Day in the Life, Part 2

“Keeping it going, staying steady and maintaining devotion day after day-- that is the struggle.”
—Eosuchus, author of “Beneath Her Hem,” commenting on the value of a rigorous daily regimen for a wife-worshipping househusband.

Here, for example, is a typical day-in-the as described by my first mentor in this lifestyle, Au876 (from Lady Misato’s original Wife Worship forum):

Yesterday was a typical day. We got up about 6pm. I brought my wife some coffee. While she took over the bathroom I made the bed, ironed the blouse she was wearing to work (she told me to). She went down to read the paper while I had the bathroom. Before I left, I cleaned her hairbrush, wiped down the vanity, her mirror and made sure the bathroom was clean. I served her breakfast and cleaned up. We went to work.

I got home before she did and had dinner on the stove when she came in. She had a glass of wine while I finished dinner. We ate together and talked about our day. After dinner I washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. She sat at the table and we continued talking while I did this. We went for a walk. Back from that she took a shower (yes, I brought her a warm towel to dry off with). Then I took a shower, cleaned the bathroom, hung up her clothes and got my pedicure equipment. She watched TV while I gave her a pedicure and rubbed her feet. When we went to bed she allowed me to perform oral sex on her for a goodly period of time. She did not allow me to have sex but said she may in a week or two. It just depends on how I behave. All of this is so routine it hardly seems worthwhile mentioning. It is a beautiful rut to be in.

And, in brief, here is a day in the life of husband John as described by Mistress Kathy of the increasingly popular femdom101 blog:

Saturday is John's primary house-cleaning day. This is the day he cleans house, top to bottom, changes the sheets on our bed, run errands, and washes my car. This used to be his golfing day….

In one of my favorite exchange postings on the old Spouseclub message board (archived on this site), “Mr. Lynda” and “Mr. Lisa” compare their days, sounding like a pair of 1950s housewives swapping recipes and household tips:

MR. LYNDA: How does my typical day compare with your typical day? I am up quite earlier than Lynda. I prepare the coffee and do whatever baking is needed for the morning. (I have a batter prepared for muffins. If a muffin is what Lynda wants, I will finish the preparation and bake several muffins for us.) If not, I shower and shave. I finish preparing breakfast. Most of the time, it is toast, fruit plate, yogurt. Sometimes I prepare an eggbake of some kind or fix eggs, etc. I bring her coffee in bed. Sometimes I make her morning coffee more erotic by serving her on my knees and kissing her feet and legs while she has her coffee. I make sure that her clothes are pressed. (This is difficult for me. I am going to have to take classes in ironing.)

She comes to the breakfast table and we have breakfast together. After she leaves, I do the dishes and prepare to leave for my work. (At the present time, work is a class for lifeguards. I will be working at the pool this summer.)
I arrive home at about 4:15 p.m. and begin to prepare for supper. (Sometimes I prepare a supper as chosen by Lynda. Sometimes I have to prepare it using my own thought… Lynda does not always have the time to make these decisions.

I begin to prepare supper. I take a quick shower and change into clothes for the evening. I get the table ready and finish supper. Lynda arrives home at about 5:45 p.m. I meet her at the door with the newspaper and a cold drink. She lounges while I do the last minute preparations. She may go upstairs and take a quick shower or bath to relax. I serve supper and sit down with her. After we have eaten, she goes into the living room, den, or library while I clean up… She is not expected to lift a finger. I bring in a plate of cookies, some coffee, tea, or Perrier and we spend some time in conversation. (Sometimes, she was work to continue. I find something else to do. However, I am always on call.)

We have decided to wait until we are married until we have intercourse. However, she may want me to go down on her while she relaxes. Before bed, we may go for a walk or I may spend some further time pleasing her. She goes to bed first, and I straighten up the living area. I go up to the bedroom. We may have a little more fun. Sometimes, she has me do a striptease for her. We are ready for another day.

