June2007

Tuesday 5th June 2007:

I hate fucking greenfly, not that I ever have, fucked one I mean, come on, talk sense here, what’s the matter with you, they’re far too small for one thing, I’d have to have an appendage the size of a midgie’s and while I’m not one to boast I’m definitely no midgie in the dick department, the truth is aphids just don’t turn me on, though rumour has it that their most pronounced feature is their piercing, sucking mouthparts, something to bear in mind if you’re really frustrated and hard up for a date on a steamy summers evening, just wander around the garden in your birthday suit with a nice red rose strategically strapped to your stalk and before you know it you’ll be encrusted in greenfly all wanting to suck out your sap. No, to get back on subject, I must make clear that I have never sexually harassed any small flying insects, or any large ones come to that, however I must confess to the brutal assault, battery and murder of several hundred of the bloody things earlier today. There seems to be a plague of them at the moment. I went for a gentle run around the park this morning where I ended up spitting out mouthfuls of them, I’m just glad there were no entomologists lurking around, they’d have tried to prise my teeth out to salvage the insect collection clustered there, I wouldn’t mind so much, but they’re tasteless, no flavour whatsoever. By the time I got home my plain blue t-shirt and shorts were infested with the horrible things, I looked like I wearing paisley, by the way, let me share an interesting fact, spiders are not insects, I know, it’s bloody amazing isn’t it, I was that excited when I was informed of this fact in detail by a near neighbour that I almost suffered premature ejaculation. I had to go for a lie down.

Anyway, gibberish aside, it’s my diary I’ll gibber if I want to, I’ve had a mixed start to flaming June (flaming my arse, it’s perishing here this afternoon) for a start Penny’s broomstick touched down on Friday afternoon (where’s Dorothy of Oz when you need her to land a house on some old witch) and yay, darkness fell upon all the land and its inhabitants, but mainly upon the houseboy. The Muppet isn’t in tow this time, apparently he escaped while she was haggling over the price of fish in Tesco and was last seen boarding a Yak for outer Mongolia where he’s been promised refugee status on account of fleeing from tyranny (Lie detector says NO) Oh alright then, the dull truth is that he’s gone down to Dorset to visit one of his sisters, she and Penny don’t get on at all, no surprises there then, so he always goes alone. He has, or rather had, five sisters, two of them are sadly deceased, can you imagine being the only boy in a predominantly female household, it’s a wonder he didn’t cross dress in order to conform to the prevailing psychological atmosphere (I haven’t had so much as one psychology lesson and yet I can babble bull with the best of them) Penny greeted me with an affectionate command to bring her case in from the car and a snarky comment about my spotty clock, she made me feel like a leper, if I’d had a bell handy I would have hung it round my neck and started yelling ‘unclean’ every time I walked past the cow. I lugged her case up to the guest room, made her a cup of tea, spat in it (but only metaphorically speaking or spitting, I would never be so naughty as to really do it) and made every effort to avoid her as much as I could by working in the garden, which I thought was a nice safe way of forestalling saying something I’d regret to her. Apparently I caused her deep affront by working clad only in a pair of shorts, admittedly they were short shorts, but hardly obscene or anything, I mean it wasn’t like I was using my cock as a dibber to plant seedlings with. As soon as he got home Shane rollicked me for cavorting around half naked in front of his sister, she nags him, he nags me, it’s always the way, those at the bottom of the evolutionary scale get leapt upon by those above. He ended up telling me to put some bloody clothes on. I told him that he didn’t usually complain about my lack of clothing, a remark I followed up by bad temperedly hurling the secateurs at the fence where they stuck like a dart. Shane was most displeased and seizing me by the hand marched me down to the summerhouse where he bent over a chair and walloped my ‘bolshy’ backside with the side of an empty watering can, it was like being spanked with a big plastic paddle.

