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“….Someone partied a little hard last night hm?”
“Nng…”
“Well, I’ll make you some coffee…”
“I’m up, I’m up,” he groans. “Just make sure there’s no Halloween candy in sight.”
“No no, stay down. I’m enjoying the view, Captain Tightpants. I’ll bring the coffee to you,”
He grumbles something about having a gay roommate before falling back asleep. I took a while to prepare his coffee. I swear, it was because the dog was so comfy, I swear.
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Text is fictional.
I yawn, ruffling my hair as I amble into the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, slightly startled to see a slightly older man cooking in the buff. His focus is on a pot on the stove. I tilt my head and rub my eyes. I didn’t think anyone else was home. George didn’t mention he had a houseboy. Well, some men don’t think to, they get so used to having them around.
“Morning, how about some coffee?” I say, sounding sluggish.
He glances in my direction, but doesn’t say anything back. I shrug it off, figuring he’s a silent type, then go about pouring some cereal into a bowl. I add the milk and sit down to read the paper. Halfway through on article on an all male ballet revue, I realize I still don’t smell coffee.
“Hey, do you mind making some c-” I tilt the paper back. The houseboy isn’t there. I look left and look right. I began to feel odd and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. The stove is clear; the towel is hanging on the oven.
I put the paper down and glance out of the window toward the driveway; not a soul. I wander around the house, hoping to find him there or in the backyard. Feeling slightly frightened, I launched myself up the stairs to George’s room and find him safe and shaving in the bathroom.
“Hey um, George?” I pant.
“Hey is everything alright?” he asks, mid stroke.
“I …I don’t know. I ran into your houseboy downstairs and now he’s vanished. I was wondering if maybe I was wrong in thinking he’s your houseboy and someone broke in the house and….George why are you looking at me that way?”
He swallows hard. “I don’t have a houseboy.”
“….What?”
George’s eyes are wide. “Well, I mean…I did, but he…he passed away a couple years ago.”
“Christ,” I gasp and lean against the door-frame. “I swear, there was a guy I saw downstairs. He was cooking something on the stove.”
George finishes shaving as quickly as he can. He washes his face off and we scramble downstairs to the kitchen. The towel is on the floor when we get there.
George kneels and picks it up. “Ivan always used to wear this over his shoulder when cooking. I used to chide him when it fell off, which was often…” his voice catches in his throat.
“Jesus, George.”
George walks to the living room, clutching the towel, and gestures to a photo on the mantel. “That was us.”
My skin breaks out in small bumps. “That’s him!” I squeak, “That was him. He looked at me!”
“His name is Ivan,” George says, sniffling. “Oh god, why is this happening. Ivan passed away two years ago. He had cancer, it got into his brain. Why did he show himself to you and not me?”
Suddenly, George is crying and I’m embracing him, trying to comfort my new boyfriend. I’m soothing him and stroking the back of his head as he mourns when I smell it.
I sniff the air. George holds his breath and sniffs too.
“Do you smell that?” he asks, hesitant.
“Yeah I do,” I reply, swallowing my fear in my throat again. “It’s the smell of fresh coffee.”
We both look at each other and bolt to the kitchen. The scent is fading. There aren’t any full cups on the counter. No steam comes from the pot. However…the cupboard revealing the cups is open.
George and I are speechless.
“I …I think he wants me to make coffee,” I volunteer.
“Why would he want you to do that?”
I think. “Maybe he wants me to take care of you.”
George face lights up. “You think so? You think it’s his way of approving of you?”
“Perhaps so,” I say with a smile. I go about making coffee and a nice breakfast, looking over my shoulder the entire time.
George and I were on edge all morning, but there were no other traces of Ivan on that day or any other day. I kept dating George and eventually moved into his house. I mostly assumed Ivan had moved on. Although, once in a while, I would come into the kitchen to make dinner and find the towel on the floor, and I would wonder…
________________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Happy Halloween. Be nice to have a source for this.
I won’t be posting today…my phone won’t charge, so I didn’t have an alarm clock. Woke up late and I gotta run to the Verizon store before work. I’ll double up tomorrow for you guys. Sorry and thanks for reading! Don’t forget I have a random function on my Tumblr. Old might be new again!
I need a houseboy to do my ironing. Don’t we all?
Hamal presses a cup of tea into his hand. “Come upstairs, I gotta finish the ironing.”
Dan nods and follows him, still trying to get used to the fact that his friend is a nudist. They go up the stairs and into the secondary bedroom, everything in pause from when Hamal went downstairs to greet Dan at the door.
“So how’s your brother?” Hamal asks, turning on the iron again.