MR. LISA: My typical day is much like yours. I get up first, make coffee, sit down and have a cup while reading the paper. Lisa gets up, I get her coffee, then I get her breakfast which is usually just cereal or fruit. As she eats her breakfast, I make sure she has towels for her shower, and that she has all of her hair and body care products ready. As she showers, I get her clothes ready, making sure they are pressed (you will get the hang of ironing, it’s not hard). I lay her clothes on the bed. As she is a fanatic about shoes, I also usually shine the pair she has selected for the day, if they need it. As she dresses, I clean up the kitchen, she gives me a list of errands she needs done (she usually writes them out for me so I don’t forget) and she leaves for work.

My day then consists of typical househusband duties, cleaning, laundry, ironing, grocery shopping, cooking, and running Lisa's errands. Typical errands include shopping for any items she may need, getting her car washed, picking up her dry cleaning, etc. As far as meals, since I know what Lisa likes, I plan all of the meals…

When Lisa gets home, I serve her dinner, we eat and talk. Lisa and I constantly communicate with each other, and if there is a problem she will listen to my side. She has the final decision, but she does not ignore my input. After dinner I clean up while Lisa relaxes with a cup of tea or a glass of wine. She is usually on the phone for a while taking care of business.

Since she has so little time, I take care of a lot of her personal needs such as manicures, pedicures, and facials, and as I said I’ve attended schools to learn these things. Manicures are usually once a week, same for pedicures, although I also usually do a polish change for her in between. I give her various massages to relax her, I've also learned facials and other skin care. All of these things give us a lot of time to talk and communicate. As Lynda advances in her career, you will find that you will be doing more and more for her, simply because she just will not have the time. But then again, that's what househusbands are for.

Some readers may be skeptical that such letters are real. What self-respecting male would submit himself to such a humiliating regimen, day after day? But if you seek out such testimonials, you’ll discover that these husbands are amply rewarded for their domestic devotion to their wives, with large measures of joy and fulfillment and, yes, even erotic thrills. A case in point:

MISTRESS LAURA'S BOY: A typical day these days for us goes like this: I wake up around 5:30 AM, slipping out of bed as noiselessly as possible so that Mistress can remain asleep. Next, I exercise. Every weekday, I do weights followed by varying intensities on the treadmill or elliptical; on the weekends I skip the weights and go for a longer and less intense cardio session (sometimes a run, sometimes a long walk, other times I bike).

After this, I take a quick rinse, dry off, then start making breakfast for Mistress Laura. Most of the time, it's something warm (eggs, hash browns, etc). She usually tells me what she wants the night before. When breakfast is ready, I go back to the bedroom and put the plates on the side table and kneel on the floor by the side of the bed. Slowly and gently, I massage Mistress's feet till she wakes up and I serve her breakfast. While she is eating, we chat. I am usually kneeling or sitting on the floor and she is dressed in her nightgown, sitting on the bed. More often than not, my head swims in a mixture of adoration and lust.

When she is finished with breakfast, she moves into her office and I make the bed. Sometimes I vacuum the bedroom (it only takes a few minutes). I clean up the dishes and clean up the breakfast mess in the kitchen…

When I get home [after work], more often than not Mistress is still working. I go around the house and do a little bit of cleaning, a bit of laundry, and start cooking dinner. Mistress arrives home to find the dinner that she wanted ready, the plates set, and her drink set up exactly where she wants it. We greet each other and she lets me sit while we eat and talk.

After dinner, I clean up. Sometimes she sits at the kitchen table and watches and teases me while I clean dishes (I love that!); at other times, she goes back into her office and I go and kneel by her when I am done with cleanup. Later in the evening, Mistress likes to watch TV. I sit at her feet while she sits in the comfortable easychair…

When we are done with the TV, Mistress sends me ahead to turn down the bed and kneel by the side of the bed, waiting for her. It's usually a bit before midnight at this time. She sits at the edge of the bed and we do our usual ritual: I kiss her feet, then I massage them, putting hand-lotion on her feet. Sometimes she has me give her a backrub till she falls asleep… Sometimes (not often enough for my tastes!) she has me lick and kiss her and give her an orgasm.