On Saturday I left Shane and Dick Witch watching and went over to Eileen’s for some much needed respite. She had a couple of her friends over and I ended up quaffing iced gin and lime in the garden while helping them stick cloakroom tickets to a multitude of assorted donated objects that were destined as prizes in a raffle at the annual Church fete on Sunday. We had a good old gossip about the neighbours condemning the disgraceful state of the net curtains at number fifteen (local government, he’s in local government and his net curtains are a disgrace, filthy, you’d think he’d employ someone to clean house for him, he can afford it, probably too busy spending his money on call girls or rent boys or both, he looks like he swings both ways, three ways, never has his right hand out of his pocket, that’s why he drives an automatic, he can’t handle two gear sticks) I’m telling you, those old girls know how to hold their liquor and, against all conscious wisdom and good sense, I felt honour bound to match them drink for drink and then some. I’m not too good with spirits, I mainly drink wine or lager and gin is a real killer, no wonder they call it mother’s ruin, so by the time we were done gossiping, ticket sticking and then folding the ones already bought to go in the tombola drum ready for the draw I was as pissed as a fart, and I really mean slaughtered. I staggered back across the road clutching a sheaf of raffle tickets that I had only a vague recollection of buying, those old girls are hard sellers as well as hard drinkers, though to be fair I did win a bottle of pornographic wine: Blue Nun. I decided to have a nice lie down as soon as I got home, on the front lawn, from where I managed to phone Dick and slur a request for assistance. He was quickly on scene and I was glad to see him, both of him, even if they did insist on spinning round, he’s hyperactive at times is Dick. Anyway, I managed to impart the tragic news that I was dying and if he could manage to locate my Hardy he’d better kiss it pronto before I did a Nelson and passed over, or out. Dick was philosophical about my imminent demise, scooping me up into his arms he said, “don’t worry my honey, a nice long sleep and you’ll be resurrected as good as new.” Shane intercepted us in the hall and I was gratified to hear a slight note of panic in his voice, as he demanded to know what was wrong with me. Dick calmly informed Daddy that the cub had been boozing with the women folk and was too drunk to stand up on his own four paws. He refused a request to hand me over saying I was as much his baby as Shane’s and he would look after me, I wished I was sober enough to enjoy being fought over. Of course it was less about looking after baby and more about avoiding being the one to take Penny out for dinner. She decided it, telling Shane that she wanted to discuss some matters with him. After blessing the bathroom china with a torrid and seemingly endless stream of gin and lime cocktails I lay on the bed cuddled close to my Dick, not my actual own you understand, I may be agile, but I’m not a contortionist (I had a friend once who claimed he could suck his own cock, that’s when I gave up sucking my thumb, I just felt inadequate by comparison) and drifted into unconsciousness.

Sunday dawned as gentle as a meteorite. Head pounding I lurched downstairs to make a start on breakfast, only seeing as it was well gone eleven, everyone had not only started breakfast, they’d finished it. Dick had gone into work and Shane was in the kitchen making coffee. He gave me a ‘bollocking for the houseboy coming’ look, but didn’t get chance to follow through immediately. It was a very warm bright day here on Sunday and the window was open. I have a set of wind chimes hanging in the window recess, I like the sound of them, I find them relaxing, anyway they were moving in the breeze from the window and with the sun approaching its zenith the result was a fast flickering of light as it glanced off the swaying aluminium bars. It was more than my gin addled brain could cope with and I had three seizures in the space of about a minute, the terror from the first didn’t have time to recede before my guts was rising in response to the next wave and the next. I ended up leaking eye and nasal fluids into Shane’s front as he held me tightly in his arms soothingly rubbing his cheek against my hair. I was aware of a third party coming into the kitchen and an exchange of words including the musical, “go away Pen, there’s a good girl.” I slept very heavily for most of the day, I always feel wiped out after an episode, especially one like that, and it coming on top of a hangover didn’t help. I felt dreadfully ill, I didn’t know where my gut ache ended and my headache began. However, I woke up on Monday morning feeling just fine, but it didn’t last long. Shane called a bedroom conference. I was the main speaker, my task being to discuss and if possible validate getting so drunk that I was unable to take my medication, which undoubtedly contributed to the episodes on Sunday morning, though even if I had taken it the chances are that I would still have had one anyway simply because of the amount I’d had to drink, alcohol, especially the hard stuff, affects anyone’s brain, if you’ve got an oversensitive brain it affects it even more, conclusion: anyone with a neurological problem has to approach alcohol with caution. I’ve said before that a relationship like ours has certain rules and limits, some of those limits are soft and open to negotiation under certain circumstances, others are hard and not mutable under any circumstance, my taking medication is one such I take it, end of story. In Shane's book a hard rule broken is a rule broken regardless of whether the breakage was done on purpose or came about by negligence. Sentence was passed before the Daddies left for work, but deferred until last evening when Dick took Penny out for dinner, for once I was sorry to see the old bat leaving. I was soon bare arsed over Daddy’s knee getting a good spanking followed by a paddling for my ‘deliberate and stupidly reckless misuse of alcohol simply because I was brassed off by a houseguest.’ I slept on my stomach last night. To add insult to injury I’m banned from drinking any kind of alcoholic beverage for the rest of this week, not even a canned shandy, and spirits for the rest of my life. Aw well gentle people, no one said that it would be easy being a submissive boy toy, and fear not, I have a nice line in passive vengeance lined up for dinner this evening. I’m cooking trout on the bone, I love watching everyone delicately picking bones from between their teeth, but the piece de résistance is the wine I’m serving to accompany it, remember that bottle of Blue Nun I won in the raffle, well it’s in the fridge chilling down, I know from past party experience that it will live up to it’s porno name and be utterly obscene. I can’t wait to see their faces when they swill the equivalent of cheap anti-freeze around their tonsils.

