Looking away. ‘Sure you do.’ Sarcasm bites deep. ‘Can we just talk about it?’ ‘I’m TIRED of talking about it. I want you to actually DO so...ething about it!’ Anger… anger… a little bit of a snap wrapped around a desperate plea. Trying to keep patience… ‘What?! What do you want me to do???’ ‘You know.’ quietly. tiredly. ‘What? You want me to be all over you in public?’ voice rising, ‘you want to show everyone how you OWN me?’ ‘STOP YELLING AT ME!’ pleading look, tears well up… in return anger.. In order to proceed, I had to admit to obeying, or that I was not a man when the response came time for me to enter the next section. I was skeptical to say the least and not totally into the idea of submission to some unknown person writing such garbage. That evening, Kathy acted like she had for the past several weeks: sort of helpless, needy and eager to please. We went to bed, only this time I tried to keep myself from falling completely asleep so I could spy on her again if she got up for. More

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