I wanted to jot down a few lines to send a lockdown greeting to all you subservient boys out there.
If you’re like me, you don’t have a touch of the flu, but rather a touch of the blue — the pandemic blues to be precise. It’s maddening, isn’t it? In isolation, not working, no human contact (unless you’re in quarantine with others), no social activities, no sexual outlet. That last aspect is especially hard for men, pun intended. I know you’re suffering, boys. But then, you do live to suffer, don’t you? Now you’re getting a taste of true suffering. It’s about time!
Several people have asked me when I will commence sessions. It’s not going to be any time soon. These pandemics usually last a minimum of two years, based on historical records, so that means I’m locked down for the long haul.
How I will survive that with my sanity intact remains to be seen, but I am taking it one day at a time. Fortunately, I have a few generous benefactors who are helping on the financial front. These lovely creatures are forever in my good books. I’m the type who keeps names and takes score. If you’re good to me, I’m good to you (in a deliciously bad way, of course). If you cross me, you become non-existent and I forever banish you to oblivion.
Being rather hard-bitten at my core, I’m coping rather well with the pandemic blues. But I could certainly do with a floor scrubber, foot massager and chef about now! Ah, the good ol’ days. Well, it ain’t over til the fat lady sings.
So, dear slave boys, gird your loins and keep your peckers up — and your food stores — because the worst is yet to come.
Happy home perving to you all!