I laid there on my bed in the darkness, gazing up at the ceiling with its subtle flicker of moonlight and shadow that threads its way in through my window, without thought or care as the tingling aftermath of such a euphoric rapture slowly dwindled from me, and left me but a spent shell of my former self.
It is sexual, as nearly as I can describe it.
But there is a price to pay, for my fingertips on my left hand are ground raw. Stinging now with bloodied pain. And following in the wake of this fifteen-ahn marathon of discovering the new Stringed Lady -- the one whom I had ignored in favor of my Beloved, ever since Asia bought her for me several months ago.
Am I now a flagrant betrayer of my undying devotion for my departed Beloved? For I have given myself to the new Lady like a wanton whore.
And without regret.