“He’s doing a lot better, thankfully. Working out in the country has done more for him than any city rehab clinic did. Mom wants to see him for Christmas but we’re not sure bringing him back to Springfield is a good idea, cause it’s where all his drug contacts are. We might have Christmas in the country.”
“That actually sounds better than Springfield.”
Dan chuckles. “Yeah it does. I’m happy for him though. I hated seeing my Dad worry about him.”
“I hope he stays sober too. Are you still working for that accounting firm?”
“Yeah, I am. I am up for a promotion next year. I think I’ll get it, considering the last audit I did for a client turned up a couple hundred thousand in extra money.”
Hamal smiles. “Way to go, Dan! You must be their favorite person in the world right now.”
“Considering the bear hug their CFO gave me, I would say so.”
“You were always good with numbers.”
“Mhm.”
The conversation hit a dead end. The hiss of the iron and the sound of the metal plate swishing over fabric was the only noise in the room.
“What happened to you man?” Dan blurts out, watching Hamal iron.
“Excuse me?” Hamal replies, looking up from working on a shirt sleeve.
“You’re standing there, butt naked, ironing some guy’s workshirts in the middle of a Sunday afternoon like you’re his servant girl. What does he got on you to make you do this?”
Hamal sets the iron down with a bang, making Dan jump. “What does he got on me? William doesn’t have a thing on me. Are you implying he’s blackmailing me into doing his laundry?”
“Well, it’s the only explanation I can think of. You used to get higher grades in class than I did – you were like the top student in our engineer department. You could have been at JPL or Boeing by now, instead of…” Dan gestures. “This. What gives? Everyone wonders what happened to you after graduation.”
Hamal presses his lips together until they were a thin line. “You’re just like my parents. Ever since I was little, it was study study study study. Science camps in the summer, tutors in the fall, flashcards before bed. My father wanted me to be an engineer or a doctor or a lawyer. Those were the only choices they gave me. They sent me to a magnet high school. They never let me take an extracurricular that wasn’t somehow "good for me”. I never even owned my own soccer ball, Dan. You bet that I had very little choice over where to apply for college, or what program I applied to.“
"But you were good at it! You were good at numbers, and at math and science. You can’t blame your parents for trying to nurture that,” Dan counters.
“But no one ever asked me what I wanted!” Hamal nearly yells, pointing at himself. “No one EVER asked me if I wanted to be an engineer! If I wanted to spend my life stuck in a cubicle doing math and science for big faceless corporations. Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I have to have a career in it. I wanted to take home ec and learn how to bake. You know, once I tried to take a quilting class at the local YMCA but when my dad found the papers, he beat me and threatened to kick me out of the house.”
“….What?”
Hamal huffs. “Yeah, I know. It’s stupid. It’s ~gay~ or whatever you deem it to be. But I liked it. I like sewing, I like cooking. You know, fifty, sixty years ago, it was expected of a woman to do these things for her husband. We all just assumed they were all repressed now. My grandmother was a housewife. She loved being a housewife. You know, when we were downsizing her house before she died, we found this album of old photos. She was a tennis whiz. She won all these trophies. Could have easily gone pro. She chose to get pregnant and stay home…. and we all pitied her, you know, because we thought she sacrificed her career after an accidental pregnancy. She always insisted she got pregnant on purpose. When she was 90, and half senile, her home aid would find her in the kitchen at 3 am trying to bake apple tarts for her kids. She just wanted to be a mother and housewife, and no one could understand that.” Hamal continues ironing angrily. “I don’t see why a man can’t want the same thing.”
“….And that’s …what you want?” Dan asks slowly.
“Yes,” Hamal replies firmly. “I find it much more satisfying. I would go insane in a cubicle.”
“I just…” Dan puffs his cheeks and runs his fingers through his hair. “I just had no idea. It’s hard to fathom that what people consider tedious chores, you prefer over anything in the world.”
“But it’s not just chores,” Hamid explains patiently. “It’s because I do them for William. William was the first one who really understood me. I made him cookies once, when we started dating, and he thought it was awesome that I liked to bake. I did his laundry once and the look on his face told me he was thinking of marrying me right then. William loves his job in the DA’s office, and has no time for like, life stuff. He hates chores, cause he grew up in a family of eight. So the fact I anticipate what he needs and do it for him is hugely flattering. Makes him feel like a million dollars. I like that.” Hamal smiles.
“But …I mean…what comes after? I mean, this has to wear off sometime. Are you still going to be a houseboy when you’re 50?” Dan asks. “You’re gonna get bored.”
Hamal moves on to another shirt. “Don’t think I’m so simple, Dan. I tutor low-income kids struggling with math skills. I keep busy. I volunteer at animal shelters. William and are talking about fostering or adopting soon, so I’m dreaming of a house full of kids. Then after? Who knows. I’ll get a part time job until William retires, then we will travel the world together. We already travel a lot. We also go to the ballet, movies-”
“Kids? You never mentioned wanting kids.”