This late night ritual only very rarely ends in sexual release for me, but I am ecstatically happy whenever I get to give her pleasure… When femaleness fills the air, watch out, for good things are about to happen!

And what of the wives? Do they remain austere, aloof and demanding throughout? Not hardly. An alternate acronym for FLR is LFA, remember; and a typical loving, female authoritarian is likely to take vast pride in her husband’s domestic devotion, as in this wife’s note to Elise Sutton:

A typical day for him starts at around 6 a.m. as gets his early chores done and then at whatever time I have indicated he wakes me with breakfast of toast fruit and coffee in bed. Whilst I am eating breakfast, he prepares the shower and ensures there is a warm towel waiting. He lays out the clothes I have indicated I’m wearing for the day and then goes to get my car out and to check that everything is tidy for me. When I am ready, he serves me more coffee downstairs and I run through any errands, phone calls or extra chores that I require for the day while he takes notes.

While I am away working, shopping or meeting with friends he spends the day cleaning, washing, ironing and household-shopping, making sure that everything is sparkling for when I return. He has a routine now for making sure that the house is properly cleaned from top to bottom every week and that things are checked and ‘topped up’ every day. When I come home he has coffee or a glass of wine waiting, depending on the time. In the evenings, while I read, listen to music or watch TV, he cooks my evening meal and then bustles around waiting on me and ensuring I have everything I need.

And, because she says it better than I could, let me conclude by quoting Elise Sutton’s reply to another husband’s day-in-the-life testimonial:

A typical day will present a man with scores of opportunities to make a woman’s life better. It all comes down to awareness and focus. Where is the male’s mind? Is it on his hobbies? Is it on his own selfish needs and desires? Or is it attuned to the woman he serves and is it focused on meeting her needs?

I am sure the feeling you felt as your wife drove away warm and dry could not be matched with any kind of selfish pursuit. You made her day and, in the process, you made your day. Keep it up and God bless.

End, Part 2

Day in the Life, Part 1

Three years back I had a post comparing short stories by John D. MacDonald and a writer pseudonymed Eosuchus (also the scientific name of an extinct crocodile).

This post was inspired by another Eosuchus story, “Beneath Her Hem” (Copyright Permian Systems 1997). There seems to be no active link to the entire story, so I can only encourage the author to republish it on his own weblog or elsewhere.

Eosuchus calls it “a litehearted fantasy of daily life in an idealized FDFS household.” But his fantasy, with its minute-by-minute account of a typical day in the life of a wife-worshipping, service-oriented househusband with a dominant breadwinner wife and two teen-age daughters bears no small resemblance to the journal jottings of many actual househusbands in wife-led marriages. Which I will show…

And these accounts, whether fictionalized or , actual diary entries, offer a clear lesson to all would-be wife worshippers (and stealth submittres), whose devotion peters out after a few hours, or days, or weeks of in-service drudgery.

“It took years of dedication to housework, child rearing and pampering without any thought of reward,” my old friend and mentor, fdhousehusband, once told me in an email. I did the chores cheerfully and enthusiastically. I convinced [my wife] that this was my life, Ii was happy in that role and I didn't want anything in return. Yet each time I failed and became lazy I felt that I took several steps backward for both of us. I was moving from one equilibrium to another and I needed to be perfect, not anything in between, not just sometimes.”

That kind of dedication is evident in the hero of Eosuchus’ tale as he goes this his daily “complex ballet” of meeting the needs and meshing with the schedules of his wife and two daughters, cleaning the house, doing laundry, shopping, cooking, preparing meals, driving the girls to and from school and after-school activities. His own Spartan needs—eating, reading headlines on the Web, working out to keep in trim, showering—are sandwiched between chores.

