I keep thinking about Our shared meal yesterday. I thought about it most of the way home last night. I thought about it some more when I was trying to sleep last night. It was on my mind more than once today.
You said to me, as you set my glass of Diet Pepsi out of my reach, “You’re drinking wine with your meal.” Brain was less than pleased. Pussy said Wheeeee! As the meal continued there was a subtle choreography between You, my wine glass, my water glass, and I. It was smoking hot. I don’t know why others seemed not to notice. I don’t know why the very table didn’t spontaneously combust.
When we were winding down, I came back to the table to find a slab of dessert at my place. A dessert I would not have thought about asking for given the generosity of potato chips that had occurred throughout the weekend. A dessert that would have been exactly what I would have chosen for myself. Scorching hot. Seriously. I am surprised there wasn’t steam escaping from my genitalia.
Thank you for finding ways to show me I’m owned, in full view of an unknowing public. It really isn’t all about the beatings.
Today I am grateful for: quiet
Today’s funny moment: “Free rose” advert.
Sad moment: a return to technology
Water: 4 liters
Corset: not worn
Hood: 2 hours