“I always wanted kids,” Hamal says, sounding a bit sad. “Just no one ever asked me what I wanted. Being a stay-at-home dad sounds so much fun.”
Dan looks at his old college friend sideways, trying to see the real Hamal instead of the one he thought he knew his entire life. “So you’re…really happy just…ironing? You’re happy being his houseboy? His, um, naked houseboy?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what you want?”
“Yes. And I like being naked. It’s comfortable. Plus, William likes it, and when he’s wound up the sex is amazing,” Hamal mutters.
Dan turns red.
Hamal smirks.
Dan sips his ignored tea and watches Hamal iron. “Well if that’s…what you want, then I’ll try and support that.”
Hamal’s face softens. “Thank you. That means so much to me Dan. I know it’s hard to comprehend, but thank you for at least trying. Also, when the kids arrive, I am totally making you babysit.”
“Hey!”
Hamal chuckles. “I’m just about done here, and I gotta get the towels off the line outside. But if you want to stick around…I am baking chocolate chip cookies afterwards.”
“…Chocolate chip cookies?” Dan perks up. “Any chance we could put peanut butter in them?”
“Oh, I think that is definitely doable. William loves peanut butter too.”
William comes home that afternoon and finds two cute boys making cookies in his kitchen. He nibbles one and wonders why on Earth more people didn’t have houseboys. He watches Dan and Hamal lick the beaters clean, and admired how happy they were. It is a relief for William to see that Hamal still has companions outside his own circle. It also makes William a little jealous though, and he smothers down his lust for Hamal in an apron for hours until Dan finally leaves after dinner.
William and Hamal don’t even make it to the stairs before the lust overwhelms them. Hamal still smells like cookies, and William devours him.
_______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Long ranting houseboy story, ahoy. Also JPL stands for Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
Excellent music video depicting two men dancing together without resorting to stereotypical male/female roles. It emphasizes strength and grace and passion. The music fits well too. Watch watch!
bookofbaitnate-deactivated20181:
I’ve actually been going commando in my pajama pants. :3
(It’s fucking cold however, found out there’s a hole in my crotch lol)
Tip – microwave a sock. Put sock on your dick and balls. Instant warmth. This is also advisable for getting dressed in the morning. Thank me later. Also, do not burn your dick. I would feel very much badly.
One of my long time readers just messaged me stating there was a really obvious typo in one of my posts. I really really appreciate this.
I do want to reiterate that you guys are free to PM me with typos anytime you spot one. I hate typos and appreciate help in smiting them.
“Awww lookit the puppy. What a beautiful baby. Is it a blue mix?
I nod.
"Hi there,” he coos. I watch as Zach takes off his glasses and gives the pup a little scritch. My eyes wander over his suit tailored to his body. Blue looks fantastic on him; he could almost be a fashion model posing with a prop dog. The two of them are far too beautiful for my shabby living room.
“So you finally got a real dog huh?” Zach asks.
“Well…”
“He’ll be a good companion for Smokey huh? Say, where is your pup boy anyway?”
“You’re looking at him.”
Zach blinks. “What…?”
“Look at the name tag.”
Zach does. “It says Smokey. Wait.” He looks at me, then at the dog. “What?”
“My pup boy liked being a dog so much, that I woke up one morning and discovered he had turned into a real, live pup.”
Zach is staring at me sideways now. “Not sure if you’re joking.”
“I assure you I’m not. I’ll prove it. Try to get him to do a trick. Something complicated.”
Zach thinks about this a minute. He goes through the basics – “shake”, “bark”, “roll over”. He then makes a gun with his fingers and says “bang!”. Smokey rolls on his back and puts his paws in the air, head lolling on the ground.
I laugh. “Good boy Smokey!” Smokey gets to his feet and comes over to me for a belly rub.
“There’s no way you could have trained a pup to do all of that in such a short time.” Zach says hesitantly.
I shrug. “As I said, my pup boy turned into a pup. Unbelievable as it is, that’s what happened.”
My friend looks at the puppy, silent.
Then, as if right on cue, my pup boy saunters into the room. He’s just woke up from a nap and was wondering where everyone was and who took his collar off while he was out.
“Hey!” Zach cries.
I burst out laughing. “Busted! You totally believe it!”
“I did not!”
“You absolutely did!” I fall back into a chair, clutching my sides. “God your face…Jesus Zach, that was fantastic!”
Smokey the pup boy tilts his head in confusion. “Roo?”
