She murmured into her coffee cup. "Well... that's so nice. A poem that made her cry." Not ponderous, anxious stuff, you understand. Just a quickie, yo... know, like a greeting card verse. You know, there was just one, small little drop. And then thank you very much that's nice, and off we went to the movies." But," she said, still looking into her cup, "That's so..." She picked up her napkin and folded it absently and said, "She didn't tell me that about you." Really? What did she tell you about. What was she thinking? I wanted to rewind the clock and undo what just happened. I wanted the erotic rush without the regret. I wanted the imagery without the reality. I wanted the experience without the consequences. "Get over here," he snapped, and this time she obeyed and started to walk over to him. He barked "crawl." I knew there was no way she would that. She wouldn’t be humiliated like that. So imagine how surprised I was when she dropped to her knees and slowly crawled slowly. . More

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