I must remember to screen our movie selections more carefully. “Put your palms face down on the desk and don’t lift your feet from the floor until I return.” is now Tony’s favorite refrain before he leaves the apartment to go anywhere. Even if he is just stepping out on the stoop for a smoke.

This bossiness isn’t really appealing to me. I can understand how certain sexual situations can be enhanced with a bit of role-playing, but in general I do not need to be told what to do. Sometimes I ask for a bit of re-assurance, but I cringe when my ego senses that some command is actually insinuating that I don’t understand something. And in my mind I boil. Hot like the teapot she used to scar her leg. (Come on folks, it’s a movie reference–keep up!)

But I’ll let him have his fun. Lord knows I couldn’t stop him if I tried.

Of course this isn’t always a healthy choice, but I generally choose the path of least resistance. And although I have my moments of anger and annoyance, it is easier than trying to explain myself. Why is it so hard to make myself understood? I am to the point that I just don’t attempt any type of serious conversation because I know his response will be boredom, or silence, and more than likely he’ll just try and remove my pants.

Is there ever a point of enough is enough? The moment I arrive at questions like this, I shrug them off because how can you get enough love and comfort? Or throw away the pleasure of falling asleep on a soft, yet muscular chest? We both hurt, and suffer our frustrations, but there is a balance. The compliment of black and white. The dignity of the tuxedo has never been questioned. I suppose I probably shouldn’t start now.