Charles Wentworth the 3rd was an oxymoron; a contradiction of terms to say the least.
Though he donned a well tailored suit by day, he was just as comfortable padding around in his mansion barefoot, in nothing but a pair of jeans that were unbuttoned and fit him well in all the right places.
You see, though Charles had been raised in the upper echelon of society; Charles had been born with a trait that cannot be learned, or acquired, Charles Wentworth the 3rd was a born, ‘Predator!’
Once that Charles had tracked his prey, he would stop at nothing to attain that which he craved.
As fate would have it, Charles had raised his nostrils in the night air of sensuality and gotten a whiff of the prey that he so desired; Roxanne. And the fact that Roxanne was in the public eye, made it so much sweeter, because there was never a lack of stimuli. There were always abundant pictures, newspaper articles, press interviews and that did not even begin to factor in the personal stalking that Charles was able to do. The biggest problem for Charles was: that he always measured any other woman by the standard that he perceived Roxanne to be; and they never measured up.
The women of Charles escapades curbed his passion, nothing more; nothing less.
And tonight: Charles needed some curbing to be done.
He made his way into an establishment on the Upper East Side for a drink. It always humored him how ‘The high society girls’ would make their way over, as if they weren’t trying to pick him up.
Charles eyed the latest flavor that had eased her way into the bar stool next to him. She donned long dark ringlets of hair. Her makeup was applied as if her stylist had done it. She wore a tight salmon colored banded dress that lifted up just high enough; to show the top of her sexy, black, thigh highs when she sat down.
Charles didn’t have much time for the high society women that resided in his income bracket. They reminded him of his Mother; uptight, frigid, social climbing cunts. Charles was smart enough to realize that they couldn’t be that frigid all the time, not if they were anything like his ‘Mommy Dearest.’ He knew all too well, that he was the seed spawned of an affair that his Mother had years ago. But like any good high society family, denial ran the roost. The secret had been swept under the rug and ‘all was well, in the Wentworth home.’
The flavor of the week had made her way to the ladies room. Charles retrieved his wallet and laid a generous tip down for the bartender swiftly turning on the toe of his Italian leather shoes. He made his into the hallway that housed the restrooms and awaited the brunette. She stepped through the door and Charles leaned in and spoke.
“I’m leaving and I would love nothing more than to pin you in the alley way and fuck your brains out before I retire for the evening.”
With that he turned swiftly and made his way out the door.
The baffled brunette stood for a moment in shock and watched, as the gorgeous specimen of a man walk away from her; as if he had said nothing.
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