And, of course, we understand that, at the end of this exhausting (but instructive) narrative, it must all be done again the next day. A small sampling:

At nine thirty Elinor would take her first calls. Until then Steve would perform his secretarial role. Promptly at nine the calls began. Steve took calls while he cleaned up everyone's breakfast things and tidied up the kitchen and finished the shopping list.

When Elinor entered the office, Steve went upstairs and broke down the big bed, in which they slept as man and wife… He pulled out the sheets and dropped them in the plastic laundry hamper he now carried from room to room. He gathered underwear, socks, t-shirts, sweats, towels, shirts, pantyhose and bore it away to the basement. He sorted it and began a complex wash cycle.

Upstairs he checked on the dishwasher, emptied it and went over the kitchen with an eagle eye. Crumbs were lurking behind the counter stool. He whistled as he dusted them up and put them carefully into the garbage bin. One more careful check. Elinor might come into the kitchen at any time from about this moment on. Elinor had better not find anything at all to be critical of in the kitchen.

He went up to the bedrooms again and remade the big double bed. The girls got clean sheets twice a week and they weren't due for a change yet. He went over the bedroom carefully, with duster and damp cloth. It was time to vacuum…

The intricate, high-speed drudgery is only occasionally relieved by an erotic interlude, like this one during lunch, which, of course, he fixes for her:

She was going to sit in the kitchen and eat while she watched him work. Steve put on an apron and cleaned up the mess from making her sandwich and salad. He put some toast down for himself and filled a very small bowl with walnuts and cashews. He drank a glass of water and then did little odd jobs, cleaning around the kitchen while Elinor watched him.

"Steve, take off your shirt and pants," she said. Steve felt himself getting excited. He did as he was told, of course and put his clothes out of sight in a cupboard. Elinor ordered a very small glass of white wine from the chiller. When he brought it for her she squeezed and pinched his ass.

"I see a spot down there on the floor," she announced pointing to the tile right beside her stool. He got down on his knees to wipe the floor for her. By the time he'd finished that to her satisfaction she was pointing her foot at him for his kiss…

The long day ends with Steve “cuddling his wife and ruler as she slipped happily into sleep, served and serviced to the absolute limit of a man's ability.”

A happy ending, if I ever read one. Though this won’t be understood by those hard-boiled males who occasionally leave comments like, “You guys are hopeless wusses!” We KNOW that okay? Well, wusses maybe, but not hopeless. We live in perpetual hope. We relish the power imbalance, the daily rituals of ultra-romantic courtship where the woman is idealized and idolized. Not for everyguy, that’s fine.

Now, as promised, here are some non–fictional “days in the life”:

Fdhousehusband, previously mentioned, kept a running journal of his domestic activities on various websites. You can select any excerpt at random to see the kind of nonstop dedication he summoned to maintain his high level of service. In the following paragraphs, his wife had just assigned him to put on a dinner party for her and several business associates:

The problem with planning and executing an important dinner party is that the day-to-day requirements of serving my wife don't disappear. Two days ago, I awoke and scurried downstairs to do my morning chores. I fetched the paper, emptied the dishwasher, prepared the coffee for my wife and served her breakfast when she came downstairs. I then ran upstairs to make the bed, got breakfast for the girls [he also had two teen-aged daughters at this time] and saw them off to school.

Because Mistress's car was in the shop, I would need to drive her to work and pick her up afterward. Normally, I love being her little chauffeur, but with time tight this week, I needed every second to prepare for the dinner party on Saturday. Nonetheless, I waited dutifully while she prepared herself for work. Although the time seemed to be evaporating before my eyes, I held my tongue.

After I dropped Her off at work, I realized that I needed at least two full days to clean and cook for the party…

[Later] After we arrived home, my wife went to relax in her favorite chair and watch the election returns while I went to prepare dinner. Donning my apron, I quickly sauteed the sausage and chicken and put them into the jambalaya mix to cook. I set the table and knelt in front of my wife. I removed her pumps and massaged her feet through her pantyhose as he watched the television...

