Made to Order

Reversal of Fortunes

I didn’t hear a word from Debbie—she cleaned out her closet one day while I was at work, leaving all of our shared stuff behind.  Her mom kept in touch though, trying to keep my spirits up by saying things like, “She’ll come back to you.  She’s just—adjusting.  You know that a brain tumor is a pretty big, and pretty frightening, event.  I’m sure she’ll realize what she’s left behind and come back soon.”

The encouraging calls eventually stopped, as Debbie’s mom probably came to realize what I knew: it wasn’t going to happen.  I still continued to hear variations of the same theme from a variety of sources; many of them friends who couldn’t know that I had breached the most sacred trust between Debbie and myself, and so deserved no second chance, no redemption.  I know that they were trying to help, but every time I thought I could seal the past away, some well-meaning idiot would bring it up again under the guise of cheering me up, and the bleeding would start anew, gushing torrents of guilt-laden blood.  About the only thing that could have been perceived as positive was that Debbie and I were still married.  She hadn’t initiated any divorce proceedings; I surmised that she was having trouble figuring out how to make “mind control” a divorceable act rather than one that would get her committed.

Full of frustration and guilt, I determinedly transformed them into energy, and a promotion at work quickly ensued.  There was nowhere else for me to channel it.  I would come home to an empty, dark apartment that had once been so full of joy and life.  It would remain silent throughout the evening, the only lights the ones I needed to avoid tripping over things, until the next morning, when I would pour myself into my job again.  I started working Saturdays to fill the time, but spent Sundays making sure of life’s absolute necessities, lest someone notice that I was acting strangely.

There wasn’t even a peep out of Mr. Scary.  I didn’t care if I was now expendable and a liability to him.  A frighteningly large part of me welcomed the possibility of not having to wake up to another day, done in by some anonymous, seemingly random act of violence.  I deserved it.  Whatever he had decided about the experiment, it appeared that I was no longer important enough to threaten.  I suppose I could have exposed the whole thing, but shame at my personal role in the saga, along with a strongly ingrained sense of self-preservation that I couldn’t overcome, prevented me from taking that suicidal step.

As the prospect of my third wedding anniversary being the second one spent without my spouse loomed larger, I withdrew into myself even further, to the point where it was a deliberate effort to be the same Ray Grant that everyone knew.  At home, I practiced the open, genial smile, the flippant comments, and the easy-going, approachable demeanor that were the hallmarks of my personality.  Then, each morning as I stepped out of my car in the parking lot at work, I put my “game face” on.  I didn’t want anybody to think that I needed professional help, because I knew that “I’m depressed because I lost my wife because I mind controlled her,” would be enough to get me committed, too.  Each night when I arrived home, the mask would come off, and I would obstinately sulk in solitude until the next time I had to be in public.

It all changed one of those nights when I arrived home, the mask having already come off as I unlocked the door and gloom, my constant companion, accompanied me through it.  So dark was my mood that I failed to notice the lights and the smell of smoke in the apartment for several seconds.  I might have missed it for even longer had Debbie not spoken to me as I took my coat off in the foyer.  “Hello, Ray.”  Her voice was measured and calm, neither friendly nor adversarial.  I gaped at her, positive that this was to be our final meeting.  “I never got rid of my key, so I let myself in and waited for you.  I suppose you’d like to know why I’m here,” she said, drawing a slow nod from me.  “The first thing I want is for you to kneel and beg me to forgive you.”

Not that I wouldn’t have done it, even if it was just a gesture of my genuine remorse, but I felt my legs bow underneath me, my knees met the floor, and I lowered my head until it wasn’t quite touching the floor.  It all happened so quickly, so smoothly, and in concert with my own desires, that I wasn’t quite sure if I had chosen to act, or if something—else—had happened.  “Please, Debbie,” I sincerely said, “forgive me for everything I’ve done to you.  You didn’t deserve it, and I could—would—have been just as happy with you without mind-controlling you.”

She calmly resumed, “I’ve learned a lot of things about myself in the past six months since we’ve been apart.  I think it was good for me to get away from you for awhile.”  Debbie walked over to me and stood over me while I could only look at her shoes.  “Stay there for a few minutes.  You can get up when I’m finished talking,” she lightly added.  “First, in case you’re wondering, yes, you can’t move because I said so.  I think that this—tumor—really isn’t a tumor.  I think it’s a mutation in my brain, which has given me—some unique advantages.  That’s right, now I have control of you—or anybody else that I want.  I can make you do anything I want.  Isn’t that deliciously ironic?”

