Ready for Answers

Questions anyone.  I can never think of any questions to ask.  There are answers I want but they are the answers to life's bigger issues like 'why do the swallows come back to Capistrano on March 19th?'

Anyway, if you have any questions you'd like to ask, please feel free.  If I don't know the answer, I'll either make one up or look it up on Google. Wow, how did we ever live before Google. I didn't even think I wanted to get the internet way back when.  Now it's like air and I'm not sure I could do without a daily fix.

I probably won't answer any questions until April - April 1st at that.  You'll have to figure out if answers are real or a prank.  No., I'd never do that.

See you later for more Aimless Ramblings.

PERMISSION GRANTED

We had a great time yesterday meeting up with some fellow bloggers.  No problem between us ladies but it's the men we weren't sure about.  Needless worries - they seem to get along just fine and as us girls jibbered-jabbered away, I could hear the men doing their own jibber jabber.

We spent the day at the ballpark and then out to dinner.  A good time was had by all.  Here's a pic of the four of us.

Can you guess who it is???










It's Meredith and Jack with Ray and yours truly.

CITY vs COUNTRY

Happy Monday everyone.  Hope you had a good weekend. It was beautiful weather here - true spring.  I wasn't sure we were going to get but two or three days of it since we had those two weeks of 90's but it's gone back to normal.

I spent the weekend doing all that goes along with a new book coming out and I thank you one and all for your good wishes.  Don't forget to go write a review if you remember because it does make a difference to sales.

This week's story was a hard go.  Wasn't sure I was ever going to finish but alas, finally it's done.  Some weeks the words flow and other weeks it's like pulling teeth.  I think there a few teeth missing today.

Tomorrow, is a treat.  Ray and I are going to meet with another couple, someone you all know.  We haven't talked about sharing, so I let you know if it's okay with them.



Let me preface this by saying I’m a city girl.  I don’t cast any aspersions on being a city girl, it is a fact, and one that I had no control over.  My parents were city folk and even though they moved to suburbia they were still city folk.  So, my siblings and I were raised as city folk.

Somewhere along the line, my brother took a detour.  I suppose he got the bug when he joined 4-H. For those of you not in the know, i.e. city folk, Wikipedia describes 4-H as a global network of youth organizations who mission is 'engaging youth to reach their fullest potential while advancing the field of youth development. Some boys embrace the boy scouts, Mike embraced 4-H.  He became interested in all manner of agricultural and animal husbandry pursuits and by the time college rolled around there was only one choice for him – Texas A & M. 

In his junior year, he invited me to visit him for a football weekend. It was supposedly the biggest game of the season and I was finally old enough to be included in his circle of friends – meaning he didn’t think I would embarrass him.

He met my flight at Easterwood Airport with his friend, Kevin.  Kevin was the one with the transportation and thus my brother’s chauffeur for any excursions off campus.  Of course, it was a truck.  Kevin was a through and through country boy. He didn’t have any hay in his hair, or a chew in his jaw but his speech and manner identified him right away.  Mike had never shared, at least with me, much information about his college days or friends, so I had no idea what to expect of Kevin or anything else.

Kevin was a looker – tall, blonde and blue eyed, with the laid back manner of someone who knew what he wanted in life. I thought that was admirable and had no thought beyond that.  I didn’t realize then that what he wanted was me. His looks alone guaranteed him a shot at any girl but, he had made up his mind the minute he saw me stepping off the plane.  He later told me it was like a light bulb went on in his brain.  

Mike and his girlfriend Gloria, Kevin and I had a great weekend – the first of as many as we could afford.  By the end of his junior year, he had asked me to marry him.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to commit to the type of life he wanted but I said I would give it a try.  Giving it a try meant spending a summer at his family’s place.

Life at the Beckett’s house was so very different than ours, and it wasn’t just a city/country thing. In Kevin’s house, his father’s word was law which was not the case at our house. Kevin explained that his dad made the rules and growing up any divergence from these rules resulted in consequences ranging from extra chores to trips to the woodshed.  Yes, one actually existed on the Beckett’s farm.

