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I got a brand new phone today, and all I want to do is change the background to a picture of Saoirse, who is rolling around on the floor in a patch of sunlight. I’m kneeling on the carpet, aiming my phone camera this way and that in the hopes of catching her in the perfect pose.

It’s not happening.

“Mrrrrow.” Saoirse keeps rolling away, her tail swishing back and forth. She only looks back when I’m adjusting the settings on my camera.

Good job, Ira. Great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

It can’t be helped. I’m still coming down from a high involving Kathleen Allen that lasted for three whole days. When she left me this morning, collar off and back in my nightstand, I felt like I was floating on the haughtiest cloud imaginable. Her number was the first one I imported to my new phone. Before my mother’s.

She said she loved me. Kathleen. Not my mother. Wait, my mother loves me. I mean…

Never mind. You know what I meant.

So let’s get back to Kathleen. Sorry, Saoirse, you’re a cute cat, and I’m sure people would love giving this non-binary Domme a hard time for having a picture of her cat as her phone background, but let’s not forget that Kathleen said she loved me last night. Even though she was acting weird sometimes. I’m not sure she actually felt those nipple clamps, as pretty as they looked hanging down her torso.

I’ve had women tell me that they love me before. I rarely loved them back. Nothing personal. It’s just… until Kathleen, I never found someone I felt worthy of my undying love.

She’s everything I want. Beautiful, smart, mouthy with a great sense of humor, good tastes, nice family (who possibly like me), is liked by my family, a real go-getter with her own independence and ability to function without me, and… well, she’s turned into a greater sub than I could have ever hoped for.

I know there’s a catch somewhere. Until it’s sprung on me, however, I’m going to sit here and fantasize about her until I’m not allowed to anymore.

Like my doorbell ringing.

“Next time.” I get up, setting my phone on my desk as the cat finally rolls toward me and purrs. I ignore her, like she ignored me for ten minutes.

There’s a skip in my step as I go to the door. Someone in love is dangerous. They don’t see the bits of debris strewn across the floor and tend to trip over them if they’re not careful. And they’re not. Hence, I only see a glimpse of blond out my peephole, and automatically assume it’s my darling buttercup.

Yes, go ahead and kill me. Oh, God, oh God please kill me. Before Eve Warner does.

“What a lucky day for me! Finding the culprit cozy at home with their…” Eve glances from me to somewhere behind me. “Their pussy, apparently.”

Saoirse meows emphatically before stalking off to her bed in the library.

“What do you want?”

I know she’s not here for business. And she sure as hell isn’t here to shoot the breeze, because we are far from friends. Nevertheless, I have no choice but to invite her into my home, where she saunters around like she owns the damned place.

Naturally, she steps toward the kitchen, perching on one of the stools by the counter.

“Consider me here on a fact-finding mission, Mathison.” She sounds like a reporter. A reporter that nobody takes seriously, which isn’t difficult to imagine, since her spiky blond hair clashes with her dark gray pantsuit. “Because there are a lot of facts I would like from you.”

I stand before her, hands in my pockets. I can hear my mother admonishing me for my bad manners in the back of my mind… because what I need is for my mother to show up and make this situation even worse.

“What is it that you want to know, Ms. Warner?” I’m nowhere near as playful.

“Oh, well, I’m sure you can guess that this has to do with my good friend Kathleen, whom you are not only fucking, but dominating as well!”

My hands pull from my pockets so my arms can cross. “She’s been talking to you, huh?”

“She only told me about the fucking a few weeks ago. I’ve deduced the latter, although she won’t confirm it. In fact, she won’t return most of my messages, so I can only assume that things are ugly. Am I right? Do let me know how angry I should be with you.”

I don’t know how she manages to not say, “And you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” At any rate, I can only meet her rueful gaze with a small smile.

“I shouldn’t be kissing and telling. If she’s not telling you, her good friend, something… then perhaps it isn’t any of your business.”

Of course, this isn’t going to fly with her. Eve is the type of woman who wants to be obeyed yesterday. On the Midnight grapevine, both from friends and subs I’ve hooked up with, Eve has a lot of fun taunting people and dragging them on silly sexual adventures. Why would her bantering with me be any different?

Although this bantering could quickly turn ugly. She’s also the type of woman to protect her friend if, for some reason, she thought there was a problem.