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| Saturday 7th February 2009:
I thought I�d better pop in and write a few words in order to prevent my diary healing over or squatters moving in or something. Basically I haven�t felt much like journaling, the interest hasn�t been there. I did a stupid thing, a couple of stupid things actually and I got caught out and I�ve been a bit down about it. I haven�t got time to detail, we�re going out soon. It�s bloody freezing here tonight, I think I�d rather stay in. I think I might be getting a cold, my happy apples are achy and I�m getting a sore throat. I know, I don�t say a word for yonks and then I pop in and start whinging. Tuesday 10th February 2009: My cold didn�t materialise into much, scratchy throat, achy balls and a couple of sneezes and that was it. I feel a lot better today. I can�t stay long. I�ve got fifteen minutes max. Shane is in one of his �confirming authority� phases. It happens from time to time. He says, we do. He dictates what clothes we wear or if indeed we wear any and what activities we undertake and for how long, such as computer time, which for me is set at strictly fifteen minutes a day. Dick and I need his permission to speak. He tells us where to sit and when to go to bed, etc. I can�t touch or kiss Dick without Shane�s permission and the same rule applies to Dick with regard to me, and neither can we masturbate. Basically we�re under his jurisdiction, as we always are, but in a more rigidly controlled and overt way. It isn�t discipline, though he will discipline us if he feels it to be necessary, it�s more a reaffirmation of household hierarchy and roles. I could easily cheat and stay on the computer longer or disobey some other rule he�s set while he�s at work, but I won�t. If he says I�m to do ten minutes corner time very hour, then I�ll do it and all else he asks of me. I do it because I want to please my Daddy by showing my obedience to his will. It�s an intense and often difficult experience while it lasts, and it�s also an incredible aphrodisiac. I feel pretty much aroused most of the time. I can�t wait for Shane to come home from work on an evening. I watch the clock, willing it to turn its hands faster. My knees go weak with excitement as soon as I hear his car pull up on the drive. My stomach churns, as I wonder what he�s going to do or say and whether I�m going to get a smile and a tender kiss or a dark look that threatens punishment in the form of a spanking or paddling. If he indicates, I�ll follow him upstairs to the bedroom and act as his Valet. I�ll take off his jacket, remove his cufflinks, un-knot his tie and unbutton his shirt with trembling fingers. I love the scent of him. I want to stroke the hairs on his chest. I want to kiss his nipples and tease them with the tip of my tongue, but I�ll wait until he tells me what it is he wants from me. I�ll let him use and control my body. Every caress he gives, every spank, every bite and every kiss will feel like a gift even if in the end he doesn�t allow me the release of orgasm. When release is permitted I�ll feel at one with him and at peace with myself and it�s in moments such as those that I find my personal truth. I am realised. Sunday 15th February 2009: I�m glad that the snow has finally all melted away. In principal I do like snow, it�s fascinating stuff and I like snowy scenes on cards and such like, but in reality I find it difficult to deal with as it affects my eyes and increases my risk of having an episode. It has much the same effect as sun on water, it�s too bright, and it flickers and upsets my oversensitive brain cells. Thursday was the worst day here with snow falling for much of the day. Shane boarded up all the windows in order to prevent me looking out of them and then to make doubly sure I couldn�t peep out at the pretty white stuff, he shoved me in the cupboard under the stairs and padlocked it shut before going to work, leaving me in the dark with nothing but a cream cracker and a glass of water for sustenance until he got home again (Lie detector says HE DID NOWT OF THE SORT) Oh alright, I admit to slight exaggeration. He told me to make sure I wore my Polaroid�s if I insisted on going out in it or even looking through the window at it. He�s actually away on business at the moment. He went on Friday afternoon and will probably get back some time this evening. He�s detouring to make a rare visit to his brother James�s London residence in order to see the new baby, named Ruby, and dutifully bestow gifts like some wise man from the north. Neither of the men folk sent me a Valentine card this year. Dick tried to make it up to me, but afterthought is no substitute for forethought. I didn�t thank him for the chocolates and I didn�t bother opening the card he gave me after returning from his game of golf yesterday lunchtime. I shoved the chocolates in a cupboard and left the card on the table, so he crossly opened it himself and stood it on the mantelpiece alongside the card I�d sent him. I dumped