Cathy Cleans on Tuesday – An Evolutionary Tale

I don’t mean birds evolving from dinosaurs or we from apes-not that kind of evolution. I mean the evolution of thought-of ideas-that happens in a much shorter time span, hopefully, than physical evolution. Like, a few years, or a single lifespan instead of over a millennia. See, ten years ago, five even, I would not have known how to deal with this situation. But…OK, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Cathy hasn’t cleaned for us for very long. We knew her tangentially from church years ago and Karen, my wife, became nodding acquaintances when they were both training for a half-marathon a couple of years ago.  But we didn’t even know her last name-just nods and smiles-like so many people whose paths we cross. I stopped by my mother’s place unannounced a few months ago to find her not home-she should have her mail delivered to the casino-but Cathy was inside, cleaning.

Karen had been after me to hire someone to do our place since she went back to work. I always deflected it with the argument that since I work at home the distraction of having someone in the house…the noise. Whatever. I don’t know. We’d had cleaning people before and they had always been wanting.

“Cathy, huh”, Karen smirked when I told her I’d found someone for the house.  “You’ll enjoy that one”, she kidded. She was referring to Cathy’s “uniform”. For a woman well into her thirties she dressed twenty years younger. Cut-off jeans rolled high, T-shirt and sneakers. Never saw her in anything else.

She wasn’t doing the Daisy Duke showy thing-just kind of stuck at sixteen years old.  She had kept up with the running, so she could pull it off legs-wise and she got the house and pool from a short-lived marriage and a small estate from her parents, so this was her life. Clean houses, swim, lay in the sun and stay a teenager for life. Whatever.

The first few months were fine. She wasn’t a distraction-we were cordial-we’d speak here and there. I’d typically make an extra pot of coffee. I mean, it was fine. And I could feel her getting more comfortable too. Cathy doesn’t clean my office. I’m not super paranoid or anything-I just have a lot of things going on at the same time and folders, books and papers are strewn about on every flat surface. I find something in the confusion stimulating. Karen’s written me off as a hopeless mess, but it works for me. The sole concession was that I would have everything off the floor so she could vacuum in there when she did the upstairs.

So last Tuesday, Cathy lets herself in at about 9:00. I took a break to meet her in the kitchen where she was already moving chairs about. “Coffee?” I asked. “No. I’m good”, she said nodding to a big plastic cup with a straw in it that was no doubt energy spiked. A few more niceties then my, “I’ll get out of your hair”, and retreated back upstairs.

About an hour later she was vacuuming the steps and on her way up. That was fine-I had a 10:00 conference call that I usually took wandering through the house or on the back patio, but with Cathy here decided to take a drive. Ear buds firmly inserted, I pantomimed a wave and headed down to my car, hooked up the Bluetooth and drove around the subdivision for a while.

The call went on long enough that I got bored with the driving and pulled back into the driveway after about forty minutes. I wasn’t sneaking in; I was on a conference call-on mute-with earbuds. So I came into the house only half listening to the conversation going on and walked up the back steps. Hadn’t yelled to announce myself but assumed Cathy was upstairs. When I got to the top of the stairs she wasn’t to be seen in either of the front bedrooms but when I walked into my office, there she was-sitting at my desk, absorbed in the contents of a folder.

“Kathy, what the fuck are you doing?” I’m not coarse by nature but realize that there are words that cut through background noise and immediately grab attention. Through my buds I could hear things like “Thanks for joining” and “takeaways” and “action items” that signaled the end of another grinding status meeting.

She was so startled she almost dropped the folder. Her mouth was a perfect O and her eyes, wide and darting, registered surprise and fear in equal parts. I clicked off my phone without offering my own unintelligible “Thanks for joining today, gang”, and pulled my earbuds out.

“I wasn’t…I…” she looked at the folder which she had dropped back onto my desk as if it should explain itself.  She took a deep breath and continued. “I was curious…about retirement and stocks and stuff like that. I only have a few things-mostly left from my Dad and I thought I should be thinking about it for a while…so when I saw the folder, I…”

“Opened it and started snooping.” I said. Her eyes sparkled, filling with tears. “You couldn’t ask me about it? You couldn’t ask me questions. General questions? Did you learn anything going through those papers?’

