Chapter 4

Friday November 26^th

Watched television this evening, more government stuff. They do drone on. Except this time Angie said, “You’d better listen to this.”

It was Marie Cripps who is the new head of the Bank of England, explaining their latest plans to cut down on illicit money movements. She’s making it compulsory for all bank accounts to have a female signatory and where a man has a sponsor, the sponsor has to be the signatory on any credit cards or bank accounts too.

Angie was complaining before Cripps had even finished. “How am I supposed to keep track of all this? I can’t be arsed worrying about your finances.” I said I was sure we could sort something out. The last thing I want is for her to decide that being my sponsor is too much trouble. We talked about it for a bit and in the end she’s agreed to keep all my cards and chequebooks and just to let me have a cash allowance. She reckons that at least that way it’s not too much bother and she’d still be doing what she’s supposed to. She reckons her New Order group in the village will be discussing this next week.

I asked Angie if she’d heard any more about Norm. Apparently not. And she was still annoyed that she couldn’t get Beth interested in picking up my sponsorship.

Anyway at the end of what Cripps was saying she mentioned that sponsorship tax breaks might be improved in the next budget. “Oh well, Angie,” said, “maybe its worth hanging on to you after all.”

Saturday November 27^th

I was in to work today to make up the time I’d taken off for the course on Thursday. The place was empty apart from the receptionist that checked me in, so I actually had a fairly productive morning, catching up with emails and going through the performance data on each of our services so that Lucy would have an up-to-date picture for her management meeting on Monday. By 12 o’clock I was feeling quite pleased with myself and headed back out to find a sandwich for lunch.

There’s a place not far from the office where I’ve been going since my new card came through but it was shut – seems they only open weekdays for the office customers – and I went off looking for somewhere else. It was funny how all the stuff from Thursday kept coming back. “New Street, New Rules,” I heard myself saying as I turned the corner at the end of the block and looked up to check if there were any restriction signs. The first two places had “males only if accompanied” signs on them – all the major chains seem to have opted for that. I read somewhere that it’s cheaper for their insurance or something. Still, I finally managed to find a place that wasn’t restricted even if it was a bit scruffy. I got a cup of coffee and a sandwich and sat down to enjoy them.

Who should come in but Harry!

“Still in the country, then,” I said with a smile. “Sorry I couldn’t help.”

He looked furtive. “Yeah, well, I decided it was better to stick around.” I wondered how much of a decision it had been on his side. “I can’t chat, I’m meeting someone. You still at that services company?”

I nodded. Then this scruffy-looking bloke came in and nodded to the man at the counter. Him and Harry went through to a back room. It all looked a bit sinister.

Got back home late but before curfew, thank goodness. Angie had been at a meeting of the local New Order party members. She seemed in a good mood. After dinner she asked me how my back was, and then said, if I wasn’t too stiff perhaps I might like to help her relax. Lucy has been off this week, so I said I was fine, knowing that “helping her relax” meant Angie was looking to having me spend the rest of the evening using my tongue on her nether parts. Not that I mind, but I do miss let’s say the way we used to do sex. I didn’t say anything though. No point in starting an argument, I thought.

Anyway after a while Angie was obviously enjoying herself and I was stiff as anything. Then she says, “Want to try something new?”

It turns out, that one of the discussions she’s had at the meeting has been around the whole subject of prick sex and that quite a few of the girls agree that while penetration is obviously a political act that flies in the face of New Order principles, they actually quite like it. However, it’s all politically OK, apparently, as long as the man is “unable to enforce the patriarchal imperative”.

I should know by now that when she starts spouting this sort of guff it’s time to find somewhere else to be but in my defence I did have my head clamped between her thighs at the time.

So, “something new” turned out to be her having prick sex while I’m tied up. Well, it’s certainly difficult to “enforce the patriarchal imperative” if your wrists are tied behind your back with your girlfriend’s dressing-gown cord and she’s sat astride you bouncing up and down like she hasn’t had any in month’s (which is possibly the case). But, on the plus side, I got to cum – which is the first time in a couple of weeks – and Angie ended up collapsed happily alongside me with a big grin on her face. It would have been better if she’d untied me before she fell asleep, but I managed to wriggle free without disturbing her.

She didn’t say anything next morning but I’ve got a feeling this might turn out to be a feature of our future sex lives.

