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At 11:15, the doorbell rings. I open it to find Paul Schmidt, a handsome older man married to Veronica Schmidt, the fake platinum blonde who first approached me about the neighborhood Welcome Wagon. Paul has salt-and-pepper colored hair (mostly salt) and piercing blue eyes. Although he’s a handsome man, I suspect that Veronica married him for his considerable wealth as the owner of a successful grocery store chain. I wonder if they have a good sex life. I usher him quickly inside before he is spotted on my porch. “Hi, Paul,” I breathe, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. “Would you like a drink?” “Sure,” he says. “Do you have vodka?” “Vodka,” I smile, “My kind of man.” I pour his drink and hand it to him. He tosses it back quickly and I give him a refill. It’s obvious he’s nervous. “So…Nikki…what is this all about? Why did you invite me here?” “Well, Paul…to be honest, I didn’t just invite you. Is that a problem?” “Who else did you invite?” “Just a few of the neighbors.”. She was happy, as in very happy. She flourished and matured as if overnight. It showed in small but subtle ways, her confidence in our relationship growing. While before, she’d ask to do things, she now told me to do things; handing me a grocery list and telling me to shop; directing my diet by taking much beloved Doritos away as I snacked in front of the TV and replacing them with fruits; and the real tell, dressing me. It started with a comment about my ratty T-shirt and spread to her selecting clothes in the morning and laying them out on the bed while I was showering.Rory was exerting control and, had it been anyone else, and if I hadn’t been so charmed, I would have resisted. I liked my freedom. However, I loved her care. In her own way she was demonstrating love.In bed, Rory was frequently horny and unapologetic about it. And if I wasn’t in the mood, she’d get me there with blinding speed.Rory had my number. She knew how to control my body better than I did. She never resorted.
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