I was speechless.  Had the experiment caused this to happen?  Did she really have the power of mind control, instead of being extremely susceptible to suggestion?  “If I asked you to jump out the window, you would,” Debbie calmly resumed.  “I assume that I would have done the same under your command.”  I murmured yes, with a great deal of guilty embarrassment, and immediately started to fear for my life.  “Not that you would ever tell me to commit suicide.  You love me too much.”  The extremely accurate declaration startled me.  Debbie took an audible breath.  “And I’ve decided, after some soul-searching and checking out the—alternatives—that I love you too much to leave our marriage behind.  Look at me,” she commanded.  “Another thing that I learned was that being able to command any man into passion isn’t anywhere near as good as being worshipped with love.  No matter how gorgeous the guy, how potent the cock, I still had to make it happen with a command.  You, I can play with the fantasies of me that you have, and I can see and sense that you are a real man who desires me.  I have to admit that I have missed that feeling of being powerfully sexy.  Being the way that I am now can get me a physical substitute at any time, but not the psychological satisfaction.”

“I still think that what you did to me was dastardly and unspeakably evil.  Especially something as unhealthy as smoking.  But, before I accept your apology,” Debbie said, “I have one very important question for you.  Did you hypnotize or mind-control me into falling in love with you?  Tell me the truth.  I’m not going to use my power to get the answer.”  She towered over me, patiently waiting for my answer.

“No, Debbie, I did not.  I enhanced your existing attraction to me and made you believe that you had a more than decent chance at getting me to go out with you,” I answered.  “I gave you confidence in your attractiveness to me.  The… changes… I made to your behavior opened up my mind to just how sexy you could be, and I fell in love with you just like anybody who had been dating someone they really enjoyed being with for a while.”  There it was, the entire process of our relationship in a few sentences.

“Now you will tell me the truth,” she snapped, her eyes blazing with anger.  “Tell me about how you made me fall in love with you.”

Debbie hadn’t said that she wouldn’t use her power to confirm that I was telling the truth.  The compulsion I felt was almost painful in its intensity, and there was no way I could have kept the truth hidden from her had I been lying.  “I can’t, because I didn’t,” I gasped, and the pressure in my chest and head cleared almost instantly.

That caused surprise to flash across her face.  “So… you turned me into an irresistible fantasy of yours, and fell in love with it,” she said, sounding pensive.  “Is it lust or love?”  Debbie looked down at me.  “Stand up.”  I was grateful that she decided to treat me like an equal for the moment.  “Do you even know?” she asked as I rubbed my aching kneecaps.

“All I know is that you’re a lot more fun out of bed than in it, and you’re awesome there,” was my candid reply.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Debbie said to no one in particular, as she turned towards the kitchen and walked away from me.  I followed, not out of compulsion, but a desperate need for closure.  “My mother was right.  You are in love with me.”  She indicated that I should sit at the kitchen table with her.  “I got tired of her preaching about how big a mistake I was making, because she didn’t know everything.  So I made her stop talking about and to you as soon as I figured out I could.  You know how she is.”  I nodded, unable to keep a small smile from breaking out on my face.  “I’m still pissed off at you for—changing me,” she snapped.  “I wasn’t good enough for you before?”

“No,” I replied, this time feeling a self-driven need to be transparent.  “That wasn’t it.  You weren’t on my radar as someone I would have considered chasing.  It would have been my loss,” I shrugged, “just like a lot of other guys you’ve given that shy, sad smile to who haven’t stopped to get to know the woman behind that smile.  I’m just happy that I got to know you, regardless of how it happened.  I’m thrilled that you’re even talking to me right now.”

“Fat chick’s not sexy enough,” she observed, sounding incredibly clinical about it.  “And if I choose to walk out now?”

“Then I’ll at least feel better knowing that I’ve apologized for what I’ve done to you, and told you how I still feel about you.”  She said nothing in response, and I hung my head in shame.

Finally, she asked, “So, Ray… what else did you do to me, other than the smoking thing?”

I tried to think of all the commands I had given her, leaving out anything that involved Mr. Scary.  There was the anal sex…  “So you’re the reason why getting fucked in the ass feels so good,” Debbie said.  “What else?”  I told her that I’d given her the strength to deal with her mother in the lead-up to our wedding, which drew a small, but genuine, smile from her.  I also noted that I had used my power to slow down her sex drive.  “Too much for you, huh?” she smiled again, reminding me of her beauty, and how I’d fallen for her.

