While I do my best to write about lace curtains in this blog, I also touch upon anything historic, including restoration, interiors and the like. This current short piece may well become a prologue or epilogue for my forthcoming book "Houses & Spouses" which is the consolidated writer's versions of my infamous "Butchy Chronicles". The edited versions have been published in serialized form in Old House Interiors. I am aware of your presence, even before I’ve opened my eyes. I knew that you’d been staring at me as I slept; no matter how I turned in the bed, or drew the covers on top of me, you were there, waiting, with your insatiable desire for my attentions. Clenching my eyelids shut is of no respite; your scent is everywhere, and I can feel you on my skin and in my hair. Though the dawn is barely filtering into our room, you refuse to let me sleep a moment longer, and you nudge me awake, gently at first, and then with a growing impatience.
Of course, you shall have your way; I have yet to shower, and my hands are upon you. Soon, we shall be soaked in sweat. This will continue for hours, well past the point of exhaustion, when I will be sore and unable to continue for another moment. Then, I shall collapse; dripping, sticky and barely able to muster the strength to eat or bathe before I must sleep again.
You have drained me; before we met, my time was my own, and my days were spent in carefree wanderings. Now, you demand my every moment. I give you my all, and yet you insist upon more. Should my eyes wander, you fiercely remind me that I am yours and yours alone. I have no right to protest, for my captivity is of my own volition; I have willingly succumbed to your charms, and spend my waking hours in grateful servitude.