“No.” She stood before me chastened and embarrassed. This is what I mean about evolution. Ten, five, hell even two years ago she would have been fired and out the door already and I’d have gone on from there.

Karen is super quiet about our D/D relationship and is careful to make sure there aren’t any toys or implements about on the days when Cathy comes over. She, of course, doesn’t know that after she leaves for work I might stage some hints around. Like a hairbrush on the futon in my office. Or a cane discarded and seemingly forgotten on the couch.  A fraternity paddle that we bought at an antique shop hanging on the back of the bedroom door in full view of anyone who might be vacuuming. Nothing overt, but definitely-noticeable and pregnant with meaning for those with a particular bent. And I was never planning anything-just amusing myself.

Cathy had once taken a wooden spoon from the living room coffee table to the crock on the kitchen counter where it “belonged”. Even Karen had laughed at that one since we had legitimately forgotten it. That had convinced Karen about Cathy’s obliviousness to what went on under our roof. Me? I wasn’t so sure.

From where I stood, looking over her shoulder and out the window, she had a view of the driveway. She had to be immensely engrossed in things she didn’t really understand not to have seen me pull up. So I was not tremendously surprised when Cathy, dabbing at her eyes, didn’t say ‘don’t fire me’ or ‘I don’t want to lose you as a client’, but instead, softly, “I don’t want to get spanked.”

I managed my breathing and answered slowly and calmly. “Don’t blame you”, I said. “It hurts.”

“I wasn’t spying”, she sniffed.

“What would you call it?”

“It wasn’t like I was going to tell anyone.”

I wasn’t going to get into the finer points of what “spying” might mean.

“What do you want to have happen?” I asked her.

She seemed to mull over the answer then said, “I don’t want to get spanked”, again.

“I know. You said that. I heard you say it twice. What do you expect to happen?” She said nothing, content to stare holes in the desk before her.

“What would you like me to do?” I asked again, perfectly modulated.

She sniffed, giving a small shrug. I pitied her in her timid confusion but would not step into it. She would have to sort this out herself. I’d live with the silence for as long as it took for her to finally say, “I think you should do whatever you…need to do to make this go away.”

“Then I’m going to spank you.”

She shrugged again, but I heard a sharp breath before she said softly, “OK. I understand. I deserve it.”

I admit that I got a little fluttery here myself. When did this idea start to take shape with her? When she saw the plastic cutting board sticking out from under the bed? (She had slid it all the way under when I checked later-something that could not have been accidental.) The time she found the same ping pong paddle I was reaching for under a throw pillow on the couch? I know she had seen it because she had switched the pillows while cleaning. Which I thought was weird. Was she letting me know she had seen it?

I confess I didn’t care just then about her motivations as I grabbed the paddle off the top of the book shelf. When I turned toward her, instrument in hand, her eyes widened with the reality of what was about to happen. She flicked her hands as if drying them, pushing off nervous energy. Summoned, she came out from behind the desk toward me.

Without being told, she turned away and bent slightly sticking her bottom toward me. “Like this?” she asked pushing back with her hands on her freckled thighs.

I held her by the arm and she jumped when I cupped her bottom.

“We could do it this way”, I said. “But I have a better idea.”

She allowed herself to be led over to the futon where I sat. I was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t resist when I reached up and unsnapped her shorts. “I knew you were going to do this”, she said.

“Yeah”, I told her. “I don’t spank jeans.”

They fell to the floor and she stepped out of them. Her light green cotton panties clung to her flat belly perfectly outlining her mound of honey hued hair. She was motionless, hands at her side. I watched her face as my thumbs caught in the elastic and pulled her panties slowly down. Her eyes were closed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and a pink blush spread across her cheeks. With no prodding from me, she settled over my lap in complete and total submission.

I knew this dance.  My kink brings with it an utter and total fascination with woman’s bottoms. That being said, Cathy’s bottom-its ivory color offset by tan lines above and below-was so…normal-as was the rest of her-that what we were doing seemed less carnal than it probably should have.

She and I were engaged in a call-and-response ritual where I would slap her bottom with my open hand and she would yelp, I would slap-she would yelp. We were two adults agreeably intertwined in a dance that wasn’t exactly sexual, but was all about sex. The heat rose and the pink handprints melded into an overall crimson quilt.

When I stopped to take a breath and admire my handiwork, she relaxed and asked back over her shoulder, “Are you going to use the paddle at all?”

