Jacqui took her back pack, slung it over one shoulder, adjusted the ball cap to a particularly jaunty angle, reflecting a studied nonchalance. She strode across the tracks, then climbed the steps of the Inn. It was almost picture book, Hallmark Channel quaint. But she sensed she wasn’t the first Woman With A Certain Attitude who crossed its threshold

“Oliveira, Jacqui. I’m here with Mr Poindexter.”

” Ah yes. I see. Welcome to the Inn, uh Jacqui?”

Sensing the clerk’s confusion around the gender she presented, she offered a title, “That’s Master Oliveira, Grace.”, reading the name off her ID badge. This was the first time she got to choose her own honorific.

” Of course. Again, welcome, Master Oliveira. Here is your key to the Hanover Suite. The elevator is to my right, should you prefer.”

“Thank you, but the stairs will do nicely.”

“The suite is to the left at the top of the stairs,” Grace added, as Jacqui strode toward the stair landing.

Jacqui easily climbed the stairs, turned, knocked twice, then put the plastic card in the reader.

Upon seeing “Dex” sitting on the bed, legs extended, watching TV, she walked to him, but not before stopping to turn off the television at the set. She took his chin in one hand, looked him squarely in the eyes, then slapped him with the leather gloves she gripped in the other hand.

“Why are your clothes still on? Why aren’t you on the floor, ready to kiss my boots, and where is your collar?”

“Let’s start over, shall we? Get naked. Now.”

She watched as he took off his Brooks Brothers shirt, slipped off the Gucci loafers, (those buckles, she thought, cringe worthy.) Next the khakis, and the banal over the calf socks.

He stood, facing her, in his white undershirt, and “tighty whitey” briefs (More cringing. Just No.)

“Stop right there.” She walked behind him, took her Buck knife from its sheath, opened the blade, and cut the shirt and the briefs from his body. She made big cuts on each side of the shorts. And then meticulously cut the shirt down each sleeve from the crew neck and, then down the back. His body now was surrounded by patches of white, as if the cotton knit jersey material was a cloud and Dex, magnificent and nude, was some Renaissance Prince in a fresco, ascending to Heaven.

She gave one cheek of his buttocks a slap, to see how the gloves would redden them. She noticed the JO tattoo, done in red and bordered in black, then walked around to face him. She looked at his chest, pleased to see the titanium nipple rings, then to his belly, assessing the frequency and efficacy of his exercise regimen, then to his penis, erect from Jacqui’s robust scrutiny.

She noted the absence of hair at his crotch, particularly on his organ and scrotum.

“Kyle does a thorough job, doesn’t he?”, Kyle being the Gay aesthetician, at the Brazilian waxing salon, that she researched and where she ordered Dex to go.

“Yes Mistress.”

“No Dex. From now on I am Master.” He corrected himself, addressing her with her now preferred honorific .

She walked behind him again, slapped his other ass cheek, commanded him to spread his cheeks in order to inspect his now hairless ass crack.

So what do they say at the gym Pretty Boy?Do the other men check you out, all naked, pierced and inked?”

“I suppose they do, but I try not to draw attention. I don’t want to get tossed out. It’s a family place, not a meat market.”

“So it is, Sport.”

” I’m not through getting you ready. Get your collar. Present it to me, respectfully, on your knees.” He obeyed.

She assessed her work, with her desired adornments.then buckled the collar at the nape of his neck.Tbe titanium O ring at his Adam’s apple matched the nipple rings. Reaching in her back pack, she took two silver chains, fastened both to th collar’s O ring and one to each nipple ring.

” That should make you very aware of your place, boy., just in case the butt plug makes you too, uh, complacent.”

“Butt plug?” he thought. Again she reached in the back pack for the plug and, thankfully, he thought, the lube.

“Now let’s get you dressed. Not to worry, we’re not putting on too grand an exhibition.”  She tossed him a pair of women’s silk panties, with a seam down the back parting the ass cheeks. They were black with pink bows at the leg openings.

“Your regular clothes will do. Put them back on. You won’t need a tee shirt. How about dinner at that restaurant down the street ?”

To be continued.

