Her Old-Fashioned BossBy: Laylah Roberts
A Note from Laylah
Well, I guess this is the part where I bare all and hope people don’t stare and snicker.
In my early teens I was overweight, in my late teens and twenties I was far too thin, and now I am, well, curvy, I guess. I have to constantly remind myself that I am not overweight because my mind keeps reverting back to thinking that I must lose weight. I look fat. I must diet and so on….
When I was fourteen I was sent to a nutritionist to lose weight and it became an addiction for me. I started to get all these nice compliments. It became almost like a game (doesn’t that sound awful?) but I wanted to see how much more I could lose, I felt euphoric each day when I hopped on the scales and it was lower than the day before.
When I was at my lowest point, I was around nineteen and I weighed around 42-44 kilos (about 90-95 pounds?). I’m five foot six. I never thought of myself as having an eating disorder because I still ate. Only a handful of cereal for breakfast and a tiny bit of salad for lunch and dinner weren’t really enough to keep me going
I became anemic and my friends and family started to grow terrified. With the help of a great doctor and support from those around me I managed to get through the worst of it.
But some issues linger on.
I still find myself wanting to go on every fad diet. I look in the mirror and often don’t like what I see. I get a thrill each time someone says I look like I’ve lost weight.
And I chew and spit.
The chewing and spitting began in the midst of the anorexia. As the years have continued I’ve managed to gain more control over the urge to binge and spit, and rarely do it now.
I read a review once where someone asked why most of my female characters have problems with food. I guess because all of my characters have a little bit of me. So I decided to do one story that deals with eating disorders and body image.
But this is just a story. Everything in it is fictional. It’s just my take on Sam, Roarke and Ava and their relationship. I wanted to highlight chewing and spitting in this story because it seems to be a hidden eating disorder. I never knew about it. Until I had it.
Love to all,
“Are you getting sick of me?”
Roarke, who’d been in the middle of rolling out of bed, stilled at the quiet question and turned around to gape at Sam.
His lover. His submissive.
Sam stared back at him, his startlingly blue eyes serious.
“What the hell would make you say that?” Roarke asked, working hard to suppress his building panic. He had to remain in control. He was the Dom. Whatever was going on here he could fix.
Except if Sam decided to leave him. Roarke could refuse to let him go, could follow him wherever went, but it would probably do little good. Once Sam made a decision he stuck with it.
Sam shrugged, a surprisingly elegant movement. The sheet covering his chest slipped, displaying his mouth-watering abs, his perfectly tanned skin.
Sam was perfection. Gorgeous, generous, sexy beyond belief.
Roarke would not lose him.
“Sam. Tell. Me. What. You. Meant.” Roarke put plenty of Dom into his voice, shocked when Sam just stared at him with a sad smile.
Roarke floundered, unable to find his voice. Sam had always obeyed him, looked to him to lead. They’d been together five years and, although there had been an adjustment period in the beginning, they worked together perfectly.
“Are you asking for punishment, pet?” he asked in a low voice. A small shiver crossed Sam’s body. Finally, some reaction. Roarke’s relief was tremendous. For a moment he’d worried that he’d lost Sam already.
“Maybe. At least then you’d be touching me,” Sam said sadly.
“What are you talking about? I touch you.”
Sam shrugged again. “Not really. You give me the occasional kiss or pat.”
“We had sex three nights ago,” Roarke pointed out.
Sam sat up, leaning against the wooden headboard. “Yes, and it was nice.”
Nice? Nice! Talk about damned by faint praise.
“But we haven’t played in months. I thought…I had hoped...” Sam faltered for the first time.
“Yes?” Roarke asked, pushing him, even though he didn’t know whether he could stand any more dints to his pride.