“I can’t close my eyes or what?” Bratting and squirming my way through the awkward silence. “I need to know. You know, for science.”
“I’m pretty sure you are capable and, therefore, can close your eyes,” Nick embarks onto a sidetrack lecture on English grammar. “Even more sure that you will close your eyes in due course, but—”
“But I may not?” I interrupt him with more questions. “And then what?” I’m giving Nick an easy way out: to announce the sentence, what he would do to me if I were to close my eyes, and then go back to our little roleplay.
“Uhmm…” Nick didn’t think it through so far. “You will get a whuppin’!” He goes back to his Southern folksy tone.
“For how long?” I whisper.
“Till the cows come home, of course. Give me some sugah.” He pinches my butt and reaches for a kiss. Even in a dream, his lips smell and taste of strawberries. My summer boy loves strawberries and all things summer. My lavender and sundresses with no panties fit nicely in his realm. Second pinch brings me back to my asked and answered inquiry.
I’m totally whiplashed by all the contradictions. The giver of sugar must know, even in her befuddled state, what were the consequences of closing her eyes whilst being finger-fucked—errr receiving a massage of her nether regions.
“What if the cows are very far from home?” I ask, not sure myself what I mean by that. Am I the proverbial cow, interrupted by this entire conversation, and very far from hitting the home run? Oh God, I’m mixing all my sports metaphors today. Or am I concerned about the length of the aforementioned whuppin’ that so regrettably depends on the whereabouts of the lazy animals and the time they take to march towards their overnight abode? Phew! Wait, am I a cow, because I hold the alpine cowbell? Ugh!
Fortunately for me, Nick’s mind-reading abilities are back on, because he dismisses my concerns with a precise verdict. “Six with the wooden ruler and back to business.”
The evil wooden ruler, another unassuming object, disguised by the company of other office supplies, lives in the drawer of Nick’s nightstand. Light but stingy, will it get evil or not, it all depends on Nick or rather the flick of his wrist.
“Yep, let’s start with six to get you focused and back in the mood.” Nick taps my butt with the ruler. I was so busy with my cow counting exercise that I didn’t notice when Nick got the ruler out. “No counting.”
Six quick whacks with the whippy ruler sting good and surely grab my attention. With a helper like that, I won’t have any problem with keeping my eyes open. Nick leaves the ruler on the bed, next to my cheek, as a formidable reminder. In the dim light of the Tiffany lamp, the darkness of wood pops against the white sheets.
Two fingers slip inside me to collect the wetness, and like a light switch, I shut my eyes.
“Watch out, girl!” Nick clears his throat with a fake sternness to cover the smirk. “Next time, no warning.”
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