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 


Sometimes You Eat The Bear…


Sometimes the bear eats you.

I had my six-month check-up today. Weight at the Doctor’s office 186.8 lbs. BP is 120/80. We are waiting to hear about the blood work. Maybe there are no more statin drugs in my future. The cost for the generic is not great, but it sure would be nice to have one less pill to take.  Weight Watchers meeting is today. I weigh 183.6 lbs on their scale. Even better. Goal weight 179 lbs is only 4.6 lbs away. We have a great meeting, very positive.


I go swimming, a little tired, but I go. And it feels like I’m crawling through concrete about ready to set. I finish.  And I’m hurting, sore and aching. I go home.  And I want the pain to go away. So I’m resting with ice. And Advil.

Life is good. On balance. 

Waiting For The Fog To Lift


Actually, it is a lovely late summer day, only a few days away from the Autumnal Equinox.  There is no real fog. But in my head, it’s another matter. I’m engaged in the mental wrestling match, pitting Desire against Inhibition.  I realize that my fear of rejection has me keep silent in the agonizing climate of sexual negativity inside my marriage. If I state my needs, her issues will be expressed and they will override what my desires are.  This sucks.

And my usual outlets, based on a rich fantasy life and the accompanying auto-erotic self-stimulation, don’t work any more.  Those outlets are about self-centeredness and only exacerbate the loneliness.

 There are only so many games to watch on TV, laps to swim, and cold showers to take.  I’m giving Anne Rice’s Beautys Kingdom another read-through, seeking some respite in the sumptuous, but implausible, decadence. 

Would I walk away from my world and my values, just to feel better or different right now? Stay tuned.

Sunday Morning


Mr. Good Catholic here managed to sleep through any chance of getting to 11:00 Mass. There is always the 4:30 Extraordinary Form (Latin ) Mass.  

I woke up fully embracing the gift of being alive. I should eat something, I suppose. The sun is shining, the temperature is pleasant. 

This is the first Sunday of the NFL season. Pro football is one of my guilty pleasures. I admit it.  Other guilty pleasures of mine include fried salt herring,  Looney Tunes from the 30’s and 40’s,  and Krispy Kreme Donuts.

As near as I know, our Florida friends and family are safe.  Several of them are in law enforcement, so I suspect they will be needed. My brother-in-law’s mother lives in Bradenton. She is around 90 and her daughter took her to her home in Georgia. We just hope she has a home to return to.  Praying for the folks in Florida.

4:18 AM And Awake

I have been up since 3:30 or thereabouts. I went upstairs last night to be with Mrs CorC?. She was watching The Andy Griffith Show episodes, then shows on lottery winners shopping for new houses on HGTV. OK. That was nice, I suppose, but the house-hunting millionaires inspired such chagrin in me I can’t begin to describe it. I have a house, I have a pretty good life. What do I care about the desires of lottery winners?.

Usually at this hour, I take time to pray the Rosary.  Now I am watching a movie in Greek about the poet C. P. Cavafy on YouTube. Since I don’t understand Greek, I must follow the story through the images and visual narrative. This is always a rewarding activity in that it gets one out of a customary way of seeing the world.

I feel sleep wanting to return. I’m debating whether to return to the “big bed” where my wife is sleeping or to sleep alone

Who can describe the pain of loneliness and the burdened heart? Blessed Mother you know me so well. Let me aspire to dream at your feet, enveloped in your pristine love.

The Thrill Is Gone


I hope I don’t have some sort of sexual dysfunction.  I remain attracted to women and my physical responses are still present. There is something going on however. I no longer delight in tales and anecdotes of sexual escapades.  

I have looked at my sex life and my interest in sexual matters.  Revulsion is now the operative word.  Not guilt over what I have done.  Truth is, what I’ve wanted is love. Human sexual activity may or may not be about love. And in 2017 America it ain’t!

I see nothing loving in adultery, even when you slap the word polyamory on it. I see nothing loving in promiscuity, even when that is rationalized away. I am repulsed at fetishising sexual chastity, when  chastity is debased to a super-thrill. Brutality is still brutality, even when it is “safe, sane, and consensual”. 

Human sexuality is the playground of the selfish and self-serving and has been for a long time. The rules of the Judeo-Christian marriage, chiefly monogamous, lifelong unions between a man and woman make more sense than the values of the “hook-up” culture. Among those dubious values are divorce, cohabitation outside of marriage, and artificial contraception.

I’m sure many of you are shocked by these statements. Or annoyed.  I just want off the Sexual Fantasy Island. Because I see the misery out there living the Free Love Lie.

Miscellany. Wherein I Defend Confederate Monuments In Public Places.

Mrs CorC? was laid off last week in a cost-saving move by corporate. Sucks. We are using the down time to clear out junk in the old hacienda.  I took some books to the Y for their book sale. My dream is that we will be rid of enough stuff to commence work on the home remodel. The pricy stuff will be new windows, a rear patio door and hardwood flooring downstairs. With luck, we can have the house ready for the family at Christmas or Thanksgiving.

I’ve been on course to reach my weight loss goals. My swimming is coming along, well uh, swimmingly. I will do a 2-mile swim now without a second thought.

I live in Richmond, Virginia. We have in Richmond, an avenue where Confederate monuments are placed in positions of honor. They have been here for over a century. It is lovely statuary in an exquisite urban setting.  If political ideology clouds your aesthetic sense, you will be offended by monuments to Robert E. Lee and others.  Sorry. The street, Monument Avenue, is lovely .  Destroying beautiful things are what barbarians do. Art is also supposed to make one think and frequently makes us uncomfortable.  Think about that.

Yes, I know all about slavery. We Southern white males are not idiots. Nor are we ignorant. How is destroying Monument Avenue, even with its allusion to a tragic past, going to eliminate the horror of slavery from our history ?  Books in this country are already banned for superficial reasons. The Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn is not taught in schools because Mark Twain used the “N” word.   The study of  history and literature isn’t for the timid.  Art isn’t about sentimentality. How can people we don’t much care for or agree with create beautiful things? Yet they do. And always have. 

This has been on my mind for a while. I needed to express my thoughts.