Memoirs of a Houseboy
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‘Fun with Dick and Shane’ introduces Gillibran Brown, the houseboy with a gift of the gab.
Gilli shares a unique relationship with his lovers Dick and Shane and he has a unique way of expressing himself. The book deals with everyday life, love, sex and corporal punishment in a gay ménage à trois.
Gilli’s observations and anecdotes are entertaining, sometimes hilarious and often moving.
A funny, tender, insightful and sexy book about men in a discipline relationship.
A Life In The Day Of Wednesday
For Rose, Eileen’s mother, Wednesday 8th November 2006, was the conclusion to a collection of days that had spanned ninety-four years. To close the church service, I, at the request of Eileen, read out a poem that her mother had wished included in her funeral. It was the same poem that had apparently been read at her late husband’s funeral. I’d obviously heard of the poet, who hasn’t heard of Tennyson, but I had never heard of the poem before. It was called ‘Crossing The Bar.’ As I spoke the final line of the poem, I hope to see my Pilot face to face when I have crossed the bar, the funeral bell began to toll and the pall bearers moved forward, lifting the coffin from its trestle in front of the alter. Shouldering it effortlessly they began moving slowly down the church aisle with the mourners filing silently behind.
From my place at the lectern I watched it float away, a flower bedecked barge taking its inhabitant to her final resting place in the ancient Churchyard beyond. Rose had worshipped in this Church for almost seven decades, she had married in it, brought her children for baptism before its altar, and seen the coffins of her grandson (Eileen’s only child, who died at two days old) her husband, her son, her son-in-law, and many others repose before it. And now she herself had passed from life to death, undergone due ritual before the altar and was on her way to burial…game over. For Eileen, and the other mourners in the church, myself included, that Wednesday was a funeral day. For many others out there in the wide world, Wednesday would also be a day for mourning, but for some, somewhere, it would be a day to rejoice: a giving birth day, a meeting someone special day, an engagement day, a wedding day, a workday, a coming out day, a frightening day, a killing day, a dying day. In short, as individuals, we are all just a life in the day of Wednesday, or whatever day of the week it happens to be.
My life in that particular day of Wednesday started pretty much as usual. I awoke to the strident buzz of the alarm clock. Shane turned it off. I got up to obey a call of nature. By the time I’d emptied my bladder, washed my hands, for I am a hygienic houseboy, and returned to the bedroom, Dick had abandoned slumber and he and Shane were engaged in some hygienic practices of their own, albeit ones that their mothers would not have approved of, i.e. they were busily washing each other’s cocks with their tongues. Normally I would have eagerly joined in with this male bathing ritual, but not this morning, this morning it offended me. Grabbing t-shirt and boxers I vacated the bedroom, closing the door hard behind me, ignoring the stereophonic rendition of my name.
I went downstairs and put the heating on to dispel the November chill. After setting the table in the breakfast bay in the kitchen I began to prepare porridge. Both the men folk like their oats on winter mornings, and not just of the sexual variety. I don’t mind either, though I hate cleaning the pan afterwards, all that slimy skin-like residue revolts me. Dick, being kinky, likes his porridge in frugal Scottish style, served plain with a little salt. Shane and I prefer it in decadent English style served with heaps of brown sugar and lashings of cream (and I bet there are plenty of Scots who do the same) Talking of lashings of cream, certain sounds from above indicated a satisfactory climax to the Bears mutual licking session, pair of animals that they are.
Shane usually comes down to breakfast first, he always leaves for work before Dick, but this morning they came down together, which annoyed me. If they hadn’t come down together that probably would have annoyed me too. I was in all honesty looking for things to be annoyed about. If the Virgin Mary had appeared in the kitchen and asked to borrow a cup of sugar in exchange for a good word with the man upstairs, I would have managed to find fault enough with her to refuse. Not that I let my annoyance show as I grumpily and with sotto voce mutterings set Dick’s place at the table, ahead of his usual time.
“Am I upsetting your routine, honey?” The premature Dick in question, resting an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, gazed at me from soft caramel eyes,” shall I go away?”
“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” I glared at the guilt giver, who after exchanging a look of amusement with Shane, asked why I hadn’t returned to bed for a cuddle.
“Cuddle?” I gave him the benefit of a very sceptical glance, “grapple and suckle more like. I wasn’t in the mood to be mauled and slavered over by a pair of horny Bears.”
“That’s a first then, remind me to journal it.” Shane sat down at the table and unfolded his napkin, “what’s the bad mood in aid of?”
“Nothing,” I thumped the juice jug onto the table. “Nothing at all, oh,” I snapped my fingers in a eureka sort of way, “except that it’s Rose’s funeral today. Though from the way you two were at it this morning, anyone would think it was August bank holiday and you were off to the fair.”