The real pup, whom I actually named Greybeard, goes to sniff him. Within minutes, they’re playing. I watch them, still chuckling. Zach looks sullen and miffed.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“No, it really wasn’t, but the opportunity presented itself. I’m sorry. You do look bloody good in that suit you know.”
“Well,” Zach smirks, “I expect all you’ll get out of is a good look, because you are never gonna undress me out of it.”
I groan. “Aw, Zach, that was just harmless fun, why are you being hard to get? You know you came over here to get laid.”
“I did,” he admitted, ‘But you have two pups that need your attention.“
"They can amuse themselves as you see – hey, Smokey, watch out for the coffee table! Good boy.”
Zach folds his arms. “It’s gonna cost you an expensive dinner. THEN, I’ll think about coming back home with you.”
“Alright, alright. I can handle being owned by three boys.”
He grins. “That’s more like it.”
_______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Couldn’t find the model but the clothier is Patrick Johnson Tailors.
My sister stuck her head in my room. “He’s here!” she hissed, a huge smile on her face. “Hurry!”
“He’s here?” I repeated, jumping up.
“Yes! Hurry!”
I grabbed my sunglasses off the nightstand and picking up my leather bag from behind my bed. “Has mum seem him yet?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said, looking around. “Here.” She thrusted a basket in my hands. “Going away present – your own picnic basket set. I packed you two a lunch so you don’t have to stop for a while.”
“Oh Samantha, you’re a darling,” I cooed, kissing her on the cheek.
“How often do I get to be a part in a dashing escapade like this? It’s soo romantic.”
I can’t help but laugh a little. “But life is not a fairy tale.”
“It can be if you try! Come on, stop dawdling. He’s waiting”
I followed her to the upstairs landing; she stopped there and watched me go down the grand stairs to the lobby. Then, we heard our mum.
“What the heavens was that ….is that the Culver boy? I’d recognize that hideous orange automobile anywhere. Americans! No taste! Walter, call security, I told this man he is not allowed on my property and no where near my son! The things they did at boarding school! Soiling my precious boy’s reputation. He’s a heathen!….Aldred, honey, where are you going?”
“Out, mother,” I say briskly, my heart caught in my throat. I just had to keep moving, I reminded myself, one foot in front of the other. Down the stairs. Out the door.
“Out?” she cried. “With that boy? I won’t allow it! I forbid you from seeing him again!”
I forced myself to pause. “Mother. I’m 18. You can’t forbid me to do a thing.” I enjoyed the stunned look on her face. I delicately picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. “Good day, mother.”
I heard Samantha whoop upstairs as I stepped out of the house and onto the cement walk to the driveway. My leather soled shoes made little noise. For the first time in my life, I felt like an adult. “There you are,” Mathias said, his face lighting up. “Oh gods I missed you.” He looked so stylish in that his navy slacks and combed back hair, posing against his beloved car. I sighed, smitten. He was marvelous. Dashing, even.
“What are you staring at …?” he says with a smile.
“You. Just…missed you so much since my mum pulled me out of Essex School.” I stepped up to him and nuzzled his cheek. “Thought I’d never see you again.”
He put a hand on the back of my head and kissed me. My knees felt like gelatin. Mathias whispered in my ear. “Wait until you see what I’m going to do to you tonight. Then you’ll known how much I missed you back.”
I had to resist just pouncing him right there. God, did I love American boys and their Yankee accents.
“WALTER! CALL SECURITY!” My mother’s screeching voice snapped us out of our cuddle.
Mathias rolled his eyes. “Get in the car before the calvary arrives. What’s in the basket?”
“Lunch! Samantha packed it for us.” I threw my bag into the backseat and slipped into the front seat with the basket. Mathias joined me on the driver’s side and made the engine roar to life.
“Oh your sister? I’ll have to meet her sometime. Seems like a nice lady. I should introduce her to my cousin. Perhaps she could come for Christmas?”
“I think that’d be delightful, Mathias.”
We sped off down the street, bound for the main road to the highway. We had planned to head up the New England coast where we would eventually take a ship to London, where my aunt was waiting for us there. The window was open. I couldn’t help but whoop myself as the wind cut through my hair. My mother was likely furious, but I felt not a drop of guilt. She was going to be even angrier when she found out I turned down acceptance at Yale to go to the School of Oriental and African Studies in the UK. But her life was no longer my life now. I was free – finally, finally free, with a boy I truly loved.
_________________________________
Text is fictional. Source: Drykorn Fall/Winter 2013
Milo jumps with a yelp when he feels a flat hand strike his ass. He whirls around.
“Who did that?? What was that for!”
Rodriguez grins at him. “Just doing what it says on your jacket.”
Milo glowers at him. “You’re washing all of our flak vests now.”
“Wooorth it.”