Wednesday 9th April 2014



Hello, Peeps,

I thought I’d open a page for April on the off chance I might get around to actually writing something this month. Though to be fair, I have wrung out a few more book chapters from the depths of my tortured houseboy soul. I know a few of you are eager for the new book to be released (you really need to get out more) and I wish I could give a date, but I can’t. All I can say is I am working on it, in between all my other duties. Watch this space.

I’ve had some nice emails of late and as usual I am well behind in replying, so I’ll take the opportunity to sincerely thank everyone who has written to me. Thank you very kindly for sharing thoughts and kind words. :)

I’m posting another small excerpt from the forthcoming book, just to prove I am actually doing some writing. It’s in no particular order, so you’ll have to guess at the context and wonder what has gone before (hear my evil laugh… muhahaha)

Ciao for now!


Monday 14th April 2014

Good morning, houseboy fans<waves at Doris and Walter>thought I’d drop in for a natter.

It’s a gorgeous morning here in my small portion of Blighty. The sun is shining from a clear blue sky and the birds are singing. It’s chilly, but in a fresh way.

Excuse me a minute while I pick a bit of bacon out of my teeth. I do love a bacon sarnie, especially when I feel it’s been earned, but it does tend to get stuck between the molars and one does not want to risk an infection from piggy bits decomposing between the teeth.  How have I earned my bacon buttie I hear you ask while simultaneously trying to blink away horrible images of rotting pig flesh? Well. I’ve been up since six. I fed and watered the bears and got them off to work looking smart and well turned out. I’ve changed the bed, cleaned the bathrooms and kitchen and got a load of washing done and hung outside to dry in the prevailing breeze. I’ve dusted and hoovered and generally got the place shipshape. Top points for the houseboy.

So what else have I been up to of late? Oh, you know, the usual everyday stuff, plus some outdoor toil. I’m reorganising the gardens at the front and the back of the quasi mansion. I’ve been thinning out some of the shrubs and digging over the beds. The front garden in particular was suffering from an overgrowth of white Jasmine. I like the scent of the flowers, but it does tend to try and colonise the entire garden, sending out long runners and strangling anything that stands in its path. It’s a thug with a pretty face. It was taking over everything, so it had to go. I’ve kept a few cuttings, which I’ll grow in pots to keep control of it. I want to have another go at creating a veggie patch this year. I’m also thinking of putting in some fruit trees. I’ve cleaned out the all the dead winter gunk from the pond and put in a new fountain pump. Gardening with Gillibran Brown…blah, blah…

I gave the household gods a bit of a turn last Friday night. I’m often accused of being a pain in the arse, but for the last month or so I’ve actually been suffering from a pain in the arse, and no, not as a result of hand trauma from Daddy displeasure. The problem started as a bit of a dull ache and tingling in my left buttock. I didn’t mention it to the men folk because I didn’t want them fussing. I reckoned I’d pulled a muscle while running or gardening and thought it would eventually go away. It was manageable at first, just a bit annoying, but over the course of last week it got worse and worse until it became a distinct pain that radiated all the way down my left leg. I didn’t want my activities curbing so I stayed stum, until Friday night. The pain had been nagging at me all day, but I’d kept it at bay with meds.

Anyway, I’d got the men folk seated at the dinner table and was serving up a first course of homemade carrot and coriander soup when the pain in my bum suddenly accelerated. I swear it was like being struck in the arse with an arrow from a crossbow. It was fucking excruciating. My entire leg felt electrified. Dropping the ladle back in the soup tureen I let rip with an almighty ROAR followed by a string of meaty expletives. The pain was so bad I felt beads of sweat pop out on my forehead. It was almost as bad as the infamous root ginger incident.

The men folk’s reaction was legend. Poor Dick had just taken a bite out of a bread roll. The poor bugger nearly choked when I began bellowing. He spat out the plug of bread and shot to his feet, his eyes almost popping out of his head with shock, as I gripped the table edge with one hand and my left arse cheek with the other while screeching out my agony. Fuck stoicism. I was in torturous hell and I wanted everyone to know it.

Shane shoved back his chair and then clamped his hands to his chest as if trying to stop his heart from exploding out of it.  Taking a deep breath, he bellowed above my clamour, demanding to know what the fucking hell was going on. When I didn’t reply he grasped me around the waist and pulled me onto his lap. Applying a firm slap to the top of my thigh he told me to get a grip, stop squealing, and explain what the hell was ailing me or he’d smack my arse a shade of purple.