Bon appetit!

Saturday 16th June 2007:

I’ve reached a milestone since last I scribed, I’m now 25, my quarter century, it sounds so old when you put it in terms like that, especially when you consider how few people ever reach a full century, it makes you realise how short life really is. My mother is 48, only four years older than Shane and she won’t live to see her half-century. I found out something, my dad was younger than my mum, I didn’t know that, it must be where I get my thing for older lovers; he was almost five years younger than her. I asked her if she thought they would have still been together if he’d lived and she said she thought there was a good chance, he was young in some ways and old in others and he had made her laugh with his daft antics. I’ve been away on a short holiday with her; in fact I just got back today. I’m feeling a bit down to be truthful. Not because I didn’t enjoy the time with her because I really did, and not because I’m not glad to be home, because I really am, I missed my Daddies, but I feel caught in a kind of limbo between the two events. Mum and I shared a lot of things this last week, I suppose in its way it was quite intense and not all of it happy-happy. It’s shocking how much hurt and bitterness you can harbour without realising, it’s like a seam of hidden poison. Remember at Christmas when I said I thought there was a lot of words left unspoken between us, well, we finally spoke many of them and they were painful for both of us. If I ever break my autobiographical writing duck I’ll write the holiday up as a chapter. Shane is letting me know that the twenty minutes computer time he granted me is up and he wants my presence in the living room pronto. Bless him, I’ve missed his domineering, overbearing ways.

Thursday 21st June 2007:

Ever since becoming aware of my mother’s condition I’ve found it hard to do any consistent writing, I sit down at the computer and my mind doesn’t so much go blank, there’s lots I want to relate, as much as it just seizes, it kind of goes into freeze frame and I can’t shift it back or forward and I end up feeling overwhelmingly tired. I find it easier to lose myself in physical tasks rather than things cerebral. Dick and Shane have gone sailing with HIM this evening so I’ve had plenty of free time and I sat down intending to relate events of the week, but as soon as I switched on lethargy swept over me and the only thing I’ve done in the last hour is alter my age on my front page and stuff my face with rubbishy snacks, the desk looks like an overflowing litterbin. It’s been an eventful week too. Dick and Shane had a major disagreement on Monday that led to Dick being severely punished, it was awful and I was really upset over it, which led to me being punished last night. The bloody phone is ringing, can you believe it! I finally stir my arse to start typing (not literally you understand, my arse may be cute, but it hasn’t yet learned to type, that would be a good novelty act for Britain Has Got Talent wouldn’t it…man typing with his arse) if it’s Shane he’ll just keep ringing until I answer. He’s not even home and I can hear his voice bellowing: GILLI PHONE!

Friday 22nd June 2007:

