Gillibran Brown…February 2009

 

My Darling DaddyValenswines

 

 


It’s the Sunday after Valentine’s Day. Try, if you will, to picture the scene, it isn’t hard, well it wouldn’t be would it because I was right off Dick. He’d have had to drug me to have sex with me and don’t think he hasn’t tried that before now (Lie detector says NO…Gilli…NO) Oh all right, he hasn’t ever drugged me. He doesn’t need to. Most of the time I’m like a well-known battery where he’s concerned…Eveready.  Upon waking he used melting kisses and warm caresses to try and defrost the cold shoulder I’d presented to him the night before, but I was having none of it (strikes right fist on left palm in manly gesture of righteous defiance) none of it I say. I was no flag to be run up his pole.

Disembarking the bed of cohabitation I went downstairs to do my duty in the breakfast department. My Lord and Master, Sir Dick, usually partakes of a cooked breakfast on a Sunday instead of his weekday fare of cereal and toast.  You may recall from the diary notes that Shane was away on business, which I suppose, to be fair, contributed in part to his failure to transmit a VD card to me.

Dick duly came down to the kitchen and made another attempt to honey me with smiles and sexy compliments. He was obviously keen to offload some seminal fluid and with Shane away he had only two options, his right hand or me, and as he often says himself, why keep a houseboy and wank yourself?  I refused to cooperate. I blanked the compliments and swiftly halted the hand that was trying to infiltrate my nether garments in order to pet the resident boxer pup.

He sighed and apologised yet again for hurting my feelings and asked could I please find it in my heart to forgive him for being lackadaisical about Valentine’s Day. 

I shrugged, “I’m fine.”

“Come on, Gilli, enough of the little kicked kitten act. I’ve said sorry until I’m blue in the face.”

I shrugged again, “I know how busy you’ve been lately and it doesn’t matter.” Had I been a little wooden houseboy my beak would have elongated by several miles at that lie.

Dick chose to believe the lie perhaps in the hope that his faith in it would pass to me and make me really believe I was over my disappointment.  “Come to Daddy,” he patted his lap offering it as a venue for a cuddle and kiss.

He didn’t mention groping but I know Dick. Kisses and cuddles on his lap inevitably lead to enthusiastic groping, if not acts of a thoroughly pornographic nature. Mentally muzzling the boxer pup (who quite liked the idea of being groped) I declined to lap sit saying I had things to be getting on with. I then began stacking the breakfast dishes with just enough vigour to show that I was still a miffed houseboy, but not enough vigour to be verbally disciplined for attitude unbecoming to a sub.

“There are days,” Dick pushed back his chair and stood up, “when living with you is like having an ongoing ache in the rectum. I’m going to my studio. Bring me some fresh coffee please.”  He swept out of the kitchen.

I put some coffee on to perc and then washed up and cleaned round the kitchen. I then took a mug of coffee to Dick’s studio setting it down on his desk without saying a word. He replied in kind. Silence followed me out of the room and I managed to crank up a sense of injustice that he hadn’t thanked me for the coffee. How dare he not speak to me when I wasn’t speaking to him? He was supposed to speak to me so I could majestically ignore him. Yes, I know, I really can be an ache in the rectum. I don’t like it when a contrary mood grips me, but once it has I find it hellish hard to shake off and it inevitably leads to bother for the boy, this boy that is.

I tidied and dusted the lounge and then spent half an hour or so on the computer, after which I decided to go upstairs to read for a while. I took Richard with me, not my real life Richard of course, but rather Richard Sharpe of book fame, settling down on the bed with Sharpe’s Revenge. I find that I read Sharpe’s commentary in Sean Bean’s accent; his voice just automatically pops into my head. I suppose it would be different if I’d read the books before ever seeing SB play the part, then I’d invent my own accent going on the information supplied by the author about the character’s origins.  Dick says that my accent is very similar to Sean’s anyway. We’re both northerners. He loves my accent, or so he tells me and who am I to disagree. I love that he loves my accent. When he’s in playful mode he wraps me in his arms and says I’m his bit of sexy northern rough, and then he makes me say words like bath, bastard, bugger, mustard and mushy peas. Flat vowels are an aphrodisiac to him and he says no one can swear with the same earthy grit as a northerner. He likes me to read erotic stories to him, not that I ever get to finish them, not with my clothes on and my legs shut anyway.

