I imagine him, in the middle of a mild disagreement, stopping suddenly and ordering me to be ready to receive his dick. I imagine that I am the woman ...ho can make him happy. I stop eating. Not because I want to, but because the smell of food makes me nauseous. I find myself living on black coffee and red wine, wishing I still smoked. If my husband notices my lack of appetite he doesn’t comment. I decide to write a fantasy and email it to him. I’ve tried it before, but maybe. When I was ready, Igrabbed my purse, took a deep breath, and walked out of my room andinto the kitchen.Dad dropped his fork and mom just sat there with her mouth open,watching as I poured myself some juice, then as I sat down at thetable...."This is different," mom said brightly, "and even though you are a verypretty girl, why are you dressed this way?" That's a very good question," dad added, "care to tell us why in thehell you're dressed this way?" It's a protest dad, all the guys are doing. More

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