Mouse’s greeting was much different when I got home that day. He hollered from the kitchen when I opened the door, “Hey, baby, come in here!”

I dropped my gym bag under the coat rack in the hallway and headed into the kitchen. A huge bouquet of sunflowers and mums adorned the countertop, and Mouse stood near the stove with two glasses of red wine in his hands.

“You ready for a long weekend?” He held one glass out to me.

“Thanks.” I smiled and settled into the crook of his arm as we sipped the wine.

“We’ve got about an hour before we have to leave for the airport to go to your mom’s, so I thought we’d have some sushi and wine, then catch the train. Sound good?” He leaned forward to kiss me. I could never refuse his soft lips and solid arms as they enveloped me.

Thanksgiving weekend at my mom’s house in Florida was a swirl of activity. We cooked a turkey by burying it in a fire pit my mom had concocted in the back yard, and Mouse served up candied yams like I’d never seen. Friday, Mouse and I played baseball at the neighborhood park, and he was constantly chattering about the Yankees. I think Mouse reveled in the fact that I was in his sight the entire weekend. Despite Mouse’s attention and current tenderness, Tyler remained a constant presence in the back of my mind. I wondered what he was doing for Thanksgiving. Was he with his parents or friends? I wondered if maybe he had a girlfriend he was spending the holiday with. Did he think of me, or was I simply an Internet interest that let him procrastinate at work?

I couldn’t help but laugh at Tyler's e-mail. He was obviously distracted from work by me, too. I peered out the window at the dreary winter weather and let my thoughts drift. Tyler visualized me in sexy, black outfits. I had plenty of those. Would I ever get the opportunity to wear one for him? He seemed attracted to my image of a dominant woman, yet he could see somehow that the real me liked to relax and let somebody else take the lead. I imagined his strong but soft touch.

A knock on the door jolted me back. Chris, my business partner, came in the room.

“Lori, I need you to look at the lease agreement for the office space again.” He dropped a file on my desk. “There’s some fine print we should go over. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, why?” I tried to bring my focus back to real life.

He smiled his crooked grin that showed he knew me too well. “Just checking. We’re getting plenty of feedback on the D.C. show coverage. You’re doing a great job; the fan base never stops growing.” He smiled again and retreated to the main office area.

Tyler left me one last e-mail to covet before the holiday weekend—

Hi Lori,

I am leaving the office now. Happy Thanksgiving!! I will be thinking of you.

Tyler

He had no idea how much I would be thinking of him, too.

The day before Thanksgiving, Tyler wrote—

Good morning Lori,

And how is NJ? We have been living in a fog for the past three days here. Makes for some shitty driving. It took me almost an hour to get to work today. (Normal driving time is about 30 minutes.) But I am here now, so I can get some sleep. Just kidding. I do work, really I do. It’s the calm before the storm. But enough about work. I hate to do it and hate even more to talk about it.

So my e-mails are funny, huh? Actually, I am pretty good at writing e-mails, because it allows me time to think about what I am saying. I am horrible at one liners or quick come backs in real life. Oh no, I just realized that I could be considered a computer geek because I can only make good conversation through the computer. But that’s not true, is it? Hmmmmm, cyber.

No, I do not mind you sending me pictures. I would send you some stuff back, but the files are huge. I could zip them though. Do you know how to unzip them? May be a double meaning here! Sorry, just joking, don’t mean to be fresh.

Moving on…

So when you take these photographs of yourself, do you lift or workout before them? I mean, it looks like you are pretty pumped up. Or are you just naturally ripped? Ripped and feminine, what a combination. Did I tell you I like that black outfit? Well since I broached this subject, I kind of like that white mini dress too. (Blushing yet?) And since I am mentioning your web site again, I notice most of the stories in your fiction section are of a female dominant perspective . Interesting! What is your view on this? I am only asking this, well…how do I phrase this? Let’s just say that you seem to be opposite. Just an observation.