Tuesday November 30^th

I wondered if I was in trouble this morning. I suppose it was about 11 o’clock. Two Male Control Force officers were shown in to Lucy’s office and were talking to her for quite a while. I was feeling smug, thinking, “Ah, red epaulettes, Public Order officers.” Then they called me in. It was only when they introduced themselves that I realised it was Katherine and Jill from the course. I was about to make some joke about not recognising them with their uniforms on when I realised that they hadn’t remembered me and it probably wouldn’t fit too well with the Respect Agenda.

Turns out they were looking for information about Harry. They showed me a photograph that looked like it had been taken in a police cell. Did I know him? Did I know his current whereabouts? Had I seen him lately?

I don’t know why but I said, “No.” I asked what it was about but they just said if I hadn’t seen him it wouldn’t matter and if it turned out that I had they’d be back to talk to me about it later. Well, that scared me, you can imagine but I managed to hold my nerve. I’m worried now in case they go looking at CCTV and see me and Harry going into the same coffee shop. They asked if I’d mind them looking at my mobile phone. At least I knew there was nothing incriminating on it. I said, that would be fine. Katherine smiled and said to Jill, “Like he thinks he has the choice!”

Jill put the phone in a bag and sealed it. “We’ll get it back to you when we can. We’re sure your sponsor won’t want you to be without it for long.”

It was only after I’d gone that I realised what they meant. I hadn’t thought that Angie might be using it to keep track of where I was.

I got home from work pretty much on time. Angie was working late. I watched a bit of television – riots on the news. They weren’t far from my office. Must have started up just after I left for home. You don’t expect that sort of thing outside of London but there was a group of men protesting the sponsorship regulations and a group of policewomen tried to stop them getting through to the local branch of DOSA.

Turns out placards aren’t much of a match for riot shields and tear gas. There was someone that looked a lot like Harry in one of the shots. He was wearing a scarf across his face but I recognised his scruffy, ex-miltary, parka from when I saw him in the coffee shop. I’m keeping quiet about that though.

I told Angie about the MCF interview and my phone being confiscated. “Yeah, I know,” she said. DOSA told me. Good boy for owning up though.”

Thursday December 2^nd

Angie says she wants to change things around the house. Apparently they had a talk at her Party meeting on Saturday. The title was “Gender Assumptions in the Assignment of Domestic Tasks”. She showed me a pamphlet they had given her and said I should read it. On the cover it had a picture of a perfect 1950’s style housewife and with a speech bubble saying, “Who said women had to clean house?”

It was written in a pretty straight-forward way – the introduction said “We hope you won’t mind us woman-splaining this, but we know that sometimes it’s not easy for men to understand what we mean” - and basically went on to say that domestic jobs had always been assumed to be women’s work.

I said to Angie that I thought we’d shared things out fairly and I’d always done what she asked me to do.

“Exactly,” she said. “I had to ask you. Why do I have to ask you? Because it’s assumed that, as the woman, I am the one that is thinking about what needs to be done around the house all the time. See look at this...” She turned a page in the pamphlet. The same 50’s housewife, in her shirt-waister dress with a flared skirt was standing with her arms folded, chastising an unhappy-looking man. A whole series of speech bubbles were saying “Have you done the dishes?”, “What about the dusting?”, Why haven’t you emptied the rubbish bins?”, “Are the beds made yet?” and a whole lot more.

“Can you see?” Angie said. “If we have to ask it’s because you think it’s our job to worry about it.”

I suppose that made some sort of sense but I couldn’t really see how to solve the problem. “That’s all right,” Angie replied, “There’s some ideas in here.” She opened out the pamphlet to show a double page spread titled, ‘House Care Schedule’. “If we had something like this, then you’d know just what was your share and I wouldn’t have to bother nagging you.”

“Well, I guess so,” I responded.

“Good,” said Angie, “that’s agreed. I’ve worked out a schedule. I’ve put it up in the back room. I thought it would be better if you moved in there. You’re going to be getting up early and you know how I hate being disturbed in the mornings. Besides, I think Lucy’s going to be coming over more often, so this way I won’t have to kick you out when she does.”

So now I am living in a small room, up at the back of the house. I just used to use it as a junk room so there’s quite a few boxes piled up along one wall. On the other wall there’s an old-fashioned bedstead where I’m sleeping. There’s a small window looking out onto the back garden and up beside the window, Angie has stuck my work schedule. Looking at the schedule, I needn’t worry about the room because I’ll have sod-all time in it. I did try asking if it was a bit one-sided but Angie just said we had to re-set expectations and that means the pendulum needed to swing back the other way for a while at least. I’m not sure I see it swinging back towards her anytime soon.

