Of poles, pipes and power exchanges.

Things happen and life moves on, sometimes far faster than what we’re ready for.  I had plans to write my “secured property” joke into a short story – a short, hypothetical scenario between Sir JGood and myself – but, well, now we’re here. 

Saturday night I told Sir not to talk to me about drains, owing to the blocked downpipe beside our front door that keeps flooding the communal footpath. Sunday morning Sir suggested I give it “colonic irrigation” (jetting) with a garden hose, and so Sunday morning, that’s exactly what I did. 

I told Sir that it would be “less brutal” than “violating” my pipes with a metal pole, then added that I was “not against steel-based violations” (for myself) – a less-than-subtle nod to my love for steel sex toys. 

Sir said that he would “file that trinket away”.

Suffice to say, I was not gentle with the head of the hose. I wanted to be sure that it was in there!

Unfortunately and even after three jab-and-blasts, still not much had cleared. So then, the next step for me is to attack it the old-fashioned way; with drain rods. 

Sir linked me to two different sets: the same set I already had in my basket, and a set of glow rods.

Sir begged me to “save” him from IKEA too, and I took that moment for some playful role reversal. Right now I had the power, and right now, I was revelling in it. 

I could save Sir the only way I could – with my company – or I could let him suffer the neverending maze of beds and bookcases alone. With great power… 

Sir and I talked about a kinky IKEA trip, which he said would be a little more “heaven”-ly for him. I also mentioned eating hotdogs afterwards, and enjoying my treat with plenty of eye contact. 

In the afternoon I dealt with my mother, who is still expecting a call from Mr C, about the work she wants done and such. I asked her if she had thought about aggregates, which Mr C had me guesstimating volumes of on Saturday,  hence, the (supposed) reason he called me outside. Mum said no, that they “weren’t that far ahead (with the garden)” yet, and that much of the work is weeding, moving planters and painting, plus some gravel laying on top. However, Mum wants to work in sections, and she wants to hire someone who will “follow instructions”. 

Ah.

I already know from conversations with Mr C that he doesn’t want my brother “helping” him, and that he’d rather be left alone to work. I fully understand that, but Mum has a “it’s my garden, so it’s my rules” mentality, along with a “the customer is always right” approach – she wants the work done well, for as cheap as possible and under her instruction. It’s little wonder then that five of the contractors she’s contacted haven’t called her back. 

My mother is a “Karen”, and worse, she’s a proud Karen at that.

Another gripe I have with my mother, that again, she refuses to see the absurdity of: Mum has a large (roughly 5 x 4 metres) kitchen with wraparound base and wall units. She could easily install a dishwasher into it if she wanted to, she just chooses not to. Instead, my mother has a “back room” – a small, square, lounge-like room with a kitchenette that is part of the former granny annexe – at the back of her house, which a lodger is welcomed to use when she has one. The conditions of use however are that they understand that the freezer space in the back room is shared occupancy, that one of their cupboards is occupied by her cleaning supplies (again, she has plenty of room for them in her kitchen, she just doesn’t see why she should keep them there!), and that she needs access to the back room – their lounge space – to load and empty the dishwasher. So even if they have a “private” lounge space to enjoy, as well as their bedroom upstairs, it isn’t really private at all.

And heaven help anyone who moves Mum’s stuff – they’re disrespecting her rules, even if it’s in the space that she has said they can use.

I have tried, folks, I have tried. If you work in customer relations and you ever get the pleasure of speaking with my mother, just know that I am sorry. She’s lovely, provided she gets her way. 

So I asked Sir how I could tell my mother – very gently – that she was potentially being unreasonable, Sir kindly explained that what Mum wanted is perfectly possible, and that any handyman worth the shirt on his back can work in phases. So that’s reassuring to know, but my guess is that, logically, projects that take a longer time are going to cost her more. After all, no contractor worth his salt is going to want to be pushed and pulled between working and pausing while the customer tends to her pots and plants. 

Sir also said that he couldn’t help me, and I assured him that I wasn’t expecting him to actually come and help me – the “help” that I was asking for was metaphorical, not literal. Sir also asked that I wasn’t expecting him to travel the 400 miles between us, and I laughed it off and explained that he’d have some explaining to do with both his real wife and me, his work wife, if he did – we’ve not even swapped photos, much less been to one another’s house!

Sir gave my recent posts glowing reviews too, he also joked that I “have” Mr C. I wasn’t going to take the bait, instead I went along with his joke: indeed I have Mr C. Well, it’s been a pleasure, Mr G. 

Ha! You didn’t see that one coming!

Sir said that he would “take his leave” and I let him – I’d already told him that I decided on my birthday that I’ll no longer chase after the people who aren’t chasing after me. If he wanted out then he was free to go, just don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out. 

But here’s thing.

Let’s say that I had a conversation with Master yesterday – with Sir JGood in mind – about me using the name “Master” with other men. I know that “Daddy” is a no-no for him and that’s fine, but what about “Master”? 

He said that was fine, no problems there. 

So let’s say, hypothetically of course, that that was a possibility after our recent exchanges. Let’s say that hypothetical kinky IKEA trips and “securing property” could be a thing? 

Let’s say, also hypothetically, that that was something we were both open to? Suppose that a submissive like me chooses who gets to Dominate her, and who doesn’t?  

Of course, Sir is always more than free to walk away if he wants to. But perhaps, and before he does, he would like to be aware of exactly what it is that he is considering walking away from. 

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