I clutched my hands and looked down at the oval glass coffee table as he took a chair from the kitchen and placed in the center of the room. “Uh oh...” I thought to myself. He sat on the chair and looked at me. His eyes were cold-merciless. “Take those fuckin’ rags off and get over here- right now!” he said in a calm voice. “This is some kind of joke, right?” I asked as I desperately looked for validation. “I’m giving you to the count of three, if you’re not undressed and over my knee, you. "Hello?" "The doorbell, you dumb blonde," Carl spat, gesturing to the door. "Go answer it why don'tcha?" "I don't know," Jamie responded with a confused look. "Why don't I?" I just groaned at that, feeling as though I was in the middle of a bad joke. Then again, that had been the point, hadn't it. To turn us into living stereotypes. Into the butts of jokes. Finally, I snapped out, "I'll get it." There was probably a lot more edge to my voice than I intended because Jamie gave me a hurt look. More

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