“You really let me down last summer,” Gaslighting Greg says as we lie in the four-poster bed in his suite. “If you do that again next year, I might find myself a new whore.”
“What are you talking about?” I take a pull on my cigarette. The only benefit with Greg is that he is also a smoker.
“You were a no show at Ascot.” His eyes squint as he looks at me. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember. You’ve already had a scolding for this.”
“Have I? I don’t recall.” So I was meant to be at Ascot, was I? And I’ve been told off for it already. Really? This is the first I’ve heard of it.
“Yes, you have. Don’t make me cross with you.”
I need to play the game. “Oh yes,” I lie. “I’m so sorry about that. I won’t let you down again, Greg. I promise. I’ll be a good girl.”
It’s times like this, I find it hard not to burst into laughter. It’s ridiculous, the things he says I’ve promised and not delivered. Some of it, surely, he must know I can’t possibly believe. I play along though. I can see he gets off on it – his feeling superior to me.
Earlier tonight, he ordered a rare steak for me in the restaurant. I’d asked for it well-done. I told him well-done before I went to the ladies’ room to reapply concealer to the abscesses on my arms. He insisted I asked him to order it rare. I didn’t start an argument. I apologised. That’s what I do. That’s the part I play. That’s the part he wants me to play. And as it happens, rare is exactly how I like my steak. He keeps me on my toes. But I’m quick enough to make sure I’m always ahead in this game.
I get on my hands and knees. I crawl down the bed. I take his penis in my mouth. This is how he likes an apology.
After a while, he says, “Are you ready for my big cock in your wet vage?”
Another lie. His penis is rather thin and short. Why he is under the impression it’s large is beyond me. And my vagina isn’t wet. When he went to the bathroom before, I squirted lubrication inside.
I sit astride his bluish-white body. The fat on his stomach wobbles with every thrust. “You cunt,” I shout silently in my head as I ride him. He’s repulsive. This is the repulsion I live in. The repulsion I choose to live in. What is wrong with me? It’s not like I need the three-thousand pounds he’s paying me for tonight.
He thinks the look on my face is passion. It’s anger, Greg. How can you not tell? I’m sure he sees lust in my eyes. It’s disdain and disgust. He’s like the rest of them. They can’t read me. I don’t know how I do it – give a different impression. I don’t hide my feelings when I fuck them, wishing they were dead. I don’t know how they can’t tell, how they can’t see it. What I do seems to turn them on. The angrier I am, the quicker they come. And that’s better – the sooner it’s over. Hurry the fuck up, cunt!
“I’m coming,” Greg says. His eyes are closed. His face is contorted. He looks like he’s about to do a shit.
My body shudders, suppressing a laugh. “I’m coming too, love. I’m coming.”
He squeezes my buttocks as he orgasms. I squeeze my pelvic floor muscles, faking mine with some added moaning. When his eyes open, I try to keep a straight face. He’s a joke.
As I lay silently in the bed next to him, I pity his wife. How does she live with a man like that? One night in his company is hard work. I have to foresee any opportunity he might have to gaslight me. How does his wife live like that day in and day out? My heart goes out to her. For a moment, I feel her pain. She must be so downtrodden. He’ll be playing those mind games on her. But when the other party doesn’t know they’re being played, it’s not a game. It’s psychological abuse. His poor wife.
The battle-axe is what he calls her. I mull it over some more and envisage an alternative scenario. She’s the one who wears the trousers. That’s why he feels the need to be on top when he’s with me. His ego is damaged by her controlling and manipulating ways. So he sees a hooker in order to feel in control, to feed and build his ego. In that case, poor Greg. He’s a failed gaslighter. He doesn’t have control at home and he doesn’t have control with me. He’s actually being controlled and manipulated by two women.
Greg’s fast asleep next to me. I won’t sleep tonight. I hate acting the girlfriend. The being out in public is bad enough but the sleeping in the same bed is the worst part. How does anyone fall asleep next to someone they despise?
2 thoughts on “Gaslighting Greg – 23 December 2000 – 1.10AM”
This is gripping stuff. The realism is scary. I can really imagine the thought processes in Nicole’s mind, and having never been in her situation still feel empathy towards her.
Thank you very much for your comment Gareth.