Having exchanged many emails and message board posts with Fd in previous years, I can confidently attest that the foregoing is no fabrication. Rather it is a pretty “Day in the Life” for him. The man went the extra mile and then some for his beloved wife—and still does, I am sure, though he has withdrawn his blog and has not posted under that name for several years now.

I cannot similarly vouch for the following wife-led “Day in the Life” account, taken from the book, Empress Arises by Ivy and Bobbi Rigger, originally, but no longer available through Lulu.com:

At five-thirty, Robert (Bobbi) gets up while Ivy stays in bed for a few more minutes snooze... He slips on a light robe and heads for the kitchen.

There, he checks to make sure everything is ready. The coffee is brewing. Breakfast fixings are ready. Ivy likes a single poached egg in the morning, and a slice of toast. It’ll be ready when she comes to the table.

He made her lunch the night before but now he checks to make certain it is prepared properly. She likes to take a sandwich rather than eat out for her lunches. It gives her more time to work at her desk.

Then, Bobbi checks the time. He still has a few minutes. So he sits down at the kitchen table for a preparatory cup of coffee before the day. At ten till six, Bobbi gets busy. He stands and begins boiling the egg. He also pours a cup of coffee and takes it to Ivy Ann where she is just now waking up. He speaks softly, “It’s almost six, Lady mine.” She stirs and slowly sits up in the bed. He gives her the coffee. She takes it and mumbles, “Christ…”

He smiles and heads back to the kitchen… He sets the table and waits until he hears the shower go on. Then he starts boiling the egg.

When she comes dressed to the table a few minutes later, everything is set. The egg waits for her, as does a glass of fresh orange juice. She sits and he pours her coffee. She thanks him. He stands attentively. She sips the juice and, after a second, nods. He slides into the chair across from her.

He smiles and sits quietly, only speaking when she speaks to him, or when he feels that a well formed question or comment will show he is paying attention…

She may also give a few quick instructions for the day. “Remember to put those checks in the bank,” she says. “And. the car needs an oil change." He nods at each instruction. Then, she pauses, thinks for a bit and adds, “Oh, and for your special treat, I have some underwear that needs to be hand washed."

After her breakfast, she rises. It’s time for her to leave. She wants to be in the office at seven thirty. While she brushes her teeth and makes a few last minute changes to her hair, he collects her brief case and stands waiting for her by the door. She appears shortly after that. She looks him up and down then taps her foot once. He drops instantly to his knees, leans forward to grovel before her, and put his head on the top of her shoe.

They wait for a long moment. Finally, she raises the toe of her shoe. He rolls back up to his knees, but remains kneeling. She pets his head and says, “Good boy.” He stays on the floor, with his eyes down and not looking at her until she leaves.
When he hears her car door close, he stands and begins his day...

As soon as she is out of the house, he quickly fixes himself a light breakfast and then gets to work. First, he washes the dishes and straightens up the kitchen. Then, he hurriedly does any outstanding housework that needs to be done. He vacuums the front room, makes the bed, puts a load of laundry in the washer, and so on…

Then, the “special treat.” He finds the underwear she mentioned. She has left them in a separate hamper in the bedroom. There are red panties, black panties, and white cotton panties. These he takes to the downstairs laundry sink and carefully, lovingly washes by hand…

And, because I particularly enjoy and collect these recitations, I’m going to offer several more in a follow-up posting. Stay tuned.

End of Part One.

A Modern Galahad

Back in the fall of last year, I ran a couple of guest posts on “Female Superiority & Wife Worship” by “Beckie Sue.”

These posts generated more comments, pro and con, than any appearing here before or since.

There were many more bouquets than brickbats thrown, but the latter certainly stirred the pot. Some of the objections I anticipated, but I was a little surprised when several readers took exception with Beckie’s statement regarding the military traditions of chivalry: “In the military, men have been trained and are willing to suffer painful death to protect all females. The military teaches men how to honor and respect women.”

