Alas.


There was a time, not too long ago, when I had me my Me Only Room.

It was mine, all mine; it was a place I could go to, to read, to write, to listen to music, to watch porn, to do whatever. I’d put up the NO GIRLS ALLOWED chain across the stairs and retire to my sanctum sanctorum.

Life was bliss.

Then Miss Carol and me visited her sister. And Miss Carol rode her sister’s Peloton. And Miss Carol decided she just had to have her own Peloton. She gushed it’s wonderfulness all the way home.

And I said- but where would we put it in our little house?

Miss Carol paused for half a breath and said- upstairs.

And I said- but that’s my Me Only Room.

Miss Carol shrugged You don’t use it THAT much, she said.

So it happened.

I went upstairs just recently to see what Miss Carol had wrought and it looks like a gym and smells like a sweaty Miss Carol.

I turned, and shoulders slumping, trudged back down the stairs, never to retun.

But cry not for me, because now that Miss Carol has transformed my Me Only Room into her She Only Gym I have-


My Me Only Chair.
Life is once again sunny and bright.

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