Tuesday Evening

On a Tuesday evening we usually do what is necessary and then prepare to face Wednesday. But somehow today was different. During our morning coffee one of us mentioned “We have not had a barbecued steak in a long time.” Then the discussion continued on to the merits of thick versus thin steak, charcoal versus blowtorch grilling, driving to town or using some frozen animal matter we might have in the freezer. Although we eat a lot of green and cooked vegetables, we are not vegans. We have been known to eat a beast or two on occasion. This was to be one of those occasions.

The day went without major upheavals, and toward the evening I came into my barbecue mode without prompting from MW. I can burn a steak as well as the next guy, with or without FLR. My problem is that I don’t have the tools to do it right. Yeah, I know, bitch, bitch, bitch, excuses, etc.

The late afternoon came with the sun setting, the open blinds on the windows gathering less sunshine. It was getting cool where I sat in my natural state. MW said, “My steak is to be burned on the outside, raw on the inside. Do you think you can manage that?”

“I can manage anything as long as I have cooperation from the staff, my dear,” I answered.

I think that she did not really expect that answer, so we had a bit of whining and serious pain on my part as she adjusted my tits. Afterward I poured myself a generous portion of red wine, picked up my current soft cover novel, and collected the steaks on a tray to go down to my barbecue.

Our so-called back yard is mostly private. The barbecue area is totally secluded, so being in my natural state there is not an invitation for the Sheriff to ask why I am not wearing my skivvies.

On my way down our two goofy dogs took it upon themselves to help. Have you ever been licked from ankle to tits? Oh. I did not mean that as in your lover honing his or her tongue on your well-sculpted body. I meant, huge floppy-tongued mutts leaving wet streaks on your back, legs, arms, etc. that cool in the chill of the winter evening. I am kinky, but not that kinky, so that’s not what I am saying here. Just that these big goofs are humongous masses of furry love who don’t mind showing it, and as dogs are, they are very oral. Yes, I will have to shower later. And yes, there is no dissuading them other than being mean, which I can’t be with these guys. They are bundles of yucky love.

I carried the material down to the area where I could do the barbecue thing. My only “wear” was on my feet; otherwise I was depending on the sparse hair that I naturally grow to keep me from shivering. Well, it did not work. I shivered anyway with the dropping temperature. I gathered some kindling from the surrounding tree zone, and built a tent on top of the charcoal briquettes. After a couple of tries I got the fire going, and in ten or so minutes I had enough smoke and fire to begin working on MW’s steak. I was glad of the warmth near the barbecue for the evening came in earnest with cool temperatures. I did my duty for the two steaks while sipping my wine and reading my book intermittently. When MW’s steak was properly burned, I was happy to shut down the works and move my naked body back into the house where it was relatively warm.

By then MW had a lovely table set with steamed vegetables, baked potatoes, and green salad waiting. I poured more wine and we sat to begin eating. It was an excellent meal. She was happy with my production. At least I assumed, since she made no complaints.

After dinner she put away leftovers while I cleaned up the mess. What is not apparent, let alone obvious from all this is my state. We live in a temperate climate, but it does get chilly in the evening and during the night. Most normal folks wear clothes to compensate. I, on the other hand, am resigned to be in my natural state as long as I don’t have to deal with people on the outside. That means, the boys travel up to the maximum extent, the little guy practically disappears, and I resort to wearing goose bumps for warmth. MW would not prevent me from being warm, such as when we settle down for the evening. Just that a bit of discomfort between times would not really hurt (in her opinion), and she gets a kick out of it. So do I in a weird sort of way. It is not enough to get my rocks off, but I can’t complain. Even when she pays no attention to me I consider it as, “She is withholding her attention on purpose as part of her Ignore and Denial practice,” which is essential to our FLR.