Friday December 3rd^d

Up early this morning as the “Friday Tasks” list is a long one and I didn’t want to be behind from the first day. I got most of it done before I had to leave for work. Angie looked up from her breakfast – she doesn’t have to leave until after me; she’s got a better choice of buses – and said, “Don’t forget Friday tasks are as well as everyday tasks.” Just as well she mentioned it as I hadn’t realised, so I had all the rest of it to look forward to when I got back.

I’d just about finished when Angie got in – she’d was late because she’d been to a party meeting down in the village. She was feeling pretty pleased with herself. Apparently she’d been telling her friends in the office about how she’d got on board with the whole Domestic Task Gender Stereotyping thing, and lots of them want to know about it too. She spoken to the person who’d done the talk for her meeting and now she’s been co-opted onto a Party Policy Implementation Team or something. “I feel like celebrating,” she said. “Why don’t you get me a drink. There’s some white wine in the fridge, unless you’ve been sneaking some.”

Anyway, I got her a glass but that wasn’t good enough. “No, I feel like being waited on properly. Bring the bottle and glass on a tray and kneel down here.”

I was about to object but she gave me one of her don’t-disagree-with-me looks and said, “I’m in a good mood. If you’re nice, I might be interested in some play at bed time.”

To be honest, I was just grateful to be doing nothing for a while, so I did what she asked. I felt a fool kneeling there while she sat sipping her wine and reading some party bulletin or other. She didn’t seem to notice that I was finding it quite uncomfortable on my knees apart from one point where I tried shifting my weight and she just looked up and scowled. She had me pour her another glass and fetch the TV remote, once she’d finished her reading. I don’t think she noticed that I sat back on my haunches after that, which gave me a bit of relief.

Still it was going to be worth it, I thought. I was getting stiff at the idea of us getting some bedroom time together for the first time in a while, even if it did involve her dressing gown belt again. Then the door bell went.

Angie sent me to answer it and who should be there but Lucy. I showed her in. Angie just laughed and said it must be my unlucky day and I could get off to bed.

Saturday December 4^th

Lucy was still here when I got up to start the day’s chores. They were obviously enjoying a lay in. I could hear them giggling and laughing from downstairs in the lounge where I was cleaning up.

I was getting together the pile of newspapers and other stuff to go down to the recycling point when I came across some papers Angie was throwing out after her meeting last week. I suppose I shouldn’t have read them but I did and now I’m worried that I can’t “un-read” them. Some of it was quite scary stuff. “Consultation on Future Policy Proposals” one of them was headed. It seemed to have been produced by some think tank or other calling itself “Males at Home”. I just caught some of the headlines, stuff like “Economic Impact of Further Restricting Male Involvement in the Workplace”, “Domestic Role Models for Males” and “Legislation or Leverage”. Another one seemed concerned with the politics of sexual preferences for women and how to balance women’s desire for sex with a need to keep men out of areas where what Angie calls “shit MDDM” might cause problems. I managed to smuggle them up to my room before Angie and Lucy got up. I’ve put them under the mattress. I think it’s the sort of thing Harry might be interested in if I bump into him again.

Angie asked me later if I’d taken the recycling out. I said “yes” which was only partly true.

Monday December 6^th

“I wanted to ask your opinion,” Angie said, which got my curiosity going, since I can’t remember the last time she had done that in a long time. “Which of these would you prefer for housework?” She flipped open a catalogue from a company called “Alex Workwear”; the page was headed “Housekeeping Uniforms.”

“These are all outfits for women,” I said, though I thought I could see where she was going with it.

“That’s just how they’ve done the photographs. I know it’s not a helpful stereotype but they come in men’s sizes too, look.”

“But they’re all dresses.”

“Well, they look like that but they’re really just practical overalls for cleaning work and other tasks around the house. You ruined that pair of trousers spilling cleaner on them and even if you hadn’t done that kneeling down to clean floors doesn’t do them any good. One of these uniforms would be much better. An apron to take the worst of the muck and something that’s cheap and easily laundered too. I can’t see what your problem is. It will actually save you work. These things don’t need ironing. Well, maybe the apron.”

“I don’t want to wear a dress.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s not a dress, it’s a housekeeping overall. You can choose the colour. That’s what I wanted your opinion on. Or is that too difficult a decision for a man? I do hope that I haven’t got to mention the words ‘no sponsor’.”