I like his accent too, even though I take the piss out of it sometimes. He thinks he doesn’t actually have an accent, but he does. Posh people have a definite accent; its called land and money speak the Queen’s English. Shane also has an accent, his is carefully cleansed of all traces of vernacular and while its not posh exactly it’s precise with a distinct air of authority. His playful moods are as rare as hen’s teeth, but from time to time he’ll wrestle and tickle me and consciously allow tiny hints of a Brummie or Woking accent to colour his tease talk. He’s not terribly effusive when it comes to tales of his youth, but I know he spent time in both areas when he was young. He’s a hard man to question about the past, is my Shane, impatiently brushing aside curiosity, especially from me. He’ll tell me what he wants me to know and I can imagine the rest.

It wasn’t too long before Dick severed the silence between us. He sought me out in order to inform me he was hungry and he wanted something to eat. I replied that he knew where the kitchen was. He mimicked Sean Bean at that point and turned sharp. I was reminded that as stay at home househusband it was my job to provide domestic comforts such as meals. I took the opportunity to once again air my grudge and snapped a snarky comment about him failing in his duty to keep the stay at home househusband happy by buying him a Valentine’s card on time and without coercion. The card and chocolates he bought me on his way home from a leisurely game of golf later did not count, not to my mind. They were bought from a sense of guilt and given to placate and shut me up, as opposed to being a spontaneous expression of love and affection, so THERE!

He demanded to know how many more times he was going to have to apologise, adding,  “if I had any fucking post-it notes I’d scribble apologies on them and stick them all over my naked body, after scourging it, if it would make you feel any better!”

I nearly smiled at that, but didn’t, and anyway knowing him he’d enjoy scourging himself, kinky sod he is. Okay, let me admit that I was being a bit shitty. Let’s do a bit of retrospective putting in perspective. He had tried to make amends, he didn’t have to, but he did. I knew there had been no intent to hurt or discount me. I was generating those feelings from within myself.  Shane would say I was reacting not to the realities of the situation, but simply to the fact the situation hadn’t panned out exactly as I wanted it to and exactly as I’d imagined it. He would call it a control issue and had he been at home he would have more than likely demonstrated just who has ultimate control in our house. He wasn’t at home though and I took advantage of it in order to indulge my spleen at things not panning out as I had wished them to.

Pinching the narrow bridge of his nose, Dick wearily said he absolutely loathed it when I was in one of my ‘wronged’ moods and could we just accept he had fucked up, though really it wasn’t that big a sin, not in the great scheme of things. He hadn’t tortured any small animals or children and could we just get over it and move on please. He then held out hopeful arms, but I walked past him and ran downstairs leaving an exasperated “Gilli” hanging in the air.

I huffed off to the kitchen to prepare a late lunch and was just cracking eggs into a bowl to make omelettes when Shane arrived home. Dick went to greet him, but I stayed in the kitchen leaving Shane to seek me out. He looked tired and there was no sign of a smile on his face when he walked into the kitchen, but then mine was naked in that respect too.

He marked me with a cool kiss and then patted my bottom, “I’m parched, make a pot of tea. I’m going for a quick shower. I’ll join you and Dick for lunch, if it isn’t too much trouble. I haven’t eaten yet.” 

I said yes, it was too much fucking trouble actually, and he couldn’t come waltzing home unannounced and expect dinner on the table. I wasn’t running a hotel (Lie detector snorts derisively) Okay, I didn’t actually say that, if I had, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this chapter, I’d be pushing up daisies in the subs cemetery.

I obediently made the tea and set it on a tray along with a couple of cups and a jug of milk, taking it into the lounge where Dick was curled up on the couch reading the paper. I put the tray down on the coffee table and made to walk away. 

