If you have not read part one of this post please do so now. I'm just covering the basics and I will answer all questions later. In this post I will cover more of the vocabulary of bondage.

“Here’s your valentine’s present,” he said.

The flowers are all a-bloom in MacArthur Park. I am practicing my favorite yoga pose. After about an hour, I take the train to Hollywood and Western station. I get off and take the 180 and get off at Los Feliz and N. Commonwealth. I get back into my favorite yoga position where I pretzel my legs and bend over far enough to sniff my ass. Omg, I’m so glad I showered today.

I stared at him.

Someone once told me you can tell the difference between a cheap suit and an expensive one from a mile away. I was dubious, but perhaps they were right. As the suit He wore looked like a work of art. It was so sharp it must have been cut with razor blades. The material was so sumptuous it likely cost more than someone like me would make in a lifetime. He sat at the table before us and ate alone.

It’s not as comfortable as I imagined it would be in the closet. It’s hot and stuffy. The clothes hanging around me sit on my shoulders and on my head. There are too many shoes in here to sit comfortably. I should have bought some sort of seat. I have a perfect view of the bed through the crack in the door, though.

I wanted to hate him, or at least feel indifferent to him, but I couldn’t. As much as I hated to admit it, I wanted him. My desires became more prevalent after we followed each other on Instagram. It was there that I got to fully take in his shirtless body. Sometimes I fantasied about his muscles rippling as he took my body. I had vowed never to get involved with a coworker again, but my thoughts of him didn’t stop when I left the garden center. I wanted him, but I wasn’t sure he was obtainable. I wasn’t even sure how to go about obtaining him if I could, so I remained silent about my feelings.

“Do you want to ride?” she asked. Her accent made 'want' rhyme with 'rant' and 'ride' became 'rye-add-eh'. Doo yoo want-eh too rye-add-eh.

We all left the concert stage with huge grins on our faces. The crowd had loved us, but that was to be expected when your boss was the celebrated Star. I should not have even been there, but her keyboardist was a friend of mine and he’d gotten sick and called in a last minute favor. I’d been happy to oblige, since I knew most of the Star’s songs anyway. At that moment, the celebrity powerhouse was standing backstage with several bigwigs who were gushing over her, just as they were paid to do. I gave high fives and handshakes to several of the band members and accepted with humbleness, their sincere compliments. Many of them headed to the green room where the post concert banquet was no doubt awaiting us.

Alright, let's just get this out of the way. I know I'm super late, so fellas, get off me, and ladies who do this, you guys get off me as well. Don't judge me.

Joyce strode down the hallway angrily, hurriedly wrapping the towel around her wet body. Watery footprints trailed behind her as she wondered why Murphy’s Law had to be so damned prevalent. Why, for instance, does the phone only ring when you’re in the shower, or in this case, why someone need to ring your doorbell? She reached the front door and stood on tiptoe to peer out of the peephole. Her hot anger subsided a bit as she saw who was on the other side of the door. She swung it open and glared intentionally at her friend.

They made us sleep in different tents on the team away day, boys with boys and girls with girls, no mixed-sex sharing.