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“Bring you knees up and spread your legs.” He yanked on myhair for emphasis. I had no choice, my hair tearing from my scalp. I broughtmy knees up, and let my legs part, knowing how obscenely I was exposing myselfto this masked intruder. “Good girl.” His fingers returned tomy pussy, this time they moved up and down my slit, the spread of my legsgiving him complete access to my sex. I shivered in fear, afraid I wouldwet the bed as his fingers ran over my body intimately. I could feel someof my juices begin to flow, humiliated that this stranger could coax a sexualreaction from my bound body. Myeyes opened wide in fear. He brought out another cloth and a bottle. He openedthe bottle and the pungent smell of chemical filled my nose. He poured someon the cloth and pressed it over my nose and mouth. I held my breath as longas I could but I began to feel my consciousness leaving, struggling untileverything turned into blackness. Myhead was pounding, my breathing ragged. I lay there, curled. The sex, even on the first night, had been perfunctory, and although Don said nice things to me, I felt a distance between us from the very beginning. I began to worry that he didn’t want me in that way—that I somehow had not provided what he had expected. But I hadn’t hidden anything from him. I wasn’t any more the plus-sized woman on the up side of her twenty-fifth birthday now than when he had courted me so lavishly and attentively. I was beginning to feel self-conscious and unworthy—no, I was beginning to feel more self-conscious and unworthy than I had felt before my marriage—and this, combined with the distractions of the city, was playing havoc with my writing. What I needed was my one unfailing, true love. I needed the steadfast part of my life that had cocooned me through best-seller after best-seller so that I now had no financial worries. I needed Fiddler’s Rest. Fiddler’s Rest was my pride and joy, and the advance from my first best-seller had more than been swallowed up.
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