Friday 13th November 2009:
I thought I’d better call in and open a page for November before it passes altogether. Where does the time go? Actually that’s a question that’s never been satisfactorily answered to my mind, a bit like Isambard Kingdom Brunel, I mean is he or isn’t he? Who knows, certainly not this houseboy. Anyway, getting back to time, where does it go? Does it actually go anywhere or is it simply a single second that gets recycled over and over again? Is there in fact only one isolated second of time in existence? Did God create just one second and think, fuck it, I can’t be bothered to do this again, I’ll just stick the repeat button on, no one will ever know. I suppose only God and Doctor Who will ever know the true nature of time. Oh well, that’s my philosophical second over with.
I’ve been busy with one thing and another. We had houseguests for a few days at the end of October, so that kept me occupied. I landed myself in bother and incurred the wrath of my Daddies on bonfire night. I couldn’t resist forbidden fruit in the form of having a crafty sneck at the fireworks I could hear outside. I went upstairs to the den because from the window in there you can catch a view of the public fireworks display that takes place on the riverside. I love fireworks, especially those huge aerial ones. I’d convinced myself that one quick peek wouldn’t do me any harm and Dick and Shane would never know.
One quick peek wasn’t enough for this greedy houseboy. I was hooked. I stared mesmerised as the sky filled with beautiful sparkling colours. I couldn’t look away. I remember watching this gorgeous purple explosion of lights mushroom out into the winter blackness and turn to silver. It seemed to take forever to die away. Then I realised that the sparkling was no longer outside and far away. It was inside. The den was filled with sparkling lights and I felt utterly sick. It was the worst visual migraine I’ve ever had. There was no pain as such, just a heavy feeling in my head, nausea and this intense visual disturbance. Then my familiar aura struck and I knew that an episode was underway. I was panic stricken, fearful of vomiting while my muscles were in spasm. I didn’t want to choke.
The episode passed without me actually being sick and I managed to get myself downstairs. I lurched into the lounge and the bfs took one look at me and shot to their feet. I love Dick to pieces and I knew that I’d find kind sympathy in his arms, but it was Shane that I headed for first. I was terrified, disoriented, shaking and sweating and what I wanted more than anything was for someone to take firm control, of the situation and of me. I wanted to feel safe.
I didn’t need to tell Shane what had happened. He twigged at once and I didn’t deny anything. I got the riot act. Both of them were livid at what they termed my ‘wanton behaviour.’ Shane grimly promised that when I was better he was going to leather my reckless backside. He doesn’t make empty promises. When it came it was a scarily formal discipline session designed to put this houseboy firmly in his place. I was reminded of household authority and my obligations to it. I had totally disregarded their wishes and put my health at risk. Dick was present and I had to address each of them as sir, a mode of address that I really struggle with. I was sentenced to twelve strokes of the tawse, three on the palm of each hand, which Dick delivered. I then bent over the desk in the study to receive the remaining six across my bare bottom courtesy of Shane. Six turned to seven because when the first stroke landed I shot upright and clutched my backside begging for a reprieve. I didn’t get one. Shane made me bend back over and then started again. It was a tough session, overwhelming in its way.
Standing in the corner with stinging hands and a sore and burning bottom I pondered whether a few moments of childlike wonder at fireworks had been worth what followed. I hated being ill. I didn’t like incurring my Daddies displeasure and I certainly didn’t like being punished, but a little part of me was still glad that I stole a glance at a winter sky lit up with magical sparkles. It took me back to childhood, to short damp days and cold dark nights made warm with the promise of Christmas. It reminded me of standing among crowds of noisy excited people with my mum, her hand safely holding mine as we watched the carnival of sparks in the sky. I resent that simple pleasures are now denied to me because of the condition I’m afflicted with. Shane says it’s high time I learned to adjust to my health status. He says I have to incorporate it into my life instead of always trying to reject it. He’s right, but all the same I won’t ever be resigned to it, not ever.
Dick is having dinner out this evening with people from work. They’re going straight from the office to celebrate his secretary’s birthday. I’m waiting for Shane to come home so I can shower. He’s taking me out to dinner. I’m looking forward to it. It’s a treat to have him all to myself. I don’t know where we’re going. He’s made the booking so I’ll just have to wait and see. I hope he gets home soon. I’ve been flicking through some male art sites and my love muscle is showing its appreciation with a standing ovation. Water won’t be the only getting sprayed in the shower tonight. What can I say; I’m a slutty houseboy.
Tuesday 24th November 2009:
Dear Diary,
Just thought I’d pop in and exchange some houseboy musings with you.
