… solipsubmissive …

“Your service is essentially selfish, elise.”

Stung, i tilted my head and looked at him.  my brows drew together in an assessing frown that scrunched up the skin between them.  G laughed and ruffled my hair.  The frown turned into a scowl and i pulled away from his hand.  “i don’t understand what you mean,” i said, my tone neutral.

“Well.”  He nodded at the space on the floor beside his chair and i slipped into my place at his feet, propped my chin on his knee and curled my legs beneath me.  He smiled.  “It makes you happy to be there, doesn’t it, elise?”

i nodded.

“So, in pleasing me, in demonstrating your service in such a way, you’re pleasing yourself.”

i thought about that a moment, then shook my head, unable to accept this concept of selfishness in service.  “i would agree, G, if my motivation was to please myself.  But it isn’t.  my motivation is to please you.”

He laughed.  “So motivated to please me you’re arguing with my logic?”

i dug my chin into his knee and narrowed my eyes.  “i’m not selfish,” i said stubbornly.

G didn’t flinch.  i released the pressure from my chin and laid my cheek on the abused spot, my hair spilling down the length of his calf to the floor.  my troubled eyes found his, and while i watched, his deepened to the brown-velvet i loved, soft and tender.  His hand found my cheek and i closed my eyes and sighed.  “Moppet,” he said in a warm voice as he pulled me up into his arms, “you’re so submissive, you’re almost solipsistic.”

“What does that mean?” i murmured against his lips.

“Look it up,” he growled, and then solipsism, selfishness and even submission were forgotten for a while.

Later, of course, i did look it up.  None too pleased, i stalked him into the backyard, where he and a friend were trimming some brush from around the fenceline.  It was hot, sticky work, and they both looked irritable, but i plunged recklessly ahead.  “i am not solipsistic.  It’s a horrid thing to be.”

“Tea would be good just now, elise.”  His eyes had a hint of warning in them.  i folded my lips, then my arms, and stood my ground.  He gave me a long look, then went back to work, turning his back on me for the time being.  i waited a moment, seething, for him to turn back around, to acknowledge me and the discussion i wanted.  When he didn’t, i went back inside.

Guilt hit me about halfway up the stairs, of course, and i went into the kitchen, made them both a tall glass of tea, and put some more in a small ice chest.  i lugged it all down there and left it near where they were working without a word.  G still didn’t look at me, though his friend smiled and thanked me.  i wandered back into the house, alone.

Some hours later, after the brush was cleared, after his friend had gone home, and after a rejuvenating shower, G leaned over the back of the chair in which i was seated, reading.  He slid his hands down over my shoulders to cup my breasts and pressed a kiss against my ear.  “All i meant, you infuriating little girl, is that you cannot conceive of not being someone’s everything.”

i caught my breath.  “Am i your everything, G?”

He straighted, tugged on a dark curl, and walked away, saying, “You’re … something, elise.”

Which, you know, wasn’t really an answer.