With John returning on Monday I dashed around today doing something of a late spring clean. With only oneself for house maid it's funny how the place can easily fall to the dogs. So it was out with the piss bottles, clothes in the machine, everything picked up off the floor and then a healthy mopping of soap, water and disinfectant. The place once again seems free, ordered and clear. Its like the curtains have been opened and a dark room has been thrown into light.

In a addition to a tidy up I also watered the plants. They still look a little bare out front and so I think one of the first things John and I will do together is go and buy some new seedlings. We need some joint interests, something to do other than 'watching things'. If this is going to work we mustn't lay in bed for days on end with hard-ons, masturbating to the wall. I somehow think that was an important part in all this, some kind of sexual frustration on John's behalf. Not me, I kind of enjoy masturbating alone. It's quick, relieving, clean and one can be as selfish as one likes. There's not this horrible sensation of climaxing first and then having to lay there all unsexual fingering an arse and sucking a cock that just won't come. It's like John is perfect except sexually we're just not in synch. I think if I must address anything it is that. But don't get me wrong, the occasional sex marathon is wonderful, just not every day (or every other day). Sometimes I just want to be pissed on, fucked and brought to climax with a reach around – a quick “get up and go.” We don't always need to run the full 26 miles. But we can work these things out together, maybe stick a 'sex agenda' on the fridge or something:
Blowjobs whilst doing the evening dishes; anal on whim (weekdays); mutual wank (every morning pre-cornflakes and pre-10am); beat the shit out of each other (every Saturday night) and reserve Sunday to make up for it all in two 4hr long sessions of pissing, fisting (him), arseplugs, ball weights, paddles, cuffs, spreader bars, dildo's and mouth-gags. I suppose something like that could work and it'd at least be worth a try.

I was going to write how tomorrow I will go shopping and fill the fridge and cupboards with food, but it all seems a little mundane now. Anyhow, that is what I'll do. For the last two months I have been living solely off tinned soup, salted celery sandwiches and Mcvities Chocolate Digestive biscuits – my stomach wasn't up to much more than that. But for Monday I think I'll get something nice in, a Morrison's microwaveable lasagne and a bottle of sparkling house wine. Just something to really celebrate the fact that John is home and to show how much I appreciate  that. Through fork loads of three minute express meals and mouthfuls of screwtop champagne we will toast the future and damn the past -  condemn this whole rotten saga to history.


  1. My Wonderful Beautiful Adorable Man, we're going to make history... there's no way we can't. No games this time, just two men partaking in the joys of one another and flaunting it for all to see. Entering Morrison's with synchronised hard-ons, can you imagine! We'll be the talk of the Highstreet! I just don't care. To be once again in your arms is all I need... and sundays, fucking hell, I want to spin the world forwward seven days. You are driving me crazy and that is all I ever wanted/needed.

    I Love you Tristram Spencer... I Fucking Love YOU!!!!

  2. I feel quite inexperienced now.

    Helena xx

  3. Food and Champagne.

    Hallelujah, my children.


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