I opened the door and stepped in.Candles were lit on the vanity, reflected in the mirror. The room was pristinely clean, the bed turned down with satin sheets reflecting a subtle sheen. Beside the bed, Wendy knelt on the floor, naked save the silver collar with its tiger-eye stone at her throat. Her knees were shoulder width apart, her hands clasped behind her back and her mouth slight open as she stared straight ahead.I hated this.No, not hated. I loved Wendy, but when she went into this ultra-submissive state, it was almost more than I could handle. It was such an open, unconditional willingness to please me in any way she could that it made me feel unworthy. It didn’t happen often, but it always gave me chills when she simply waited on her knees for me.I’d even gone with Wendy to one of her therapy sessions and with her permission had seen her therapist, Sheila Garvey, a few times, by myself. It had helped me understand that Wendy simply needed to surrender her will on occasion and. I was just writing that I wouldn’t have any leftovers. Don’t go away mad, Buster. Just go away.’ After the miserable time I had being alone last year during Christmas, I would have went with my girlfriend to her daughter’s house this year, but I wasn’t even invited to her daughter’s house, probably because I didn’t go last year. I can’t help but feel as Doctor House does on House when he’s running around the hospital begging invitations to holiday functions. ‘Hello, Mike, how are you? It’s Joe…from high school. I was in your gym class 30 years ago. Anyway, I was just wondering what your wife, I assume you’re married, was serving for Christmas dinner. You’re kidding me. I never pegged you for a gay man. Hello?’ Only, how could she do that to me? I can’t help but feel doubly punished. How could my girlfriend’s daughter not invite me? How could my girlfriend, the woman I love and who supposedly loves or loved me not say something to her daughter about her not inviting me? Don’t they.
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