them both in the bin this morning along with the card I bought for Shane, which was unopened on account of him being away. I don�t expect it will break his heart not to have seen it. He makes no secret of his impatience with such things. After last year I thought it might be different, but obviously that was just a one off. I feel a bit foolish for expecting more. Dick could see that I was really upset and he apologised profusely, offering the excuse that he and Shane have been so wrapped up in work matters that they didn�t give a thought to Valentine�s Day. I had to understand that they didn�t exactly get around the shops much to have their memory jogged by the sight of Valentine�s merchandise. It didn�t help. To me it simply translated as them not giving a thought to me, and that hurt. I wouldn�t go out for dinner last night. I said I wasn�t hungry. Dick reckoned I was being bloody unreasonable. He�d apologised until he was blue in the face and he�d bought me chocolates and a card, a very expensive card and he was willing to take me out for a nice romantic meal. I told him that seeing as we went out most Saturdays for dinner it wasn�t romantic it was just routine. I didn�t care how much the bloody card had cost either; it came too late and too after a game of golf to mean anything. I would have been happy with a fucking post-it note, as long as I�d woken up to it. A romantic gesture once a year that�s all I wanted, just something to say that I was special to them. Obviously I wasn�t as special as work, or a game of golf or a business trip. Grabbing a tube of salt and vinegar Pringles, a big bag of Malteasers and a bottle of coke I told him that if he wanted any dinner he could make his own. Then I stormed up to the den to watch Ant and Dec�s Saturday Night Takeaway, junk telly to go with my junk food. Dick came up later with a ham salad sandwich and some fruit for me, saying I needed to eat more than just rubbish. I snarled that I preferred rubbish, so he put on his Top�s hat and made it a point of discipline, eat the sandwich and fruit or else. Shane called me later, but I declined to chat letting the call go to voicemail. I deleted his subsequent text unopened. I knew it was hardly likely to be a Valentine message. It was more likely to be an admonishment about my attitude with some stern words about sulking. I gave Dick the cold shoulder in bed last night. He tried it on again this morning when he woke up, trying to pet and kiss me, but I wasn�t having any of it and neither was he. This houseboy's door was locked and bolted. He said sorry again over breakfast and begged forgiveness for hurting my feelings saying that he really hadn�t meant to. I tried to be gracious and accept the apology, but it was a struggle and I ended up giving a shrug and saying it didn�t matter. It does matter though. He�s in his studio at the moment while I�m here in the study. There�s a massive silence between us. Wednesday 18th February 2009: Apparently, according to an email I received today, I should pack my bags and leave the boyfriends because they didn�t send me a Valentine�s card. I was pissed off there is no denying it, but I don�t think romantic insensitivity is sufficient grounds for me leaving. I know I do moan on about them sometimes, we all get ticked off with our partners at times and it can be good to get your grievances off your chest. As I�ve said before writing about an event can often help me view it from another angle and come to a better understanding of it. Most of the time writing the diary is just me kind of rambling to myself, spelling out my thoughts. I�m not asking for judgement. I�m just talking. Writing a diary or journal that can be located by other people is a bit like going to confession. You know there�s someone out there but you can�t see them and they can�t see you, so it kind of makes you open up and say things and share things that you wouldn�t dream of sharing otherwise, certainly not face to face. I enjoy hearing from folk, I really do, but every now and again I get a mail that breaks the boundaries of good manners. The note I got today was one such. It was short, but its tone was aggressive and invasive and it cheesed me off, not least because the writer had obviously given no thought as to how I�d feel on reading it. Yeah, maybe I need to get more of a backbone, but again, maybe some people need to engage their brains before they engage their gobs and think how they�d personally feel if someone came out of the blue and gave them unsolicited advice with regard to their spouses and partners. Maybe the note was clumsily worded and not meant to antagonise, but it did and I reacted accordingly, telling the person to butt out. The person quickly sent me two more very nasty notes by way of reply. No doubt they were annoyed at my reply and felt a need to attack. In retrospect I shouldn�t have responded at all, I regret it. It was bloody daft of me really, a knee-jerk response to irritation. I should have taken the nobler stance and just ignored