It was Shane on the phone last night, he was calling to say that HIM had had a mishap, at which point I rudely interrupted to wise crack: ‘don’t tell me he was swallowed by a giant squid and it spat him back out.’ Shane doesn’t care for facetiousness at the best of times and in the circumstances he cared for it even less and my ears suffered as a result, no doubt if he’d been at hand my arse would have suffered at his hand. I had the grace to blush and duly apologised for my inappropriate remark. Leo had slipped on deck and hit his head sustaining a nasty gash. Shane was letting me know that he and Dick were accompanying him to Casualty and so might be late back. He needed four stitches in a cut to the back of his head. I wasn’t too suited when Dick arrived home alone and informed me that Shane was staying over with Leo as the hospital recommended that he have someone with him overnight in case of complications arising from the blow to the head, they had wanted to keep him overnight for observation, but he refused. I knew I was being petty in the circumstances and I wasn’t too proud of my reaction, jealousy making me snap that Leo had friends other than Shane who could nursemaid him and how about giving one of them a call. Dick adopted his most aristocratic manner to tell me off, the one that makes me feel about three inches tall. He said if anyone had the right to jealousy it was he and as he wasn’t jealous there was no need for me to be, and I needed to at least pay lip service to maturity and compassion instead of thinking only of myself. I huffed off to the single room to sleep and in the spirit of maturity slammed the door behind me, which made Dick even more annoyed; I was not his honey last night and there was nothing sweet about the hand that laid into my backside, it really did hurt as I was still tender from the good hiding I’d gotten on Wednesday. Shane came home early this morning to change into his work suit and I shot myself in the foot by sweetly asking how HE was and how had they both slept, together, or separately? I’m to sleep separately tonight now, as my Daddies do not want to share a bed with an immaturely jealous, selfish little sod like me. I haven’t had a very good week all things considered, though I suppose to be fair I brought a lot of it on myself, like the hiding I got on Wednesday.

According to Dick, Shane has mellowed with age and goes far easier on me than he might once have done, but he also warns that one of these days I’ll sass Shane a tad too far and end up being given a very harsh lesson in submission and obedience. I thought that moment had arrived on Wednesday evening when he forcibly stripped me naked, tied me to a stake with barbed wire and severely flogged me and all because he didn’t like what I was wearing (Lie detector says NO, stop it, behave, he did not) oh alright, I’m exaggerating, we all have to have a hobby and that’s mine. I really did push my luck though as far as Shane was concerned earlier this week. I was angry with him for punishing Dick on Monday night and I suppose in an effort to punish him on Dick’s behalf I behaved in a very recalcitrant and stubborn manner. I was calculatedly lax with household tasks and barely civil. Dick had several words with me regarding my attitude, gently telling me that he was fine with his punishment, that he’d earned it and also accepted it and that if he wasn’t holding a grudge towards Shane there was no need for me to hold one on his behalf, grudges were not allowed and I had to let it go and behave myself or I’d land in trouble on my own behalf. Did I listen to Daddy, of course I did, did I heed the advice Daddy gave, of course I didn’t. No matter what anyone tells you, living in a relationship such as ours can be many things, but it’s never easy, it really isn’t, you can intellectualise your role and understand and desire to obey the precepts encompassed within it, but emotionally there are times when it goes hard against the grain and the natural urge to rebel takes precedence, I don’t think I’d make a very successful slave type.

Dick came home from work last Monday night with a face like thunder heading straight upstairs; it looked set to be a stormy night because Shane followed not long after with a face even more thunderous and it was very obvious that they’d had a heavy disagreement. I knew it was really serious when Shane told me that I was to go down to the summerhouse and stay there until he fetched me. My stomach churned, it could only mean that he intended to give Dick a punishment caning or a strapping. Now Dick is kinky, there’s no denying it and he really gets off on having a strong man clad in black leather put a cane across his naked buttocks, preferably while he’s tightly bound in some very uncomfortable position. However, a sensuous caning during a play scene is very, very different to a punishment caning given by the same strong man in his domestic capacity. In a play scene the submissive partner has a safe word on stand by to either slow or stop the action, and though it might not seem like it to a casual observer he or she maintains a basic control. When it comes to domestic discipline there is no convenient safe word and the submissive partner has no control over the action at all, in short the objective is to punish and punish for real with no overt sensual or sexual gratification being gained from it. Getting back to Monday night it seemed an age before Shane came to get me. Nothing was said, I was simply sent about my business, and I knew better than to ask, even though I was dying to, if Dick or Shane wanted to give me details they would do so, it was not my place to ask for them.

