“A Wife’s Sacred Duty to her Husband”

 

A WIFE’S SACRED DUTY TO HER HUSBAND
“Desdemona was unjustly accused.  Othello’s was a detestable lout”, Auntie Carol thought as she spray starched he husband’s work shirts.  She mused about the unjustness of it all.  Herman would never fall prey to an iago, the hateful wretch.  “I am so happy to have my Herman/Emma Enigma, (Herman, of course was a hermaphrodite and a psycho therapist.)  One couldn’t tell whether he was coming or going, so to speak and he had two separate personalities, a man and a woman.  He was a specialist in dissociative disorders.   Who better?
 
Auntie Carol took pride in her role as “help-mate” to her husband.  She believed in being
the woman behind the man.” Every evening she greeted him with a “hello, darling “ and a kiss just like on “Father Knows Best”, an old sit com.  As the Bible says, “Cleave unto youe man.”  This was her motto.  Every evening she was there with his slippers, his Wall Street Journal, and a snifter of Remy Martin.  He settled into his cozy chair, and she sat in his lap like a smiling geisha.  She cheered his victories and put salve on his wounds She would say, “Darling, the girl was a bipolar noir poet.  She had a bad attitude about life.  You couldn’t have prevented her suicide.”
 
“If only I had caught it in time.  She gave me signed copies of her three books and a copy of  her will.  She was the Siamese twin that lived for Christ’s sake and her disastrous search for a
Soul mate.  She was always crying out for love and never getting it.  Her neediness and insane fits of jealousy always drove them away, and then was the guy she held at knife point for two days.  He left the country to avoid ever seeing her again. I tried and tried, but when she did a strip tease in my office, I had to refer her elsewhere.  In the end I threw her away just like all the others had.  I should have handled the transference better than I did.  She always said God let the wrong twin die, shoulda’ been her.”
“Darling,” said Auntie Carol.  “Let me say it crudely.  A woman’s got to take care of her own ass.  No man is a leaning post.  A bird flies on his own two wings”.

Then he launched a tirade against Betsy, the Bull Dyke, saying if she had balls she’d be a man.
 
“Darling, I just abhor all those hoity toity career woman who have this drive to achieve.  A woman’s place is behind a man to shore him up form life’s disappointments.   After all it is an honor to stand in reflected light,” said Auntie Carol. “ By the way, dear, I’ve prepared a scrumptious dinner.  Beef Bourgeonne. Green beans almondine, fruit compote a la Truman Compote and Key Lime Pie.  And we shall have  Patron Margaritas, your fave!!  Nothing is too good for my man.”
 
“What did I do to deserve such a woman, said   Herman.
 
“You proposed, Darling.   You proposed,” replied Auntie Carol.A WIFE’S SACRED DUTY TO HER HUSBAND
“Desdemona was unjustly accused.  Othello’s was a detestable lout”, Auntie Carol thought as she spray starched he husband’s work shirts.  She mused about the unjustness of it all.  Herman would never fall prey to an iago, the hateful wretch.  “I am so happy to have my Herman/Emma Enigma, (Herman, of course was a hermaphrodite and a psycho therapist.)  One couldn’t tell whether he was coming or going, so to speak and he had two separate personalities, a man and a woman.  He was a specialist in dissociative disorders.   Who better?
 
Auntie Carol took pride in her role as “help-mate” to her husband.  She believed in being
the woman behind the man.” Every evening she greeted him with a “hello, darling “ and a kiss just like on “Father Knows Best”, an old sit com.  As the Bible says, “Cleave unto youe man.”  This was her motto.  Every evening she was there with his slippers, his Wall Street Journal, and a snifter of Remy Martin.  He settled into his cozy chair, and she sat in his lap like a smiling geisha.  She cheered his victories and put salve on his wounds She would say, “Darling, the girl was a bipolar noir poet.  She had a bad attitude about life.  You couldn’t have prevented her suicide.”
 
