Hey, wanna see my boobs?

No one is reading this because directly beneath these words of blah blah blah are boobs.  I can say whatever I want up here.  It's like a freebie.  And really, I like people looking at my boobs.  I won't get all crazy and say I dig my body, but I will say this.  It's only getting better.  I can see a little...almost foreshadowing of the body I'm sculpting this body into.  And I dig it. 

Making Sir proud by doing more cardio a week than I ever thought possible is more satisfying than these simple words can convey.  But hearing it, having him say good job or (god, still makes me so wet) good girl is so yummy.  And sadly, I'm going to equate it to sugar, because I'm a junkie.  But having him say I make him proud and the like, it's the same kinda mmmmm feeling, like when you're having a super bad sweets craving and you take a bite of a fresh baked brownie, warm from the oven, accompanied by an ice cold glass of milk. 

I actually am so grateful to have met Sir.  I'm seeing changes in me (more than just physical) that are really nice.  I think t's seeing them, too.  t can always see right through me and knows when I'm truly happy.  Or when I'm mostly happy, just kinda neurotic about something.  And nine times out of ten, he either gets me to talk about it or gets me to at least address it with Sir so I don't just zone out and pretend like nothing ever bothers me, when it's obvious I'm in my monkey brain about something.  Plus, I'm pretty sure Sir has ESP.  This is unconfirmed, but I've begun collecting evidence to prove my hypothesis.

Haha, why am I still writing?  Now people might have to scroll to see boobs.
Sorry.  My bad.