Dear Master

At times, it's hard for me to sleep when you're lying in bed next to me. I toss and turn; I spend countless minutes studying your face and committing each new sound you make to memory.

This must be a dream; you must be. How did I -- this middle-aged, emotional, perimenopausal woman -- manage to get here?

I'm not sure I believe in luck, per se, but I can't help but feel that way. Maybe fortunate is a better word. Or blessed. All I know is...I must have done something good.

And if so master may we try this tomorrow

Thank you

Slave