Day in the life 2

How exciting can a housewife’s life be? Just because the housekeeper happens to be a male, it doesn’t make it more thrilling than removing stains, vacuuming, dusting, sweeping, preparing the meals and so forth. Or maybe I should rather tell you about some recent sewing project, but for the majority of you out there that is probably not the most exhilarating subject in the world either. So, besides relating the story of my complete transformation over the years, which can be worthy of note, what can I post here when it comes to my daily life that could be appealing enough for you to keep on reading? Just wait and you’ll see…

I do find my life very gratifying, fulfilling, and yes… exciting too. I live through moving and even breathtaking experiences almost daily (that doesn't mean that they are always pleasant, I should admit). They range from a plain reaction to my attire, be it a compliment or a grunt of disapproval (the latter response, believe it or not, is much less frequent that the first), to what for me are spine-tingling adventures Sandy decides to embark me on.

I do get reactions to what some people perceive as “cross-dressing”, but not as often as you might expect. So, if any male out there is interested in wearing a flowered-skirt or high-heels in public, my suggestion would be: go right ahead, most people are too occupied minding their own business to care less about what you wear.

As for me, I’m simply wearing what housewives feel comfortable with and at the same time shows some sense of style. Now, I should admit that those garments are indeed feminine by conventional standards. Well, I guess it indicates that I’m playing a gender-role that has traditionally been assigned to females. On the other hand, of those not many comments, most are compliments (and most by ladies: on my nail-polish, or a particular garment). Off-putting remarks are rare: nasty teenager gangs can be enervating.




Apart from that, as I told you, Sandy loves to get me into exciting activities. For instance, she has had me temporarily hired as a secretary, waitress, or maid. Don’t get me wrong: those are hard work (I can tell!) and secretaries, waitresses or maids deserve all our respect. But there is something particularly appealing in those occupations to a submissive male like me: maybe the fact that you have to let go your assertiveness, or that you have to be under somebody else’s authority and control. And if your boss happens to be a woman… for some reason you feel so much more passive and compliant!



On a regular basis, though, if such thing exists, what I’m engaged into as soon as Sandy leaves for her studio, are the customary chores you expect from a housewife. I tidy up the kitchen after breakfast, I work past the “daily’s” (things you have to do every day, such as sweeping the floor, and cleaning the yard), and start with a “weekly”: each day of the week is devoted to the more detailed clean-up of a single room: on Mondays I clean the kitchen, on Tuesdays the living room, on Wednesdays my mistress’ room, and so forth. Meanwhile, I start cooking whatever has to be ready in advance: when Sandy gets back home, her dinner has to be served.

On week-days, Sandy grabs something to eat at a place close to her studio, so I usually have lunch by myself (and sometimes I even have time to take a nap) before embarking into my own activities: I’m always taking lessons of some kind. At first, my education had to do with my basic training: I took lessons on modeling, cooking, etiquette. Later on I could be taught on the new interests I had acquired: at first it was drawing, now it’s sewing. I’m looking forward to getting my dress-makers diploma some day. I have to practice, though, so I meet with my sewing circle or I simply stay home and work there. I have a small sewing room, close to the kitchen. The room serves several purposes: I have to sleep there during some weekends, when Sandy chooses to have me as her personal full-time French maid for a couple of days. Have you ever heard of any maid sleeping in her mistress’ room? (of course not!) I love it when she is throwing a party, something like twice a month. For those occasions, I wear one of my maid uniforms and, yes, I do so in public in front of all her guests. All of them know about our unusual relationship, and in fact, as part of those afore mentioned adventures, I’ve even been “borrowed” as a maid for periods of a week by some of her friends.

That room has also served as my “prison cell”, whenever I’ve been punished, bound and locked up inside. An unusual life, it’s true… but never boring! So… keep up with my postings!

I got shoes

As I stepped into my office wearing clogs for the first time, I felt my heart beating even louder than the noise my wooden-soled footwear produced as I strolled along the tiled floor.

Why was I wearing clogs at the office? Well, the story starts here

I worked for a extremely conservative attorney bureau, so you might understand that dress-codes were important issues. Although they were seldom (if ever) brought up, it was implicit that a very formal outfit was required.

Clog code

My conventional collar and tie suit definitively didn’t go with clogs, so I put together a less formal setup, with a fine jacket and matching pants of a different color, and a turtleneck instead of shirt. In my opinion, my new looks were sophisticate and “European”. Anyways, I hoped I could get away with my wearing clogs in that formal environment.

I tried to act as natural and casual as possible: I have to admit that, to my amazement, nobody mentioned or even seem to notice my clogs. As I encountered my supervisor, he did stare briefly at my feet. Then he gazed at me with a puzzled look. Immediately after that, as if he hadn’t seen anything strange, he plainly continued:
“Hey, what’s up! I need you to file all these papers, and then …”
I got some scant compliments from my female co-workers, of the sort of “nice clogs!”, and that was that. None of the taunts or mocks I was expecting… not even from the customary office-jester.

Oddly enough, it was one of the ladies who made fun of me: "Do you have the matching purse, dear?"

If they only knew that I was also wearing a bra and panties! Sandy insisted that feminine underwear would extend her control over me during my work-hours, and “by the way”, she said, “it will prevent you from attempting any away-from-home flirtation”
It worked all right, and it also made me feel quite self-conscious and consequently somewhat shy. I really felt ill at ease whenever I had to go to the men’s room. During coffee-breaks, when the chat with the guys took that archetypal sexist turn, I surprised myself feeling quite uncomfortable. I started spending my breaks with the girls.

But my shyness disappeared one day, somewhere during my second clog-week. I always tried to avoid the stairs, as my clogs made a hell of a noise in that staircase. But one day I had no option but to go down a couple of floors using the stairway. I was doing my best to walk quietly, as I was reached by a colleague clicking along in her heels.
“What’s the idea of walking carefully like that?” she asked, “if you are wearing clogs, you have to assume its consequences! You have to be assertive, proud, and say here I am, with my clogs!”
And she started stomping, making even more noise as she continued down the stairs. “She’s right!”, I thought to myself, “what is the whole idea of wearing clogs if I am not to enjoy them in whole, including that magnificent, “assertive” noise they produce?”

But work was not what it used to be. I had been the perfect employee, working overtime, even moonlighting, striving to get promoted. Not anymore: now I counted the hours anxiously before I could get back home, and become Debbie again.