One day I returned from an errand in town early and was surprised to hear Kevin’s mom and dad arguing.  I’d never heard them argue before and I didn’t want to intrude so I stayed on the porch but could still hear most of the conversation.  Finally, Mr. Beckett said enough was enough and he wasn’t listening anymore and since his words weren’t haven’t any effect, he would have to resort to other means.  “We will finish this discussion this evening,”  were his last words as he left. I didn’t think another thing about it until later that evening when Mr. Beckett asked Mrs. Beckett if she was ready to finish their discussion.  I watched the color drain from her face as she rose from her chair and went toward him.  He took her hand and they walked out the door.

“Is everything all right, your mother seemed a little hesitant?” I asked Kevin. It was then I told him about what I had witnessed earlier in the day.

“I’m sure everything is fine.  They probably have some unfinished business and will work it out.”

The next day all was right as rain between Mr. and  Mrs. Beckett.

It was toward the end of my summer stay at the Beckett’s that Kevin asked me how I felt about life in the country.  By then, I was deep in passionate love with Kevin and assured him that I could live anywhere as long as he was there and I could embrace whatever he had in store for us. He told me he wanted the kind of family life he and his mom had, and not the rambunctiousness of the life in my parents household.  I laughed but he said he was serious.  I should have paid more attention.

Our first real argument came the Christmas after we were married.  Until then it was all sweetness and light – you remember those first few months of newlywed bliss.  I wanted to go home for Christmas, Kevin didn’t.  He had a good reason, money was tight and he had agreed to take on extra work so he’d have the money to buy some cattle in the spring.  I knew that but I was being selfish. 

I continued to harangue him about it until one day he asked me if I remembered that time when he and his parents had unfinished business.  It took a moment but I remembered.  I shook my head yes.  That was when he explained the discussion was finished over his dad’s knee.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean my dad spanked my mom.  He took her out to the woodshed and they finished their discussion.”

“You mean to tell me that your dad spanks his wife?”

“Yes, and the same thing is going to happen to my wife if she doesn’t stop this Christmas business. We can’t afford it, that’s it.” 

He left me standing there, gape-mouthed at the information he has just imparted.  Once I recovered from the shock, rather than accepting his directive, my mind began working for a solution that better suited me.

My parents, although not wealthy, were comfortable.  When I called my mother and explained we wouldn’t be coming for Christmas and why, I knew the wheels of fate had turned in my favor.  Sure enough, a couple of days later, we received a Christmas card from my folks and inside were two airline tickets.  It probably would have been fine if my mom hadn’t put in the note.

When I showed the card and the tickets to Kevin, I watched my calm, patient, loving husband disappear.  “Did you put your folks up to this?”

“No. I simply told my mother we couldn’t afford to come.”

“Did you explain that it was not only a matter of the money but that I had taken on extra work so we could begin our cattle operation in the spring?”

I managed to sputter out the word no.

“I didn’t think so.  Here’s what’s going to happen.  If you want to spend Christmas with your folks, you go ahead and do so.  I spending it here so I can keep my commitment to my boss.  The next commitment I’m going to keep is one I hope you remember.”

With that, he took my arm and led me to our bedroom.  “We may not have a woodshed but I think it’s something I better start working on,” he told me.  “Go stand in that corner.

 “I will not.”  I told him in my most adamant voice.

“Suit yourself, but your bottom is going to pay the price for that sass.  The spanking you were going to get just increased tenfold.”

He’d never spanked me before so I didn’t have the faintest idea of what to expect.  In truth, I’d never been spanked before with the exception of a swat or two growing up.  It was nothing like I expected, or could even imagine.  He pulled down my jeans and panties and stuck me in the corner, pushing my nose to the wall.

“Now stay there.”  Stupid me, I immediately tried to move and tripped because my jeans and panties around my ankles hampered my movement.