Uncurling his lean frame, he caught hold of my wrist insistently pulling me down onto his lap. Wrapping his arms tightly around my waist to anchor me he gazed at me solemnly. “Listen to me, honey. Shane is tired and I suspect he has something on his mind. He won’t put up with much this evening, so be a good boy and straighten your face before you get into bother. As far as he’s concerned yesterday is over and done with. If you hadn’t been such a petulant bastard and refused his call and text then you’d have had a personal apology from him. It’s as much as you’ll get, sweetheart. He won’t flagellate himself over it, but,” he patted my knee, “he’ll certainly flagellate you if you push him. Stop feeling hard done by and concentrate on pleasing Daddy, for your own sake.”

“Much as I love these little lap chats, Dick, I have things to be doing, so if you don’t mind I’ll get on with doing them.”

 “You’re a stubborn little idiot sometimes,” he aimed an exasperated swipe at my arse as I freed myself from his knee.

“Is that a step up or a step down from being ‘an ongoing ache in the rectum?’ I glanced back over my shoulder.

“Take Daddy’s case upstairs, it’s in the hall, and then get on with lunch before I put you over my knee and spank your impudent backside.” Dick picked up his newspaper and I stalked out of the room.

Shane and I passed on the stairs. He smelled fresh and looked sexy in washed out jeans and a brushed cotton shirt that I knew was soft to cuddle against.

He clipped out a single word. “Tea?”

“In the lounge.” I continued upstairs dumping the case on the bed and unpacking it, sorting out dirty laundry from stuff to be put away. I half expected, well more than half to be honest, to find something for me in the case. I thought he might have done what Dick had done and bought me a belated card and gift to make up for his failure to Valentine me on the appointed day. I knew he would have made at least one stop at a motorway service station on the way home and I know such service stations overflow with trashy seasonal merchandise such as toy monkeys holding hearts for Valentine’s Day and such like. There was nothing. Bastard. Not that I would have accepted an afterthought gift, but still. I chucked the case in the walk in closet, put away his shaver and toiletries and took his laundry down to the utility room before going into the kitchen to continue making lunch.

I made a salad, cut some crusty bread, sautéed chestnut mushrooms in some garlic butter and then set the dining room table before cooking the omelettes, filling the centres with the mushroom mix and some shavings of hard goats cheese.

Shane was clearly disinclined to make conversation, holding up his hand to halt Dick when he started to ask about his trip. Consequently lunch was a silent affair and quickly over. I was politely thanked and then left to clear up while they went into the lounge to await coffee.

After serving their coffee I poured myself a cup and plonked myself on the couch alongside Shane to drink it. He was staring at the television set, but his thoughts were elsewhere, as became obvious when he suddenly broke his reverie and glancing in Dick’s direction said, “James and Lorraine send their love by the way.”

I immediately felt excluded and used it, snapping aggressively, “what did they send me then, best wishes, fond regards, tight-arsed salutations or maybe even a fucking Valentine’s card?”

It was a pointless stupid thing to say particularly given my proximity to him. My guts just about liquefied as he briskly set his cup down on the coffee table along with mine, which slopped its contents in protest at the speed at which it had been removed from my hand. I was seized and hauled over his knee in less than a heartbeat. He began walloping my bottom full force, employing a technique where he uses his hand to spank forwards as per normal but then rapidly slams his palm back over, contacting a slightly different angle of the same area and essentially doubling the sting. It hurts like hell, even over jeans and I hollered like a six year old. His words also stung.

“I’m not going to be psyched out and bullied into feeling guilty by you, boy, certainly not over something as trivial as a bloody greetings card. You’re like a silly adolescent, giving value to commercially driven crap. If you so much as allude to it again I’ll take a tawse to your bare backside.” He cracked a final slap across my bottom, “now get up and get out of my sight!”

