I am the only one capable of

Ending the lethargy,

Escaping pandemic prison,

Taking control again.

But once the descent to decay begins.

Defeat stands waiting.

Do I have to get up?

Yes.

Go where I should be going?

Yes.

To Mass, and trust the priest is not a fraud?

Yes.

Swim and trust the rules are not too stringent?

Yes.

It is time to stop living behind these paper walls,

while thinking it’s a prison.

Almost evening. Today was about laziness and lethargy. I ate an absurd amount for dinner last night. The stuffed feeling endured well into the middle of the night. I awoke around 0130, overheated. I went downstairs to drink some seltzer and “digest” some more.

I watched WW Two documentaries. I appreciate the absence of moral ambiguity in the World War Two era. The Nazis were as low as humanity could go. And the Japanese were right there with them.

So after some “Napalm Nostalgia” I went back to bed, slept like a log. Next thing I knew it was noon. J wanted lunch or brunch or just food in general. We went to First Watch. I had a vegetable omelette. She had a half sandwich and salad. She wanted to shop. I wanted to sleep some more. So she took me home.

Now I am watching trains. J is napping . I am concocting a grandiose plan, in my head, for clearing junk out of the house. I just need to get up and do something. Here downstairs, while the trains pass through Ashland, Fort Madison, Galesburg, and La Plata. I can work.

But first, more watching, sitting, and day dreaming.

I did little things today. I took a shower. That’s a victory for personal hygiene and grooming . I made iced sweet tea for J, hibiscus (sorrel) 🌺 tea for me. I emptied the dishwasher.

I watched trains. #4, The Southwest Chief Eastbound to Chicago, was already running late when it had to stop for a barge to pass through the open swing bridge at Fort Madison, Iowa. But it finally crossed the Mississippi River.

The laundry I washed is in the dryer.

July means it is hot in Virginia. We are moving toward Autumn. Between the pandemic and politics, it is a crazy time. A lot of sport has been erased from national life. To watch cricketers playing matches in empty stadia, one can see that the fabric of popular culture is torn, perhaps irreparably.

Meanwhile, the debt picture is precarious for the national and global economies. The USA and the rest of the world must return to work as soon as possible.

In the great scheme of things, taking down Confederate statues doesn’t mean much. A woman was shot dead on her porch by a random shooter in Richmond earlier this week. The great moment of metanoia came. And went.

“Same as it ever was“- Once In A Lifetime, David Byrne.

For both my J’s. I made a show of it, for her. I wanted her to see my fingers at work. How I washed my hands first, then dried them. I used the tip of the knife to break the skin, then thrust my left index finger in that tiny slit, while I held the orange in my right hand. And from the opening and initial thrust peel separated from flesh in a long and serpentine strip To fall away to the napkin that lay on the shiny chromed steel tray. The spherical sweetness of pulp and juice and membrane now lost its symmetry as, section by section, the orange became like labial petals And I fed each one into her open mouth.

Our enemas are ENE-MAZING!

NSFW Deals with nonconsentual consent. Mature persons only. .Don’t try this stuff just because you think it’s easy or safe.

Thursday again. Or is it Wednesday? Days all blur when I awake, naked, put on my apron to fix Mistress’s breakfast. Coffee is ready. Croissant is warm, butter is practically liquid. Fig jam is room temperature, ready to be spread. Mistress comes to the table as I kneel at the floor by her chair.

“The apron, Boy!. Why is it still on?” I take it off, place it on its peg.

” I know you’re sorry. No over the top apology is required. Just be naked and open when I get to the table.Your hand. Now. ”

I offer my open palm.She takes a short tawse off a hook on her belt, and strikes my palm with it. It isn’t so much the pain, but the humiliation. Once again, too often, I am the Bad Boy.

The chore list showed no errands. I would therefore be naked all day. If I had to step outside, it must be at a time when the neighbours were gone or had their blinds closed. I must admit the thought of potential discovery and subsequent embarrassment sometimes caused my cock to stiffen. Excitement, whatever the source, is always appreciated.

