Oh my darling, thank you for your page hits from Russia, Lebanon (dear God I hope it's not that bad), and Iran, not to mention Woodbury, NY and Schenectady. Maybe I had the date of your flight wrong. That's what I get for not wearing a watch. Oh my dearest, I am cracking myself up just now. I am sipping from an ice-filled glass, but of course, though I haven't had very much. I have a confession to make - in the last few days I have become addicted to Victorian semi-literary (certainly literate and colorful) porn. Here is Chapter 37 of Walter's insanely mad adventures which I am quite enjoying and using in behavioral-conditioning fashion as little rewards to get me to do other things such as abdominal crunches, going for walks, and cooking up ginger-cilantro chicken. Darling, I'm kidding, of course, to a point, but I do picture you and me, a bit, at least having fun. That Walter was one debauched guy with a seeming unending stream of shillings and everything else. And I marvel at his courtesans, they're in it for the money, and yet they seem (most of them) to take a great deal of pleasure too. The thought has crossed my mind - was I a courtesan in a past life? If so, that's a twig from the family tree that's been suppressed.
My dearest, I am spent just now - though not, alas, in the way Walter means. Oh I do look forward to throwing my arms around you and you having your wicked way with me and then we'll have a good laugh and maybe order some take-out.
Oh let me launch this little post for now, and go feed the cats - Gwynnie is driving me crazy with Subtle Hints. Back later perhaps, my dearest - oh you -