Apparently, Debbie noticed my love-struck gaze.  “Somebody’s thinking about me,” she softly sang.  She held her hand up, and in a more businesslike tone, said, “But before you start getting any thoughts like that, I do have one more question for you.  I think I’ve gotten a lot smarter since… well… since you zapped me.  Do you think you had anything to do with that?  Was there something you… mind-controlled me into being, like, more of a brain?”

“I… don’t think—wait!” I excitedly said as the memory came back.  “One time, early on, when you were having your mid-terms, I felt guilty about—you missing study time because we were having sex.  I said you’d have more concentration and comprehension than you’ve ever had!”

“Did you make me have sex with you?”  Debbie had caught my slight hesitation and nailed me on it, but her tone was one of teacher to an unruly student who should have known better over some minor infraction.  I sheepishly admitted that I had, but left out the motivation behind that episode.  “Well, it seems to have worked,” she finally said.  “It’s pretty obvious when I look at my transcript for my M.B.A.—which I’ve finally finished.  I can remember when I stopped working so hard, but then my grades got better.  So that is one positive thing that you’ve done for me with your mind control.”  She looked at me, thinking.  “Oh, by the way—you can’t do whatever it is you do to control me any more.”  I felt a little tingle in my head and body, and even though I knew it no longer worked, I also knew that there was no way I would be able to say, “CS.  DS.  LO.  Obey and become.  Ten-gamma-ten,” to Debbie ever again.

She smiled again, briefly, then reached into her purse and removed her second anniversary gift—a sterling silver cigarette case made in Paris.  My eyes widened.  “Don’t look so shocked, Ray,” Debbie calmly said, “I’ve told you on several occasions that it does something for me, the way it makes you look at me.”  She lit the cigarette and smiled wolfishly, taking a big drag and french-inhaling slowly, turning to the side for her exhale, just so I could watch her.  As she returned her attention to my face, she husked, “The expression on your face right now makes me feel sexy.  Hot.  I’m getting wet just imagining what you’re thinking.”  Debbie took another stylish drag.  “And that’s what I’ve missed with sex drones.”  I was getting hard for her.  “Another thing about sex drones—”  She dragged and exhaled slowly, staring at me with predatory intent.  It had been too long.  “—they could never get the pussy-licking thing right without explicit instructions.  Do you have any idea how difficult that makes it to just lie back and enjoy?”  Debbie snap-inhaled her next drag, lifted her chin and slowly released twin ribbons of smoke from her nose.  “You see, I remember what you like.  Do you remember what I like?”

She lazily pointed towards the floor, and then cocked her hand so that her finger was pointing at her lap.  “No, I haven’t forgotten, Debbie,” I whispered, kneeling slowly.  “I just never dreamed that I’d get to do it again.”  Her eyes were ablaze, filled with lust.  She dragged, less-than-carefully, as I unfastened her pants and spread her legs.  I was met with a familiar, much-missed scent, and when her distinct tang registered to my tongue, it sent half the blood in my body to my dick.

Debbie’s ecstatic cries rang throughout our apartment, her hips vibrating madly, her tummy, chest, and face turning bright red.  It was sort of amazing that she didn’t fall out of the chair, and as her orgasm subsided, she melted into its cushion.  “Ohhh…  Whewwww…  That was won-derful.  I so missed that.  I missed you.”  I stood, grinning, and very erect.  “Ohhhh,” she pouted, “you want me to do something about that?”  I eagerly nodded.  “Well… you can’t jerk off and you can’t cum.  How’s that?”

My jaw dropped as the tingling sensation flashed through my body.  “I’m still pissed, Ray, and I think you need to know how it feels to be controlled for a while,” she said, reaching for another More.  She also pulled out her long cigarette holder.  “I’ve been thinking about revenge,” Debbie resumed, handing me her lighter, as she had so often before, looking at me expectantly.  I realized that she was going to make me light it if I didn’t do it of my own free will.  “Thank you,” she said with mock grace as she crossed her legs, posing regally, knowing that she was exciting me.  “I’m going to take every advantage of you that I can.”  My jaw quivered, and a few tears began to fall.  Debbie played with my fetish some more in silence.  “But you were so sincere about your apology, and you really are in love with me.”  She paused.  “And I really am in love with you, and it’s not because you made me.  Good thing I can say that with complete certainty,” she grinned.  “So—”  Debbie slowly french-inhaled for a seeming eternity, and more blood impossibly filled my cock.  “—I’m sure I’ll get over it—but not for a while.”  She had me stand and watch her finish her cigarette, then walked to the bedroom.  “Come to bed, honey, I want to snuggle.”