Moving on…

Better yet, I will stop while I am still ahead, I think. I have some new LLC agreements to read here for a new building we just bought. Yes, that’s right. I am going to do some work now.

See ya,

Tyler

Later, Tyler wrote—

Hello Jeannie,

Funny, I always thought of myself as a genie growing up. In my little genie outfit I could do anything with my powers.I Dream of Jeannie was another embarrassing moment I was going to remind you of. I try to remember everything. I have very active senses. That may be good, and that may be bad. The biggest memory problem I have, believe it or not, is names. Everything else, I pick up rather quickly.

Can you explain something? What do you mean by this? These are your words exactly, “I think I was embarrassed by something that you said. Yes, that’s what it was. I don’t mind feeling embarrassed because of something you say, but I can’t explain why except that I think that it is the way that you embarrass me.” What this sounds like to me is an answer to an essay question that I gave you, and you forgot to study this section of the course. So, you are trying to answer it by twisting your words around, sort of babbling out an answer. Believe me, I recognize this type of answer because I have done this many times in college. Are you trying to dodge a bullet here?

I understand the small ego, but big lats? So far reading down your e-mail I am pretty confused. Are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to gain an advantage? Well, it’s not working!! Unlike Superman and kryptonite, I have no weaknesses. (Standing now with my legs spread slightly and fists on my waist, doing my best Superman pose.) This is why I don’t have to prove myself. I am not a mortal man. Nor do I fall into the category of the normal traits of a mortal man. I am SUPER MASTER TYLER!!!

Am I confusing you now? I’m not. Hmmmmmmmm. I’m confusing myself. (You'll have to excuse me—I just ate a large turkey dinner here at work, and I am not feeling myself.) Now I am starting to sound stupid. Foot in mouth!! No, I am not a spaz. Just bored today. Don’t feel like working! Short week, you know. Next week is the killer week.

Let’s answer some of your questions. How many blackbelts? Fifth dan in tae kwon do, fifth dan in tang soo do, fourth dan in hapkido, and unofficially a black belt in judo. We no longer test in judo, but I still know all the techniques.

How far could I throw you? Hmmmmmm. If you are asking for feet or yards, I couldn’t tell you. But, look at it this way. I can throw Pancho Jones (he was the big guy with us) at 230 pounds, easily. I figure you to be between 100 and 110 pounds. But I am not going to ask your weight because I now know never to ask a woman her age or weight. Someone reminded me of that last week. So based on that information, picture me throwing a rag doll, and that’s probably how far and easily I can throw you.

Would I let you pin me in a wrestling match? Hmmm, another difficult question. I guess it would depend on the position we were in. But in all fairness, I would give you greater odds in pinning me than me pinning you. Somewhere around 80/20. Honestly, it would be much more fun for me to be pinned by you.

I don’t believe I just wrote that. Backspace, backspace, backspace, etc. It’s not erasing. I guess it has to stay.

Well, I think I have answered all your questions this go around. What’s my score? I bet you are probably wondering why I have all this free time to keep e-mailing you. I have a good answer. It’s a short week and I don’t feel like working this week; last week I put in 55 hours because the auditors were out here and now I need a break; and the end of the month is not upon us yet. Hence all my free time.

Sincerely,

Master Tyler

P.S. I hope I am not bothering you, because if I am, just say so.

Of course he wasn’t bothering me. I looked forward to his e-mails, and there was no doubt that he looked forward to mine.

Hi Lori,

 

Actually I was going to start this off by saying “Hello, my loyal servant,” but after reconsidering, well…I’ll just leave it at “Hi Lori.”

 

I’m glad I surprised you!! And yes, you embarrassed? I don’t believe it! So why were you embarrassed? Was it something I said in my e-mail? Maybe I should embarrass you some more. Maybe not? You might not respond this time. I’m curious—do you remember some of the things you said on Friday? Hey, this is getting good now. Hmmmmmm, maybe I should remind you of some? What exactly made you blush?