I never had much trouble with the Coronavirus. However, the Heineken virus, the Jameson virus, the Guinness virus, and the Chianti virus all did a number on me, back in the day.

“What do you care what other people think?” – Arline Feynman.

Jacqui looked at her reflection in the train window in the approaching night. She was still stunned, and even more excited at whom she saw. She was finally all grown up, for forty plus years, since Jimmy Carter, for Chrissakes. Women have done damn near everything and here she was, proud of a bloody haircut. She liked the sides, high and tight, and the top, with that pompadour, held in place by that pomade. She smelled it faintly. It contrasted with the smell of her leather jacket, the one she longed for since she saw Brando in The Wild One. One day, she would get the bike, but the train would do for now.

Jacqui liked her look in the chambray work shirt. She felt her nipples press against the ribbed knit of the wife-beater A-shirt she wore underneath it. She felt FREE, as only a widowed retired civil servant with three grown children could feel, after decades of station wagons, then minivans, soccer matches, dance recitals, swim meets, graduations and weddings could feel. It was freedom, like it felt when the care-taking for dying parents and then a dying husband was over.

How she came to know the man waiting for her in the bed and breakfast country inn right by the railroad depot was equally enigmatic. The Magic of Coincidence. How powerful she felt when he freely offered his strength to her. But that would be his story.

Now she settled back, reminiscing when her earlier bad-ass self would have a box of Marlboro Reds in the pocket of that shirt and she would be peeling the label off an over-priced greenie of Heineken in between taking swigs from that same green bottle. Those days of trying on characters, personae,to see how they would fit and feel, as if they were another of those god-awful pantsuits, had long gone.. Those days, those memories peeled away, like that bloody label. And that is where that man waiting for her entered her story.

Memory is one thing. Right Now is another. She was living a dream that was all too real, too vital, too precious to ignore. Her sorority sisters at Tight Ass U wouldn’t get it, so she photoshopped some pictures of herself in sensible clothes to keep them from wanting to know more. Those were all on the Facebook Page, her entry in The Pulitzer Prize For Fiction And yes, she was named after that Jacqueline. Did she have to tell you she was a Scorpio baby of 1960?

But this Right Now is what gripped her, like the shrink to fit 501’s gripped her ass and pressed the dildo she was packing against her thigh. She looked at the shine on her boots, the gleam of her belt buckle. She felt the muscles in her core made prominent from the swimming and the weights. She felt the power in her thighs from the cycling. Her body was the garment of her spirit. Her clothes, her butch wannabe affectation , were like cream cheese frosting on a carrot cake. Nice, but totally unnecessary.

“Ashland! Ashland is the next station stop.”

was the call from the conductor. She pulled her back pack from the overhead rack, donned her Mets ball cap, and climbed off the train.

To be continued.

C took us for brunch at Indianfields Tavern on Rte 5, roughly midway between Richmond and Williamsburg. There is a very nice bike trail running along Rte 5 linking the colonial capital, Williamsburg, with the modern capital, Richmond. The tavern is a converted farmhouse in an area that is one of the oldest continuously settled areas in English speaking North America, 400 years .(St Augustine FL Santa Fe NM, both originally Spanish sites, are older).

The tavern serves a nice brunch in a very friendly atmosphere. There is a comfortable decor, not at all stuffy.

The food is great. I had a hash bowl with shredded pork, hash browns and a poached egg. J had the old stand by, bacon and eggs. Chad had eggs Benedict. All of it was typical brunch fare, consistent with the ambience of a lazy Sunday in late Winter, bearing the promise of Spring. They make their own ice cream. How can anything go wrong?

C likes the place a lot. We had not been in a while. We reminded ourselves to return when the weather is warmer. There is plenty of seating for al fresco dining

C gave us a house tour of his new home. It is a classic Fifties rancher. He has a cool baby blue (think Carolina Tar Heel blue) tile bathroom with matching fixtures. True Fifties quaint, if you are into that Midcentury look. He has vintage kitchen cabinets, lots of hardwood floors. There is much potential. I think his community is next for a degree of gentrification, older homes, with good prices. There is a new high school under construction, replacing an older building.

However, I digress a bit. J had a good time, once she was sure nothing would go awry. I was too tired for Mass this afternoon. She is there now. I may recline some more.