We lay spooned, Debbie behind me, her scent and closeness keeping me in various stages of hardness, and my nuts throbbed.  “So, did I ever call you ‘master’?  Isn’t that what mind-controlled slaves are supposed to do?” she sweetly breathed into my ear, teasingly brushing it with her lips.  “Tell me the truth, Ray, I want to know everything.”  The tingle of her control was lost in the erotic surge of her touch.  I responded that she had.  “Then you’re gonna call me ‘Mistress,’ when we’re here in the apartment.  I want you to know exactly how it feels to be a mind-controlled toy against your will.  So do you still love me?”

“Yes—” I hesitated, but pressure immediately began to build in my chest and head.  I let the word out, not wanting to know how uncomfortable I would get.  “—Mistress.”

“Am I still incredibly sexy to you?”

“Yes, Mistress.”  There was no sense in trying to fight it.

“Good night, darling,” Debbie lightly said, giving me a kiss on the back of my neck, a hug, and then she snuggled closely against my back.


She was still asleep the next morning when I woke up, having let go at some point during the night.  I padded to the bathroom, the morning hard-on stretching in front of me.  My nuts throbbed good morning.  After I had finished peeing, and not hearing any other sounds, I wrapped my hand around my cock—and it wouldn’t move.  “I can make it real painful for you to even touch it,” Debbie’s voice said, startling me.  I whirled around, and she posed as she lit a More.  “I think you need to stay home from work for the rest of the week.  Your boss will understand, because I’m going to tell him that I came back to reconcile.  I’m sure he’ll let you take care of home matters first.  Meridian is very good about that.  You work for good people,” Debbie said.  My cock was erect again.  “C’mere.”  We kissed, hot, hungry, passionately.  “Good morning, baby,” she smiled with horny eyes.

“Good morning, Mistress,” I promptly responded, unable to say “sweetheart.”

“Why don’t you go lie down on the bed and wait for me,” she purred, french-inhaling quickly, casually.  “I’ll be there in a moment.”  Debbie wasted no time in mounting me once she returned.  She pleasured herself on my cock, while I felt everything as I normally would, and it was like having sex with my wife again.  She leaned forward and grabbed me tightly while pouring her tongue into my mouth and I felt her pussy clench me at her first orgasm.  The bedroom was filled with her soft, frantic moans and my grunts, and the slurping sounds of our lovemaking.  I began to feel the pressure build.

“Ohhh… ohhh god… ohhh—Mistress…  Mistress,” I started to babble.  Debbie redoubled her efforts, churning her hips even more and at the point where it was too much I gasped, my nuts started to twitch, then suddenly stopped—and nothing happened.  I moaned in shock, and then the pain hit me.  Debbie gave me another forceful kiss, humping me, doing everything that she could to make me cum.  With each abortive attempt my body made to follow its natural reflex, a wave of pain hit me that felt like being hit with something soft, yet heavy.  I began to cry.  Debbie smiled evilly, then closed her eyes, and concentrated on sending herself to another orgasm.

Afterwards, I lay in the bed by myself, shocked, hurt, and very frustrated.  “Mistress, why are you doing this to me?” I asked when she came back into the bedroom.  “I love you,” I whimpered.

“I know, and that makes this all the more fun,” Debbie replied. “I know what you like, what turns you on, and you’re learning your lesson.  You can’t mind control anybody else, either.  Just in case you were thinking of going somewhere else for relief.”  Although the tingle made it happen, I wanted to tell her that I couldn’t anyway, but that would have brought up the whole why her, and would eventually involve Mr. Scary.

Debbie cooked breakfast, and we sat and ate, me in sullen silence, she looking quite pleased with herself.  “Is the food not to your liking, dear?” she sweetly asked.

“No, Mistress, breakfast is great.”

“Oh it is so much fun to hear you call me that,” Debbie giggled.  “Say it again.”

I tingled.  “Mistress.”

“And again!” she laughed. 