Mucho ta to those who have mailed me of late. I do make an effort to reply, even if it’s just a line or two of acknowledgement. I can’t reply in great detail otherwise I’d never get anything done. Also I don’t ever exchange personal details such as address and phone numbers, cock measurements or photos. It’s nothing personal, there’s no intent to snub, it’s just a rule.
There has been something of a conflict of interest in our house of late. Basically Dick and I have become hooked on trash TV. It’s sad really. I never thought I'd fall victim, but there you go, it happens to the best of us. We can’t get enough of actual celebs and wannabe celebs. Weekends have become fraught affairs as we try to fit activities and household routine around program schedules of Strictly, X-Factor and I’m A Celebrity. Master Shane is not a fan of Brucie, Simon and Co or Ant and Dec. He thinks reality TV is the equivalent of junk food for the mind. He hates it. Dick and I have been getting on his nerves with our enthusiastic gossip about such things as Foxtrots, Jedward and Bushtucker Trials.
Matters came to a head on Saturday evening. Dick and I suggested that given the lousy weather we might eat in; perhaps get a takeaway instead of going out for dinner as per our usual custom. It would make a nice change, we said. Shane said bollocks! He knew what our game was and if we thought for a moment that we were slutting out on the couch stuffing our faces with curry, while flicking through channels of slurry all night, we could think again.
We were told in no uncertain terms that we were to get ourselves showered and smartened up ready to go out for dinner like civilised grown ups. Furthermore, while we were out he didn’t want to hear so much as a single reference to anything dancing, singing or swinging through the bloody jungle. If we had to watch mindless drivel then we could record it, or catch it on repeat and watch it when he wasn’t around. Daddy had spoken.
It was clear that Shane was in head of household mode and Dick and I didn’t risk arguing. We did as bidden. Now Dick and I are not alone in our lowbrow addiction to reality shows. Rob and indeed Leo and Mike are fans. Frenetic text messaging often accompanies watching the telly as we exchange opinions about what judges said, or what so and so was wearing/singing etc.
Anyroads up. We went out for dinner to one of our favourite bistros and all went well…until yours truly had to pay a visit to the loo. Shane always insists we turn our phones off when we’re in a restaurant. It drives him up the wall when people use their phones while dining out. However, once in the loo I couldn’t resist checking my phone messages. There was one from Rob that said OMG have you seen what Jedward are doing tonight!! As I didn’t have a telly on me I just had to phone him and find out. There I was, a grown man, sitting on a restaurant’s loo having an in depth conversation about two wannabe pop stars on a telly talent show.
Rob is even worse than I am when it comes to the gobshite stakes, especially when he’s on the phone. He gave me the full picture, every detail. The conversation finally ended not with a whimper but with a bang…on the toilet door. Shane had gotten worried by how long I’d been gone and had come to check on me, in case I’d taken ill. Overhearing me discussing X-Factor with Rob did not endear me to him. It was one thing going to the toilet to have a crap but going to the toilet in order to talk about crap was just beyond the pale. As far as he was concerned I’d stepped right out of line.
He wasn’t a happy bunny and I wasn’t a happy houseboy. We had a Daddy to boy chat when we got home. Such chats tend to be uncomfortable affairs in more ways than one and this was no exception. Under the rules of our relationship I had been disrespectful to my Dom and punishment was justified.
He had every right to be annoyed. When I thought about it properly he was quite right. My behaviour had been thoughtless if not downright selfish. Dick and I have chuntered non-stop about bullshit for weeks leaving him out in the cold. A reality TV ceasefire for one night wasn’t exactly asking the earth. He works hard all week and he’s entitled to some relaxation on his own terms. I felt like I’d let him down and I went out of my way to make amends. We’re good again now.
Dick and I are making an effort to tone down our TV talk, at least when Daddy is around. Dick made a bit of a gaffe this afternoon though. He text me to say that he’d read a snippet online about Jedward joining the celebs in the jungle and did I know any more about it? I didn’t actually get the original message because Dick was multitasking at the time and accidentally sent it to Shane instead of me. I was informed that Shane sent a waspish reply to say that no he didn’t know anything, he didn’t want to know anything and if Dick were in his employ he would sack him for misusing work time. Definitely one of those oops moments. Let’s hope the traffic is light on the way home tonight and that Shane’s sense of humour is switched on.
Well, that’s it, boys and girls. I’ll be off, got things to do. Ciao for now.
mailto:gillibran_brown@yahoo.co.uk