Life is good.

I swam today too. 1750 metres, over 1 minute faster than yesterday. The water was noticeably colder. The cooler temperature felt pretty good actually.

J worked til 3:30 today. Then we had our nachos with pulled pork barbeque at our barbeque place. After deciding to skip Mass tonight and go tomorrow a time slot was created for swimming. It all worked out.

I did some personal grooming chores I had not done in a while, specifically trimmed my nails carefully and buffed them. I cleaned up pretty good today.

C #2 son decided to call while he was grocery shopping , to ask questions about every other item on his list.

“What is the difference between beef consomme´, beef stock, and beef broth?”

“What kind of beans should I use in my chili?”

So it is a little frustrating, but he is my son. I would rather talk him through grocery shopping that visit him at a drug rehabilitation centre. That is the reality for a lot of parents these days.

Tomorrow is the Edward Hopper exhibition at VMFA, then brunch with C at Indianfields Tavern . Mass will be the annoying Mass with guitars at 5:00 PM.

I have an idea for an erotic story. Stay tuned.

Attitude, that is. Earlier this morning, around Four AM, I had my shift at Nocturnal Adoration, Holy Hour before The Blessed Sacrament.

I read a wonderful prayer by St Francis of Assisi around the True Presence of Christ under the appearance of bread. I finished the hour, spiritually recharged. Now, like St Peter, after being with Our Lord in The Garden of Gethsemane, I am denying I ever knew Him. There just isn’t a charitable thought in my head.

This happens from time to time. Chalk it up to sleep deprivation, arthritis, lack of grandchildren to kvell over. But I’m doing an attitude recalibration just as quickly as I can. This might include going back to bed. .

Right now I am watching the train tracks and automobile traffic in Ashland. I will get my coffee in a minute (Starbucks French Roast). I will embrace the grogginess and make a Gratitude List in my head.

Rant is rapidly concluding.

I swam every day this week from Monday through Friday. 5.43 miles total 1750 meters per day. Life is good.

Today I took some of the chili I made yesterday to my 94 year old stepmother, D. She has been spending her days painting. I had a good time visiting. Time well spent.

After swimming, I came home, warmed over leftovers for dinners. I am sitting here, enjoying my day, grooving on the endorphins.

It has been raining for the past two days. I’m OK. with this, given I have a roof over my head, heat, electricity, water and sewer service. It does get a little tedious.

I went swimming tonight, 1750 meters, four days in a row. I am reestablishing my routine. It is nice to be home to this comfortable home. .

I think I will watch some Popeye cartoons

J is taking a work associate to his second job. I have been up about two hours. I am fixing chili for lunch, along with corn bread. J should be home around One PM and lunch should be ready

I’m re-reading the Beauty Trilogy. The first one is better than I remember it being. I’m looking at the books as more than just Jerk Off Fodder, considering more how Beauty and the other slaves think. I’m looking at the whole Dominance/submission dynamic in the stories. But to be honest, the stories still turn me on.

(It will come as no surprise to you, dear readers, that my kinkiness is still a secret in our relationship. I still don’t feel safe sharing all about me with J).

I just finished lunch w J home earlier than usual. I had lunch more or less ready in order to circumvent the need to go out for lunch. The chili and corn bread were well-received, perfect for a lazy and rainy day.

Going to the Y in a short while. I have a couple more things to do, but the Y comes first.

I was asleep, a Seinfeld DVD was playing. I had fallen asleep during the first episode on the disc and I awoke during the last. The time was about 1:30 AM.

I went to urinate, then chose to go into the other bedroom. I read a couple of Word Press posts. By then I was wide awake and came downstairs. I made a pot of decaf. I’m sitting in my chair, wondering why I decided to stay up.The only reason I can think of is that my thoughts are keeping me up. Sometimes I get dressed because I don’t like feeling vulnerable.

When I was at VMFA, getting tickets for the Edward Hopper Exhibition, I decided to go look a t their exhibition of Medieval Art. There is a rather unsettling statue of St Denis, holding his decapitated head. Gruesome. Next visit I will post some pictures from the Sculpture Garden.