We played that game for several minutes, with me getting increasingly frustrated.  Finally, Debbie had apparently had enough.  It wasn’t really humiliation—she didn’t make me kneel or lick her feet or anything like that.  It was just… because she could.  “It’s not going to be like this forever, Ray,” she said, apparently reading my thoughts.  “Unlike some people, I don’t get a sexual kick out of it.  I went online and googled mind control to figure out what I should do.  I found this place called ‘Erotic Mind Control Stories’ or something like that.  I guess that mind control is a pretty popular subject that makes people horny.  But it gave me lots of ideas about what to do with you.”


By Saturday, I was a complete basket case.  My cock could have served as a hammer at the slightest provocation, and Debbie had done just about everything she could to drive me crazy using my fetish and my attraction to her against me.  We went shopping, stopping at a farmer’s market for fresh items, and that afternoon, she gave me a recipe of what she wanted for dinner and dessert, something elaborate that required a couple of hours of prep time.  But she made me do it completely naked and unable to speak.  And I served her and stood next to her while she ate, still naked.  After dessert, she had a cigar, and my cock pointed at her without so much as a bobble almost immediately after I had lit it for her.  About halfway through, Debbie said, “Oh, a second dessert course!” and took me into her mouth.  Unable to express anything verbally, I tried to move away, but she commanded me to return to my attending position.  Her eyes never left my face as she fellated me with as much care and devotion as she ever had, but it was painful, not pleasurable, because my body refused to finish.  She withdrew, leaving my hips thrusting at air, my penis engorged and pointing absolutely straight at her face.  “I’m done,” she announced.  “My cigar has gone out.  Relight it, please.  And watch me carefully.”  Five minutes later, she sent me to do dishes, and said, “After the dishes have been done, you will go to bed and go to sleep.  And the only thing you can say to me until I wake you up tomorrow is ‘yes, mistress.’”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Good night, sweetie.”


Sunday shaped up to be more of the same torture.  Debbie immediately re-imposed the yes, mistress gag order, and I made her an omelet Lorraine, again naked, again standing by while she ate.  She released me from her service while she bathed, giving me a chance to eat for the first time since lunch on Saturday.  I honestly didn’t know how much more of this I could take, but I was still unable to express my frustration over it.  She summoned me to the bedroom after about an hour and a half.  “Come here and watch me, darling.”

Debbie was fetchingly reclined in a near-sheer negligee, dragging on her cigarette holder.  “Am I sexy now?”

“Yes, Mistress.”  She was torturing me.  My cock was fully erect in what seemed like a matter of seconds.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Do you still love me?”

That question surprised me, but there was only one answer.  “Yes, Mistress.”  Debbie swore under her breath, and removed the restriction on my vocabulary before asking me again.  “Yes, Mistress.”  I still had to use the title, but I think we were both surprised at the affirmation.  She had been pretty evil to me over the past four days.  “Mistress—” I began.

“Shhh.”  Debbie cut me off and shifted so that she was now lying with her legs parted and inviting.  “Right now, it’s Debbie.  I’ve had enough of this mistress stuff for the moment.”  The tingle indicating that she was doing something to me ran through my body.  She took a final, posed drag, and huskily said, “I want you to fuck me, Ray.  Now.  No power.  Just Debbie and Ray Grant on a Sunday late morning.  I promise you’ll—finish.”

I hesitated for a couple of moments, but with my cock acting as a divining rod, it wasn’t long before I was buried inside of my wife, once again making the sheets a sloppy mess with her juices and we thrust together in near-perfect counter time.  Debbie came quickly, her face and chest turning that glorious red, almost matching her hair, and her eyes rolled up into her head, unfocused.  I continued pumping, and she came a second time from my pounding.  After that, it was all sounds of frantic lovemaking.  Debbie took everything I gave her, smiling, moaning, and squeaking in ecstasy, occasionally calling my name.  Me?  I was waiting for my promised release.  It still hurt, but my cock refused to go soft.  She wrapped her arms around me, holding me tightly, locking a leg behind my butt, making me slow, and then stop.  “That’s enough of that,” she panted, gently pushing at me.  I pulled out of her with a loud slurp.

My frustration at being used yet again when she had promised that she would end my torment continued when Debbie took me in her mouth and gave me head, keeping me extremely hard.  It abruptly faded as she rolled over on her belly, and climbed to her hands and knees, showing me her deliciously pear-shaped ass.  “I want you in my ass,” she purred, her voice thick with lust.  “You do it best for me, Ray.  And right now, I don’t care that it was a mind control thing.  Do me.”

