I sent Antonio an email today that included a bunch of information about my day, what I’m up to tomorrow (work in the morning, and picking up Mom from the airport in the afternoon) AND I sucked in my breath and then bashfully thanked him for his text messages today.  (I dunno why, it can be hard for me to talk about this kinda stuff.  I feel all shy and I blush like a total prude.)

I said in the email: Btw thanks for your text messages today. you had me thinking about the horrible, bitter, gag-inducing feeling and taste of drinking your hot piss. I hate the act. But I love the feeling of intimacy, humiliation, and your domination over me. It’s incredibly wonderful to feel your ownership and my status as property.

Everyone please note that I once again clarified that I hate the act of drinking piss.  I very clearly said I HATE IT. 

He replied to ONLY that portion of my email.  Wanna know what he said?  Oh, what’s that?  You DON’T want to know?  Well, that’s just too bad, innit!  He said:

Translation: You love drinking my piss, cunt.

Well then.

*ahem*

He says it – it must be. So I take it all back.  I’m officially giving up my position on hating the piss drinking.  Perhaps it’s not my business to HAVE a position on this anyway!  (Unless we’re counting “on my knees with my mouth open” as a position…Then of course, it’s entirely my business to have that position.)

I hereby declare that The Man is right, and I love it.  I love drinking his piss. 

*nods*