“Oh yeah. Just wanted to make sure you’re ready for it. And don’t worry, Karen says my hand hurts worse than this paddle.”

The sound of wood on tender skin was different as was her reaction. If it was possible to settle into a comfort zone during a spanking, she had. The paddle brought her out of it. Wriggles became more of a hip roll as she absorbed swat after swat. After about ten, she blurted out, “Karen’s lying to you!” and fairly howled when I gave her what would be the last full-on swat on her right cheek.

“You’re done…” I said quietly allowing my hand to rest on her very hot bottom.

“Wow…” she said in something approaching wonder.

“Wow, indeed.” I rubbed her backside gently as she softened and fell into slow breathing. I stroked her cheeks, then down her thighs, then back up, sliding between her legs almost to the top where they met. But not quite.

“I don’t want to do anything else.”

“That’s fine. Me neither really.”

“That was enough.”

“That was plenty.”

“Do you want to get up?”

“Not yet. Is that OK?”

“That’s fine.”

“Thanks”, she said turning her head away and settling it onto the pillow.

Don’t be THAT mother-in-law…


“That’s right Tim. I said I will help you two over this rough patch and we will definitely do it together. But before we can work as a team, we’ll have to go over some things individually. As soon as I have this little discussion with my daughter I’ll come into the drawing room and speak with you. Run along now. Oh-before you go, would you be a dear and hand me the hairbrush on the bureau there? Thank you honey.”

…On second thought…

Image uncredited on Tumblr.



I want to gasp as you bump your fingers slowly over your handiwork.

I love to hiss at the cool burn when you drizzle the lotion over me.

I want to remember this all day.

I want to feel you all day.

When you’re gone,

I want to feel the tiny buzz when running my own fingers over the tight ridges.

I want to feel them wriggling below when sitting later.

To pause anytime and see a reminder of what we did this morning.

I want to reach back anytime and feel them.

Touch them.

Then make myself feel something more.

There was a time when the memory of your smile-of your hand in mine-was enough;

A long time ago.

Sometimes I wish you weren’t-but

You are too gentle to leave bruises

That I would happily wear.

But you’ll be back soon-

To again, scribe your signature,

On me.

About That Hat….

I had stepped outside to have a smoke. One more pasta dinner was almost in the books and it had been a busy one. When we had bought this old social club a year before-technically the bank bought it and was letting me run it for the next fifteen years-I had the brilliant idea to go back to the traditional Italian dinners on the last Sunday of every month that had been a fixture when I was growing up. Homemade gnocchi, ravioli and spaghetti.  It was a good boost to the visibility-we donated some of the proceeds to the youth programs-and helped the catering side of the business.

Any boost would help. To say the place was on the “other side of the tracks” was a bit of a stretch in that the place was ON the tracks. Or close enough that when a stranger to the club parked too far back in the lot one night his Impala got clipped and spun like a seven pin by a coal train that wasn’t slowing down. We found the rear bumper up in a tree.

It was good to see the place full and everyone seeming to enjoy themselves. Our spank-buddy Theresa had joined us full time a couple of months ago and had worked her cute ass up to number two in the front kitchen. I was working the back kitchen as Management (my wife) mandated Theresa and I keep a building between us on these long days. Knowing a good thing when I’m living it, I complied easily.

A lot of people came through here-some locals, some “used-to-bees”. Sweet Lori, who I hadn’t seen for years, was at the bar today. She gave me a smooch on the cheek blaming a cold for not wanting to give me a proper kiss. Not buying that, but OK.

I remembered one of our last “dates”, me in the kitchen of her apartment rummaging through drawers and cupboards looking for a wooden spoon, spatula, yard stick, anything. “Why do I have to spank you”, she called from the bed room where she lay naked, wet and ready. “Why can’t you just come in here and make love to me?” Ok, that was a good question. Good question then, good question now. Still no answer. Bored with it. Moved on. It was good to see her though. She bought take-out for her and her husband.

So I’m enjoying my smoke outside the front door. This woman comes out and I know she’s missing something. I spied her coming in an hour ago and she was wearing this god-awful, freaking hideous, faux leopard fur had, brimmed in black with a wide pleather button on the top. She was short and a little round looking like a small bottle of kid’s bubble bath with an ornate screw top. You forgot your hat, I told her. She looked at me and blinked. Put her late sixties maybe. Her companion came out behind her.