I levered myself off his thighs with as much dignity as I could muster, which wasn’t much to be honest. I defy anyone to exit the lap they’ve just been spanked over with any kind of elegance. I was grateful that at least my jeans and pants weren’t shackled around my knees leaving my bits and bobs on open display. Shane didn’t offer any assistance and there was no steadying hand when I all but tripped over his feet in my haste to leave the room. I would have slammed the lounge door on my way out, but with Shane in the mood he was in it would have been equivalent to putting a noose around my neck and kicking away the stool I was standing on. Dick obviously made a move to follow me because I heard Shane bark an order for him to sit down, adding, “you’ve pandered to his mood more than enough as it is.”

Running up to the bathroom I splashed cold water onto my face, it was burning almost as fiercely as my bottom. I needed a bit of space, somewhere neutral to try and reclaim my dignity. Picking up my jacket and shoving my feet into trainers I slipped quietly out of the back door grateful to feel the damp dark air fold around me.

The Rose & Crown isn’t quite the refuge it was once, not without Stella for company. She’s obviously still there, but we don’t commune anymore, it still upsets me. Sometimes she allows me to escort her to a table where I hand her over to a punter. I’m a lager pimp. I procure but I don’t partake myself. The punter I was procuring for that evening was Eric. He’s a pleasant old bloke who kind of adopted me when I first started going in the pub. He saw me sitting alone and decided I looked like a man who needed company, his company. I soon became acquainted with details of his allotment, his budgies, Rosa and Sid, his dead missus whose Christian name I still don’t know and the football or cricket results according to season.  I know a pint of chilled Stella is a bit of a treat and a change from the couple of half pints of bitter he usually sups over the course of an evening.

His face lit up as I placed the pint in front of him, and then sat down at the table. He thanked me and took a long blissful drink. I couldn’t help but be envious. I tried to look like I was enjoying the bottle of alcohol free lager I’d bought for myself. Cobra isn’t as bad as some alcohol free beers and I’ve gotten used to the taste, but it’s no substitute for the lovely Stella. Eric’s budgies were on the conversational agenda and I gratefully immersed myself in his chat stream allowing the tale of Sid’s brief escape into the wild, courtesy of an open window, to soothe my own ruffled feathers. Eric left for his bed at ten, but I stayed until last orders were called, allowing the noise of other folks conversations, made loud with alcohol, to wash over me before setting off to walk home.

The quasi mansion was in darkness when I got back and I closed and latched the drive gates before letting myself into the house as quietly as I could. I locked up and then headed to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea to warm me up. I’d just filled the kettle and switched it on and was reaching for a mug from the cupboard when Dick appeared. Without saying a word he switched off the kettle, took the mug from my hand replaced it on the shelf and shut the cupboard door. He then spoke coldly, “and where the bloody hell have you been all evening?”

“In case you’d forgotten, Dick, I was told to get out of his sight.”

“Out of his sight, yes. Out of the house without a means of communication, no. You could have gone into the study, the kitchen, the bedroom, the den, even down to the summerhouse, but no, you have to demonstrate how pissed off you are by leaving the house and not taking your phone.”

“I figured out of sight also meant out of mind and that he’d have no pressing desire to talk to me, so it seemed pointless taking my phone and anyway, it was in the lounge and no way was I going back in there after what he did.”

“You gave him attitude and he punished you for it. You should have accepted the punishment like a good boy instead of flouncing out of the house like a spoiled brat.” He folded his arms and looked at me sadly. “I blame myself. I sincerely regret not tanning your backside the moment you took a hissy fit and threw those cards in the bin. It would have made a better weekend for both of us and you might have shown a more respectful face to Shane this evening instead of trying to have a dig at him. When are you going to learn when to show appropriate humility?”

“Sorry,” I said, suddenly tearful.

“Come here,” his voice softened and he spread his arms, “stop all your bitching and biting and give beta da-da a hug. You’ve treated me like a pariah all weekend.”

I slipped into his embrace pressing my cheek against his chest feeling several tons lighter as I jettisoned my childish grudge.  “Where is Shane?”

“Sleeping, luckily for you, he was shattered.”

“Did he say what was on his mind?”

“Not in so many words. James annoyed him I think, though exactly how and why he’s keeping close to his chest for the time being. He’ll share it if he sees fit.”

“With you maybe.”

