I Feel Good on Christmas Eve

“Bitch” is what I called her.

One would think that in my situation this would be cause for my balls to be hurting for a while. I wish, but she is too kind. I have been slacking. I like to write, and do some fun stuff while I ignore the things that creep up on moldy columns to devour our life, kind of like in the movies. Well, maybe not that extreme, but I admit that I had been a better submissive husband to my MW in the past. All right, I suck as a submissive husband! Sheesh, I know it. Damn!

The daytime temperature is in the sixties for a while, so we can keep the doors open for warmth and fresh air for a couple of hours. MW asked me to peel 207 potatoes for her family Christmas Eve meal preparation. I am listening to Christmas music over the satellite radio that she has set up.

I normally begin to despise Christmas music a couple of weeks after Halloween, so please excuse me. I think that this time is a bit different, and it may have to do with my getting old. I think of my MW working in the kitchen, “slaving over a hot stove” as it were, while I am pounding the keyboard. The sounds in the background are pleasant, again, sort of like in a movie. She walks by me from time to time, slashing my left or right tit with her nail, as the occasion warrants. I could live with that! No, wait, I am living with that. Ok, back to the subject.

She thought that peeling potatoes would be a perfect job for me. I sort of agreed in order to avoid painful butts. But first I needed to do some chores. After breakfast, several hours ago, she said, "I have the kitchen. You go do whatever it is that you do do.”

I did. So, now, hours later, I am back in the kitchen trying to find a place for peeling the 207 potatoes. Ok, maybe it is less than 207, but it seems like a lot. Much like when I was on KP while in "basic training" in the Army (that’s “Kitchen [fucking] Police” for those who have not been formally initiated into the brotherhood). Getting back to the kitchen I realized that the breakfast dishes had been drying on the counter, augmented by pots and pans that she used to prepare the feast for our family gathering on this hallowed evening. As a good husband, I first put away the clean dishes that I washed the evening before, then scrubbed and washed the others from breakfast and of late. I am so good!

That left some space on the counter to do the potato peeling. Meanwhile I hear Christmas music on the satellite radio. It is somewhat better quality than at WalMart, you know, more traditional, less “Jingle Bell Rock” as such. This is when I went to her as she was checking her email, and said, “Bitch!”

She appreciated that. We both love her to be a bitch, and she seldom indulges. But oh my! When she does …. Yes, we appreciate it when she does, even once in a while in the kitchen, but just not enough as far as my taste is concerned. After we kissed, I began the frigging potato peeling. When I finished several hours later, (just kidding) I had enough peels to feed starving people in my old hometown for a month. At least, it seemed that way. I dumped the peels outside the front door so that the bunnies can collect them while our guard dogs are dormant. Actually, the bunnies don’t take any shit from the dogs, but don’t let the dogs know that! They already have a low self esteem. I guess that they take after me when it comes to submission to females. I don't know about male bunnies other than that they are real f**kers in the literal sense.

We are expecting the family to gather for this joyous occasion. An occasion that my sweet, wonderful MW is arranging for us. God, I love her! I hear clanking in the kitchen superimposed over more Christmas music and hard material shattering. I think that I need to do some drudgery to clean up shattered glassware. I love to clean up after her. It makes her obligated. Maybe. Ok, forget it.

For now, I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a very happy new year. I will be out of touch for a few days on account of taking another trip. Maybe.