Dad sat with his head in his hands. A scratchy record by Old and New Dreams played. As Don Cherry played the opening theme of Lonely Woman, he wondered what the fuck happened to his life? When he bought this album, life was great. He'd found the woman of his dreams. She was smart, sexy, up for any kinky thing that came into his head and she loved him. He loved her too. Oh, his parents hadn't been happy when he came home with a black girl. They hadn't made a scene about it, but they made the odd comment like, "what will the children be." That seemed so very long ago now.
Dad slumped back on the sofa. "What happened?" he muttered to himself. Complex emotions raced around his head. He'd almost made peace with stealing the occasional one nighter on the road. He'd almost come to terms with the idea that his wife was someone he shared a house and children with, not a real partner. Then Christy and Tina brought him back to life sexually, but the guilt ate at him. "They're my daughters. They're adult now, but they're still my daughters," he thought. "What sort of Father fucks his own daughters?"
Dad popped open a can of beer and took a sip. "Who the hell invented this lite crap," he muttered to the ductwork overhead. His head hurt. Nothing made sense. How in the world could Maggie have bought into such a load of crap? The whole religious conversion had been weird enough, but he'd seen that with enough of his old punk rock buddies to take it in stride. Learning that Maggie had done porno before they'd married made him sad. Not sad that she'd done it, but sad that she'd never shared it with him. Maybe if she had, her Mom and the Reverend would not have been able to fill her head with all that guilt and shame. He took another sip of tasteless beer wondering, if he even knew who he was married to anymore. For that matter, did he still know who he was?
The needle clicked in the runoff groove. Dad got up and changed the record. Kind of Blue seemed to fit the mood. The pipes gurgled as water ran somewhere up stairs. The computer pinged the instant messenger alert. He looked at the screen and read, "Hi. I'm naked on my web cam now" and deleted the message. "Damn spam," he muttered and took another hit off the beer.
Dad heard the cellar door open. He heard bare feet slapping the stairs. "Probably Tina," Dad thought. He sits down on the sofa again wondering how all this is going to make sense. Then he hears his wife's voice, soft and timid like he hasn't heard it in ages, "Greg... Master?"
Dad looks over to see Mom kneeling at the end of the sofa. Her eyes are puffy. She's completely naked. When was the last time he'd seen Maggie naked like this? Years? The woman in front of him looked so different. She was almost a stranger.
"Master?" she said again in a weak and timid voice. "I've displeased you. I am so sorry. May I please serve you?"
"May you serve me?" Dad repeated not believing what he was hearing. "May you serve me? Where the hell did that come from?"
