 6:15 this was going to work out perfectly. I returned to the bathroom, and resumed the process of making myself look a little better than “presentable”. I was really going for a different look that night, George had seen me look sophisticated in an evening gown, sexy in a bikini, and cutesy in a pair of culottes and peasant blouse. I really thought it would be best if I “looked the part’ when I informed him that I wasn’t an innocent little girl. I had made a really sexy red dress that I had worn a lot on my ‘dates’. It was low cut, ultra short, and really clingy. Under it I wore a black bra with a cute little clasp in front between the cups and a panty shaper to which I had added some garters. I bought some black seamed stockings, wore my red four inch stiletto heels, and my black velvet choker. I had even decided not to wear the diamond earrings he had given me, I opted for some dangly black onyx ones that really looked cheap. I put on way more make-up than usual, opting for a blue eye shadow that I would never have worn in the light of day. I was applying the mascara when the stove timer went ding. I checked the lasagna, it was done, so I pulled it out of the oven and put it on top of the stove to cool. I returned to the bathroom to finish putting on my mascara. I checked the mirror when I was done, and there was the Peggy I knew staring back at me. I smiled at her and said “Whore” with prurient disdain. I dabbed my perfume behind my ears, in my cleavage, and a drop between my thighs just in case. I was ready, so I scooped up all my stuff from his bathroom and put it in my shoulder bag. I wadded up my dirty work clothes and stuffed them in there too. I took one of his washcloths, wiped up the mess on his vanity, and hung it on the towel bar. He would be sure to see that there was make-up all over it. I did it on purpose. I heard him come into the apartment at 5:30. My resolve waned for a second, but then I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror again. The girl looking back at me knew she would do what she had to do.

***

Author’s note: The rest of this book is written already. The next chapter will be the last entry in this blog. If you wish to learn what happened after that, you’ll have to buy the book.

PS> If you own the rights to the song and object in any way to my posting the lyric here, let me know.