“You’re deliberately being naughty and I’m going to cure the problem.  With that, he picked me up, threw me over his shoulder and slammed me onto the bed.  He sat down and pulled me across his lap but not before gathering the clothes brush from the closet.   I have to admire my husband, as upset as he was, the first swats, although stingy, weren’t bad.  I actually began to delight in the feel of his hand on my bottom.  Feeling excited and thinking this wasn’t that awful, I slipped into enjoying this spanking business. My pubic region met with the knob of his knee and was at the point where an orgasm was about to happen when things dramatically changed. Those hard, stingy swats turned into fast furious smacks.  His work-callused hands left me clutching the bedspread in response.  I began to count the seconds between smacks until they all blended together into one furious hurt and concentrating on anything but the pain was impossible.

When I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he stopped.  “Your main spanking is over,” he said.  I started to get up.  “No, I’m not through yet.”

“Yes, but you said the spanking was over.”

“You better start listening to what I say.  What I said was the main spanking was over.  This next spanking was for the sass and the disobedience of not standing in the corner.”

Before I could voice my argument, he began the assault on my already blazing bottom.  This time it was the clothes brush and at the first contact with my tush, I almost jumped up from the bed.

“Stay still and this will go much faster.”

I wanted to complain that maybe I should be doing it to him and see how still he could be but somehow I couldn’t mouth the words.  “Thank you, Lord.”

By the time he finished applying that damn thing to my ass, I couldn’t feel a thing.  I was numb, or so I thought.  He had stopped spanking but he pinched my cheeks for good measure and I wasn’t numb by any means.  I was hotter than a pepper sprout and not just my ass.  His erection poking into me told me he felt the same. 

Our lovemaking had always been good, but that spanking took it to a new level.  When we were both bathed in sweat and reveling in our bliss, I suggested that maybe we should soundproof the bedroom instead of building a woodshed.

He laughed and said it probably would be a good idea.

PS:  I didn’t go home for Christmas, I decided I was home.


That's is for today's tale.  Stay tuned for more Aimless Ramblings and don't forget to stop by and pick up a copy of Finding Home.

FINDING HOME

HOT OFF THE PRESS

OR IN THIS CASE FRESH OFF THE INTERNET

ANNOUNCING THE RELEASE OF MY LATEST WESTERN ROMANCE

FINDING HOME

BUY LINKS:  LSF PUBLICATIONS

                       AMAZON

The Heat

Today is the first day of spring in my part of the world.  Spring, wow, I think we already had our three days of spring for 2017.  Well, maybe not.  We’ve definitely been getting a taste of summer for the last two weeks.  We’ve been breaking records left and right – 95 degrees yesterday and probably again today.  Am I ready for summer?  Don’t get me wrong, I love summer.  However, my idea of summer is sunny, eighty degrees, humidity no more than 40%.  I’m not sure there’s any place in the world that offers that, but…

The point I’m getting at here is that summer, although not officially beginning until June something, is already here.  Is it here to stay?  I don’t think so but it started me thinking about the heat.  I’m not good at heat.  Okay, if there’s an ocean or gulf nearby where I can stick in my toes and then the rest of me, it’s doable.  That’s not the case in Arizona – landlocked.  And the heat, it’s the worst I’ve ever dealt with. Okay, maybe Texas can get a little warm too and I’m not mentioning the awful heat and humidity where I grew up, but then there was that ocean. 

I keep veering off point and that is I don’t like the heat, I actually get a little testy in the heat.  My husband might say more than testy.  Yup, he’s reading over my shoulder and outright laughed. 

“A little testy, you have to be kidding, right?”

You have to understand that the temperature here begins to hover at the 95 degree mark continually from hopefully, mid- May (last year it was April) and stay there and above until sometime around October 30^th.  That’s a long time to be hot.  I can handle it until about July when hubby usually decides to take me away for a few days before I make him crazy.

