***
Friday, I write myself a prescription, actually for Douglas. His impotence is becoming boring and in noting that on at least two occasions his p***s somewhat firmed, I know his condition is not physical, that the erectile chambers of his manhood can become engorged and bring tumescence. It’s a mental condition, the duress of having the good cop, Ms. Ann Cromwell, zap his genitals time after time, whenever her governance fostered arousal, has manifested perennial flaccidness.
I will begin an opposite protocol, rewarding Douglas whenever he stiffens for me, the reward being most limited. I would not bring ultimate pleasure to a male under my control, my non-vanilla side would wither in dismay. Instead, I will entertain myself, and others.
Saturday morning it’s to the hardware store.
