I open my mouth to speak, to obey his command to beg, but I make only silence. It’s not words he wants.What do I want? I can still ask this question... even as I rub my face against his thigh. We are alone here. He’s humiliated me before with mortifying ingenuity. With any other man, my ego struts like an Olympic champion. With Byron, it’s like a drowning man grasping for phantom straws in a perverse tempest blowing within my id.I dismiss the Freudian bullshit. I have no excuses. The data do not. She has a summer dress on; braless. Jane has also changed into shirt, bra and a knee length skirt. They are both pretty. Your average girls next door. Brunettes by the way. Over a splendid meal I discover that Jane is going to the local church for choir practice. That explains the prim and proper outfit. Immediately after the meal she kisses her Mom and leaves for church. I hardly get an acknowledgment. As she leaves I’m immediately pointed towards the shower. I guess the haste is to get rid of. More

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