 

Let’s see, what else should I respond to? Yes, I do like French fries. I eat them quite a bit. I am not exactly the most healthiest eater around. I kind of enjoy eating things I like rather than focusing on things that are good for me. But I have been getting better (I’ve noticed myself gaining weight). I also eat a lot of red meat. Booo Hisss. I guess I am just bad news to you “healthy, eat-right people.” But you admitted it yourself, that old morning Pop Tart will get you every time. Now getting back to your question—No, I never finished my fries. The reason...the night before I was up sick, and the fries just did not appeal to me after I ordered them.

 

What else? My ego. Let’s just say I know what I am capable of and have no reason to prove anything. Rather, I am just there to help others learn what they are capable of doing. I guess confidence has a lot to do with it.

 

But look at you. You have to be pretty confident in yourself, too. Prove it, you say? Ok, just look at your site. Look at the number of hits you get! You have to be doing something right. And look at those pictures you posted. Those are some pretty compromising poses. I could never do that. And hey, you’re the one who challenged me to the arm wrestle. Pretty bold!! Talk about confidence.

 

You know, I had that same funny image of you arm wrestling me in that bar today. Déjà vu! But my image had you dressed in that non-traditional black martial arts outfit again. Hmmmmmmm.

 

Hmmmmmmm, hold on. I am still thinking of it.

 

Ok, I am ready now.

 

Are you my master? Interesting question. I better leave that one alone.

 

Moving on…

 

I reminded Ringo this morning of the bet. I don’t think he remembers making one (one too many beers). But, he said he would honor it. There is a sucker born every minute (I can say that about him because we have been friends for so long).

 

Ok, back to work. You’ve been goofing off too long!! (Just kidding.)

 

Talk to you later,

 

Tyler

I sat on my terrace and watched the slow, late-night life of the city nine stories below. The November air chilled me, but I welcomed its purity and simplicity. Mouse slept in the bed—his dark, muscular body strewn across the mattress amid a tangle of sheets. He would keep stretching in all directions until he felt me next to him. Even his subconscious fed his controlling behavior.

I had that itchy feeling you get in a relationship that has more negative points than positive ones. I loved Mouse, but I couldn’t take his obsessive controlling and name-calling anymore. I had started to believe it—that no one else could ever love me, that I was stupid, that I was only good for sex. He constantly told me that I was nothing special, that my drive to work out only meant I was average, and that my blond hair was the most attractive feature about me. But I also felt empty without him. I couldn’t face that emptiness.

On the sidewalk below me, a woman rushed out the door of a bar, laughing. The door burst open again, and man stumbled out, shouting, “I’ll arm wrestle you for it! Hey, give me that.” I couldn’t see what she held, but I thought of Tyler. What if Mouse was wrong? What if someone else could love me? What if Tyler could? Tyler and his sweet e-mails, his strong arms. I shook the idea off and curled up on the couch with Quentin, Mangus, and my burgundy chenille blanket. I had already made up my mind to leave again before Mouse woke up.

Tyler had another e-mail waiting for me.

I came home to Mouse’s rage. When I walked in the doorway of the apartment, he slowly stood up from the couch and walked toward me with his head down. “Shut the door,” he said. Feeling cornered in the narrow hallway but also obligated to do his bidding, I swung the door shut behind me and dropped my gym bag on the hardwood floor. My cat Quentin jerked from his position on the windowsill. My other cat, Mangus, was nowhere to be seen.

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

His low voice sent chills up my spine even though I’d heard it a million times before. “Mouse, you know I had a lot of work to do today. I have to get the web site caught up from last weekend’s competition in D.C.” I was determined not to let him corner me. I turned my body toward the wall and brushed past him into the kitchen. Even in the midst of the tension between us, I sensed his body rising as I swept past, and I felt the presence of his dark, muscular chest and broad shoulders. I opened the fridge and bent to find my yogurt.