That still leaves August and September.  I become housebound because I hate going out into a car that may be cooled because it’s in the garage, however, you get out of the car to either go have lunch, dinner, grocery shop or anything else that requires you to leave the car, you come back to a sweltering furnace that takes ten minutes to cool down.  Mostly, you are just pulling into your garage when the car is finally cool enough to actually feel the cold air coming through the vents (fake air, of course).

This last summer, hubby’s breaking point came about August 14^th.  The fifth 110+ day in a row is what did us both in.  I, of course, railed about the damn heat, why we decided to settle in an oven, and on and on.  Did I mention that I don’t suffer in silence?  Anyway, when I opened up about how damn hot it was, hubby told me he didn’t want to hear any more about the damn heat.  I was comfortable, in an air-conditioned house, and if that wasn’t enough to think about all the people who didn’t have the same conveniences, i.e. our military personnel, law enforcement, construction crews,  etc. etc.

“Thinking about them is not going to make it any cooler for them or for me.”

“No, it’s not, but I know something that will make it hotter for you.”

“Lord, I can’t even think about it being hotter.”

“Then, might I suggest, I not hear another word about the weather.”  He was still talking but I’d walked into the other room to turn up the fan.  I found something to keep myself occupied and my mind off the infernal sun streaming in the window.  It’s not even that bad, there are tinted windows and screens, along with a large overhang,  so it’s almost cave like but I can see the waves of heat coming off the street.

“How hot is it supposed to get today?” I innocently asked hubby as he walks into the room.

Not a word was spoken when I found myself being pulled away from the window and dragged to the couch.  He pushed me down and told me to stay put, he would be back with an answer.  I didn’t listen, I hardly ever do.  We met in the hallway.

Moments later, I found myself over his knee – my sundress pushed up and my panties down. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” I mouthed – secretly, I was thrilled. 

“I’m keeping my word and you’re going to find out how hot it is.”  I smiled to myself. 

I didn’t smile long.  He laid into my bare flesh with a purpose.  The spanks came quickly, one after another, turning my cooled bottom into a fiery blaze.  He was right, I was finding out just how hot it could be.  He wasn’t through, though, not by a long shot. 

I felt the cool breeze of the fan over my heated butt cheeks for just a moment, before the heat began anew.  He had retrieved the bamboo back scratcher from the hall closet; that thing is a killer and no matter how many times I’ve thrown it away, it somehow always returns.  When my bottom was thoroughly scorched, he began on my thighs.  I was kicking up a storm, so the next place I felt that damn thing was on my calves and when I still didn’t learn my lesson, he grabbed my feet and spanked the bottom of my feet a few times.  Talk about heat, pain and fury.

I was wailing and begging for him to stop the relentless pounding of my flesh.  I was thoroughly tenderized when he finally laid down the instrument of ass destruction.  Once again, I felt the cool breeze of the fan blades across my heated flesh.  I also felt the stickiness along my thighs and damned my traitorous body. So did he.

His fingers began exploring the source of the wetness and soon I was begging;  this time for him to increase the tempo.  Forgotten, was the pain and heat in my bottom - replaced by the sensations in my lower womanly regions.  The waves of pleasure that were starting to fill my body came to an abrupt halt as his fingers stopped making contact and the magic ended.

“Not yet, you don’t,” he said.  He picked me up and carried me over to the desk chair and plopped me down, hard. The back scratcher had left it’s mark – the pain in my bottom began anew. I squirmed around trying to get comfortable and watched as it became clear to me what hubby meant.  He came to me then.  “I don’t want to hear any more about the heat.” Then he made sure I wasn’t able to talk. 

I can't wait to begin complaining about the heat. Should be any day now.

Did I have you thinking this really happened?  Be honest, now.  Well, folks, it's a story. See you later for more Aimless Ramblings.

St. Patrick's Day

Here are some fun facts about St. Patrick's Day

Have a great day.  If you missed it, click here for an Irish tale. As for me, I'll be wearing the green and eating the American version of an Irish meal.

