Nevertheless, I still found myself rebelling against her
fondling me in public, and the matter came to a head one night,
after I had been living with her about six weeks, when she was
entertaining her friends at her home. I was circulating through
the crowd serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres when I heard one of
Bonnie’s girl friends asking her when she was going to marry me.
Bonnie threw back her head and roared with laughter. “Marry
him!” she exclaimed. “Why should I marry him? I own him! He’s
my little toy. You don’t marry a toy; you play with it, and when
you get bored with it you throw it away.” Turning to me, where I
was serving drinks several feet away, she said, “Isn’t that
right, Baby Buns?”
I put the tray down and went over to her. “I didn’t hear
that,” I said.
She chuckled, put one arm around my waist and pulled me
against her. “I made up a little poem about you, Baby Buns. Want
to hear it?”
I flushed. “Well, I don’t know…”