This afternoon, I found myself engrossed in the composition of a new symphony. The melodies flowed as effortlessly as the sighs of my breeding boy when I take him in my study. There is a certain artistry in both music and the act of coupling—each note, each thrust, building toward a crescendo of ecstasy. Tonight, I may indulge in a private performance, my fingers tracing the keys of the pianoforte before tracing the curves of his body. The harmony of pleasure is a symphony all its own. (Mood: Artistic)