Story, a story – I wish I had a story. It’s Sunday morning and not a word in sight. In one hour, a friend is picking me up, and we’re going to see Hidden Figures. It’s a movie I’ve been waiting for since I saw the first ads back in September. I’ll let you know if it was worth the wait.
While on FB yesterday, something off to the right caught my eye. It was a ladies bare bottom, and I had to click. Below is what came up.
It's a game - we’ve gone mainstream. I also think I read somewhere that the second part of Fifty Shades of Grey is due out sometime next month. (Follow up - it's coming out Valentine's Day, saw the poster in the movie today) For the authors among us, I hope it spurs a new wave of interest. I don’t know about you, but sales have been sluggish for a while now, just like me coming up with a story. Is there a direct correlation? I doubt it.
It’s a football weekend in most houses across the good ole’ USA. It’s playoff time, and the teams are all squaring off to get to the Super Bowl. Usually, I’m mildly excited, but it doesn’t have the same feeling this year because our team is not going. That hasn’t happened since never, and he’s a little grumpy but still glued to the television.
This weekend there were two games on Saturday and two games on Sunday – not just games, playoff games which meant that even though his team wasn’t playing, they were still sacrosanct, meaning I was on my own.
Silly me, I even thought if I made him a favorite dinner, I might get his attention. Hell no, we had dinner while watching the last of the one football game, a brief respite from listening to the talking heads and then onto the other game. When it was over, he went out back to smoke a cigar and have a brandy then came in and announced he was going to bed. So much for Saturday date night – boy has times changed.
Sunday was much the same, except that I went out with a friend. Her significant other is not a football fan, but is not very social and enjoys staying home. So we went and did our thing. There is an outdoor mall nearby, the weather was perfect to enjoy strolling along, checking out all the kiosks that show up on the weekend, taking advantage of the sales at Chico’s and enjoying a leisurely lunch.
Since my taking the time to make a special dinner the night before went over so well, I figured why bother, so I left him with a block of cheese, smokies, crackers and assorted other snacky things to fill him up as a substitute for dinner. Usually, that works.
Not this time. The first words out of his mouth when I arrived home were “what’s for dinner?”
“I’m not making dinner.”
“What do you mean you’re not making dinner?”
“What I said. I left you a bunch of snackies, and usually you fill up on those. I didn’t plan a dinner. There’s plenty of stuff in the fridge if you’re interested, or you can call for a pizza.”
He groused, and I thought went back to the tv. I was wrong.
“So what did you do all day?”
“We went over to the mall and spent the day.”
“So how many things did you buy that will hang in your closet?” Sometimes, he’s joking when he says things like this, but this didn’t seem like joking.
“Enough to take my mind off the fact that my husband has virtually ignored me all weekend in favor of football.”
“I haven’t ignored you.”
…And we were on. One sharp barb after another, until I finally had it. I merely turned around, walked into our bedroom and closed the door. I started to change clothes when I heard the door open and was met in the closet by one grumpy bear.
“Good,” he said. “Your jeans are already down. Hang on to the closet bar because I’m going to give you the attention your crave.”
I outwardly protested, but inwardly smiled. (Time out here - my friend is here and we're off to the movie.)
(Okay, I'm back - the movie was great.) Our closet contained many instruments of ‘ass destruction.' Items such as the clothes brush, the long plastic shoe horn, the many belts, his slipper, the back scratcher which hung on the back door. You get the idea – not the ideal place to meet for today’s intended purpose.
The first swat was definitely his hand. Love the hand, but it never lasts. He says it hurts too much. ‘What does he think it’s doing to my ass,' but that’s not his concern. His concern is his hand, so just as I was getting into the rhythm of his slaps, there came a sharp twang. I had forgotten all about that implement – it was hiding in the back corner of my side of the closet. That damn cane. He wielded that cane across my ass cheeks, sit spots and tops of my thighs. I was biting my tongue.
“Are you getting enough attention now?” He asked. I could hear the grin in his voice. His hand rubbed the wounded flesh while he waited for an answer that never came.
Seconds later, the cane had been abandoned, and I could tell by the displaced air, the plastic shoe horn was about to strike my bottom. One stinging slap to the right cheek and then one stinging slap to the left cheek before I saw it flying out of his hand.
“What’s that matter baby, did I break your magic wand?”
“It ‘s that damn titanium ass of yours. Have no fear, the bamboo scratcher will do just fine.”
He was right, that thing was a killer, and after five resounding strikes, I was silent no more.
“Finally,” he said as it landed on the floor.
His hand went to my dripping slit. I wasn’t silent then either.
The next thing I heard was the zing of his zipper before feeling the hardness of his johnson searching for the target. Bingo.
It didn’t take long for either of us to reach the crescendo and voila. Peace and happiness reined supreme. We showered together, and after some more canoodling, we dried each other off. He went back to his football game, and I unpacked my ‘goodies.’
Obviously, parts of this story actually happened. Unfortunately, the best part didn't. The football game is still on as I set this up for posting. I'm on my second glass of Proseco and I probably will be asleep once I settle in on the couch. Exciting, huh?
See you later for more Aimless Ramblings.