I have little doubt that more planning went into our dinner for Luke than for some White House dinners for foreign heads of state -- the dinner, and the entire evening. It was our one chance to convince him to return, to convince him that we properly understood the rules of engagement going forward.
I chose the finest porterhouse I could buy at our local butcher shop for the guest of honor, with more modest hanger steaks for Brooke and me. I planned a menu with several of his favorite dishes: shrimp cocktail, creamed spinach, potatoes au gratin, a warm mushroom and arugula salad with shallot vinaigrette, homemade red velvet cake. I put mugs in the freezer in which to serve his Yuengling. I managed to find a bottle of limited edition Gentleman Jack whiskey and didn't even hesitate (okay, perhaps for a moment) shelling out the $325 to purchase it. We cleaned the house from top to bottom, with fresh flowers on the dining table and in the living room. I hung the canes, strap and riding crop back on the wall of the hallway near our foyer (we had taken them down after Kevin picked up Luke's clothes and personal items three months earlier). Had we owned a strip of red carpet, we would have rolled it out for him.
Brooke and I spent quite a bit of time debating how we should be attired for the evening. Luke has always been big on the trappings, the symbols, the rituals of dominance and submission, so our clothing and other such details were important. We knew from past experience that little escaped his attention.
"What about our cheerleading uniforms? We could come up with a new cheer for when he walks through the door," I suggested.
"No, football season is over. And I think it needs to be something even more demeaning than those ridiculous uniforms. Something that shows even more skin for me. And something even more emasculating for you."
"More emasculating than me wearing a pink uniform that says 'Daddy' on top with a short skirt and pom-poms. Is that even possible?"
"Of course, it is," Brooke said with a little smile.
It was good to see her smile again, even if the context was us meticulously planning ways of maximizing our impending humiliation.
"Maybe we should both just be naked?" I said.
'I'm surprised to hear you suggest that. Naked won't impress Luke. You can be naked at a nudist colony. It's not nearly humiliating enough."
"But he will be wearing clothes."
"Doesn't matter. Don't you remember that Luke likes to say 'clothes make the man.' Well, that cuts both ways. To him, humiliating clothes break the man. Or woman. I think maybe I'll wear my skimpiest bikini with my silver high heels. And a choker."
"Like a contestant in a beauty pageant. Except for the choker."
"Exactly. Shortly before we got divorced, Luke and I had a huge fight over that part of the Miss USA pageant. Actually, it was Miss Teen USA, I think, which is even worse. Michelle and I had gone out to see a movie, and when I got home he was watching the stupid show. I made the mistake of sitting down and watching it with him for a while. I've always felt these beauty contests are incredibly sexist and really damaging to young women, making us feel that men's judgment of our physical appearance is the be all and end all."
"Wait a minute. What about the interview section? When the contestants answer that what they desire most is 'world peace.' Doesn't that give them a chance to showcase their critical thinking abilities?"
"Very funny. These pageants are really nothing more than the institutionalized bimbofication and exploitation of young women and girls. It's all about keeping women in their place and about the corporate sponsors making money. And Luke's favorite President used to own these shows and was a judge on them. You know that, right?"
"Yes. If I recall, he was accused by several of the contestants of Miss Teen USA of walking in the dressing room when they were in various states of undress when he was the owner. Like the classy guy he is."
"So creepy. While I despise everything about these shows, the bikini contests piss me off the most. I think it's because the only possible reason for a woman to wear high heels with a swim suit is to turn on men. It's just such brazen objectification. So when the bikini contest started, I told Luke how disgusting I thought it was. He told me to lighten up and said that the girls competing in the show were lucky and should be grateful to be part of it. He said they were indebted to the show owners and organizers. When I suggested, with obvious sarcasm, that maybe the contestants should give them blow jobs to express their gratitude, he said 'Why not? Sounds like a great idea to me.' Well, that really set me off. Things quickly degenerated into a shouting match. I eventually stormed out of the house and spent the night at Michelle's. We made up a couple of days later, but in some ways that fight felt like the beginning of the end. There were more, and worse, fights after that and we were divorced five months later."
"So, I can see how you dressing that way will send a clear message to Luke. But has your opinion about beauty pageants changed?"
"No, not in the least."
"Please explain, my complex lady."
"Look, if a grown woman wants to dress that way for her husband or lover -- or even groups of men -- because she gets off on being objectified, or is submissive, or whatever, that's her business. But not teenage girls. And not on national TV, conveying a message to all girls and young women that that's how they need to look, dress and act to be considered valuable. That they have to compete with one another for male attention. Do you get it, now?"
"Yes, I do. I think the bikini and high heels is a great choice for this evening. Maybe you should model a few different bikinis for me now, so we can pick the best one."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?," she smiled. "But what about you? What are you going to wear? I think you're the one who's going to be modeling various outfits."
So, that's exactly what I did over the next couple of hours. Brooke immediately rejected my initial suggestion of my humiliating waiter's uniform and apron (I was going to be preparing and serving dinner after all).
"Not nearly degrading enough. It's what you served us dinner in the first time, the day he moved his stuff in. There's got to be a clear step up in the humiliation quotient. As I was just saying, Luke keeps track of that sort of thing. He keeps closer track of what people are wearing than most women do."
"So what do you have in mind?"
"Something unmistakably feminine. Something revealing. Something that makes crystal clear that there's only one man in the house."
"But does he really want me serving dinner with my -- you know -- exposed?"
"You mean with your junk exposed? Your little locked up cock?"
"Yes, that's what I mean."
"I don't think he'll care. He knows that you practice good hygiene."
"So what do you want me to try on?"
"First of all, let's get you locked up again. Bring me your chastity device and my anklet keychain."