I had dutifully performed dusting, changed the bed linen, vacuumed, with no need to venture out.Then I noticed the recycle bin, overflowing with Mistress’s iced tea cups, egg cartons, and the rest of the recyclable detritus of the household. A quick dash was unavoidable. I waited, recyclables hiding my “package” til I thought I was safe.. I made the dash, tossed the junk in the outside barrel, then turned and saw my neighbour, Mrs N—-, peering through a raised slat in her miniblinds.

“ Oh well. Sometimes things just don’t work out, ” I mused and shrugged off my slight faux pas.

I went back in, put on my ABBA Greatest Hits CD , and began cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms. All was going well. The kitchen sparkled, as did the downstairs bathroom. The upstairs bath got my attention next. Toilet, sink, mirror, floor and now the tub. It is a lovely old-fashioned ball and claw foot cast iron tub that Mistress had found at a salvage yard..I began the scrubbing with the cleanser, ABBA wailing away about The Dancing Queen, when, all of a sudden, I felt a hand squeeze my ass..

“Do. Not. Make. A. Sound.” It was a woman’s voice, vaguely familiar.

“Keep your eyes on that tub. Do. Not. Turn. Around.”

I wondered what would happen next. I heard something squirt from a tube, then lubed and gloved fingers pushed at my asshole, and a gloved hand was on my dick,making it hard. Whoever she was, worked rhythmically between the fingers in my ass and the hand jerking me off .At one point, she leaned in to nibble at my left ear lobe, just as I was about to come. I could smell the scent of patchouli, from her, as I felt the rush and release, as my jizz spurted from me.

“Damn!” was all I could think. The orgasm, so surprising , so novel, was a delight.

“Stay there Boy till you hear the door close!” After a minute, I turned, the gloves and tube of lube were on the floor. I put the gloves in the trash, the lube in the nightstand drawer , cleaned the puddle of sperm off the floor. I wondered who my visitor was.

Next morning I had store errands. At the market, I saw Mrs N—- in the produce section. She picked up a honeydew melon, sniffed it, then looked me in the eye and said,

“Do. Not. Make. A. Sound.”

You gotta love the Amtrak Station in La Plata , Missouri.The townspeople show up to meet the trains and wave into the Virtual Railfan LLC camera. Occasionally an Amish person or couple will be at the station, all tricked out in Amishwear.

They are waiting for the Southwest Chief #4 Northbound to Chicago. It is twelve hours late. Things  happen, ya know. It’s a helluva trip. There is a fat guy in a lime green tee shirt, shorts and flip flops. He dominates the scene. Now there’s an old guy in shorts and black compression socks in the camera view. Still no train. The crowd , five people, have now moved off camera.

My day, once I got through the Mom Drama that I self-orchestrated, was a good day. I found peaches on sale at Food Lion. I bought a black and white cake, I got for J’s dessert tonight because she wanted dessert. They also had blueberries and cherries at a good price. . Food Lion is a blue collar store that sells food, as opposed to other stuff, like lawn furniture  and food, the way Kroger does.

I fixed J’s lunch for tomorrow. Fresh fruit all pitted and sliced, same as yesterday, with the addition of blueberries. There is my Waldorf Chicken Salad too. She likes that.

I can’t be too depressed around J. It worries her. I get through it, eventually.

These are very patient people in La Plata. I feel like I am waiting along with them. 

I guess I am.

. 

Post Birthday Stress Disorder. Not my birthday, my Mother’s. Yesterday was my mother’s birthday. She would have been 101. I dunno. Of my siblings, I’m the one who lets my mother inhabit my head rent-free.l

The demons of her depression attack me periodically. I don’t know why. I keep thinking of the Gospel story wherein Our Lord casts the demons inhabiting the Gerasene Demoniac into a herd of swine. The swine proceed to run off a cliff. Miraculous recovery.

So I was pretty desperate today until I took a nap beside J. The TV tuned to some chick show didn’t even bother me. I woke up all better.

Occasionally this happens. The horrors of a relatively safe and happy childhood return. If I knew why, it might not happen ad much.

I put on my favorite Popeye cartoons. I acknowledged to myself that I cleaned the kitchen. (Doing estimable things restores self-esteem). I thanked J for being my wife and let her know how napping beside her helped.