“Eddie, I forgot my hat…” Eddie was wearing a flannel shirt button to the Adam’s apple and both breast pockets were bulging with documents, little notebooks wrapped in gumbands, pencil stubs and pens. He looked over his bifocals. “Your hat”, he said breathless. There was a light sheen of sweat on his upper lip and he leaned forward as if the weight of all the documentation was pulling him over.

“I’m sure it’s in there on the chair beside where we were sitting.”

He made a three-point turn as smoothly as he could with his tripod cane and headed back into the hall.

“He’ll find it,” I assured her.

“Hope he doesn’t. I hate that goddam hat”, she said. “I’m sure I left it behind accidently on purpose somehow.”

I laughed and she blinked up at me. “This place has really gone downhill hasn’t it?” she asked. I gave her the non-committal “It’s had it’s ups and downs…” answer.

“Mostly down. Like the rest of this town goddam town. I remember there used to be dances here years ago. They don’t have them do they? They were nice-my husband and I would come down and dance the night away…”

I knew about those dances. The last one was fifty years ago.

“They should go back to them dances. Might make something outta this dump.”

I allowed that there probably wasn’t much of an audience for that kind of dance down here anymore. If “they” had one, probably just she and her husband would show up.

“That would be a trick”, she said. “He’s been dead twenty years.”

“Oh”, I said glancing back toward the hall. “I thought…”

“Him? That’s Eddie. He’s just my date. Couldn’t hold a candle to Charles. But he’s dead.”

Come on, Eddie, I thought. How long could it take to find one ugly hat?

“Did you have a good dinner, at least?” I asked stubbing out the cigarette in the planter next to the door.

“I don’t go in much for the Eye-talian food. Never did. That’s his thing. But I come with him. He takes mine home with him. I’ll eat the bread and salad. Cake’s not bad-it’s store bought though.”

Finally Eddie showed-his glasses further down his nose and leaning another few degrees forward. No doubt from the weight of the furry abomination in his non-cane hand.

As they wobbled down the broken sidewalk my old man came to mind. When he saw someone he didn’t like wearing one, he would say loudly enough to be heard but softly enough to not appear aggressive, “Who took a shit under that hat?”

Indeed, Pop. Indeed.

Merry Christmas


On his knees, head cocked against the smoke from the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he spun the tree slowly.

“How’s this?” he asked knowing it was not so good. It had looked OK in the lot.

“It’s fine”, she said. “Better than fine. Beautiful.”

“Just like this then?”


He tightened the screws in the stand and sat back on the floor. It had been two years since she’d been cancer-free and half that since he’d had a drink. They had decided that drought would end tonight though-an exact year from when it started. One year in the desert was enough.

He’d bought a bottle for the occasion. Later though. First he had to turn two boxes of too many parts into Tony’s spaceship and Tammy’s dollhouse.

“I can see the twins have been good this year”, he nodded at the toys. “What about you?”

“Me? I’ve been good…I’m always good…” she said with a slight-almost shy- smile. “Mostly…”

“Mostly? Do you have something you want to tell me?”

“Nothing specific…just general…things…”

“Well”, he drawled, “I might have to take care of that.”

She reached for his pack and tapped one out. She held it between her fingers but made no move for the lighter.

“It’s been awhile.”

“Like you said, you’ve been mostly good…”

A light blush dusted her cheekbones. “You won’t break me, you know.”

He ground the cigarette out in the ashtray beside him and exhaled into the silence.

“What will we drink to?” he asked.


“Yeah, like what will we toast?”

She looked up at the spruce that was really too big for their living room.

“How about ‘being’.”

“Being?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She said. “Being. Sometimes that’s enough.”

He followed her eyes to the bare tree top.

“Sometimes that’s plenty.”


Wishing you Peace and All Good Things…

A Haven for the Particular


They had to walk off of the main boulevard and slip down a tiny side street illuminated only by the washed light glowing behind them a dim streetlamp ahead. The two dumpsters at the end of that street seemed purposely placed to obscure the ancient brick laid alley that looked to be an original street down here-untouched by the gentrification and glare less than a full block away. Situated where it was, The Club seemed to be in a different section of town. Not many people just happened upon it when looking for something else. This was more of a destination; a haven for the particular.

