I blinked as my eyes slowly adjusted. And there, sitting between my legs with a sheepish grin on his face, was my boyfriend, Cody. So, do I have your ...ermission now? . . . . . What the fuck, Cody?! I was aghast. My timid boyfriend had actually tied me up in the middle of the night, teased me as I laid there, helpless, and threatened both my safety and his own, all the while knowing that I was most certainly being turned on because he was being dominate. He just sat there with that stupid. Over twenty years ago when I was fourteen, I had a huge crush on Rick Springfield, and his image was the first I saw. Actually, it must have been some thirty images of him, plastered all over the first two pages. Black and white pictures from the newspapers, colored ones from the magazines, overlapping in a shabby-chic array, which is very tiresome to the eye. Rick Springfield wearing a red leather jacket, Rick in a black T-shirt, Rick at a concert, caught in midair, kicking his legs to one. More

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