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Irony
A random bit of writing inspired by events of the evening… Sorry not much commentary here. I’m tired, it’s late, and I’m under threats of dire consequences if my “ass is not in bed in the next thirty seconds…” Are dominance and a tendency to hyperbole carried on the same gene or something? Seriously… It seems to be a thing.Â
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Penance
Trig pads across the carpet until he stands a long step from David’s feet. David lets his head roll to one side and gazes silently at Trig for a long moment. I look at Trig, too. The muscles in his throat twitch and his eyes seem focused on empty space. For just a second the tip of his tongue flickers over his lower lip then disappears as he presses his lips together, muscles tensing along his jaw.
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Secrets to Keep
There were bruises on my hands. I wasn’t to write with my left. I knew it but I forgot. At least I think I forgot. Maybe I was just angry. First grade isn’t for babies. Only babies switch hands when they write. I was to use my right hand. The ruler stung the backs of my hands to remind me when I forgot. Or maybe when I was angry.
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Accepting Service
I pick at the chicken salad he just made me. It’s 3 A.M. He realized I hadn’t eaten all day, cast me a searing look and headed for the kitchen – over my stringent objections that I didn’t need anything, he didn’t have to get up, I was fine, I could do it myself… He finally told me to be a good dominant and shut up.