Colleen Palmer stood under the awning out of the warm drizzle careful not to rub her suede coat against the damp bricks. She held her Club ID in her hand not yet extending it to Mike, the tightly shorn, surprisingly slender security guy sitting at his station in front of the door. Mid-week crowds, even tonight on an Odd Tuesday, weren’t big or frantic enough to warrant standing.

“How many are in the house?”

Mike looked at the scanner. “Twenty six right now….expecting probably forty.”

Colleen absently curled a hank of her limp brown hair between her finger and thumb. Thanks rain, she thought as the waves she had curled in disappeared on the short walk from the car. “That would be four”, she said absently to her friend Kendra, a tall willowy blond wearing jeans and sporting a thick flip of thatch that the rain couldn’t touch. “What do you think?”

Before Kendra could answer, two young girls-looked to be college kids-paused at the door and saw the discreet sign above Mike’s head. “Shit”, said one. “This is Odd Tuesday?”

“Tuesday the Thirteenth-yes Mam…” he said pleasantly enough.

“Come on Mindy”, she pulled at her friend. “We’ll come back tomorrow.” Mindy, glancing back,  reluctantly let herself be pulled away down the alley as her friend’s voice faded, “…last time I was there on a Tuesday I was so nervous all night I just couldn’t enjoy myself…..”

“We’d love to have you girls….” Mike called after them grinning. Then, as he turned his attention back two the women in front of him, Kendra slipped him her card. He ran it through the scanner.

“Still only a one in ten chance….” she said to Colleen.

Mike held her card for a moment…”Unless I run it through again”, he winked. “Up the odds a little.”

“Never mind. I’ll roll with the odds.”

With a little smile Colleen slipped Mike her card. “Only once please.”

He smiled and returned her card and turned his attention to another couple heading toward him as they slipped through the door.

Inside Pat Jensen waited for the bartender to make her way down to him. It would only be a single-trip; he was a regular, she knew what to bring him. Corrine slid him a dirty Martini, enough olive juice to mask the taste of the cheap Vodka he favored.

“Jensen! Don’t usually see you here on a Tuesday, Odd or otherwise….”

“Looking for a place to get in out of the rain…check out this crowd a little. Looks like more boys than usual.”

She looked back over her shoulder as if she hadn’t noticed…”It’s been evening out the last couple…why let the girls have all the fun?”

“I’ll probably be gone by the witching hour…”

“Come on Jensen…Live a little. Maybe we’ll go early, just to keep you in the house.”

“I don’t think so….”

She put her hand over his and froze him with her dancing eyes. “You never know Jensen” she said quietly, sweetly close to his ear, “Me standing behind-maybe close enough so our thighs touch-hand on your back…you bent over-cheek to cheek, as it were…maybe even pull your pants down.” He buzzed at the feel of her breath splashing into his ear and down his neck. She played at licking her lips. “You might turn me, who knows?”

She rubbed his hand softly and flashing a wicked smile, leaned closer and whispered…”Make you hard?”

“Let’s just say I better sit here for a few minutes”, he grinned almost blushing.

She laughed and moved down the bar. Jensen, like most guys in the bar, watched her go fingering the stem of his martini glass. She was a little on slim side for his tastes but the way her butt distressed her distressed jeans…

His eyes cut to the couple who had just walked in. The dark-haired one was familiar; big eyes, ready smile…he thought he had danced with her once. Sturdy girl, he thought…cute enough, but not in the same league as her lanky friend. He caught the blonde’s eye and to cover that he had been staring, tipped his drink to her. She nodded back as they settled at the end of the bar.

Corrine approached them and leaned in to take their drinks. She immediately fell into a conversation with the blonde. “Damn!” he thought. Oh well….His eyes returned to scanning the bar. Corrine slid past him to pick up a bottle she needed to make the girl’s drinks.

“Kendra says you’re buying her and Colleen their drinks.”

“Kendra?” he asked? “The blonde? Absolutely.” Then before she could slip away, “Hey Core, let me ask you….Would my having a dick be an impediment to dating the lovely Kendra?”

“Not necessarily, Jensen.” She answered. “Your being a dick might be…”

Outside Mike heard the quick tattoo of heels on brick and looked up as Kim Chen slipped under his awning. “Hey Mike”, she said. “What you reading?” He had already flipped the book onto its open face and she read the jacket. “Nice! I liked that…”

“That’s what you said. Tough getting started though…”he said taking her card and scanning.