HIM is very much into the bdsm scene and hosts events every now again, which my Daddies sometimes attend, the parties are not really that much to my taste, I’m not comfortable with graphically displaying myself before other people and besides Shane doesn’t often allow me to attend anyway. If I do go its as an observer only and not a participant, he says I’m not yet comfortable or attuned enough with my submissive nature and domestic role to be able to cope with and differentiate between what’s play and what isn’t and there was a real danger that I’d give off mixed messages which would make play unsafe for all concerned and cause me emotional as well as physical distress. I’m more than happy with his decision in that respect, he’s just taking care of me. He teaches me to play at home and it’s weird, but some of our most intimate and closest moments have come out of some fairly intense play sessions, I like it when he’s totally focussed on me and I’m totally focussed on him, trusting him not to take me beyond my limits and he never has, he knows instinctively when something isn’t working for me and he’s incredibly gentle when such a scenario arises. As well as private parties Dick sometimes feels a yen to do the fetish club scene, which is how he met Shane. Dick is funny, if he’s been playing he can’t wait to show me his marks, he gets a thrill out of describing how he got them and how it felt and how horny it made him, he loves me to run my hands over them, it turns him on all over again and I’m the lucky recipient of his lust, but, when it comes to the real thing it’s a very different story. He doesn’t make mention of it and I’m not to make mention of it either, nor am I to fuss, it’s done and accepted and that’s it, nor will he allow me to comfort him in the same way he comforts me after I’ve been punished by Shane. Anyway, I got on with making dinner and he came downstairs when it was ready. His face was pale and he’d obviously done some heavy crying because his eyelids were still pink and swollen. He visibly flinched and closed his eyes for a second as he carefully lowered his lean frame into a sitting position; I also noticed that his hand had a tremor when he picked up his wine glass. I had no idea what Dick had done to incur Shane’s displeasure, it had to be fairly serious to have warranted what looked to be a heavy caning, and I didn’t care, I was upset I always get upset when there’s been an incident between my Tops. I was also unreasonably angry with Shane and could barely eat because I was so busy fighting tears. Dick noticed my struggle and taking hold of my hand raised it to his lips and kissed it reassuringly, gently mouthing at me to ‘stop it.’ Later, he asked and was granted leave to sleep in the single room and I guessed he was too sore to want to be in close proximity to anyone else. I quietly slipped into the bedroom to say goodnight finding him standing naked before the mirror his face drawn with pain as he examined his backside. I gave a cry of distress, I couldn’t help it, his buttocks and upper thighs were welted with cane marks he must have been given a dozen or more strokes, no wonder he’d flinched when parking his poor arse. Hastily dragging his boxers back on he crossly told me that I should have knocked, he then told me I wasn’t to start one of my hysteria sessions because he was just fine.

Next morning Shane got up and went into the single room closing the door firmly behind him and I soon heard the unmistakeable sounds of hard sex taking place, another affirmation of his domestic authority. Dick was quiet when he came down for breakfast and my heart went out to him. I did what I had no right to do, I made a demarcation between the men folk, casting Shane as villain and Dick as victim, you can’t do that in any relationship let alone a trinogamous one. I went all out on the side of the victim, as I perceived it. I tenderly placed Dick’s meals in front of him; Shane’s were slopped onto the plate and all but dropped from a height. Dick’s shirts were beautifully ironed, Shane’s got left in the bottom of the laundry basket, I let the dust gather on all surfaces and left washing up undone, I neglected the bathroom and while Dick got my smiles and sweet kisses, Shane got dour looks and only spoken to if he asked me a direct question. Shane didn’t say that much, he did some eye rolling and muttered that I was a tiresome boy and delivered a few warnings about attitude. As I said, about a million years ago (I’ve got my gobshite cap on today) Dick had a word warning me that I was overstepping the mark. He offered an observation that in retrospect was spot on. He said that he suspected that I was empathising a little too closely and trying to personalise a situation that wasn’t mine to personalise, he felt perhaps that I’d mistaken his quietness for unhappiness with his treatment, when in fact it was because he was unhappy about his own behaviour. Shane had punished him, with good cause, he had not punished me so there was no need for me to react as if he had, especially as I had no knowledge of the reason and therefore couldn’t make a judgement about whether the punishment was justified, which left me with only a misplaced resentment. You can take some things in without necessarily taking them fully on board, especially when you’re a stubborn sod like me and I carried on regardless. Things came to a head on Wednesday evening. I’d been in the garden all afternoon, I’m working on a project to create an Elizabethan style knot garden with herbs and flowers I saw some designs in an old book I picked up from a second hand shop and really loved them. Usually I prepare dinner and keep it warm while I have a quick shower and get changed, Shane likes dinner to be fairly formal. I just couldn’t be arsed on Wednesday. Shane immediately commented on my jeans and t-shirt, which were pretty grubby from gardening and cooking and coldly told me to get changed at once. I said I was too tired and if my appearance were truly that offensive then I would serve them dinner and eat my own in the kitchen. He said no, I was to change and eat with them as per normal. Folding my arms I said I was quite comfortable with the way I was dressed and what was the fucking big deal? Next thing I know his left arm is wrapped around my upper body like a vice, while his right is unfastening and removing my mucky jeans along with my briefs and socks, my t-shirt soon followed and to my dismay I found myself sprawled naked over his lap as he spanked a hard lecture about obedience and respect onto my bottom and thighs, the trip over his knee was followed by a trip over the back of a chair for a very unappetising serving of his belt. He then took me upstairs and personally dressed me in attire that he considered suitable. I was not allowed to move or do anything without his permission for the rest of that evening.

