Friday 11th October 2013

Hello, hello, houseboy fan.

It’s me, back again. The weekend looms large and I’m looking forward to spending time with my care bears. Mind you, self and Supreme Sir have had a few skirmishes these past few weeks. It’s my fault. I’ve come over all political lately and simply cannot keep my trap shut whenever the evil Tory brood fleecing this country is mentioned in the papers or on the telly. If members of the Devil’s Unholy Triumvirate (Cameron, Clegg and Osborne) make an appearance on the news, Dick and Shane both dive for the remote to switch channels before I put my gob into action and start ranting. Jeremy Paxman and Newsnight have been banned in our house, at least when I’m in the room.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been sent to bed early, just so the men folk can catch up on political events without me erupting like a volcano.

The government’s latest initiatives to make folk work a full week for their dole money or have it stopped, and also to deny all support and all benefits to folk under the age of twenty-five, had me just about bouncing. I mean fucking hell, talk about punishing the poor for being poor. This bunch of Tory twats is determined to go back to the good old days when the poor knew their place - dead from starvation or working for a pittance for rich fat bastards. The self-serving Tory scumbags should be creating jobs, not punishing people for not having one through no fault of their own. It makes my blood boil. My mate Ben has been out of work for a while now. The carpet company he worked for went bust, so it was hardly his fault. He applies for dozens if not hundreds of jobs every week.

I chucked a cushion at the telly one night when unctuous Osborne was on, oozing his venomous slime. Sir was not at all pleased, and said so, so I chucked one at him as well in the heat of the moment. It did not go down well. I tried to leg it out of the room before he got his hands on me. It was no good. He’s quick is Shane, for a man his age. He walloped my arse good. Dick had no sympathy. He said I’d asked for it and I was a bloody nuisance. He also said he was thinking of applying for a planning order to have my inflammatory mouth bricked up. He didn’t mean it. He loves me really. His life would be dull without me.

Anyway, leaving politics aside. My hand is still a little bit tender, but otherwise fine. I’ve been doing lots of raking, sucking up and bagging of autumn leaves in the garden. It’s that time of year again.

Thanks to those of you who have emailed of late.

In response to a couple of queries and with Christmas just around the corner let us take a U turn and go back to last Christmas. I made mention of a couple of pre- Chrissy pressies I was less than keen on and some folks it seems would like to know if I’m ever going to get off my lazy arse and get around to divvying the details. Yes, I am, but not now. I’ve got to go into town and pick up some dry cleaning and we’re having Rob and Howard around for dinner this evening, so I’ve got a tasty menu to plan and prepare. However, watch this space. I will return! Muhahaha!

Monday 28th October 2013

It’s a pissing it down sort of a day here in my corner of Blighty today, but at least we’ve missed the big storm that tore through more southerly parts of the country last night and this morning, so I’m not going to complain about a bit of rain.  I’m avoiding reading about the storm, St. Jude’s Storm, as it’s been named, because I hate all the painful tragic details of lives lost and families in mourning for loved ones. Nature still has us all running scared.

Let us return, as promised, to last year and the case of the unwelcome gifts that were delivered unto me before Christmas. The gifts in question came from my own personal two wise men.

Dick, wise man from the south, was first to land a ‘gift’ on me.

On the Friday before Crimbo he arrived home from work a little earlier, as he does on a Friday. I knew from the tone of his voice as he called his habitual greeting that he was excited. My buttocks instinctively clenched, cos when Dick is excited it usually means an invasion of some kind is imminent. I wasn’t much in the mood for energetic sex. I was in the middle of preparing dinner and the ingredients didn’t include sausages.

He came into the kitchen with a large carrier bag in his hand. I felt stirrings of unease. He’d obviously been let loose on his lunch hour and had gone shopping.

“I’ve got you a present.” He held out the bag, a big smile on his gorgeous face. “There was a Christmas market in the town square today. I saw this and I couldn’t resist it.”

“What is it?” I looked suspiciously at the bag. “Ann Summers didn’t have a stall did she?”

“Of course not.” He shook the bag. “Open it, honey. It’s something to wear. The lady who owned the stall told me they’re all the fashion right now. You’ll look adorable in it.”

I took the bag, reached in and drew out an item of clothing. Was it a pair of jeans perhaps or a new shirt? It was neither. I shook out the garment and held it up, staring at it, the hairs on the back of my neck rising and wafting in the air like little antennas of doom.

“Well,” said Dick, smiling away, “what do you think? Isn’t it sweet?”

“It’s a romper suit,” I lowered the horrifying item and glared at him, “like babies wear, only man size. I’m not playing baby games, Dick. I knew it was a mistake for you to watch that documentary about autonepiophilia.”

“It isn’t a romper suit. The lady said it’s called a onesie. She said all the celebrities are wearing them.”