See you later for more Aimless Ramblings.

Meme

Thank you,Abby, for this meme.  Love reading these and they make such great posts.

Are you an early bird or night person?    Definitely an early bird.

Do you prefer vanilla chocolate or strawberry?  Love the vanilla, but like all three.

Are you a summer or winter person  Definitely a summer person.

In the morning do you have a hearty breakfast or just coffee?  Depends on the day and whether or not I have to fix the breakfast.

Do you prefer bright or muted color? The older I get the brighter the color.  Don’t want to fade away into the woodwork.

Do you prefer pie or cake?  I love pie, but cake is good, no icing though.

What kind of vacation, seaside, fun in a resort or city?  I’ll take the beach every time.

Do you prefer dogs or cats?  I love and have had both.  I love animals.

Do you prefer short or long hair?  On my pets?

What is your preference - leather or wood?  Leather

What is your favorite of baseball or football.  Both. Football cause I love looking at those tushes in those pants and baseball players sometimes have nice bums too.

Would you rather do a spa day or shopping?  I hate shopping.

Do you prefer a live concert of movie?  Why do I have to choose, can’t I do both?

Do you use gift bags or wrap presents?  Gift bags are easier to store.

Would you rather help build a snowman or say inside and make cocoa?  You’re kidding right, but I’ll take pictures.

Do you prefer four seasons or So. CA Climate?  So. CA climate.  Like looking at pictures of the changing seasons in other places – they remind me of why I like a summer climate, since I’ve been there and done that.

Would I rather be a driver or passenger?  Depends on the driver

Do you wear pajamas or nightgown?  To the market?

Would you buy or bake a cake?  Buy, I’ve never been a baker.

Do you prefer musicals or drama?  Although I like both a musical usually leaves me in a happier mood.

And this concludes the entertainment portion of this post.  Have a good one and come back anytime for more Aimless Ramblings.

My Irish Lass

Well, it's Saturday and I'm sitting down to write this week's story.  An Irish theme, I think.

The weather here has turned beautiful and stepping outside is heavenly.  The warm sunshine feels good and the smell of orange blossoms permeates the air.  I love it right now. The good news is I'm not allergic to orange blossoms but once they are all in bloom it can become a little cloying.  Until then, I enjoy.

Hope you all have a good day.  

“Faith and Begorrah,” Paddy Quinn said to his deputy, Jack Murphy, in his best Irish Brogue.  “Friday is St. Patty’s Day and you know what that means.”

“Yeah, well I supposed half the town will be at O’Reilly’s getting drunk and the other half will be over at Galway Bridge looking for leprechauns and ghosties.”

“Yeah, Really.  I guess it’s what we should expect living in a town called Emerald Isle.”

“It’s all because of that damn book that lady wrote thirty years ago.  It was fiction but try telling that to anyone and they look at you with a weathered eye.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“That’s right you’ve been here less than a year.  Well, this gal came to Emerald Isle because she was writing a book about the Irish influence in America.  Since three-quarters of our population is of Irish descent, and the other quarter doesn’t count, Emerald Isle was the setting for her book.  It was supposed to be a historical reference but it turned into gibberish.  Well, I say gibberish, but some people believe her cockamamie story and it practically incites a riot every year at Galway Bridge.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, her story went that she was doing her research and sitting out on the grass near the bridge. The sun was beginning to set and, according to her, a golden beam came down from the sky and left some gold coins scattered in the area it touched. Leprechauns came along and collected them putting them into the pots they were carrying.  When they spied her, they gave her a few of the coins.  Now you know this is malarkey, but she swore it to be true and provided some old Irish golden coins as proof.  The story spread like wildfire and soon people from far and near were coming to Emerald Isle to see if they too would get some gold coins.  It got so bad that we had to put a halt to the traffic – the bridge was too old to support that much traffic on a daily basis. 