I’m non-the wiser about what caused the discipline issue between Dick and Shane. I suspect it had something to do with it being Royal Ascot this week and that Dick has probably violated the finite agreement they have between them with regard to his gambling, but as to how and what extent I just don’t know.

Well, better stop chuntering, we are having a casual evening in with a new DVD and a nice Indian takeaway, which is due to arrive any minute now. Dick and Shane are already snuggling on the couch and as soon as dinner arrives I shall take my rightful place between them, by force if necessary I need to get in my share of contact before being banished tonight. Ta-ra for now.

Saturday 23rd June 2007:

I’m pleased to report that I staged a successful coup on the master bedroom last night. Once Dick and Shane had gone to bed I stood on the landing and sang a heartrending and deliberately off key version of Are You Lonesome Tonight:

Are you lonesome tonight,
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
Do your memory’s stray to a bright sunny day
When I kissed you and called you sweethearts?
Does the space in your bed seem empty and bare?
Do you gaze at the sheet and picture me there?
Are your hearts filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me Daddies are you lonesome tonight?

It had no effect, the door stayed closed and Shane heartlessly bawled that I was to do as bidden and go to bed in the single room. I didn’t want to and stepped up my campaign. Dropping to my knees I rested my forehead against the door beseeching and wailing: Daddy please, please don’t make me sleep alone, don’t make me go back in there, there’s things under the bed, evil things with fangs and a taste for boy blood, Daddy please I’m frightened, DADDY. They’re coming, let me in; they’re coming for me, DADDY, save me! I fell flat on my face as the door was suddenly flung open, fortunately the men folk were laughing too much to do anything other than call me a brat of a houseboy and put me under tickle torture. The houseboy got his way though.

