He’s thirty-four today and still rocking the youthful looks. Five o’clock shadow gives him a sexy ruggedness that women like. He’s tall and broad and carries himself with the swagger that comes from knowing he’s mine. I’m already wet as I watch him sit in the pedicurist’s chair. As I’d hoped, the ladies at the spa fuss over him. They don’t see many men, they say. They tell him, “Happy birthday,” in that strange falsetto of women who are uncomfortable and more than a little jealous of me and mine. When they paint his nails, I see the shine reflected in his gaze. I can’t focus on anything but him. He belongs to me, but his devotion makes me weak in the knees. I’d do anything for him. The drive home is quick and maddening. He basks in the glow of the pampered, and I send him straight to the bedroom. I have birthday plans. “It’s just that you can be scary,” he tells me, even as he strips his clothes off and waits for me. Mostly, my depth of love for him scares me.
What do You think about The Big Book Of Submission?
