He was everything I fear I'm not -- slender, athletic, well-hung, with a bright, white smile. Man, was he gorgeous. I spent all the time I could in his company, and eventually, over the course of many drunken evenings of card-playing (hearts, I think), I arranged a wager. The loser would clean the winner's room. I think neither of us was surprised (he was no idiot) when I lost, and without our really talking about it, I became his maid.
I did his laundry, and made his bed, and swept his floor, and polished his shoes, and even massaged his feet. I couldn't have been happier, especially when he told me that I could be his butler one day. "What will my duties be?" I asked. "To do whatever I tell you." *Swoon.*
He enjoyed ordering me around, and loved to make me perform small, humiliating tasks. One day I had to stand in his closet while he showered. Another day I was his footrest. More than once, I got down on my hands and knees and kissed his lovely feet.
Like so many insanely intense college relationships, ours ended. I transferred to a different school and we fell out of touch.
Bah. Enough nostalgia already.
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