Dick went off golfing with indigestion man (Reny) this morning even though it was pissing down and threatening thunder, I told him to be careful in case he got struck by lightening while swinging his club. He wanted me to go with him in order to shield him with a golf umbrella, I declined saying I would rather volunteer to be a victim in a snuff movie than trudge around a soggy golf course looking like some kind of male Mary Poppins wielding a brolly. The weather cleared and Shane and I went out for a run, he may be older than me but believe me I’m hard pressed to keep pace with him, we got back and shared a cool and yet steamy shower. HIM called and invited us over to make the most of the sunshine while it lasted and have lunch in the garden. HIM it has to be said has a fabulous garden, the bastard. I wasn’t keen, but I didn’t want to be a stay at home alone boy on a Saturday, so I went. We got a taxi so Shane could have a few glasses of wine. Mike was there and also Rob and Howard. Leo started talking about someone they had known years ago who had recently had a heart attack and as usual I felt jealousy stir as they all started reminiscing about a past that I’d had no involvement in. I got up and went into the kitchen petting Genny, HIS posh moggy who was on the counter helping herself to some smoked salmon. I helped myself to another large glass of wine, which I took into the lounge to drink because Shane tends to keep count, which really pisses me off sometimes and I was aware that I’d already exceeded the quota he approved. Seeing as there was no private mail lying around that I could root through I settled for having a poke through HIS record collection, you know like you do when you’re in someone else’s house. I didn’t hold out much hope of there being much to my taste, HIM listens to a lot of jazz and classical. I have to admit I was surprised by some of the albums; there was an impressive array of rock and punk from the seventies and eighties. I found several albums by The Jam, including one called The Gift, which was actually one of my mum’s favourites; she and my dad had been fans of The Jam in their teens, something else I discovered while on holiday with her. I put it on to listen to. Rob came in to see if I was okay, he guessed I was feeling a bit excluded gently telling me that there was more than one way of sharing the past with someone other than having actually been there with them and that was to share it by being there now and listening to it being spoken of. I shrugged, unable to explain how I felt. Rob is sweet and he’s also really fucking funny sometimes, he told me that The Jam along with bands like The Clash and The Damned had been favourites of his older brothers who were both heavily into the punk scene, describing how as a lad of ten or eleven he’d watch them getting ready to go out on a Friday and Saturday night. Spitting on his hands he then rubbed them through his hair to spike it up and proceeded to give a manic demonstration of the way his brothers had danced, adding that it was no wonder he’d chosen the gay path as he was afraid being straight meant you had to dance as if you were being electrocuted while spitting at people and swearing. I was just about crying with laughter at his antics when a shadow, or shadows fell over the lounge. It had started raining again and driven everyone inside. Howard’s face was a picture, even more so when Rob smoothly said, ‘hello dear, I was just showing young Gilli how you used to dance at parties.’ Howard retorted that he had never danced like that in his life. I could believe it, he’s a very reserved man is Howard; to be honest he scares me a bit. Shane noted my glass of wine and gave me a look coded with the words, ‘make that your last.’ I begged HIS pardon for rooting through his records and playing them without asking, but he waived my apology and said it was nice to hear some of the old stuff again. I suddenly realised with a shock that these respectable successful middle-aged businessmen had been kids, lads in their teen years when the punk era was at its height. The record I had put on predated me, but it represented a core aspect of their past. Shane told how he saw The Jam perform before they got famous as they used to play club and pub venues around the Woking area where he lived when he was in his early teens. Mike then described how he’d seen them at a gig at Leeds Poly in 1977, a gig he’d gone to because The Stranglers were supposed to be topping the bill only they never showed up or if they did he’d gotten so drunk he couldn’t remember, he related how he had really fancied Bruce Foxton and Shane laughed and said he had too and then they were all off again talking about their life and times and for once I actually enjoyed it, maybe because for once I set aside jealousy and let myself share in their past by listening to them speak of it or maybe it was because Shane’s arm was warm around my shoulders holding me against his side making me feel a safe and secure part of his present life and times. I caught Rob watching me and smiled at him, he gave a subtle wink and made a little toast with his wine glass, I reached for my glass to return the gesture only to have Shane reach it first and move it out of reach. I didn’t mind.

Dick eventually joined us and all in all it’s been a good day. We got back about nine this evening and both Daddies are crashed out on the couch watching telly. I’m going to go crash with them.

Monday 25th June 2007:

I was like a hunted animal yesterday, Shane wanted to douche me and Dick fancied giving his boy toy a close shave and not where you might think. I went out for a run to avoid them hoping that if I left them alone together for long enough they’d douche and shave each other and leave my cute little person unmolested. No such luck. I was having an after run shower when Dick made an appearance yielding a cutthroat machete and a square of sandpaper (Lie detector says rubbish, it was a Gillette razor and a can of shaving foam) oh alright, so I fibbed, the thing is, he wasn’t eyeing my throat. Clapping my hands over my short and curlies I told him, in a very firm voice, NO, bad Daddy! He advanced with that wild look in his eye that warned me he was in the grip of fevered kinkiness. I’d like it once it was done, he said, I always did, it was sexy, a real turn on and he was sick of oral sex ending with strands of my pubes flossing his teeth, he wanted a silky smooth little houseboy honey to play with. NO and thrice NO, because it was itchy prickly hell when it grew back. No problem, the wicked gleam in his eye deepened, we just wouldn’t allow it to grow back, ever, and maybe he would even pay to have me professionally waxed from tip to toe once a month. Fleeing the bathroom I galloped downstairs flinging myself on Shane’s mercy as well as his lap, which didn’t please him overly much seeing as I was sopping wet. Still, he solemnly heard out my objections and then held me down while Dick did the dirty deed. Bastard. To be fair though, he then held Dick down while I turned the tables or rather the Gillette. Shane enjoyed having two smooth boys to play with so much that now he’s talking about having us BOTH professionally waxed once a month. I have to admit it is sexy; I can’t keep my hands off myself never mind Dick.

