It's my fault that it's come to this. I was foolish to think that I were irreplaceable. Ever since we've experimented with different things in bed, he's been slowly drifting away. That damn butter. THAT DAMN BUTTER! I try to compose myself, but I can't. Every time I open the fridge, it stares back at me and the memories come flooding back.
How could he? How could he use my body in such a way to melt his stick of butter? I never should've let him slide that damned dairy into my body. He held me upside down in attempt to melt it into my womb, and I can only recall the feeling of my blood rushing to my head as I became his little buttered flapjack. Had my kitty smelling like a Texas Roadhouse roll for a good week and a half.
I can't believe it's come to this, but I've caught him on multiple occasions watching cooking shows on the television. I'm bewildered that it's gotten to the point where he edges to it as if it were pornography. Every time I cook a meal for him, he stands behind me watching over my shoulder. It's like foreplay for him to watch me butter the pan. Disgusting.
