House Boy



Note: As far as my writing goes, this little piece is not suitable for work. 

This is absolutely pure fantasy. 

Being a house boy isn’t the worst job i’ve had. i mean, compared to working alone at a 7-Eleven in the middle of the night, easy prey for a junkie willing to kill for a fix, it ain’t half-bad.   Sure, i’m naked, except for my collar, or the latex gloves i sometimes wear to keep my hands clean.

Each day, Mistress has a list of chores for me.  i thank her for the work and the opportunity to serve.  It’s pretty no-nonsense work. There’s no ironing her panties or scrubbing the toilet with my toothbrush.  i’m expected to do my work, without mistakes, and i usually perform them flawlessly. Usually.  However the other day, i was tasked with filling Mistress’s fountain pens.  The protocol demands i not spill any ink or leave ink stains on my fingers or the counters or the furniture.  

i got down to work. Instead of my clear disposable gloves, i put on the black disposable ones. They were within reach. For most things, they work just as well.  The filling went well, No spills. i was finishing up, cleaned them, put the pens where mistress directs them to be available for her use. 

i was ready for her to return home.  i fixed her hibiscus tea. The tea bags were in the pot, the water just shy of the rolling boil she prefers.  I heard her car in the driveway, her key in the lock. i was clean, beard trimmed, nails groomed. i waited for her, kneeling.   She greeted me with her customary pat on my lowered head, as if i were her pet, which i am.

She went to the downstairs powder room and i heard a shout. “you lazy little pig!  What is this?!”  Rushing to the bathroom i see the blue ink smudge on the counter. How could i have missed it?

“This is unsatisfactory. What gloves did you use when you filled my pens?”

“The black ones Mistress.”

“Do you see what has happened?  The ink got on the black gloves and there was no way you could  have noticed.  And you neglected to check any surfaces you touched.” 

 i was ashamed at this lapse of impeccable servitude.

” i shall clean it immediately.”

“Of course, you will. First however, bring me my tea.  I will consider a punishment while I enjoy my tea.”

The counter was clean. She had finished her tea.

boy, come here. Bring the brown strap. “

i crawled into her office, the strap in my teeth. i prostrated myself at her feet. Silent.

“Give me the strap. Bend over the ottoman. you know why you are to be punished?” 

“Sloppiness, Mistress.”

“I believe ten should make the desired point.”

As was her custom she immediately began, with full force, i could feel my buttocks being marked with every stinging strike.  As abruptly as she started she stopped. And left me there to “think things over.”

i was ashamed at my failure. And yet, my erection showed how much i savored this attention.  Since self-pleasuring is forbidden for me, I remained there, marked buttocks exposed, my erection pressed against the leather of the ottoman.

“Enough contemplation,.” she declared. “Fix me dinner. you will eat from The Doggy Dish at my feet.”

Another Day in Service 


Tuesday By Myself

I had my Weight Watchers weigh-in today. I am keeping the weight off. Still Lifetime. The long spell of too much coffee and too little sleep caught up with me. I crashed this afternoon And had a good long nap. Mrs CorC? has been gone studying for her .medical billing and coding class. 

I was alone and lonely until I cleaned the kitchen while watching the Yankees rally to win Game Four of the American League Championship Series. It was baseball at its best. There is no better sport than baseball, well played.

Today was a day off from swimming. I get plenty of swimming done. 

I’ve been reading blogs and I am always filled with admiration for my blogging colleagues and how they fearlessly share their lives.

Meanwhile, on the trainspotting front, I just watched a fast freight on the second track overtake a passenger train just pulling out of the ststion. Quite a sight to see. This is one heck of a hobby.

OK. Feel much better.

Too Much Coffee = Rant


It is almost Midnight in Richmond, Virginia. I have YouTube on. There is a performance of Les Indes Galante 1, by Jean Phillippe Rameau. If you like baroque opera/ballet combined with total nudity, this performance is for you. This is a French production. We have lean and lithe dancers’ bodies, uh, dancing about.  

It’s OK, I suppose. The music is more engaging than the nekkid people. This choreography is just down right silly.

What does this have to with too much coffee? I ran out of decaf, you see. And I slept entirely too much today. So I am awake. I’m thinking I should read, but no. Now in the “performance” there is a procession of clothed people, led by a man dressed as the Pope. I know this is supposed to symbolize something but quite frankly, I don’t care.  The innocent nekkid people, corrupted by (boo, hiss) CIVILIZATION, perhaps?   Next we have  rube tourists wanting to get to this Eden where the naked people cavort. I know the 18th Century gave this idea of the Noble Savage., Merci, Monsieur Rousseau. Maybe this stupid ballet is what we need to bury the Noble Savage idea once and for all eternity.

About twenty years ago, I saw a classic French film, Les Enfants du Paradise, for the first time. It was an homage to classical French Theatre. How tragic that the French no longer take their art seriously.  Western Culture is engaged in an orgy of self-hatred, as evidenced by this performance.