“If only I had caught it in time.  She gave me signed copies of her three books and a copy of  her will.  She was the Siamese twin that lived for Christ’s sake and her disastrous search for a
Soul mate.  She was always crying out for love and never getting it.  Her neediness and insane fits of jealousy always drove them away, and then was the guy she held at knife point for two days.  He left the country to avoid ever seeing her again. I tried and tried, but when she did a strip tease in my office, I had to refer her elsewhere.  In the end I threw her away just like all the others had.  I should have handled the transference better than I did.  She always said God let the wrong twin die, shoulda’ been her.”
“Darling,” said Auntie Carol.  “Let me say it crudely.  A woman’s got to take care of her own ass.  No man is a leaning post.  A bird flies on his own two wings”.

Then he launched a tirade against Betsy, the Bull Dyke, saying if she had balls she’d be a man.
 
“Darling, I just abhor all those hoity toity career woman who have this drive to achieve.  A woman’s place is behind a man to shore him up form life’s disappointments.   After all it is an honor to stand in reflected light,” said Auntie Carol. “ By the way, dear, I’ve prepared a scrumptious dinner.  Beef Bourgeonne. Green beans almondine, fruit compote a la Truman Compote and Key Lime Pie.  And we shall have  Patron Margaritas, your fave!!  Nothing is too good for my man.”
 
“What did I do to deserve such a woman, said   Herman.
 
“You proposed, Darling.   You proposed,” replied Auntie Carol.A WIFE’S SACRED DUTY TO HER HUSBAND
“Desdemona was unjustly accused.  Othello’s was a detestable lout”, Auntie Carol thought as she spray starched he husband’s work shirts.  She mused about the unjustness of it all.  Herman would never fall prey to an iago, the hateful wretch.  “I am so happy to have my Herman/Emma Enigma, (Herman, of course was a hermaphrodite and a psycho therapist.)  One couldn’t tell whether he was coming or going, so to speak and he had two separate personalities, a man and a woman.  He was a specialist in dissociative disorders.   Who better?
 
Auntie Carol took pride in her role as “help-mate” to her husband.  She believed in being
the woman behind the man.” Every evening she greeted him with a “hello, darling “ and a kiss just like on “Father Knows Best”, an old sit com.  As the Bible says, “Cleave unto youe man.”  This was her motto.  Every evening she was there with his slippers, his Wall Street Journal, and a snifter of Remy Martin.  He settled into his cozy chair, and she sat in his lap like a smiling geisha.  She cheered his victories and put salve on his wounds She would say, “Darling, the girl was a bipolar noir poet.  She had a bad attitude about life.  You couldn’t have prevented her suicide.”
 
“If only I had caught it in time.  She gave me signed copies of her three books and a copy of  her will.  She was the Siamese twin that lived for Christ’s sake and her disastrous search for a
Soul mate.  She was always crying out for love and never getting it.  Her neediness and insane fits of jealousy always drove them away, and then was the guy she held at knife point for two days.  He left the country to avoid ever seeing her again. I tried and tried, but when she did a strip tease in my office, I had to refer her elsewhere.  In the end I threw her away just like all the others had.  I should have handled the transference better than I did.  She always said God let the wrong twin die, shoulda’ been her.”
“Darling,” said Auntie Carol.  “Let me say it crudely.  A woman’s got to take care of her own ass.  No man is a leaning post.  A bird flies on his own two wings”.

Then he launched a tirade against Betsy, the Bull Dyke, saying if she had balls she’d be a man.
 
“Darling, I just abhor all those hoity toity career woman who have this drive to achieve.  A woman’s place is behind a man to shore him up form life’s disappointments.   After all it is an honor to stand in reflected light,” said Auntie Carol. “ By the way, dear, I’ve prepared a scrumptious dinner.  Beef Bourgeonne. Green beans almondine, fruit compote a la Truman Compote and Key Lime Pie.  And we shall have  Patron Margaritas, your fave!!  Nothing is too good for my man.”
 
“What did I do to deserve such a woman, said   Herman.
 
“You proposed, Darling.   You proposed,” replied Auntie Carol.
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Josette My Sodden Angel.