“And why not with me, Gil,” he gently stroked my hair. “I’ve spent far more years with him than you have. I’ve served my time and earned his confidence. Stop looking for the negative in every situation and just accept the way things are, okay?”

“Okay,” I said while trying not to feel resentful that he’d spent far more years with Shane than I had.

He kissed me thoroughly and then squeezed my bottom, “come on, honey. It’s cold down here. Take your medicine, it’s overdue, and then let’s get to bed before Shane wakes up and whops us both for being AWOL. I got a flea in my ear this evening as it was. I don’t want a sting in my tail as well.”

Next morning it was business as usual. The alarm sounded. I switched it off and hauled my bum out of bed and downstairs to begin preparing breakfast. I was stirring a pan of porridge when Shane came down into the kitchen. Without saying a word he turned the gas off under the pan, and then, grasping my arm, led me to a kitchen chair.  Bending me over the back of it he took down my shorts and presented my buttocks with half a dozen stinging slaps. He then pulled up my shorts and turned me to face him. “Do we need to have a discussion as to why you deserved that?”

Placing my hands behind my back and lowering my eyes in an attitude of submissive respect I said no and offered an apology for my behaviour the previous evening.”

He tilted up my chin and gazed at me. “I want no more sulking over this Valentine nonsense, understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

 “Good boy,” he kissed me, “finish making breakfast.”

 And that was that, balance restored.

As we breakfasted he shared some details of his weekend describing his baby niece as small, pretty and incredibly messy, adding that her parents and grandfather were besotted with her. I asked if he regretted that he would never have children and he said no, not at all. He then patted my cheek and gave me a smile and a sexy little wink, “believe me, my darling, you’re more than baby enough for this Daddy.”

Silly I know, but it made me happy.

The truth is that my Daddies are more Valenswines than actual sweet Valentines. They just don’t do Valentine’s Day, not with any kind of enthusiasm anyway. It has no relevance for them. They don’t need sentimental cards and flowers to validate their relationship and they often forget that I do. Sometimes I might hit lucky, like last year, and perhaps those times are to be savoured all the more because they represent something really special and are not just a conditioned response to a commercially driven event.

Valenswines they may be, but I still love them and I wouldn’t want to be anyone else’s boy. In the words of The Plain White T’s, ‘it’s what they do to me,’ well almost the words, and yes that’s a heavy cue for a song to bring to a close another imaginary scene in the never to be made film of this boy’s life. I choose it because I like it and because Shane once came into the kitchen when it was playing on the radio and I was washing up at the sink. Slipping his arms around my waist he commented that it was a pretty song and then in a moment of spontaneity he kissed my neck and told me I was pretty too. So, whenever I hear it now I remember the warm safety of his arms around my waist and the sexy heat of his kiss.

 

Hey There Delilah:

Hey there Delilah
What's it like in New York City?
I'm a thousand miles away
But girl, tonight you look so pretty
Yes you do
Times Square can't shine as bright as you
I swear it's true

Hey there Delilah
Don't you worry about the distance
I'm right there if you get lonely
Give this song another listen
Close your eyes
Listen to my voice, it's my disguise
I'm by your side

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me

Hey there Delilah
I know times are getting hard
But just believe me, girl
Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar
We'll have it good
We'll have the life we knew we would
My word is good

Hey there Delilah
I've got so much left to say
If every simple song I wrote to you
Would take your breath away
I'd write it all
Even more in love with me you'd fall
We'd have it all

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me

A thousand miles seems pretty far
But they've got planes and trains and cars
I'd walk to you if I had no other way
Our friends would all make fun of us
and we'll just laugh along because we know
That none of them have felt this way
Delilah I can promise you
That by the time we get through
The world will never ever be the same
And you're to blame

Hey there Delilah
You be good and don't you miss me
Two more years and you'll be done with school
And I'll be making history like I do
You'll know it's all because of you
We can do whatever we want to
Hey there Delilah here's to you
This one's for you

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me.

The Plain White T’s: from their album ‘Every Second Counts.’ Released 2007


 My Darling Daddy Valenswines: copyright Gillibran Brown 2009

 
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