Then something popped into her head. "Wait a minute. I thought we wereout of coffee."With a saucy smile on his face, Heather took a sip from his cup...andresponded, "We are."Taking Ellen by the hand he added, "Let's take this to the bedroom anddrink it in bed, there are things I want to discuss with you."Confused by the complete change in Heather's demeanor, Ellen frownedslightly and asked, "What's gotten into you?"Heather gave her a wide-eyed look, as to indicate that he really did. He held it in front of me, taunting. “I need to see some ID,” he said with another grin. I laughed at that. “Thank you. After the day I just had, it feels nice to be carded.” I reached for my drink, but he slid it out of the way. “I’m not kidding. ID please,” he repeated. My smile faded. “OK, seriously, my ID is in the car.” He shrugged. “I’ll hold your drink while you run and get it.” My anger, simmering just beneath the surface, flared up again. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m 38 years old.. I’m ten feet tall and puffed up like a peacock. Then, I’m on the phone with Mom, and she asks what I’ve been up to lately. I’m at a party, chatting up one of the local honeys. She seems interested, she’s holding her drink just so and has her head tilted at a very precise angle, carefully calculated to accentuate the degree to which she’s cocked her left eyebrow. We’ve talked about our jobs, laughed at each other’s clever remarks, and she asks what I do for fun. I tell her about the juggling and. As our marriage wore on these sessions turned more into punishments rather than the fun foreplay it started as. My wife would pick on minor excuses, such as overcooked toast or weak tea to push me down and sit on me until I apologised profusely for getting things wrong. She would also only agree to let me up after she had moved up onto my face and made me perform long sessions of oral worship and this became the only foreplay she would tolerate.As time passed she became more inventive and.