One thing’s for sure, Shane is going to be more than pleased with me when he gets home tonight. The house is positively gleaming. The weather here has been unbelievable today, howling gales and torrential rain, no way was I venturing out in it. I called my mother this morning and had a chat, she’s pretty good at the moment, and busy decorating her living room and then I caught up with some emails and then I threw myself into domesticity. I even baked bread for Pete’s sake, well not exactly for Pete’s sake I don’t even know who Pete is, I did it mainly to keep myself occupied. I’ve had the dried yeast and strong white flour in the cupboard for well over a year and just never got around to doing anything with them. They were a bit out of date, but no matter, no one would ever know. I enjoyed the hands on experience and the smell while it baked was fantastic, alas smelling good was where it ended. It was as heavy as lead, maybe I should have used weak white flour, I buckled a knife trying to slice the bastard and it tasted of nothing in particular, disappointing. I don’t think Warburtons have anything to fear from me. If I didn’t think I’d get done for animal cruelty I’d feed it to the birds, if they ate it they wouldn’t be able to get their feathered arses airborne again, they’d be grounded and if a lump hit one of them it would kill it stone dead, still it might sort out that thug of a robin that lives in our garden…head butt that you red breasted bugger, THUD! I’ve put it on the dinner table ready for tonight, the bread I mean not the stunned robin, just for the sheer joy of watching the
men folk struggle to eat it for the sake of pleasing me. Better go, they’ll be in soon.

Tuesday 26th June 2007:

Predictably my homemade bread went down like a lead balloon, literally, it was heavy stuff. Shane’s face as he masticated a morsel had to be seen to be believed. Dick called it interesting, I won’t tell you what Shane called it, you know me I don’t like using profane language. I didn’t endear myself to Big Bear this morning either when I managed to give him a chocolate milkshake shower shortly before he was due to leave for work. It was actually Dick’s fault. The thing is, being a bloke I’m fond of gadgets, its a man thing, The Gadget Shop was created specifically for men and our inability to resist buying and trying largely useless gadgets. My latest gadget, purchased over the net, is a natty little hand held whisk thing called The Aerolatte and I love it, its great for mixing and frothing up coffee and milkshakes in the cup or glass. Anyway, this morning I fancied a chocolate milkshake for breakfast, as you do, and so sluiced some cold milk into a glass tipped in a sachet of chocolate powder and picked up my dinky little whisk in order to blend milk and powder into a harmonious whole. Dick, who was upstairs, chose that moment to let rip with an almighty and explosive FUCK, the word I mean, not the deed, which makes a change I know, Dick is more often your man of action than words. Fearing imminent molestation I was understandably startled and reflexively switched on my whisk before it was properly submerged in the mug mixture consequently chocolate milk sprayed from the mug at a rate of knots splattering the table…and Shane who was sitting at it. His pristine white shirt was pebble dashed; he looked like he’d been caught in fallout from a slurry wagon. All desire to laugh left me as furious green eyes fixed on my face and I hastily apologised, which cut no ice as he said in classic Dad’s Army, Captain Mainwaring style: “you stupid boy!” Dick materialised in the kitchen, stark naked pointing at a piece of toilet tissue tacked to his groin and complaining that he’d almost given himself a sex change while shaving his five o’ ‘cock’ shadow. He then looked at Shane and said, “did you know that you’ve got some brown specks on your shirt?” Talk about understatement, Shane’s face was a fucking picture and I collapsed into laughter I just couldn’t help it the tears were all but running down my legs. Rising majestically to his feet Shane clipped me very smartly up the back of the head and told me to clean up the bloody mess I’d made, he then exited the kitchen to get changed smartly slapping Dick on the backside as he passed him. Dick rubbing the handprint on his arse looked thoroughly bemused and had to wait for me to stop laughing to explain.

It’s been a bit better weather wise here today, a bit chilly, but at least dryish, though not sure how long it will last as the forecasters are predicting yet more rain, what can you expect with it being Wimbledon, not that I watch it, it bores me to death. I sometimes play tennis with the bf’s, but I’m not keen, for a start Dick has a killer serve and he’s so damn competitive and serious when it comes to playing sport that there’s no fun in it, not for me anyway, more often than not I end up doing a McEnroe and chucking my racket across the court and storming off in a huff. Shane has a business dinner this evening and Dick called at lunchtime to say he had a lot on and would be late home so I don’t have much to do tonight. I might try to get stuck into some autobiography writing; I’ve gotten out of the habit lately.

JULY 2007