I did not want more pain in the rear vicinity and hastily divvied up details of my agony. He sent Dick to fetch me a couple of anti-inflammatory painkillers. After I’d taken them he pushed me off his lap and briskly undid my trousers. He tugged them down along with my briefs before pulling me back on his lap, only face down. Fears of a spanking were unfounded. He vigorously massaged my butt cheek until the worst of the spasm had passed. He then began poking and prodding at it, asking where it felt most tender. His fingers hit a spot that made my leg shoot out behind me and set me yelling afresh. In best ruthless fashion he ignored my protests, told me to stop being a big baby and continued prodding.

Being an expert sadist and dispenser of exquisite agony and fine torment Shane does actually know a thing or two about the workings of the body. It’s a matter of care and safety. In his opinion Dominants need to have a thorough knowledge of nerve, muscle and tendon structure so as to reduce risk of injuring their subs during  strenuous bondage sessions.

After probing, questioning and scolding in equal measure, he declared my malady to be Piriformis syndrome. Huh?

Apparently the Piriformis is a flat muscle at the top of the buttock. It can become inflamed and swollen, leading it to compress the sciatic nerve and cause agonising pain. He crossly accused me of bringing it upon myself via sloppy running techniques and failure to warm up correctly.

The painkillers combined with the brutal massage eased the pain and we continued as per normal, or as normal as it ever gets in our house.

Once dinner was done and digested Shane bade me fetch one of Dick’s golf balls and follow him upstairs with it. Now, had Dick bade me fetch a golf ball and follow him upstairs, I’d have headed for the nearest church to claim sanctuary, fearing he’d had one of his kink attacks and wanted to use my love tunnel for putting practice.

It did cross my mind that Shane might want to use the golf ball in lieu of a ball gag by means of punishment for my vocal hysteria. He didn’t. He wanted to use it as a massage aid. A tennis ball would be better, but seeing as we didn’t have one, the golf ball would have to suffice. Eh?

He told me to put on my running shorts and lay out the exercise mat. I did so He then had me sit on the golf ball, and roll around on it, so it was pressing on the tenderest parts of my buttock, the trigger points. It bloody hurt, but he insisted I do it for as long as I could. This, he claimed, would help release the constricted Piriformis muscle and help stop it nipping the sciatic nerve.

Once I’d rolled the ball under my arse cheek for as long as I could stand it, he drilled me through a set of buttock and hamstring stretches. Ball rolling and stretches were followed by hot and cold compresses. I spent most of Friday evening over his or Dick’s knee with either ice or heat packs pressed to my sweet little derrière. We repeated the process several times on Saturday and Sunday, using a tennis ball bought especially for the purpose. It left no pockmarks, unlike the golf ball, and it really did help. I’m much better today. I’m a bit tender, but there’s no pain. Touch wood. (Taps self on head)

Well, that’s enough ball talk and jibber jabber from me. I’ve finished my well-earned bacon sarnie and mug of tea. I’m going to brush my teeth and head out to a garden centre with Eileen to pick up some bags of compost. It’s an exciting life I lead. 



Tuesday 15th April 2014

It’s either a glut or a famine. Here I am again.

It’s another fine day here, almost summery. I’d planned to spend most of the day outside, working in the gardens, but in the end I only pottered for an hour or so without any real advancement. My Piriformis started to ache again and I didn’t fancy another full-blown attack of excruciating agony. I abandoned gardening in favour of lying on the couch watching a DVD while eating an Easter egg, an early gift to myself. I’ll roll my buttock over a tennis ball later and do some more stretches. I hope it goes away soon. It’s a pain in the arse having a pain in the arse.

I had ideas about working some more on my book this afternoon, but I can’t seem to concentrate. I wrote about three sentences and then my motivation just upped and died. See, if you could all pop around to my place I could verbally rattle off my life and times while you supped coffee, no probs, but writing it seems like a Herculean task. I’m still detailing the events of Christmas 2008. It’s turning into a bloody epic! Looking back, I can see what a bad place I was in. The seriousness of my mum’s illness and its inevitable outcome was creeping up on me. All sorts of memories were coming back to haunt me. I gave Dick and Shane a hard time that Christmas, though to be fair, they gave me a tough time too, especially Shane. He proved what a tough Daddy he can be.

I have my last singing lesson in the morning. I’ve enjoyed them. Maggie, the singing teacher, has been great. She put me at ease straight away. I was really nervous at first, in case she said I was crap, but she didn’t. She said I have a good vocal range. I’ll keep on with the breathing and voice exercises she’s taught me at home. I feel a bit of a prat doing them, but they have improved my technique.

I suppose I ought to be thinking about preparing dinner. I’m making a chicken curry, yum.



May


 
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