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She walked straight into the house and down the hallway in front of me. Already 30 feet in front of me, she said without turning back, "Go ahead and ...rab a seat, I'll be right back"To my right was a living room and to my left a wall with the kitchen behind it. I walked over to a leather chair and stood there, expecting her to return in just a few seconds. She didn't.After a few minutes went by I began to grow a little nervous, not knowing what to do next. Should I go look for her? Or. The atmosphere is intense, my mind and body are in overload... I moan and nod, slowly at first, almost subconsciously, gently pushing my belly up higher, offering it to you...'Take me... take my belly... stab me and kill me !' I say, like so many times before. 'Pleaaaaase.... give it to me... I need it, I must have it....' We have talked this way so many times, you know all the unbelievable, submissive things I like to say... 'I must be killed ! I must ! Kill me and slay your animal ! Kill your. " Mom told me in a muchcalmer tone.I picked up the paper and unfolded the local section dad had thrown atme. On the front page of that section there was a picture of the fourof us standing in front of our burning house with a fire truck behindus. You could clearly make out our faces and who we were. I paused asmy stomach became tight and read the head line. 'Family left homeless after devastating house fire.' I also looked at the caption under the picture. 'James Carlson and his wife. And a piece of me was afraid. It was not a fear of losing Peter, it was a fear of finding myself. He spoke to a dark place in me that I knew existed but felt I was keeping successfully under control. Besides the immediacy and the unusualness of our connection there was no evidence for this except what was happening to me. I seemed to be opening up like a flower. Ripe fruit. Our lovemaking had stayed fairly tame. None of the commanding presence that I had experienced on the first night came up.
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