The ferry couldn’t handle the traffic either, so they doubled their rates and soon the hordes quit coming.  But, each year on St. Patrick’s Day the story sees the light of day and people come and inundate Emerald Isle looking for their pot of gold.  Most just sit quietly and hope for a leprechaun sighting but others have a little too much ale and cause havoc.”

“A couple of years ago, some of the local townsfolk decided to join in the fun.  The wee ones dressed as leprechauns and others as ghosties.  They would camp out by the bridge and soon as night fell, out they would come, supposedly granting wishes and casting spells but never throwing any coins.  There weren’t too many complaints from the tourists, after all, what were they going to complain about.  However, each year the crowd grew because The Irisher, the local paper, reminds everybody and the throngs appear. That particular year, it was a rowdy bunch out from Boston.  They began teasing the leprechauns and fondling the ghosties. It wasn’t until one of the ghosties punched one of the hecklers in the nose. She landed a good punch because blood started spurting like a fountain and minutes later there was a brouhaha that ended up with a couple of trips to the clinic and a couple of people spent the night in jail. Since then I always hire extra help from the mainland for that day.

“So, I guess asking for the day off is out of the question?

“You got that right, why?”

“Well, my wife wanted to do something with me on that day.  She said it’s a surprise, but I guess I’ll have to let her down.”

"I bet money it was something to do with the nonsense that goes on our on Galway Bridge."

“You may be right.  When you were talking about the first punch, you said she.  Was it someone I know.”

“Yup, it was and is.  I'll tell you something I’d like to forget and I think she would too.  It was my wife that landed that fateful punch.  When all was said and done that night, I came home and took her over my knee.  After a couple of good swats, the wailing in our bedroom was louder than any wails down at the bridge."

“You didn’t?”

“I did.  It always worked with me and with her too because she hasn’t been back.  As a matter of fact, she makes it a point to be off island on St. Patty’s Day.”

St. Patrick’s day came and the usual throngs of people appeared on Emerald Isle. The weather was horrible, cold and rainy and once night came, most people got up and started leaving.  Suddenly a white horse came riding out of the midst carrying someone dressed all in white and throwing out coins from a golden kettle. The folks on the ground didn’t know it was those only those chocolate coins wrapped in gold so people began fighting with each other trying to get the coins.  A couple of the tourists ended up in the river and had to be fished out.  It was a mess, but finally the officers were able to get things under control.

Paddy Quinn was writing his report when a call came in.  It was from Mitch McIntyre saying one of his horses had been stolen. Paddy took down the particulars and set out an APB for the stolen horse. On his way out to Mitch’s place, he spotted a horse running in the field.  Sure enough it was Mitch’s horse and he was heading for the barn.  That probably meant that whoever has stolen him was in trouble.  He turned on the car’s spotlight and started heading in the direction from where the horse had come.

About ¾ of a mile away, he saw someone, limping and dragging something behind them. He didn’t want to take a chance on getting his patrol car stuck in the muddy field, so he started walking toward the person.  As he got closer, we recognized what was being dragged.  It was the ‘golden’ kettle.  Here was his horse thief and the one who started the ruckus earlier by the antics. 

The problem was, the closer he got, the more he realized he knew who was walking toward him. Limp and all, there was no mistaking his wife.  Tall and proud, her white garment was wet and clingy and he recognized all her delicious curves. Her red hair was hanging in wet tendril’s around her face and he could tell she was fighting made by her stance.

“Megan, what the hell were you thinking? Stealing a horse and creating havoc?”

“I didn’t steal the horse.  I left Mitch a note telling him I was borrowing his horse.”

“And what about the rest?”

There was no answer.

“Megan, I asked you a question?”

“I thought it would be fun, I didn’t think it would get out of hand.” She haughtily responded.

“You’re out of hand.  You not only lied to me, you know how I feel about this kind of nonsense. Don’t you think as the wife of one of the law officers of this town, you should be a little more circumspect?” 

With that, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder and strode back to the cruiser.

He deposited her in the passenger seat, checked in with the station, called off the APB and signed out with the station for the night.

