I get up whenever Lynn does and I see her off to work. All she has to do is put down her empty coffee cup and I refill it instantly. When she comes in the door at night, she gets a foot massage. I respond very well to a raised eyebrow or a cleared throat from my mistress, and she can still make me shudder just by pinning me with that steely glare, or licking her lips.
I didn't move in until my first book was on the shelves, and I still own my little house to this day, renting it out to nice lesbians whenever I can. I am reluctant to ever give up my financial independence, but Lynn has demanded, and gotten, everything else I have to give. She has adjusted very nicely to not living alone. “Just do everything exactly as I tell you,” she said with a smile the day I came to stay for good, “and we'll get along just fine.” She still maintains a certain distance, and I treat her like a queen. She won't permit anything less.
Jay and Sallie have meekly succumbed to the pleasures of living with Lynn as well. Her leftovers are better than mine, but she hasn't washed a dish in five years, and she never will if I can help it.
I cringe to think how my life would have turned out if I had given up on passion. When she comes home in a little while, she'll put on her boots and summon me to her room. I'm already wetting myself as I sit here writing.
I hear the garage door going up. Please excuse me. Lynn doesn't like to be kept waiting.