One online friend, Obedient husband, wrote, “All I remember is extensive training that focused on staying alive and protecting your fellow soldiers… the only training I ever got regarding women revolved around avoiding STD's and (later in my career) avoiding sexual harassment type trouble.”

Reader Allen rallied to Beckie’s defense: “My father fought in WWII, in the Pacific. He faced many horrors that affected him emotionally for life, many he will not talk about. Among some of the ones he has told are what the Japanese did to women in occupied lands. We visited him this weekend and kind of asked him about what Beckie said. He is 90 but still has a sharp mind. He stated without hesitation that he and every man he served with would have given their life to protect any woman, they were trained that way both in the home and in the military.”

I echoed Allen: “I, too, formed the definite impression that Beckie was referring to these traditions, which seem to hearken all the way back to the medieval institution of knighthood (the word ‘chivalry’ derives from ‘chevalier’) and courtly love. Your story about your father’s private soldier’s code was especially poignant. Knighthood, chivalry and courtly love are all cornerstones of Wife Worship, at least as set forth by Lady Misato, and in everything I have written on the topic.”

A more passionate statement of this warrior code is quoted in my book (p. 69) from an anonymous wife-worshipper: “I think it is part of male genetics to want to be brave for the ones we love. Powerful hormones course through our systems, and we are ready to give our all to serve and defend these beautiful, nurturing, challenging, life-giving, playful, wondrous women.”

This accords perfectly with viewing marriage as “perpetual courtship,” with the husband as chivalrous suitor of his wife’s favors. But the truth is, when I think of a super-chivalrous knight errant, it is not Sir Walter Raleigh whom I conjure, nor Galahad nor Lancelot, nor Superman or Spiderman. No, the man I think of as the embodiment of the modern chivalric warrior is George S. Patton.

I offer in evidence the following anecdote from the 1920s, featuring Patton as a dashing young major and a highly decorated hero fresh from his exploits in World War I:

“[Patton] had an opportunity to combine pleasure with a little heroics when his attendance at a horse show led to an act of chivalry. On a summer night in 1922, while driving his roadster from [a] horse show to his hotel in Garden City, [Long Island], he spotted three rough-looking hombres with a damsel in apparent distress. They seemed to be pushing the girl into the back of a truck. Patton stopped his car, jumped out and forced the men at gunpoint to release the young woman. Then it developed that the girl was the fiancée of one of the men, who merely were helping her to climb into the truck.

“The incident was reminiscent of Don Quixote’s encounter with the six merchants of Toledo on the road to Murcia and his spirited defense of Dulcinea’s unquestioned virtue.”*

It was no accident that the young major was armed. “I always carry a pistol,” Patton explained later, “ even when I’m dressed in white tie and tails.”

Nor was his knight-errant-to-the-rescue act an aberration. Back in 1912, a twenty-seven-year-old Patton competed in the Stockholm Olympics in the modern pentathlon, which had been expressly created by the International Olympic Committee as a tournament for modern knights. According to the IOC, “This 20th century cavalier must be able to overcome all obstacles that may confront him in carrying out his knightly mission. With the pistol or dueling sword he engages in personal combat; with any available horse he swiftly rides across country; the unfordable stream he swims; and he finishes on foot.”

Patton entered the modern pentathlon with little training and no sponsorship, paying his own way to and from Stockholm, and placed fifth in the competition.

I'm not saying, mind you, that Patton would agree to expand the definition of chivalrous endeavor to include the kind of daily domestic dragon-slaying practiced by contemporary, service-oriented wife worshippers--e.g., washing and ironing, dusting and vacuuming, as well as offering milady more intimate services. He might even wax profane on the matter. But he and we can certainly close ranks on the subject of the exaltation and protection of womanhood.

* From Patton: Ordeal and Triumph by Ladislas Farrago. NY: Dell, 1963, p. 106. This is the book that Francis Ford Coppola adapted for his Oscar-winning screenplay, Patton.