When they arrived at the house, he picked her out of the car and carried her into the house and upstairs to their bedroom.  He sat her down on the bed and went to turn on the shower.  Coming back to her, she looked almost angelic sitting there.  He looked at her ankle that was swollen to twice it’s size. He probed and prodded and she dealt with it in silence.  Determining it was sprained, he carried her into the shower and propped her up on the shower bench, adjusting the heads so the water cascaded down her body. He undressed and joined her, washing and rinsing her hair before washing the rest of her. When he was done, he toweled her off and laid her back down on the bed. 

He went back to the bathroom and got the ace bandage, but stopped at the closet on his way back to her.

“So do you have anything to say?”

He was greeted with silence.  “Well, before I ice and wrap your ankle, we’re going to have a little discussion.  The last time we had this discussion I spanked you with my hand.  It worked for a while, at least I think it did, but I’m trying something a little different this time.  In honor of St. Patrick’s, I’m going to do to you what my da used to do to me when I was naughty. 

He pulled up his da’s thick Irish leather belt. His father had told him it had belonged in the family for generations.  “As I recall, I used to do a little jig while I was getting my butt busted.  I don’t imagine you want to be doing that on that ankle, so why don’t you turn over on your belly and lay down across the bed.”

She still had not said a word since he’d picked her up.  “Are you ready?”

He warmed her bottom up a bit with his hand before he applied the belt.  The red stripe against her pale skin made him wince and he held back on the next swing.  He landed a stripe right below the first.  He rubbed the stripes before landing two more in rapid succession.  She still had not made a sound of reacted to the whipping. 

His final swing of the belt was on her sit spot and that got a reaction.  He put down the belt and rubbed some of the sting away.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Finally, she speaks.  Can I get you anything.”

“Yeah, how about of belt of that damn Irish Whiskey you're so fond of,  ice and not just for my ankle but for my ass too.”

He laughed.  “that’s my Irish lass,” he said as he kissed her head and went to do her bidding.

An Irish theme it is. I hope you enjoyed this little diddy in honor or St. Patrick's Day.  My dad's side of the family is all Irish so we always celebrated the day - often with a party at one of my gran's sisters. It was great fun but like everything, things started changing as folks moved on and away, including me. What are you doing for the day?

See you later for more Aimless Ramblings.

Monday's Tale

March 6th already wow.  It's been a nice week here weather wise.  My cold comes and goes with the weather.  I think now it's allergies along with the cold.  The wind is blowing today, so I'm staying inside.  

The Mardi Gras party was a huge success.  We had a good time and the hurricanes were a hit. Whodda thunk that a bunch of old fogies would finish off four bottles of rum and still be standing. Well, we did.  I made Jambalaya and as usual got carried away so there's enough in the freezer for another party even after everyone took some home.  There was a muffuletta dip, red beans and rice, a green salad, shrimp cocktail, corn muffins and King Cake for dessert.  Couldn't find a real King Cake here in AZ so I improvised.  Thought about beignets but too much work at the last minute.  One friend brought - Punchkees ( now I know that isn't the right spelling but it's basically a Polish jelly donut that is only made prior to Lent).  We all rolled around.  Once the crowd thinned a little, we played LR Center and had fun - it was even more fun because I won.  

We'll, here's this weeks story and it is not one from the archives.

Nedra stood at the window watching Steven.  Even if you didn’t know him, you would know he was depressed.  He walked with his head down, his shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets.  He had a lot to think about.  He had just been cut from the team, the team where he hoped to finish his career.  He hadn’t been able to bounce back after his latest injury and as it was explained to him, business was business, even if they were family.  He knew the score, his salary was one of the highest on the roster and in order to make room for another player, someone had to go.

He didn’t know anything other than hockey.  It had been his life’s blood since he was ten years old.  Hockey was a rough sport and at thirty-five, he knew he was literally skating on thin ice. But he still didn’t expect to be kicked to the curb. 

