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A huge bouquet of roses sits on my dressing table, many different kinds, giving off a heady scent. A card accompanies it, bearing the same handwriting...as the card with the single rose from yesterday. Roses for a perfect English rose it says and I smile. I sit for a little while painting them before taking a siesta. When I wake, I get ready for the dance, putting on a long sea green dress that clings to my upper torso but flares out below the waist, with a neckline that is low without being too. The way Amanda looks at me. The way she talks to me. The fact she desires me. It all deep down excites me. Being owned and desired, even though it was so degrading and humiliating being treated like a pet or even worse, an object to her desire. At least she desired me… No one else even batted an eye in my direction. To everyone else, I was some kind of freak or queer… I’ve heard a slew of names used at me… But no one actually wanted me… Not like Amanda does. To her, I was a treasure. To her, I. More

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