In February, 2012, as I worked to complete my book, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was thrust into a world of MRIs, visits to the cancer clinic, operations, radiation. I was afraid. Yet, to my surprise, I found myself writing in a more focused way than ever before, with more efficiency and less drama. Even on bad days, I headed to my desk. By disappearing into writing, I had a refuge, and to my surprise the stories I had been having trouble finishing finished themselves. The cancer may have nailed me, but I really felt, as I sat writing under that apple tree, that I was nailing it back.
So I received a proposition this week from a man I met online. I'm still trying to decide if it's indecent. Is it different? Yes. Freaky? Borderline. Am I considering it? Hmmmm...kind of. This large, manly, uber sexy hunk has an unusual desire: He wants to be my domestic. That's right. Domestic. As in as in down on his hands and knees, cleaning my toilets and floors and whatever else I want him to do.