Nedra’s family owned the Redbirds and her brothers and father had tried softening the blow by giving him options.  He could stay on at a lower salary, or join the coaching staff, the front office, or go into the broadcast booth.  All viable options, but it wasn’t on the ice and it was a matter of pride.

He and Nedra had gone over and over the possibilities but he refused to see beyond the fact that his playing days as a Redbird starter were over.  They’d been going over the same ground for hours until Nedra couldn’t take anymore.

“Face it, Steven.  It’s over.  You always said you wanted to go out at the top of your game and not be one of those guys who went from team to team just for a chance to hang on one more year.  Well, you’re there.  Make your peace, but I’m done arguing with you.”

“You’re not arguing, you’re lecturing.  You sound like your brothers and your father and I don’t want to hear it anymore either.  You don’t get it – my career is over.  I’m thirty-five years old and I’m washed up.”

“Oh, don’t be such an ass.  Just because you can play professional hockey, you are not washed up.  You have options.  There are any number of teams or colleges for that matter that would love to have you as their coach.  You could go into the broadcast booth – that was your major in college for pity sake.  Quit feeling sorry for youself.”

“It’s easy for you to say,  you’ve always had exactly what you wanted.”

“Yes, but I fought for it the whole way.  You think it was easy working my way up and proving that I wasn’t just the owner’s daughter but that I actually had something worth sharing.  I’ve had to fight and scramble twice as hard, first because I’m a woman and second because I’m the owner’s kid.”

He pretended he was holding a violin and playing a tune.  “Fuck you” she said. 

“Don’t you curse at me.”

“Fine, how about if I kick you instead.” And landed a strong kick to his shin.  He howled with pain and reached out for her.  Too quick for her, he hauled her over to the couch and threw her over his knee.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I know what I’m doing and you’re going to be sorry in a minute or so.  I’m going to blister that butt and it’s going to hurt as much as my shin.”

“Like hell you are,” she told him and wiggled out of his hold.  He chased her around the room until she made it to the bedroom and locked the door.

“Open this door, or I’m going to knock it down.”

“Of yeah, Mr. Macho, you do your worst, but I’m not unlocking the door.  She heard him put his shoulder to the door a couple of time but it didn’t budge.  Eventually, she heard him walk away from the door and leave the house.

She went to the window and watched him.  He was nothing but a big overgrown boy but how she loved him and she really did feel his pain.  She was just tired of it – they had a good life and it wasn’t like he had some horrible disease or anything. They’d talked about what they would do when he retired.  Besides, coaching or broadcasting, she was sure her family would welcome him into the front office.  His experience was invaluable – he just had to stop being so goddamn hard-headed.

She laid down on the bed and the next thing she knew she felt the mattress heave with extra weight.

“Honey, are you awake?”

“I am now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, are you better now that you’ve calmed down a little?”

“Yes.” He snuggled her too him and began nuzzling his face into her hair.  “I love your spunk but I still owe you a spanking for that kick in the shins. That hurt like hell.”

“You deserved that kick.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Will you feel better if you spank me?” she teasingly asked.

“You know it will make us both feel better.”  She laughed.

They slowly teased and flirted with each other, removing articles of clothing as time passed. When they were both completely naked, he slapped her ass and told her to go fix him a sandwich, he was starving.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.

He got this really stern look on his face.  “Am I supposed to be intimidated by that look?” she asked.

“You oughta be.” He chuckled.

. 

“Seriously, I’m hungry, I’ll need my stamina for what I have in mind.”  He raised his eyebrows up and down and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but you come too.  You can help.”

“But that’s woman’s work.”

“Do you really want to go there?” she asked.  He laughed again.  While he was bent over getting the lunch meat out of the fridge, she picked up the wooden spatula and gave him a good crack across his bottom.

After that, the fight was on until they were both exhausted and each of them needed a sandwich.

Yeah, I did it.  After four weeks of not writing one word, I finished this story.  Yahoo.

Stay tuned for more Aimless Ramblings.