JOSETTE, MY SODDEN ANGEL

Before I go on, I’d best describe Josette as I first met her. She was a platinum blond and had long wavy locks which came pert near her ass. She had indigo eyes and the face of a fashion model with on little dimple in the middle of her chin. Her eyes were wide set and had the look of anticipation in them. As if one day she would own the world. She was thin, lanky and rawboned and athletic looking like a runner and raunchy as a she bitch in heat. She grabbed my cock and said, “Buy me a drank, honey pie. I forgot my change purse.”

I told her I was gay and to kindly remove her hand from my cock and I ordered her a boilermaker which is a beer and a shot of whisky, Jack Daniels Green, as that was what she was drinking. And then she said, “That’s righteous kind of you. I’m a little short on cash, so could you kindly take my tab, too.”

It was so ballsy, I had to laugh, and I decided this was a creature I wanted to know. Relying on the “kindness of strangers,” AKA Tennessee Williams. I asked why she was in a gay bar and she replied it was the only bar open on Sunday and that the church people were buzzing around like a bevy of happy bees and it got on her nerves. And then she said she wondered why there were so many men with no dates: it never occurred to her that they didn’t like, to use her word, “poontang”. She confided in me that she was disappointed in her small breasts and mad at God that she didn’t look like hr role model, Dolly Parton. She was forthright about her ass saying, “ You could set two martini’s on my cheeks and spill nary a drop. I got ass for miles. And I saw it was true and I told her gay men didn’t like to discuss women’s anatomy on the whole and in most cases. One thing about Josette she never edits what she says. Or considers the audience she is speaking to. She was no manipulator and honest as a small child.

Note. This is an excerpt from co writer of this blog Carol Bond’s Historic romance movel “Josette.”

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Lady Lynda Seymour Toze Fond Memories.

Lady Lynda and her husband Seymour Toze cuddle close to each other in their upholstered pink floral print love seat.

“Oh Seymour I knew from the day we met in that high school swim class you were the man for me. As soon as I noticed you staring with delight at my, as you call them, my ten pretties. I could tell. It was your destiny to be a show salesman and a pedicurist. “
“Yes my love.” replied Lady Lynda’s soul mate.

“Oh my sweet Lady Lynda from the moment my eyes gazed upon your exquisite fleshy toes I knew I wanted to be a shoe salesman and do pedicures. Your ten pretties gave me ten reasons for wanting you to be my girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong I was attracted to the rest of you too. I first noticed the folds at each inner corner of your eyes. Then I came to notice your left eye is green and your right one blue. I smugly called you Alien as in Outer Space alien. It was my pet term of endearment. But my favorite term was Preciosa. Spanish for Precious. I learned that when we were in Spanish class together. Your toes were my inspiration for my then future livelihood. And it is working out so delightfully. The “Into Leather” shoe store is a dream come true. ‘At our shoe store we’re really into leather. If it wasn’t for you my lovey dovey who knows what I would wound up as. Its funny how one moment can so important to one’s destiny. How with one short wiggle of your toes I could discover my life’s work.”

“Yes my dear Lady Lynda it was fate we met at swim class in high school. Where being in your two piece swimsuit I could easily see your specialness to me I could tell right at that first moment our love was meant to be. “

“Yes we went through quite a lot in the decades since. You were so courageous to be true to your calling of making women feel better by giving them such delightful pedicures. I like how you call what you do pedi cures. You really get those lucky ladies back on their feet:

“You could say I make them toe the line. I’d be a real heel if I didn’t. Wouldn’t I. Its a shoe in.” joked Lady Lynda’s husband.

Seymour Toze’s wife quipped “You could say you put your heart and sole s.o.l.e. into your profession my dear sweet Seymour.”

“Yes I most certainly do. I hated when my parents so strongly disapproved of my profession. They wanted me to be professional they’d be proud of. A doctor, a lawyer, an accountant….. Instead their dear son became a shoe salesman. But that was my life calling. I even endured the teasing of my fellow high school students. Yelling at me such lines as if the shoe fits wear it. There’s no business like shoe business. Or on with the shoe and many more such cruel jokes. “

“Oh Seymour I’m so proud of you for persevering and being true to yourself. I’m so glad your mine”

“I’m so very, very happy you are my one and only too my sweet Lady Lynda. I love you toe tally.”

