“Wear that," he told me.I didn't protest. It was comfortable enough.I grabbed a bra and some panties out of my dresser.He followed me there, digging through the drawer without asking."Nice," he said."I ordered you a few dozen more pairs. The last line of defensebetween me and your pussy is bound to take some casualties.”

“I followed him through the halls of the enormous church until we got to the staff's kitchen. He went to the fridge, opened it, and came out with a bottle of bourbon. He poured some into a coffee cup, drank it down, and poured some more. He offered me the bottle.No, thanks. Aren't you supposed to drink vodka?Aren't you supposed to wear a pointy hat and ride on a flying broomstick?Touche, I said.”

“I had an interview once with some German journalist—some horrible, ugly woman. It was in the early days after the communists—maybe a week after—and she wore a yellow sweater that was kind of see-through. She had huge tits and a huge black bra, and she said to me, ‘It’s impolite; remove your glasses.’ I said, ‘Do I ask you to remove your bra?”

“Why in the name of God do you wear these ugly ass granny panties? I swear it looks like you could parachute from the Dallas Lincoln Plaza with these and have a nice soft landing! Why don’t you get on the internet and apply your online shopping skills while purchasing some panties that do not look like they came from your Grans drawer?”

“Well, pardon me for not knowing about the thermal-only panty rule,” I said, smirking as he dipped his head to nuzzle one of the silky bra cups. “I’ll rush right out and buy some long johns.”Pausing to look up with perfect sincerity, he promised, “If you do, I will weep. Like a little girl. In public.”

“You bought me plastic ware," he said. "Didn't you?'"No," I growled, picking at my license plate."You did!" he hooted, laughing out loud. "You bought me some forks. And knives. And spoons. Because—""No," I said loudly."—you love me!" He grinned, as if he'd solved the puzzler for all time, as I felt a flush creep across my face. Stupid Lissa. I could have killed her."It was on sale," I told him again, as if this was some kind of an excuse."You love me," he said simply, taking the bag and adding it to the others."Only seven bucks," I added, but he was already walking away, so sure of himself. "It was on clearance, for God's sake." "Love me," he called out over his shoulder, in a singsong voice. "You. Love. Me.”