“Well I’m not a celebrity and I’m not wearing it. You can call it what you like, but it’s still a fucking romper suit.”

“You’ll look so sweet in it. I know you will. Wear it just for me.”

“No, sorry, Dick. I’m not cavorting around in a romper like a man baby.” I rolled the frightening garment up and shoved it back in the bag.

“The lady said it’s one of her best selling designs. It’s called Tommy Tabby Cat. You like cats.”

“I’m not wearing it, Dick.”

“Oh, Gilli.” He pulled me into a persuading hug. “Don’t be a spoilsport, wear it for Daddy, please. It cost me a fortune. It’s handmade you know.”

“No.” I pulled away from his arms. “Now if you’ll excuse me I have dinner to make.”

He gave me one of his sad soft looks and exited the kitchen, taking stripy Tommy Tabby Cat with him. I’m sorry, people, but even this houseboy has a point beyond which he is unwilling to go. To my mind wearing a romper would compromise my dignity a step too far. I love being Dick and Shane’s ‘little’ at times, but I draw the line at regressing back to actual babyhood. No way am I ever crawling around in a shit filled nappy while drinking milk out of a baby bottle shaped like a tit.

Shane arrived home. We had dinner. I washed up. I served coffee and settled down to watch telly in typical Friday night fashion.

“I hear Dick bought you a present today and you were rather ungracious about it?”

The hairs on the back of my neck rose to attention once again. Dick had brought in the heavy ammo. He’d gotten Shane on side.  “Not ungracious,” I said cautiously. “I appreciated the thought, but it isn’t really my style, Shane.”

“What has style got to do with it? No one is expecting you to go out in it. It’s for in the house, like loungewear. Go and put it on, for Dick, Go on.”

“I don’t want to. It’s designed like a cat. I’ll look like a fucking overgrown toddler in it.”

“If the cap fits, you act like one often enough, you might as well dress the part.”

I scowled. “I’m not wearing it, Shane. They’re ridiculous things.”

“I agree, they are ridiculous and I don’t see the appeal either, but no one other than us will see you in it. Put it on to please Dick. He does enough to please you. Go on, Gilli, now. It’s an order.”

“Oh all right, seeing as it’s nearly Christmas.” I huffed to my feet, and glared at Dick, who looked as pleased as punch. He blew me a kiss.

“Thank you, honey. I’ve laid it out on the bed. I can’t wait to see you in it.”

I went up to our bedroom, stripped off, gritted my teeth and donned the onesie, feeling like a complete idiot. As well as having feet in it, it had little mitt attachments designed as paws to cover the hands. It had a hood complete with pointed ears, and of course it had a tail. I zipped it up, put up the hood, took a deep breath and went to examine myself in the full-length mirror, posing this way and that.

Well bugger me! Dick was right. I DID look sweet. I really did. I posed some more, sticking out my bottom and wiggling it to make the tail swish. I laughed. I was adorable. In fact I was so fucking cute I fancied myself. I was suddenly visited with a strong desire to make purring noises and chase a ball of string. The onesie was comfy too, really comfy, and soft. I pushed back one of the mitts to stroke the fleecy material. It was nice. I was nice to touch. I was plush like a real kitty. The desire to purr grew stronger. I stroked me some more, running my hands down my body. Who needed the men folk when I had my cuddly onesie? I could play with myself all day.

A bellow from below interrupted my playtime.

“Gilli! Have you got it on yet?”

I went downstairs. Sauntering into the lounge I posed, swaying my hips to make my tail swing. “Well?”

“Oh, Gilli.” Dick, his face a picture of delight, took a step towards me. “I knew you’d look sweet in it. I could eat you all up.”

Dick didn’t get a chance to eat me up or even feel me up. Shane stopped him. Like Dick, his face was a picture.

“Hands off, Dick. I want first dibs on this pretty little kitty.”

“That isn’t fair. I bought him the suit.”

“And I made him put it on. As head of the pack I get priority when it comes to spoils. You can have what’s left after I’ve finished with him.”

“Paws off. He’s mine. I saw him first. Besides, you’re allergic to cats.”

“I’ll take an antihistamine.”

I burst out laughing as they both made a dive for me. Shane got to me first, swinging me up into his arms with a lion like roar.

It turned out to be one of the best Friday nights we’d had in ages. The gift I hadn’t liked turned out to be a gift for us all.  My lion kings took photos of me, played with me, stroked and petted me, and much more. It was a happy little pride that tumbled into bed that night.

I still have my Tommy Tabby Cat onesie and a couple of other animal ones as well. The men folk love seeing me in them. My advice? Buy a onesie today. Inject some cuddly fun into your love life.

Well, that’s me done diarying for today. Yes, yes, I’m aware that I said there were two presents I was less than keen on last year. Details about the other one will have to wait until later. You've waited all this time. A bit longer won't hurt. Duty beckons. Ciao for now.

November 2013


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