Another Day in Pleasant Town
I’m looking in the mirror. I look quite pretty in my opinion (and hopefully, later tonight, my husband’s).
My hair is fixed to the side, my slacks are pressed, and this cute little bowtie I found last Thursday at McCorkin’s Department store looks just dandy. I can see a slight wrinkle forming at my brow, though.
I guess it’s true what they say, after 23 it really does all go downhill. I’ll have to talk with Mr. McCorkin again when I go out for my errands about some of those new fangled anti-aging creams they keep raving about on our television.
It’s been a wonderful day cleaning the house and getting everything ready for my darling Dick. My husband, that is. People always snicker when I say his name. I think it’s quite grand, even if it is a common name.
I suppose those unmarried fast boys think of something else when they hear it. Personally I keep my mind out of such gutter. There’s a time and a place for such thoughts, and that is for two married people. At least when the husband is “in the mood,” as they say.
I never know what mood to expect of Dick when he gets home. Hopefully tonight will be a good night. The boys down at the office have been working him awful hard.
So I’ve tried to keep everything spic and span. Heck, I even dusted the curtains this morning, even if I had just done it last week. Dust is the absolute worst. I hate to think of a Man coming home to a house with dust, of all things.
I know that I should check on the pot roast and I’m walking to the kitchen. It smells absolutely delicious. Clifton really has the best recipes, when it comes down to it. I’m so glad the boywives of the neighborhood formed our little guild.
Oh heaven’s! He’s come home already! I’m running to the door, my feet are nearly tripping me I’m walking so fast. I try my best, I really do. Yet sometimes I still get it wrong. I really should have finished setting the table earlier!
What will Dick think if he has to sit around like some common fool while his wife sets the table? That’s no way for a man to come home.
He’s opening the door. I’m standing at attention with my hands behind my back. My lips are pressing into the silliest smile a boywife can make. This is a moment when I should try my best to act as gay as possible, so to speak.
“How’s my darling ladyboy?” he’s saying to me as he’s entering the door and taking off his cap.
I grab his fedora with the most graceful attitude I can muster. “Oh just fine, dear.”
His lips are coming towards my cheek for a light peck. His five o’clock stubble is bristling against my skin. I’m feeling myself start to blush. Does a boywife that can’t even get dinner served on time deserve such affection?
Now he’s tossing his coat at me and heading towards the kitchen. I’m turning my back, closing the front door and hanging up his coat and hat on the coat rack. I’m almost too afraid to turn around.
His voice is echoing from the dining room. “What’s on the menu tonight, doll?”
Heading back to the kitchen feels like a walk of shame. “A pot roast, Dick, but you really must forgive me. It’s not ready quite yet.”
He’s sitting at the dining table, and opening up today’s newspaper. “Don’t worry your pretty little self, I’ll catch up on the news while you finish up.”
My heart’s all a flutter. I really don’t deserve a man as wonderful as him. He can be awfully merciful. Some of the fags aren’t quite so lucky. Clifton’s Husband is known to rough him up a bit whenever he gets angry.
Other than a few spankings, Dick hasn’t laid a finger on me. There was just that one time that I decided to get smart with him. I don’t know what became of me. He had been having such a rough week with his boss and I decided to second guess him, in a bit of a cheeky way. You know, like fags can do when they get a bit sassy.
He raised his arm at me, ready to hit me in a backhanded slap. I really knew that I had it coming. I winced, but right as he was about to hit me he lowered his arm, grabbed me and said, “Faggot don’t you ever talk smart to your Man again.”
I apologized to him and, well, that was that. The anticipation was all I needed. But anywho, I’m getting the sides ready for Him now. A potato salad and some fresh collard greens.
He looks so distinguished sitting there, still in his suit from work. He’s lit up a cigarette and is smoking. He just loves those Marlboros, even if those ads during the cartoons make them seem like they’re just for kids.
I’m finally taking the pot roast out of the oven and serving it on the table. Such a lovely meal we have. Sometimes I picture us at the table on the cover of one of those housekeeping magazines. All we need are children. In another year or so we plan to adopt a child from the orphanage. For now it’s just us.
Dick puts the paper down, extinguishes his cigarette and says to me, “Let’s eat, darling.”
I sit across from him, and we have a pleasant dinner. I try to be gay and respond positively to whatever he says with a big smile, a laugh, and a nod. Of course, the conversation with him often covers topics that are too deep for me. I just smile more and pretend I understand.
He really is a highly intelligent man. They always say a fagboy is best when he’s pretty and dumb. I used to be worried that I was too bookish- a big turn off for a man! It’s a good thing I was able to drop out of high school to attend one of those little finishing schools for faggots. It was all sewing and cooking and acting giddy around men for me after that.
Time sure flies when you’re happy together with your husband! Before long we’re finished with dinner, I’ve given him a kiss on the cheek and he’s gone to the living room to watch sports on our new television while I do the dishes for him. I have on a pretty little apron and big rubber gloves as I give everything a scrub in the sink.
The sounds of the T.V. faintly echo into the kitchen. I really don’t understand anything about football or baseball or any of those games the men play. It really is amazing how large the screens on those darn things have gotten. 10 inches! That’s almost as large as my husband’s…
Oh goodness! What a naughty thought to have! Here I am alone in the kitchen and thinking such a dirty thought. I’m scrubbing up the rest of these dishes as fast as I can to keep my mind off things.
“Hey poof,” he yells out at me.
I’m walking to the entryway between our kitchen and the living room. My hair seems out of place so I’m pushing it back with the side of my glove.
“Why don’t you put on something a little more comfortable? You can come tidy things up while I watch the rest of the game, and give me something to look at while you’re at it!”
He’s winking at me. I’m starting to blush again. It feels so good to be pretty enough for him to say I’m something to look at.
Now I’m turning to go to the bedroom to change.
“But make sure to pour me a cocktail first,” he says to me.
Why didn’t I think of that first! I should have offered it to him. How rude that was! My lips are pressing into a smile. “Whatever you say, sir.”
To be continued… (at some point… probably)