Stella was contacted by a rather good-looking 31 year old. Not her usual fare, being over 10 years younger, but he was a great guy, wrote an articulate message and their initial chats were very chummy and normal. But time moved on. Several emails in, they started Instant Messaging, and then he said he had a secret that might be seen as weird by some people. Well, you know how nosy she is."Do go on," she said.
(Just a mo’ - let me get my notebook out to see exactly what she reported. Ah, here it is...)
Him: Please don’t get offended. You look really gorgeous and I want to be your slave. I’m sure that sounds strange to you.
Her: Yes,it does.
Him: Don’t be scared or anything. I’m not talking about sex or anything like that, unless you want to that is. I’m not at all pervy.
Her: I see. I’m not sure I understand what you mean.
Him: It’s not something you can easily discuss with people. Be open about. I’ve just always wanted to be someone’s slave and do things for them.
Her: What kind of things?
Him: Just the usual.
Her (suspicious): What usual?
Him: You know hoovering, washing up, ironing.
Well! WELL! You can imagine how Stella perked up at this prospect! Someone to do the housework – how flippin’ marvellous! (I was already at "Where’s the dotted line? Sign me up!" at this point in her narrative.)
Her: And what would I have to do?
Him: You? You don’t have to do anything. You can just come home and I’ll have dinner waiting for you, then I’ll run the bath for you, put candles round it. That sort of stuff. I’ll rub your feet if you want.
Her: Why would you want to do all that?
Him: Honestly? I don’t know. It’s just been my dream ever since I was a teenager.
So there you go. Nowt so queer as folk. Now assuming that he is a genuine person and this really is all he wants, what could be the root cause of such a fantasy? Of such a need? According to Stella, in all their correspondence he was charming (but not in a slimey way), decent, not one comma’s worth of lasciviousness. (Sorry if that word is too long for anyone ;)) Her words to me were, "He was a lovely guy, and while I’m giving you the story for the blog, you are on no account to make fun of him."
Well, I’m not and I won’t. It all comes down to this human frailty business again and the lottery of internal wiring. Is this something to do with his mother? Is this something to do with his sexuality? Is being under someone else’s control comfortingly familiar? I haven’t got a clue.
Stella ended the conversation by saying that she was flattered and thanked him for his offer, but she would have to decline. If she accepted, she said, the situation would make her become a mean person and she didn’t want to be that. Nonetheless, she wished him good luck in his search for someone who will let him express his desires.
OK then. Story over. Let’s get down to business…
Roll up, roll up, roll up!
It’s just the housework we’re talking about here, girls! You gotta be in it to win it…