I walk into our bedroom five minutes past my bedtime, eyes on the floor, a sheepish expression on my face. My girlfriend ignores me, her nose buried in a book with little black glasses on. What little I can see of her face is framed by bangs that have fallen out of loosely tied back shoulder length hair. Below that, she wears a black sleeveless slip that shows off her creamy skin along her shoulders and deep cut neckline. Her legs would similarly be on display if it weren't for the fine down comforter pulled up to her waist. She sits propped on a bed of pillows that support her as she leans back against the wall, posture prim enough to shame a Victorian governess.
I stand just inside the door, patiently waiting for her to say something, but icy silence is all I get. Swallowing hard, I take a few shambling steps toward the bed.
"I don't know where you think you're going," she says without looking up. Her voice is tightly controlled, but there's an edge to it I'm all too familiar with. "I know for a fact you haven't brushed your teeth or washed your face yet. Now, get to it."
"Yes Ma'am," I squeak, scurrying to the bathroom on the far side of the room.
It takes another five minutes before I walk back out, clean enough to pass even one of her rigorous inspections. Sure, I could have gone a little faster, but really it's just easier to take my time and get it right the first time so she doesn't have to go back in with me to "supervise".
Flipping off the light behind me, once more I shuffle over to the bed. As I get close, she points to the ground beside her next to the bed, eyes never straying from her book. I quickly slide around the bed and kneel by her side, hands fidgeting nervously at my sides. Even before I take my position, she seems to forget I exist, her attention once again focused solely on her reading. For ten minutes she leaves me to sweat, hands wringing nervously as I try hard to sit still until she finally marks her place and sets her book aside.
She swings her legs out from the bed, moving from beneath the comforter as she does so and revealing an incredible amount of baby soft skin all the way up to the top of her thighs. The sight tightens my throat, and pajama bottoms, considerably, but it's the hard look in her eye that suddenly gives me cottonmouth.
"Care to explain why you were late getting to bed, young man?" She's only a couple of years older than me, but whenever she uses that tone of voice the gap seems to magically widen until I feel like a naughty little boy getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and that I had better have a good reason for it being there. A sudden phantom tingling in my backside mirrors a rising panic that she might "crack down" on me and my bad behavior tonight.
I look down at the floor between my knees, hands pawing nervously at my pajama pants as I try to phrase my statement to be less damning than it sounds in my head.
"Well, we were almost done, the other team was up by ten rounds, but out of nowhere we mounted this incredible comeback, then one thing led to another and we ended up in double overtime..." I glance up to gauge her reaction and see one neatly manicured brow raised ever so slightly and lips tight with annoyance. "Sorry, I didn't even realize how late it was until it was over with." True or not, it's a lame excuse and I know it.
She purses her lips, a deep, sighing breath escaping as she eyes me with a cold stare.
"How many times have I told you to pay attention to how much time you spend on that thing?" The tone of her voice lets me know to be on my best behavior, I can tell she isn't in the mood for games.
"Too many times, Ma'am," I say quickly, "You're right, I need to do a better job of managing my time. I'll try harder, I promise."
"Uh huh," she says, not looking remotely convinced. "You certainly know what to say, now if only you could figure out what to do, we'd have far fewer problems." I start to get that sinking feeling in my tummy. She leans forward, the buttery skin of her bust highlighted by the movement. Taking a firm grip on my chin, she stars me hard in the eyes as she continues. "If it happens again, I'll be the one who decides when you've played enough. Are we clear?" The stern set of her features lets me know just how serious she is.
"Yes Ma'am," I answer quietly, trying hard to make up some brownie points.
She keeps me locked in her gaze for another few seconds, the weight of her scrutiny making me want to fidget. I fight back the urge and keep my eyes cast demurely downward.
