Guilty Pleasure (a story poem)

Guilty Pleasure

It often starts the same.

A comfortable tease. "Yes, dear. I'll open that jar. Just say I'm stronger than you."

A quick retort. "Yes, please be strong man for me! Cave woman need cave man! So you'll save me $5 on a jar opener?! You're so valuable!"

We go back and forth, tensions rise.

Suddenly I'm off my feet! The bastard picked me up again! I love it. I feel light and girly, wanted and protected. I hate it. I feel weak and out of control.

So. Frustrating!

Moments later, I'm grounded. I feel tile floor under bare feet, cold and real. I peek up, he looks down. Hungry eyes, hungry hands, with me on the mind.

I smile, and move swiftly while tension made has become attention lost. He's unprotected!

THWACK!

Cold and hard to warm and soft, my grounded foot searches for a new comfortable home. A spot sheltered but exposed. It feels fake... it's too easy. Maybe it won't work? I barely trust myself to do it, but it's already done.

A look of shock. A moment of fight swiftly lost. Collapse. Abs clench, knees surrender. Crumple. Nausea.

A look of shock. A moment of fight swiftly won. Smile. Abs clench, knees surrender... to giggles. Delight.

Suddenly he's off his feet! The bitch kicked him in the nuts again! He hates it. He feels pain and humiliation. He loves it. He feels acceptance and freedom from expectations.

So. Frustrating!

My guilty pleasure. I look down and hear cute whines, adorable struggles. A powerful desire to get me back. A powerful desire to get me. A weak body that just... can't. Not right now. Not yet. I have the power to choose right now. I love how he plays this script for me!

He rolls over and I clutch his gaze. He wears a smile as the pain fades, and as he sees my glowing face staring down, deciding his fate.

Our guilty pleasure.