Tuesday 5th October 2010
I’m just paying a visit in order to open a new page for October. This year is just flying by. It’ll soon be time to put the sprouts on to boil for Christmas.
Once again I’d like to thank all those folk who have written to me of late. I’ve had a ton of emails from some very nice people and I feel a little bit overwhelmed to be honest, but I do appreciate it.
It’s been miserable monsoon weather here lately, nothing but low grey skies and constant rain. The gardens are in a sorry state with overlong grass, fallen leaves and bedraggled and decaying bedding plants. This morning however dawned fair and bright. Hooray!
I decided to clean all the inside windows by way of celebrating the sunshine and also by way of allowing more of it to shine through the windowpanes. I haven’t done them in a while and they were looking a bit grubby. Cleaning windows can be a tedious task and the quasi-mansion has more than its fair share of them. I’m just hoping that this new government we’ve got doesn’t decide to revive the ancient window tax or else Shane will have me bricking some of them up.
Anyway, as I said, window cleaning can be a tedious task, but I have my own way of livening it up. I pretend I’m a gunslinger having a shootout with bandits. They’re no match for me, not when I’m armed with a trigger spray bottle of Windolene glass cleaner and a polishing cloth. I soon wipe them out. I gallop from room to room on my swiffer mop horse mercilessly spraying and polishing while making gun noises. There was a tricky moment this morning when I got holed down in the lounge and had to take cover beneath the window ledge waiting for a lull between rounds of bullets before leaping up and taking aim.
Fuck knows what folk must think if they catch sight of me bouncing around in front of the windows. I don’t care though. It keeps me in touch with my inner child. Mind you I wouldn’t dare do it if the men folk were at home otherwise I’d have Shane’s hand making irritable contact with my inner child’s backside. He doesn’t take kindly to that kind of noisy action role-play. I don’t think he’s got an inner child. I think he might have strangled it and buried it in the woods somewhere for getting on his tits.
Come to think of it, I’m not even sure he ever had an outer child. I suspect he may have morphed into being at the age of thirty something. Picture the scene: it’s a dark night, there’s a flash of light and a tall, muscular, buff naked stranger materialises from thin air. Luckily there’s a BDSM club close by, he walks in and moments later walks back out dressed in tight black leather. A sexy Top is born. It would make a great film - The Sperminator.
Well, that’s enough wittering. I’m going outside to start tidying the grounds in prep for winter. Oh the high excitement thrills and spills of this boy’s life. I’m looking forward to using my B & D leaf sucker and shredder. I might even try using it to suck the leaves directly off the trees instead of waiting for them to fall on the lawns and paths. I’m quite a skilled sucker so we’ll see how it turns out.
Monday 18th October 2010
I’ve been a bit distracted of late and all on account of a game involving Dick swinging his nuts at mine.
I fell out with him on Saturday afternoon when he swung so hard his nut missed my nut and hit my knuckles instead leaving a nasty bruise. When I remonstrated with him he claimed it was my own fault because I’d jerked my nut out of the way of his in an attempt at cheating. I was supposed to keep my nut perfectly still when it was being aimed at.
I accused him of being a fucking maniac and demanded he concede the game to me as compensation for him having injured me. He refused and accused me of being a bad sport and a sour loser.
Daddy Shane brought our bickering to a swift halt by clapping a hand to each of our arses before confiscating our respective nuts. He said we were getting on his nerves and if we couldn’t play nice then we didn’t deserve to play at all.
I am of course talking about conkers and not some weird sac swinging sexual perversion dreamed up by Dick during one of his kink attacks.
It all started as a bit of houseboy daftness the Sunday before last when I was out running. It was a cool morning but dry and I was enjoying feeling the autumn leaves crunch beneath my feet as I pounded the pavements. I’d clocked up a good few miles and was heading homewards down the avenue, which has a number of horse chestnut trees flanking it either side. I suddenly stood on something hard. It brought me up short. In fact it just about pitched me head over heels. The something turned out to be a conker case and my standing on it had split it open.
There’s something masculine and erotic about conkers. They have a tough, spiky, green-brown outer case that splits open to reveal a white satin lining in which is nestled a silky smooth dark brown nut, or more often than not several nuts. I don’t know what it is but they turn me on in a weird kind of way. I wonder if there’s an official term for someone with a conker fetish?
Anyway, leaving fetish aside, the conker case I’d trodden on contained a single nut and a rather fine specimen at that. It brought to mind a news item I’d watched a couple of evenings earlier about the world conker championships in Northamptonshire. The organisers were complaining about there being a shortage of conkers in their region and had put out an appeal.
There was no shortage of them along our avenue. My inner child surfaced (as Shane would say he doesn’t have very far to travel) and an idea for a bit of fun was born. I scrabbled among the fallen leaves and located some more cases from which I extracted the nuts and took them home. I strung them onto strong strings and demanded my Daddies play with me and my nuts, and not the usual ones for a change.
Shane rolled his eyes and told me to act my age instead of my fucking shoe size, but Dick was in the mood for some Sabbath silliness and grinning declared he was more than willing to play conkers with me. You know him; he can’t resist a challenge involving nuts.
To my chagrin he turned out to be a demon player. I had first strike cos they were my nuts (so there) I took aim at Dick’s conker…and missed, twice. I managed to actually hit it at my third attempt, but only just. He then took aim at mine and not only hit it at first strike, but ANNIHLATED it. He bust my nut with one stroke. He was cock-a-hoop and did a victory lap of the kitchen where we were playing having been banished from the lounge by Shane who wanted to read the Sunday papers without us disturbing him with our juvenile shenanigans.
I demanded another game and it pretty well went the way of the first. I couldn’t believe it. I fared a bit better on the third game. My nut survived his first hit, but cracked at the second. I was livid. It could mean only one thing…WAR!
It’s been conker wars ever since. So far he’s the undisputed Conker King. He seems to have a knack for determining and hitting a conker’s weakest spot. I’ve put in hours of aiming practice and yes, I’ve also cheated. I’ve soaked my conkers in vinegar, baked them in the oven and even varnished a couple and all to no avail. It’s infuriating!
I’ve become obsessed with the bloody things. I think, eat and sleep conkers (well, not literally eat them, they are poisonous to humans after all) I got into bother yesterday. I was making Sunday lunch and because I was so busy mulling over conker strategy I accidentally poured orange juice into the potatoes I was mashing instead of milk. I didn’t think it tasted too bad, sort of tangy, but Shane wasn’t impressed and this houseboy got a warning to keep his mind on the job or else.
I doubt I’ll beat Dick now, not this year. The season is fast drawing to a close and conkers are getting harder to find.
On the restriction front things have eased a little. I’m allowed longer periods of time on the computer at Shane’s discretion. It’s been a difficult couple of months, but in some respects it’s also been good. I needed some tough attention. I’m feeling happier and more secure than I have for a long time. I'm in no particular hurry for restrictions to be fully lifted.
A few folk have asked if I’m going to compile another book of my year long ramblings and I do intend to at some point, though I’m currently feeling slightly inhibited for reasons I won’t go into detail about. Hopefully my natural exuberance will eventually overcome my inhibition and I’ll be able to start work again and put my musings into book form if only for my own satisfaction.
Well, I must be off. Dinner preps are calling me. I’m cooking Moussaka tonight. It's good hearty fare for a cold evening.
Ciao for now!
