Page 18 of Passionate Defense

“Definitely.” She leaned in and disclosed, “I have several plaid skirts in my closet. Those scenes are lots of fun. Unless Dr. Anderson puts on his psychoanalytical Freudian hat. Then things can get very real.”

“How so?”

She took a long sip of her raspberry mojito before explaining. “Several years back, I was going through a very stressful period. My dad passed away suddenly and my younger sister, seventeen at the time, came to live with us for a while. Steven was very supportive, but it messed me up. I’m the oldest of four girls. Our mother passed when I was only nine and as the eldest, I became a surrogate mother of sorts. With Dad at work, the three younger girls looked to me to take care of them, so I had to grow up fast. When my sister came to stay, it was like with my mother, all over again.”

“Oh, honey...”

“Yeah. Like I said, it messed me up. Steven had some clinical term for it, something about unresolved grief—blah, blah, blah. He can go on for days with his psychobabble. Whatever.”

Beth rolled her eyes and tossed back the dregs of her drink. Lifting her empty glass, she signaled to their server for round three—or was it four?

“We’ll have to call the guys for a ride.”

“Yeah, Steven says I should limit myself to two drinks when in public. He’ll be upset.” Beth winked at her. “Isn’t that a shame?”

“You are a brat.”

“So I’ve been called by my daddy many times.” Another mojito appeared in front of them as they laughed. When the server left, Beth looked at her blankly. “Where was I?”

“Psychobabble.”

“Oh yeah. After Dad passed, my sister stayed with us for about six months until she graduated and was off to college. During that time, Dr. Anderson became concerned with my lack of grieving. I hadn’t cried, you see. It was the same with my mother. I threw myself into my responsibilities for my family, suppressing my grief, which caused me to get stuck in one of the stages, most likely denial. I never worked through the other stages, especially anger. His treatment plan was to have me deal with my unresolved issues and emotions, rediscover my inner child, and move on.” She blinked at Lanie, glassy-eyed. “See, psychobabble mumbo jumbo.”

“It seems to make sense though.”

“It does, now. Back then I thought it was farfetched, especially when he insisted on pushing little Beth and regressing her all the way back to infancy. ‘To start from the very beginning for a total power exchange weekend,’” she said in a spot-on imitation of her husband’s Boston accent. “It was a long four-day holiday weekend, too. Immersion therapy, he called it.” She shrugged. “Whatever the term, it worked. Without being too explicit, day one was devoted to baby Beth, full of—if you can believe it—pacifiers, bottles, cuddles, and nap time. There were also lots of spankings and tears. At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it all and resisted. I kind of panicked and he had to convince me to try it.”

“Did you?”

Beth’s vivid red cheeks were answer enough, although she put it into words. “Of course I did. The man could coax the panties off a nun.”

Lanie snorted then she giggled, which soon transformed into a full-out belly laugh that brought tears to her eyes. “Sorry, honey, but the visual of Steven and a pantiless nun after three mojitos...”

“Four, I think,” she corrected.

“Whatever. It got to me.”

Beth joined in on the laughter, not at all uptight about the conversation despite the subject matter. When they received several curious looks, they tried to stop, but that brought on more giddy peals.

Holding her aching ribs and gasping for breath, Lanie managed to say, “Please, go on. I’ll be good,” before mimicking zipping and locking her mouth.

“Can you handle a fourth?” Beth asked while she lifted her empty glass.

“Fifth, don’t you mean? But who’s counting,” she corrected, while wiping the tears from her face with her napkin as she tried to settle.

“Not the bartender, I hope,” her friend exclaimed as she flagged down the young woman waiting on them, yet again.

Once they had refills, she continued. “Day two was school-age Beth. We had a tea party, played games, and I colored. All the things I loved to do before my mom died. Of course, we had to dress up. He brought along the cutest yellow polka-dot pinafore and white patent leather shoes. He did my hair in braids—I love when he brushes my hair—there were more cuddles and naturally more spankings and tears ensued.” She sighed dramatically with a dreamy-eyed expression. “It was a wonderful day.”

This prompted another giggle from Lanie and an eye roll from Beth. “How old are you, young lady?”

“Sorry,” Lanie said, as she rubbed her aching cheeks.

“Day three was high school complete with a cheerleading outfit, which I suspect was more for Steven than for me. I was never a cheerleader, but I let him have his fantasy. We even had a first date—a car date—at an old drive-in. I didn’t realize those things existed anymore. Steven played my date for that part, got fresh, and we ended up in the back seat. My comeuppance came from Daddy Steven when I got home.” Her dreamy-eyed gaze became serious as she looked at Lanie. “By the end of the weekend, I felt free.”

“What happened on day four?”

“We cuddled, talked, and made love, simply as Steven and Beth. All weekend, I had poured out my emotions, which was exhausting, and that last day, he helped me process it all. He got me to talk about my grief and resentment, and the anger I felt toward my mother for leaving us, and me, who was still just a kid, to pick up the pieces. I ranted about all the times I needed her in high school—first date, first boyfriend, first time getting dumped by said boyfriend, first period—and how I had to figure everything out on my own.” She batted her lashes as tears threatened. “I cried for my mom, which was years in coming. Although it was fast, we recreated what I had missed and during those days, I was totally immersed in being a child in the loving hands of my daddy husband. I learned to surrender to him completely and since then, I’ve never questioned my need for it again. Neither of us has.”

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