Early yesterday evening I realized I was completely out of scotch. My wife was out Christmas shopping so I called her to ask if she would be kind enough to make a stop on the way home. She didn’t answer her cell phone. Since I was already undressed I was dreading the thought of having to go out and procure my own liquor.
At 6:30 PM she walked through the door, arms full of purchases. And I mean loaded down with bags full of stuff. I had two important questions to ask:
1. Will you please go buy me some scotch?
2. What the hell are you using for money?
I didn’t want to know the answer to number two so I asked about the scotch.
“I’ve just completed the Christmas shopping. It’s done. Finished. Without you going anywhere, do anything or even offering suggestions. Tonight completes a week long endeavor and I’m not going back out. Go get the rest of the shit from the car.”
I couldn’t really argue. I contributed nothing this year except the cash and I expect that ran out earlier in the week.
Then she added, “I’ll make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
She pointed at me. “If you go to the liquor store dressed like that, I’ll do anything you want.”
I looked down at myself. I was wearing Snoopy pajama bottoms. Goofy looking, sky blue, ankle length pajama bottoms. Snoopy was printed all over them, wearing a nightcap and carrying a candle. I hate peanuts and I hate Snoopy…the origin of the things are another story.
To compliment the bottoms, I was wearing a wife beater and a pair of sad old slippers. I’m a pretty big guy (not fat) and I looked like a real asshole.
“What do you mean you’ll do anything I want?”
“Whatever weird, perverted, sexual thing that you’ve ever wanted but were afraid to ask for, I’ll do it. All you need to do is go to the liquor store dressed like that. Exactly like that. You can’t take the slippers off.”
I walked into the bedroom and put on some jeans. There was no way I was going out looking like that. Not to the liquor store I go to. I guess that makes me a wimp. That’s what I felt like. But you know, I really couldn’t think of anything that perverted we hadn’t already done. In hindsight, what I should have done was asked her to throw something out there on the table. I can't believe I let that get by me. Christ, I’m slipping.
I'm ashamed of you Paul. ASHAMED!
Snoopy pajama bottoms? My fantasies have been shattered.
Foof! Man, you way blew it. I could have thought of 100 things that you would have loved that she might not be willing to do...
And you didn't even post a pic of the hideous pj's that you hate so much! What a wimp.
I hope you bought the half gallon; because odds are, if you drink the entire thing in one sitting, you'll find your balls at the bottom, keeping your dick and your sex drive company.
Fucking pussy.
Once in each husband's life there comes an opportunity where his wife will unconciously create a situation where she must allow a threesome and will do so in such a way that she is the tacit initiator, thereby absolving said husband of all culpability in the illicit act.
You missed yours.
Why didn't you ask us for suggestions, Paul?
You know, it's not like it was gonna happen right then with the kid there and all. We've done it all before man, it was just to get me out in my jammies.
When you're actually having good sex often, the offer of more just ain't a big deal. It's not like it ain't coming anyway.
And I ruined a perfectly good relationship in the past with threesomes. It's best to get that over with when you're too young to really care about potential emotional consequences.
Yes, but with this threesome there could've been two females involved, thus eliminating the feelings of inadequacy.*
You could’ve always asked for a rain check on the act. Then the next time you're out of Scotch. All you gots to say is get steppin'...
Phin makes a good point. Take a raincheck and redeem it later for something like painting the house or repaving the driveway or picking up the dog poop in the backyard instead.