“Hang with it”, she said earnestly. “It’s worth it.”

“You alone tonight?” he asked unnecessarily. Kim’s husband was never here during the week. In fact, he was hardly here ever.

“He’s traveling-think…Houston?” Her jet black hair was in a tight pony tail pulled away from the creamy perfect skin of her face and neck. She was comfortable enough to wear a snug open neck shirt that accented what were perfect but very tiny breasts. A leather coat draped over her shoulders opened to reveal what passed as her uniform, black stretch pants that hugged her thighs and he knew cupped the curves of her perfect bottom as if they were glued on.

Mike tried to stay away from married women. He didn’t trust himself not to fall in love-it happened often-and he feared the complications that could upset his well-ordered life. The only time he and Kim had spent together outside of The Club was when they both happened to be in the same 5K charity trail run. She had smoked him.

She was the only woman he would see tonight that cleaved his desires between wanting to see her bent over on stage and wanting to hug her tightly and protect her. Given that choice though, he wasn’t sure which way she would go. With Kim through the door, Mike stashed the book in his bag. Wouldn’t do to have Tina or John see him reading at his post. They would find something else for him to do. Or worse.

He looked up at the sound of banging and a loud “Whoops!” down by the dumpster knowing that his evening was about to get a little louder. Most Tuesday night regulars slipped by his station with a quick smile or a veiled look-away, not wanting to call too much attention to where they were going. These two always seemed like they were looking for the brass band to announce them.

It could be that they were fifteen or twenty years older than the rest of the house and if they hadn’t seen it all had seen enough to not give a shit. Or were, like tonight, a little lubricated when they got here. Or both.

For these two, Mike stood. “Good evening ladies!” he said with a slight bow.

“Mikey my darling” Bethany greeted him card in hand. “How are you this fine evening?” She was in her forties and wearing jeans which tugged at her in spots. Her straw color hair streaked with gray hung in a tight bob around her expressively round face. She didn’t wear much makeup-a touch of rouge on the cheeks-she had worked for the tiny crinkles that showed around her eyes when she smiled and she wasn’t about to hide them.

“I’m well, thank you” he said with an exaggerated propriety. “You look beautiful, as always, this evening.”

“Keep it coming, honey, keep it coming…”

He took her card and scanned it and reached to hand it back.

“Once more, Mikey…” she nodded with a smile.

Mike scanned again and returned the card cutting his eyes toward Megan. She seemed a little tipsy but, truth be told, she seemed that way sober. Jet black hair piled atop her head with tendrils cascading past her face she was at least Janet’s age but typically acted a generation younger. Her cotton blouse was a loud pattern of cranberry and silver open low enough to reveal just a touch of the deep shadows of her bountiful cleavage accented by a small silver dab on a thin chain. Her corduroys-a perfect fit seven pounds ago-pulled slightly across her middle but he figured that was by design-she knew how well her backside presented in the pants she wore.

“Hi Handsome”, she smiled her perfect smile. Yes, definitely more makeup than Janet but artfully done from the blue eyelids to the dark red outlines on her lush lips. Her eyes positively glowed as she focused a look on him that vaporized the alley and everything around them into a dim wet haze. Mike reached numbly for her card feeling a little quiver in his chest. It wasn’t the first time she had stopped him dead with a look. He had spent a memorable late night recalling her stare and the dark-for the sake of his fantasy that night-motivations behind it. He almost began to feel the memory of that night rising in him.

He scanned the card without pulling his eyes from hers.

“Christ, Megan” Bethany said. “You’re glamouring him…Release him from your power…”

They all laughed and Mike handed the card back and she immediately returned it. He twisted his mouth into a small grin and scanned it again. “Once more….” She said.

He scanned it again. “Somebody’s been naughty tonight”, he said.

“What do you mean, ‘tonight’?” Bethany asked with a laugh, sliding through the door.

Megan patted Mike on the cheek as she passed and followed while he made a conscious decision not to watch her bottom as she walked in. Instead he looked skyward where the clouds were breaking to spill the light of a crescent moon into his alley.

