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House Boy : House Girl
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Modern Love
My houseboy, my fantasy
BY ELIZA HECHT NEW YORK TIMES
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BRIAN REA FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES
The Houseboy first messaged me six months ago on the online dating site OKCupid.
“Hi,” his message said. “I am a houseboy. I will clean your house, or anything else you want me to do. I expect nothing in return. I like serving strong, confident women. I also like women who smoke.”
I have always loved the absurd, and this scenario seemed too strange to pass up. I wanted to meet this man with a housecleaning fetish. And, frankly, I wanted a clean apartment.
I had joked with friends about how great it would be to have a manservant, someone who would clean, do my dishes and laundry and all the other things I hate doing. I’ll happily degrade them, I’d say. I’ll throw olive pits at them. Whatever turns them on.
We started messaging and then texting. Although most of our interactions were fetish-related, there were moments of intimacy.
I had been single for nearly four years, and it was easy to confide in this stranger who already had made himself so vulnerable to me.
I told him not to tell me his name. I thought he would like it better if I just referred to him as the Houseboy. After all, I wanted him to get something out of the situation, too. If his fetish was to serve a woman who would boss him around and make him feel worthless, I would try to play the role. His fantasy didn’t work if I didn’t play along, and I wanted to hold up my end of the bargain.
We set up a date for him to come over and clean. But at the last minute, he backed out.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m broke. I don’t even have subway fare. I could ask my dad for it, but I don’t think he’ll give it to me.”
I didn’t hear from him again until I started my YouTube series.
“Ladies of Leisure” was something silly I thought up when I was drunk. It was a simple premise: I would sit in my bathtub, drink martinis and sing karaoke. Sometimes I would smoke cigarettes. I posted a few videos on YouTube. My friends thought they were funny. I thought they were funny. That was all I thought would happen.
And then, I got a text from the Houseboy.
“Your videos are really good,” he said. “I bet they would go over well in the smoking fetish community.”
Over the next few days, people started following my YouTube channel. I had gone viral.
I started to lose interest, but he kept texting me.
“Do you need a chauffeur tonight?” he would ask.
Or, “I want you to use me as an ashtray. Let me be your pig-slave.”
Off to Ikea
And then, I needed a lamp. And some wine glasses. And Ikea is in Red Hook, which is a hassle to get to. So I texted the Houseboy.
“It’s your lucky week,” I wrote. “I need a ride to Ikea.”
We made a date for a Friday at 2 p.m. Two o’clock passed, and then 3. I called him, trying my best to be domineering.
Finally he showed up, around 3:45. I walked outside to meet him, and saw a man waving at me from a red Toyota.
The Houseboy was overweight and had long dark hair with streaks of gray. As I had already known, he was in his early 40s.
Although I was trying to play the part of the cruel, confident woman, I couldn’t help but make friendly conversation.
“You’re Jewish, right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “But not particularly religious.”
“What do you think about Israel and Gaza?”
I sighed. “I honestly don’t know if it can ever get better,” I said. “There are thousands of years of history there. Everyone hates each other too much. And no one is willing to compromise.”
He responded with an educated, nuanced take on the situation. I was surprised. I knew the Houseboy was kind, but I didn’t expect him to be so smart. After all, he lived with his father and couldn’t even afford subway fare.
When we got to Ikea, I told the Houseboy he could push my cart.
We checked out. I swiped my credit card, put my stuff back into the cart and walked out of the store, the Houseboy at my heels.
When we got to my neighborhood, I gave him directions back to my building.
We walked up two flights, and I unlocked my apartment. I put my bag down on the floor, and the Houseboy put his down, too.
We stood awkwardly, a few feet away from each other. It seemed strange to hug, but doing nothing felt uncomfortable, too.
Too nice
“It was a pleasure serving you,” he said. “I hope you call me again.”
He started to walk out the door, but stopped and turned around.
“By the way,” he said. “You seem really nice.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, coming from a man who wanted to be abused. Maybe I should have been meaner. Maybe I should have lectured him on Gaza, interrupting him when he tried to give his perspective.
“I’m a little bit of a princess,” I often say.
And, “I have attitude.”
And, “I like to get what I want when I want it.”
But the Houseboy saw through me. I wanted to give him what he was looking for: I wanted to dominate him, boss him around, make him feel bad about himself. But I couldn’t. When it comes down to it, I’m uncomfortable throwing olive pits. I’m not good at calling someone names, or ignoring his presence. I just want a friendly ride to Ikea with a smart guy who can talk intelligently about Middle East politics.
I guess I’m nice. But my apartment is still a mess.
Eliza Hecht is a writer who lives in Brooklyn, N.Y.
Could you live like this portrays ?
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Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by frenchy on
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goin back a few years ago ( i won't say how many ) i met a girl who was into that whips and chains excite me type of life .. i met her online and was skeptical at first thinkin i really can't be what she wants .. i mean yeah i can say things like get over here you slut if that excites her and play that role ( and not too badly i might add ) but when she really wanted me to tie her up and beat her i said no .. she said i was too vanilla for her , which is what you'd call someone who is not " in the life " so to speak .. so me and the tie me up tie me down girl parted ways .. sometimes you just ain't meant to be with someone even if you're attracted to them ..
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Permalink Reply by Wayne Goodwin on
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I don't care for whips and chains but a feather would be fun ....
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