My Mother Becomes A Dominatrix

My Mother becomes a Dominatrix
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

A beautiful Saturday in New York, but I have to spend half the day in Wicked Wendy's dungeon in Chelsea. I'm working, cleaning out Wicked Wendy's dungeon for a new interior design show. Wendy is an old friend of mine and she's very excited that some new show is going to "pimp" her dungeon. I kind of liked it the way it was. Simple torture devices, weird, ancient looking contraptions like a cucking stool and stock. Standard, "Pit and the Pendulum," ropes and blades, old candlesticks and a Boar's head on the wall. Love it...Just what exactly "pimping a dungeon means in today's Crate and Barrel world does not sound horrible but does sound safe.
The first half of the day is the easy stuff. I could clean out Wicked Wendy's dungeon out with my eyes closed... To tell you the truth it was very dark and quite cool in there.I couldn't see much and I felt like going to sleep in one of the gyrating cucking stools.
I brought my 3 month old baby boy with me; to help me of course. This boy does not sleep, he does not sleep and he does not cry. He constantly feeds. So, to give Dawn a break, I brought the boy with me,and I brought plenty of pumped breast milk. The boy is developing fast. He has a maniacal smile like his dad and kicks a lot in his sleep, as does his dad. I left my beautiful two year old daughter at home. I would only have brought her to this job, were it a demolition one.She is not a terrible two, so much as a Ivan the terrible two. She slowly is breaking down the parents will to live as she smotes down her enemies in exhorbitant numbers.Mahem, mixed again with her father's maniacal laughter. She will be quite a force to deal with for years to come.
The second half of the day will be the killer job. My mother lives in Chelsea, and I will walk over to her building for a visit with the boy. Work is the easy part of any day. Other people are stressful. My mother is a handful. You'll see. Let's move on a little with the first half. Um... Not yet.
First, let me tell you about my intimate relationship with the good folk of S&M. Whenever, I clean out a Funeral Parlor, the S&M crowd my store as if it were Black Friday at Macy's. There's a feeding frenzy till every last casket, and ghoulish ancient medical instrument is gone. If this were a football game, I would be the quaterback hero who threw the winning touchdown pass. Of course, the Horror folk are there as well. I haven't had a good Funeral Parlor in a couple of years. I must find a Funeral Parlor getting ready to get "pimped." They can have their Ikea caskets. I'll take Victorian anyday.
So, the job was moving along. Some good stuff for the store and Ebay. I mostly held Zane, but when I needed to change him, I put him in a small contraption. I guess it was a cucking stool but it had a whirligig gizmo that spun the boy around in many different directions. I slowed down the machine and changed the boy. I noticed a big smile on his face, so that after I changed him and fed him I put him back in this whirligig gizmo cucking stool and cranked it up. It had a wooden gear and a clicking sound as the gear shifted.
The boy flew around the room and was very happy... and then he went to sleep. The boy went to sleep. This ancient contraption was coming home with me. Dawn and I would have our sleep. This boy Zane would no longer have the cult like control over our lives. Yes, this contraption would take up most of the apartment but it would be worth it.
My good fortune. Oh, my good fortune. Sing it sister. Then the second half of the day began before noon.
Wicked Wanda came into the room, briefly watched Zane shuttle around the room and announced, "I don't know how, but your mother is here."
"My mother is here in the dungeon?
" Yes, she just got here and already is asking that I turn on the heat for her bones. It's July."
"She has arthritis." I said defensively and then wondered what she was doing here and how she got here.
My mother pushed her way into the room,"Get that boy out of that shit. He's not in Coney Island. You look terrible Larry, that woman does not take care of you.


End, the very End of Part I