A Day In The Life


My wife Shelly and I run a small non-profit catering operation on the side (not to be confused with the For-Profit catering we do to keep the lights on that sometimes turns into a non-profit situation.  Shit happens). This non- profit thing is not a big production-just occasional dinners to raise operating funds for organizations we support.

During the last dinner, my wife and I had to leave for an hour or so to attend a funeral service for an old friend’s father. The kitchen was handled, servers were all in place and we enlisted our friend Theresa to take the money at the door. Not a complex job and she had sat in to spell either of us previously, but we had never left her alone to run the show.  The thing about Theresa is that she is our only vanilla friend who knows what goes on behind closed doors at our house. Some expect, I’m sure, but she knows. My dear wife, fueled by Vodka tonics, spilled the beans during a heart-to-heart with her a couple of years ago about keeping marriages strong, what we did, yadda-yadda.

Shelly had told me about it afraid I’d be angry but it was sort of a kick. Something to add to a flirty overlay that Theresa and I are always playing with. And she’s quick-like the time I came up beside her at a bar and she offered me a stool. “That’s OK”, I said. “I’d rather stand…” She gives me the look: “Were you really bad today?”

So when we left her at the door heading out-“OK, I counted the till and I know we’re straight. You know what happens if you’re off when I get back, right?”

“I guess I get spanked”, she said with a smile and twinkle that gave me a southerly buzz, funeral home trip or not. She laughed, I laughed and winked saying something like “As long as you know…” Shelly smiling led me out of the room asking, “How long will that exchange stick with you?”

As a natural vanilla, this stuff will roll off of my wife. Theresa, who talks a lot, probably wouldn’t remember by the time we got back. As a spanko though, this is the kind of thing that I can wrap a whole day’s worth of fantasies around.

So we get back about an hour later and the hall is packed-sold more dinners than we had in six months. Good for all concerned, but I ducked into the kitchen to help and Shelly did her thing, and we were at it hard for the next three hours or so. “Assholes and elbows” as my Gramma used to say. No time to fraternize or commiserate.

The next day Theresa and I had the text exchange you see here. All nudge, nudge, wink, wink; showed it to Shelly, she gave me the “you’re incorrigible” look and that was that. Then, this past weekend I’m in the garage tuning my lawnmower-it’s that time in my corner of the realm-when my phone buzzed. I assumed it was Shelly telling me when she’d be home but nope. “Theresa” said the phone.

“Hi Babe”, says I. She’s been “Babe” to me for years…as is my wife and most woman friends. (If it makes me an asshole, so be it.)

“What are you up to?” she asked.

I told her. She asked about our garden-had I tilled yet. Stuff like that. Small talk that I knew she really didn’t give a shit about but I kept the conversation going. Then she asked-

“Did you ever recount?”

Of course I knew what she was talking about. “Sure”, I lied. “The next day.”

“How did we do?”

“Good, real good…over 250 dinners.”

“Was the money straight?”

“Well, yeah”, I said slowly-as if reluctantly. “We were off a bit-not so you’d notice.”

“How much?”

“Around fifty bucks-cost of five dinners. Well within the ‘close-enough’ range.”

“It got really busy for a while there”, she said.

“I know…great job by you…”

“Still”, she said….”I feel like I should make up that money.”

“Get the hell out of here! No way…”

The phone was silent but there was still a connection….

“Still….” She said finally.

“Still nothing,” I said. “We’re good. And besides….we already worked out a penalty if you were off.”

I’d offered to spank her before-most famously when she was complaining about not being able to stick to a workout regimen. I’d offered the same service to her that I provided my wife-which had earned me a severe punch in the shoulder from Shelly who was sitting next to me. But this seemed to be different. It was just she and I on the phone.

The silence earlier had nothing on this. The birds stopped singing, there was no wind, I do believe my heart paused so that I wouldn’t miss anything Theresa might say.

Finally, “Is Shelly home?”

“No. I mean, not yet. She’s on her way. I thought you were her, on the phone. ”

“Okay…” she said, stretching it out…”I’ll swing by your house on the way home. If I see both cars, I’ll stop.” Good-she didn’t trust herself alone here either.

“Ok, Trece-maybe I’ll see you later…”

“Maybe you will…”

I didn’t. Shelly got home about twenty minutes later and I didn’t mention anything. Really nothing to mention yet. That’s bullshit-OK-I know that’s bullshit. But I’m waiting, see what happens at the next dinner….