it, or stuck it away until I could view it with a calmer eye. I�m usually a nice person, or I try to be. I don�t like upsetting folk, not even when they upset me first. Isn�t it weird how a whole load of nothing can upset your equilibrium? Shane always says I�m overly sensitive and I suppose I am in some respects. I�ve been busy the last few days. We had a bit of drama on Monday morning when a water main burst outside the gates of the quasi mansion. It caused absolute chaos. It�s happened once before. The road outside disappeared under a furore of water and the gardens were flooded in next no time; you could have swum in them. It took the water company most of the day to fix things. The workmen reckoned the pipe had been affected by the cold weather we�ve had lately. There�s some old cast iron pipes under the avenue apparently and they�re more prone to fracturing under very cold conditions. It could have been worse, we had some water seepage under the front door but it caused minimal damage. Seeing as we have a wood floor in the hall it was easy enough to mop up the invading water and I managed to save the rug runner before it got soaked. The garden is a mess though and it�s still too water logged to do much with. My poor little snowdrops were crushed under the weight of water and they�re still all battered and bruised. I don�t think they�ll recover much. The drive was awash with mud, soil and debris and the double garage was also flooded out, but I�ve cleaned the worst of it up now. I found some dead mice, poor things; I think they must have drowned. I�ve been trying to do a spot of autobiog writing, but haven�t got far. The email I got today further killed incentive in that regard, I feel guarded. Apologies also to other folk who have written to me lately, I was intent on answering my emails today, but that exchange halted me. I thank you for your notes and will try and get round to responding soon (politely I promise you ;-) Well, I�ve got cooking to make a start on, so better go. Rob and Howard are coming over for dinner this evening. I�m making a goat curry and it takes ages to prepare. Saturday 21st February 2009: Its sunny and dry here today, not warm exactly but definitely leaning more towards spring than winter. Dick is out belting balls with his little sticks as per Saturday custom. Bless him, it keeps his hands out of his trouser pockets and out of mine too and gives everyone�s tackle a chance to recuperate. Shane is working; he�s at a meeting. He was a bit exacting this morning so I�m guessing the meeting is a pretty important one. He didn�t want a cooked breakfast, as he�s hoping that he�ll be home by three or thereabouts, so he opted for cornflakes and toast. The spoon that I�d set out for him to eat his cornflakes with hadn�t been washed properly; it had a smidging of dried weetabix on it. He got a bit shirty about being given a �soiled� spoon and made a pointed remark about my shortcomings as official household hygienist. I made a retort about there being no known case of dried on weetabix giving rise to anthrax or bubonic plague, which earned me a warning to curb my lip. I like weetabix but if you leave the bowl for too long before washing it the dregs set like concrete and it�s a real bastard to get off. I reckon you could use mushed up weetabix as a substitute for cement. I went to visit my mother yesterday as oft I do on a Friday. She�s looking frail these days. Her weight has plummeted. Her Consultant has suggested that they insert a nasal feeding tube, but mum refused saying she�d prefer to just continue with supplementary drinks for the time being. She gets tired very easily, but she won�t bloody give in to it. Tenacious isn�t in it. We don�t tend to go out much now, sometimes we�ll take a walk around the garden or step to the end of the street and back, by which time she�s exhausted. We sit and watch television or listen to the radio and talk. There are a lot of things I want to ask her, but I don�t because I�m afraid that I�ll sound bitter and I don�t want to upset her. I am bitter about some things, but I still love her and I�m glad we resumed a closer relationship. Maybe all else is best left alone. She wanted to talk about her funeral details yesterday and the songs, readings and hymns she�s chosen. I�d have rather talked about anything other than funerals, but it was her wish. She was very composed, but I found it hard to control my emotions, as she talked me through her choices. Once or twice I had to leave the room and take a few minutes in the bathroom to pull myself together. Anyway, that�s enough about all that. Dick will be home from smacking his balls down the fairway soon. I�d best go prepare lunch and put on some kind of protective guard in case he�s in the mood to smack some other kind of balls. You know Dick, a bit of fresh air and exercise and he�s got a large wood down the front of his trousers that�s just itching to break free and make an attempt at a hole in one. |
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