Or an embryo in the womb.Or an embryo in the womb. But every time I began to relax I would think of my hair. It kept coming back. He made me feel secure and safe, but it was always there at the back of my mind that something was wrong, and back it would come and I would feel sick all over again. I would think: "Why did it have to be my hair?" And then I would start crying again under the hood. "I think I'll keep you like this for a few hours. As a pet," he whispered into my ear. As he stroked me through the lycra, his caress- es became more overtly sexual. There is something especially sexy about the way his fingernails slide over the fabric; when he strokes my sex that way, sliding down my stomach to between my legs, I can't help catching my breath. It's like the good part of being tickled without the bad part that makes me laugh uncontrollably. It drives my breath out and my stomach muscles contract involuntarily. But he stopped. I couldn't read or watch T.V., it was too early to sleep, I couldn't cook, eat, or even walk around very easily. There was nothing I could do in that getup but try and seduce him into taking it off. So what the hell, I tried. I could feel him getting hard as I rubbed my body against him, and I was getting pretty steamy too. But I still hadn't forgiven him. This was the only thing he had ever done to me for which I felt resentment that lasted more than a few minutes. Up to then, anyway. He pushed me back, and said, "I think I'll take a shower." He got up and left me on the bed, and I heard the shower start running. |