Maybe, we in the West will summon the collective courage, intellect and will to challenge the intellectual foundation of modernism, specifically the works of Freud, Nietzsche, Marx, and Darwin.  Intellectual counterrevolutions take time.  

Rant over.


Lust Or Loneliness?

We look at our desires within a context of sinister motives. The sex drive outside of marriage is viewed as lust. We want someone as a partner, as a lover outside of that marital bond and it is considered, by some people, at least, as lust.  Marriage is construed as the societal construct that keeps that lust in check and puts it to the good use of perpetuating the society and the culture. OK.

 Lust isn’t about just sexual gratification. Lust is the soul seeking to thwart loneliness.  At a very basic level, the soul only knows that it is lonely, just as a hungry baby cries because all she or he knows is that she or he is hungry,

I spent the day lonely as Mrs CorC? worked. When we finally were reunited, we were grooveing on each others presence. The one-dimensional aspect of our marriage thwarted sexual expression.. 

Still her being home fills a void at least,

Growing Up

Is it too much to ask to be loved by EVERYONE, always and forever?

Yes. As a matter of fact, it is. Impossible.  Part of growing up is coming to this realization. That doesn’t means one’s life will be devoid of love. That also doesn’t give one license to be mean or petty or vengeful.  It just means that the narcissism that clouds our perception of the world has lost a bit of its grip.

Welcome to Adulthood.

The Thrill Of Victory


Back in May, I decided to get serious about losing weight and keeping it off. I weighed 215 lbs then. Rather than have Weight Watchers© merely draft the monthly fees out of my checking account, I thought doing what they suggested would be a smarter choice.

This afternoon I weighed in at 180 lbs., within 2lbs of my goal weight of 179, so I again have Lifetime status and I get to use the digital resources of Weight Watchers© for FREE!!!!!!

I am very happy and satisfied. I remember every lame excuse I had for not doing the Weight Watchers© Plan. I remember every lie I told myself about being OK with how I looked and what I weighed.

Weight Watchers© is a disciplined way of living, putting food and eating within a healthy context. Plus the inducement to exercise makes the Plan fun. I even get Fit Points© for housework. There is nothing to stop me from fantasizing around my cleaning chores. I am a secret “service sub”. If one keeps the blinds drawn, there is nothing to stop one from cleaning house ” nekkid,”

My planrs for the next few weeks in maintaining my weight loss involve finding new ways to prepare and cook new vegetables, like tomatillos, fennel bulb, and kohlrabi. 

The most important things I’ve learned about weight loss and weight maintenance are slowly is better, don’t make weight loss harder than it has to be, and expect “bumps” along the way. I did not quit.

Yay ME!

Holy Hour. Short Fiction? 


Perhaps there is no fiction. Perhaps the stories are how we tell the truth. The only way. And the dreams are the distillate of the waking hours.

The First Friday brings Nocturnal Adoration. The faithful sit quietly before the Consecrated Host, The Precious Body Of Our Lord, clothed, as it were, in the exquisite monstrance. The monstrance sits on the low altar.  And those who sit with Our Lord in the Form of Bread, contemplate, meditate, pray. Those who sit with Him at Four AM, sometimes fight back sleep, but always return to His Presence. This morning, Joseph brought just his Rosary and a prayer book containing the Memorare, which he had yet to memorize despite how many years.

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored  thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided.

Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not  my petitions, but in thy mercy, hear and answer me.    

There were souls in Purgatory to pray for. And those here with us, with burdens too grievous to bear alone.                                                                       


There were Mysteries to be contemplated, Sorrowful, Joyful, Glorious. And hopefully Fruits to be blessed with.  One day. Some day. Now there were the beads, the prayers., the thoughts which fly to God via Our Lady.

In The Name….. I believe,,,, Our Father….., Hail Mary, Hail Mary, Hail Mary.

….now and at the hour of our death.

 Lead all souls to Heaven, especially those in most need of Thy Mercy.

Hail Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy….

The hour wore on in the silent church. When it ended he knelt at the altar rail before The Precious Body of Our Lord, blessed himself (In the Name of….) and left, dipping  his fingers in the font, blessing himself again.

He returned to the empty bed, yet more silence. Even the birds weren’t awake. Or did he refuse to listen?

He put his head on the pillow. Her scent lingered still. Patchouli.  How much longer would it remain? How long had it been?

Marriage. Such a fancy word. Powerful. All enveloping. Every day until….  A shared life until that end, which came with her in that hospital bed the hospice people brought, along with the morphine or whatever it was.  Her fingers touched the beads of her Rosary as she drifted away. The priest, Father O’Hara, gave her Last Rites, and she was on the way.

Fourth Glorious Mystery, The Assumption,  The Fruit of this Mystery is the Grace of a Happy Death.

That day for him that never ended.