After my brunch at the Mexican place, I shot the shit with Michael and Sam for a bit. We trolled around the neighborhood, trying to soak in the late-summer warmth before academia once again entombed us in the dustiest corners of libraries and seminar rooms. I texted Daddy around 3:00 to ask what he wanted for dinner. Because my summer job was only three days a weekone of the many luxuries of having a well-established boyfriend/daddyI generally took care of most domestic affairs.
It was a very logical arrangement, simply because I had more free time, but it also definitely suited both of us just fine. Daddy liked to come home to a clean house and a home-cooked meal or a cold beer if he returned late and crashed in his armchair, and I liked to serve him. I liked when he came home in his sharp grey suit and kissed me on the cheek while I cooked dinner. It was some kind of weird perversion of gender roles and historical tropes and it was probably not very feminist (there I go, getting all analytical again), but it just felt super sexy to be his little houseboy.
It was a very logical arrangement, simply because I had more free time, but it also definitely suited both of us just fine. Daddy liked to come home to a clean house and a home-cooked meal or a cold beer if he returned late and crashed in his armchair, and I liked to serve him. I liked when he came home in his sharp grey suit and kissed me on the cheek while I cooked dinner. It was some kind of weird perversion of gender roles and historical tropes and it was probably not very feminist (there I go, getting all analytical again), but it just felt super sexy to be his little houseboy.