I know this might be a dangerous question, but I’m going to ask it anyway. How do you feel about me?”She giggled nervously, “The truth?”“Tha...’s always the best.”“I’m madly, deeply, hopelessly in love with you. But I can’t have you. I know that. And you know what? That’s good. I’m not ready for that at this point. And I don’t have to worry about you wanting something from me I’m not ready to give. I can give you my body, willingly, but I can’t give you my heart. I can’t give it to anyone just. I drove and sang along with the music, re-playing the same song over and over until I had no choice but to be completely overcome with what the lyrics meant. "If you can't say no, just think about me", easy enough to understand, right? A lover tells his unfaithful partner to think of him before she commits any more crimes against their relationship. Damned guilt, it weeds its way in every time. What is it that's so incredibly sexy about "shame on you" music? Music that speaks to you and tells. Nodding is not an option when I directly question him. ‘Look.’ Raising his head slowly, looking at me, the computer screen, then me. He is terrified . His expression sends a thrill racing through me. ‘Mistress, please let me explain.’ His begging angers me. I stand and strike his face with a flat, broad palm. He is stunned but remains quiet. ‘You address me as Mistress, always. Now do you know who the fuck this is sucking your cock!’ With trembling lips my slave speaks. “Yes Mistress.’ . "Please, that is just cab exhaust," Bartlett sighed. Bartlett thought thather friend's comment, whispered a few inches from her ear, was just anotherreason that Europeans were so difficult. Was that some sisterly expressionof interpersonal closeness, or was it a come-on? You never know with thesepeople.They traded places, and Bartlett wrote "my inability to achieve solitudemakes me settle for substandard relationships" on the dollar bill.The store was small, lit with humming fluorescent.