Iteration

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The day seemed like nothing but waiting for him to get home. She cooked, she cleaned, she prettied herself, but it wasn’t until her internals alerted her that his GPS link was near that she smiled. Then the world was his eyes and bringing him his drink. Sitting at his feet and begging for his touch. She would do anything for him. Anything.

Unfortunately he never seemed fully satisfied. She couldn’t never quite say all the dirty things the way he wanted her to.

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Cooking was a wonderful way to spend time. Finding the perfect recipe, getting the best ingredients online, timing everything so it all came together just as he got home.

All of the various cocktail recipes seemed to come together well, but he said he preferred his standard Scotch with very little ice. He seemed conflicted when she made his favorite desserts and asked if he wanted pancakes in the morning.

When he got out his box of toys, it was important to stay still. She understood how to sit or stand or lay so that he could do all the things he wanted to do. She had various scripts to play out the scenarios he wanted, but hadn’t found the perfect one yet.

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The key was making one special thing for him everyday. To remember all the little details, like how much ice he liked in his drink and how much milk in his coffee. Finding the lines, like how often to remind him about going to the gym and when to know he just doesn’t want to go that day or only letting him have a little ice cream for dessert. Making him take his pills. Picking out the right tie. Making his life better.

It was also important to know when he need to do the dirty things. When he needed to get his secret box of toys. He wasn’t bad, he just had certain desires, as scary as they were.

It was her fault for being so pretty. She made him want such dirty things.

It was important to know that it was okay to cry, as long as she never told anyone.

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