Excited by her enthusiasm, and the aura of incredible lust filling the room, I pushed my cock into her second hole, and we both moaned loudly.  I moved gently at first, fighting the urge caused by the friction.  “Ohhh…  Ohhh…  Ohhh…  You feel so good…  Honey… ohhh… Rayyyy…  Imissedthis,” Debbie babbled.  My thrusts became longer and deeper, and her hips started to move, gently thrusting back at me.  “Ogodogodogod… ohhh… Rayyyy… Ray….  Ohhhh FUCK!”  Her hips quivered, orgasm triggered by a command I had given her more than three years ago.  “More… deeper… more… Rayyy… Ohhhh….”  She was a running commentary on the joys of anal sex and I was the fucking machine powering her description—with elephant balls.  It hurt like hell to move, but it felt too good to stop.

Debbie began to make her “enormous orgasm approaching” warning noises, and her back turned bright red in seconds.  I was going to be left out again.  She began to vibrate, like a tuning fork, and then her hips began moving up and down.  She hissed an intake of breath and through clenched teeth, she managed to say, “Cum with me!”  We both screamed.

Never have I had an orgasm that powerful, that copious, that—soul-, mind-, and body-wrenching.  I was hanging on to my wife, as deeply imbedded in her ass as I could be and a flood rushed out of me, physical, mental, metaphysical, and planes of existence so foreign to the human experience that I just—was.  After such an ultimate experience, there was only one way that my body could react.  I slid out, and then, I passed out.


I woke up sometime in the afternoon.  The bed was a sticky, fragrant mess that brought back glorious memories of the morning’s conclusion.  I staggered out to the kitchen for water, feeling severely dehydrated.  “Hey, sweetheart,” Debbie grinned.  “Did you enjoy your nap?”

“Please… don’t ever keep me pent up like that again,” I croaked, immediately reaching for the water and some ice.  Debbie just watched me, a happy smile on her face.  “So,” I asked after getting rid of the cotton in my throat, “am I forgiven?”

“For the most part,” she replied.  “I can’t promise I won’t get mad about the whole thing from time to time.  And it’s tempting to turn you into my perfect guy… but then I’d be just as guilty as you are.”  Debbie must have seen the pain flash across my face.  “Have a seat,” she brightly said.  “If you hate it as much as you say you do, and I really believe you do, why did you do it in the first place?  Was I just a good subject?  An easy target?  Fun to play with the fat chick?”

“Debbie… I really don’t like to hear you refer to yourself like that,” I said.  “Most of the time you’re putting yourself down when you say that.  You’re my wife, and I would at least try to defend your honor against someone who said that about you.”

She blinked, blushed, and apologized before re-stating her question without the “fat” reference.  I didn’t quite know what to say.  The “why” was because of Mr. Scary and his damn spook organization.  And I didn’t want to tell her about that—I wasn’t sure if we were still bugged or not.  When I didn’t say anything right away, Debbie asked, “And how did you do it?  I didn’t think that you could hypnotize somebody into doing something against their nature.”  She paused.  “Although, I gotta admit, I was pretty hot for you, just ’cause you were the one cute guy here who actually treated me like a person.  So I might have made it kinda easy.”  She blushed again.  God, she was cute!  “So are you a hypnotist or something like that?”

I hemmed and hawed and mumbled something about being turned on by mind control, and being a visitor to the EMCSA long before I met her, but she correctly sensed my attempt at evasion.  “I haf vays uff getting vat I vant,” she lightly said, but her eyes relayed the seriousness of her intent.  “Please, don’t make me—drag it out of you,” she pleaded.  “Married couples shouldn’t have secrets involving each other.”

I sighed, loudly, and Debbie looked at me with a strange expression on her face.  “You really don’t want to tell me, do you?”  I shook my head.  “Is it really bad?”  I nodded.  She thought for a few moments.  “Did you—drug me and brainwash me somehow?”

“Not… exactly,” I finally, tentatively, answered.  “But it would really be good if you stopped asking me about this.  Please just know that I’m sorry for everything that I did to you.”  I was begging her to drop it.

Debbie frowned and finally said, “Well, since I’ve just forgiven you, I guess I can let this one ride for a while.”  I exhaled in relief.  “But at some point, I have to know, Ray.”

“At some point, I’d like to be able to tell you,” I sighed.  Mr. Scary was just a cell phone call away.  Or possibly even closer.

This story copyright © 2006-2008, The Flying Pen

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