Yes, Sir

After the ninth day, he began to attempt new ways to exercise his power and control over me.

I was startled by the third week when he told me I needed to say "Yes, Sir" to any of his suggestions or actual commands whether they be something as simple as "Let's go to dinner at Don Quixote" or "Shut the f*** up" as this phrase of swearing was my first introduction to all the vulgarity that lay before me.

I had not had a relationship in twenty years, having never had a real boyfriend in college or even in my early thirties.  Up until I met him, I was my own woman.  Fiercely independent and much of a loner.  For the longest time, I protested on his idea that saying "Yes, Sir" was perfectly okay in his warped world.

He would coach me on just how he wanted me to say "Yes, Sir" ~ the exact vocal tone ~ the precise vocal inflection ~ a combination of sugary sweet and ultimate surrender.

"This is how you should say it," he would mimic as a demonstration, 'Yes, Sir' with that sweet smile on your face ~ 'Yes, Sir' ~ that's how I want you to do it.  Just like that."

He was a dry drunk, having been in A.A. and N.A. for ten years, and he loved to quote the program as if it applied to me.  He would tell me that "my life had become unmanageable" and that I needed to surrender to his guidance ~ let him take the lead ~ in order for my life to turn out better than it had ever been before I met him.

Yes, that's all he really wanted ~ for me to follow this lead ~ and to prove my action by saying, "Yes, Sir."

And so, he would hammer his expectations into me on nearly a daily basis.  But I held out for quite a long time ~ maybe even years ~ I do not really know exactly.  I just know that I could let him swear at me every day, but somewhere inside I still had the strength not to say, "Yes, Sir."

He would remind me that all of his other women had said "Yes, Sir" ~ all without resistance.  In fact, they actually liked saying it to him.  They liked to follow his lead.  I was different, he would remind me.

I can still see his face ~ and his sweet sugary smile ~ as he coached me in his living room ~ on how to act like I had begun to follow his lead.

"Yes, Sir ~ Yes, Sir ~ Yes, Sir," he would drum his intentions into me.

I held on as long as I could.  Until one day ~ in an act of desperation ~ I finally said it.  Probably to get him to stop pounding his giant fist into my head. 

"Yes, Sir," I finally said after three years of resistance.  I did not recognize my own voice as I spoke those words that day.  What kind of woman had I really become?

I had begun to hate myself just as much as he hated me.  I had begun to hate my body ~ and had come to believe every bit of ridicule he had spoken to me.

"Yes, Sir, Yes, Sir, whatever you say, Sir," as I pleaded with him to stop.

And I went to bed feeling like I had just sold my soul to the devil.

In order to stay alive.

In some strange twist of fate.

"Yes, Sir."