My husband had always said I was welcome to anytime the right man (or woman) came alone. At around 1 a.m. the party started to break up and we headed home. It was not far to our home and when we arrived I made coffee and broke out the Bailey’s. We went back into the comfortable media room and as I sat next to Greg I let my skirt ride up to give both men a good view of my thighs. We had the home theatre on HBO and a show called Real Sex was on. The sound was muted but the sex scenes of couples making out were very hot. The couples had been in a mud pit at a spa and were hosing off one another and that led to feeling and fucking. The atmosphere was electric. I could see Greg’s eyes wandering over my body and I made it a point to bend over and act like I was rubbing a smudge mark off the hardwoods so that my cleavage was in line with him. He looked down at my legs and said he certainly thought my outfit was attractive tonight. I said that I was hoping for sexy not. A web of her own choosing! She watched with morbid fascination as the spider sat perfectly still on the edge of the web, waiting for the grasshopper to either free itself or resign itself to its fate. It eerily resembled her groom standing at the altar, waiting for her, the beautiful bride. But would she be walking down that aisle, presenting herself as a willing sacrifice?Sacrifice, what an interesting word, she mused. It was a term that she'd heard and seen played out most her life. Her mother and father had used it at her first trial and her grandmother had used it at her second. It was the one word that had swayed an inane legal system to provide therapy in a hospital rather than prison time. The judge had even used it to justify his ruling.Her grandmother had used the term as well. That was no surprise since her mother had taught her its meaning all her life. She'd taught the young girl early that sometimes a person had to sacrifice parts of themselves in order to get what they.
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