“You’re nice and rumpled looking.” He took a step closer to me. “Did you give yourself a little bonus on your way home from work? Stop off for a little side action with another guy?”

I pulled out the yogurt and pushed the fridge door shut. My anger was rising, but I was determined not to let him manipulate me.

“With that web designer who trains with you at the gym?”

I opened a drawer and pulled out a spoon.

“Who is it, cunt?” He said the last word as though it were a term of endearment, but he forced the t sound out with a rush of breath. He never raised his voice.

I threw the spoon on the counter. “Goddammit, Mouse. You can’t call me that! You’re a jealous piece of shit—”

“Who was it, you little whore?” He was suddenly shouting, and his face was so close to mine, I saw the veins in his neck begin to bulge.

I didn’t hold back my anger anymore. I shoved him with as much force as I could. His large body budged only a couple feet, and I shoved again and again.

Hi Master Tyler,

Are you my master? I like that. Sounds cute.

Yes, I remember you! How could I possibly forget you?

I received your e-mail much earlier, but I was too embarrassed to write you back. Then I got over it. I’m kind of shy, although I know you probably don’t believe me after some of the things I said on Friday evening.

I had this funny image today of arm wrestling you in front of so many people. I would do it again any time. I guess you really don’t have a big ego, letting me win and all. Most guys would never let me win. Having a black belt in every martial arts discipline I suppose helps boost your confidence! Maybe you did it for the money! Just kidding. soo bahk doo...no, it’s soo bahk do, dummy!!! (I'm the dummy.) I’ll never forget how to say it again. You never finished your fries, did you? Ringo never gave me the money, so I think you are going to have to get it. Don’t forget our deal.

I was pretty surprised when I opened my e-mail today and found yours. Pleasantly surprised, I should say! Very nice e-mail. Sweet and thoughtful. It did make me blush, though.

 

I think my new master wanted to see me wearing this outfit instead of a martial arts uniform.I did not think you would go to my web site this weekend, but you did. Maybe I’ll wear the black outfit to the Dec. 3rd black belt test for you. Well, maybe not! I don’t think Master H would appreciate it very much.

 

My web master wrote “Lori the Valkyrie” and I hated it, but after reading your little scenario of me on the winged horse and a beautiful rainbow in the background, I think that the next photos I take will be of just that. The Valhalla sounds interesting, but I wouldn’t know how to get that image across on my web site. I like it, though.

 

Well, I have to do some more work before class tonight, so I’ll talk to you soon, Master.

 

Your loyal servant,

 

Lori

I thought of myself as a JeannieFriday night replayed in my mind. Tyler’s incredibly hot body, the Tequila shots, the arm wrestling match. What all had I said? I remember joking about choke holds. He had told me about his martial arts experience, which was impressive to say the least—25 years of training, since he was a nine-year-old boy. And I think we had talked about my obsession with I Dream of Jeannie. He looked at my web site? I had worked on the web site, femalemuscle.com, day and night for years prior to that. It had become the number one resource site for female bodybuilders, and having been one, there were obviously pictures of me on the site as well. But over the years, it was evident that sex is what sells. I added links to shemuscle.com—erotic photos and videos of muscular, tan, sexy women. I had previously posed for Brian Moss of shemuscle.com, so those photos were there as well.

But that wasn’t me. I posed for them and added sexy blogs to the web site for the business, to attract viewers and investors. I had a multitude of black teddies for these photos but, more often than not, I wore XXL T-shirts, sweatpants, and glasses when there was no camera. I viewed myself as a nerd, not as a sex fantasy.

Tyler’s attention made me feel sexy, though. He was so attractive that I found myself wondering how he could be so blatantly attracted to me. I heard the main office door open down the hall as other people started arriving. My cheeks felt warm with the anticipation of holding Tyler’s interest, and my heart pounded erratically inside my chest. It wasn’t until the office was empty again at 5:00 that I could bring myself to click the Reply button.