Saturday, March 23, 2013

Good to Practice

Jennifer was serious. At least she seemed to be. I wasn’t sure how to react.

“Please? Just yell at me will you? Be vulgar and cruel. Raise your voice. Wave your fist a little like you really want to smack me, but you can hold yourself back, barely. Scare me a little if you can! Can you do that for me?”

“You mean like I’m your pimp or something? I hate to sound stupid but…”

“No, no” she interrupted, “just a generic thing like you know me and I’ve done you wrong, cut you to the quick… you know. Come on John, I really need this..”

It’s not often I’ve listened to Jenn doing crazy talk. It scared me a little. What if I’d married a fetishist? What if this was some game to play and then she’ll rip off my clothes and scratch through a few layers of my skin on her way to an orgasm. I mean I like sex and all but…

“Please?”

I pretended as if she’d been badgering me all night, some petty request or incessant nag. I let loose on her like a napalm fire hose, at least twice shouting for over three minutes without a breath between paragraphs. I got louder and louder, eventually pounding my fist on the table.

She quivered, bit her lip, tensed up. Tears reached out to be free, but she held them back with the strength of a hundred Xenas. Finally, I was exhausted and plopped into my kitchen chair.

I had to pant my question a word at a time. “Is that what you wanted?”

She smiled while dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. “That was perfect. Thanks honey.”

“Are you gonna tell me now what this was all about?”

“Sure.” She hesitated. I imagined the worst. Maybe she'll demand a divorce and thought to expel my steam beforehand. Maybe she was secretly a masochist and was training me to abuse her.

“I have to terminate Wilcox tomorrow, and I just wanted to prepare for his response.”

That’s my Jenny, always one step ahead.

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