He sits there, moderately preoccupied, reading and watching the movie I've put on to distract myself. I notice His empty cup and rush to refill it. He smiles and thanks me. No thanks needed, my Master.
Later He looks at me and winks. He winks at me a lot. He tells me He loves me even more often than He winks. I have always lived for those words. I'm a whore for them. And men deliver. I've never met a man who didn't. Some women, too. Yes, you love me. How many have I loved in return?
And can I love this one?
Or will I never love again...
Laters