I could barely breath.At some point I staggered into the kitchen and sat at the counter. Chris says that I walked around the other pictures on the wal... as if it was an art gallery. I have no recollection of that, though I know it’s true, I've seen the movie. I actually picked up my spare glasses that I use for watching the TV at night and studied each picture.Was it cruel of Chris to record my agony as I looked at the pictures, preserving my visceral reaction to his display? I think he was. 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 designated a wooden bench seat in our back room as her "crushing bench" and would make me lay down while she sat on. More

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