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Excerpts from Carol Bond’s writings for sale. Co writer of this blog.

CAROL ANN’S BOOK EXCERPTS
carolbond26@yahoo.com
215-879-0328
POEMS OF THUNDER, NOIR & WHIMSY
OBSIDIAN EYES

I think of you nude lying under the leaves with rose petals on your eyes,
An arm stretched out like Michelangelo’s angel on the Sistine Chapel.
I think of the click of your shoes like cruel castanets
In the red rooms of my heart.
I think of you nude,
Like a Romanesque angel.
Your skin like the dying rays of the sun.
I think of your hard, purple jewel
in the white, innocent smoothness of my hand
Mostly I think of your dark eyes like pitted olives,
Glowing like liquid obsidian in the dark moistness of the night.
I know you hate me and love me, and want the same from me.
You like arsenic and sugar,
and, I, poor simple beast only like the sugar.
You are a savage who rends and tears the ones you love.
Can I ever show you how simple is love.
How true. How deep. How honest.
You, vicious beast, who cannot learn.
Obsidian eyes.

CATFISH JOE & DOUBLE. DOUBLE, TOIL & TROUBLE
“Okay I be tellin’ ya my story. One time when I was young,
I was rich as Croesus. I had me six fine, fat, juicy Bitches and they
Wasn’t no ho’s neither. None of my womens had to work. Just lay
Back, fuck, and look pretty, that’s all. And I had me a big, giant
Mansion with twenty servants. They was all white, you see.
I figured, why not fuck ‘whitie” cuz he done fuck me royally
Fo’ so long. Tyrone, I tell ya it was heaven.”

“Tell me about the Bitches, Mr. Joe,” asked Tyrone.

“Oh, they was the finest pussy this side of Mississippi.
Big, black, and juicy as goddamn Georgia peaches. They was horny as cats in heat, too. They loved the hell, out of they ol’ Daddy Joe.
I done it all wit’ them. The suckin’. The fuckin’.
Old Joe know what to do wif a woman.
Then when I done give one money to buy a pretty dress,
Another bitch find out and she be jealous like ol’ Daddy
don’t love her as much as the first Bitch. Then I gives
her money and she go get an even better dress.
them Bitches was a trip. I tell ya, Tyrone.”

“And what about yo’ mansion”, asked Tyrone.

“Oh, boy, it was splendid. Just splendid. Twenty six rooms,
all done in white, white furniture, white shag carpets.
The Works! I even had me some Elvis paintings and
Bull fighter paintings on black velvet. I likes art.
It was real class, I tell ya’ I also had me a turquoise
Cadillac with zebra upholstery. Shit, them were the days, Tyrone.”
The old man’s eyes misted over.

“Mr. Joe,” said Tyrone, “How you gone tell me
you wasn’t no pimp, Where you git’ the money!”

“Tyrone,” he replied, “I be a God fearin’ man.
I wasn’t never no pimp. They’s evil Bastards.
Goin’ straight to Hell fo’ damn sure.”

“Then where’d you git’ the money?” asked the Boy.

“Well I be tellin’ ya’ shortly, Just you hold yo’ damn horses.
Listen, Tyrone, when you was little did you believe in
Santy Claus and the Easter Bunny, and witches, and shit?”
asked old Joe.

“Sho’, Mr. Joe,” replied Tyrone.

“Well, I got somethin’ kind of weird to tell ya’. But I
wants to tell ya’ I ain’t no goddamned head case.
Tyrone, I had me this old, brown mule, the name of Sugar.
And when I would hold up her tail and it was time to go,
she shat diamonds. Big, beautiful diamonds, and nothin’ else.
Then the old Bitch died on me, and I didn’t have nothin’ no mo’.
Lost the mansion and the Bitches, too. Aint no woman gonna fuck with no po’ ass man.You, believe me, son?”

GITANA
THE DEAD

The carriage is coming for me. I lie pale and dead, my hands folded over my chest in a gesture of supplication. A pious lady like I never was in life. I am La Gitana. It’s what they call me, a beggar and consort of kings. You may think that the dead know nothing. But I tell you that we rage. We rage that we can no longer feel the dew on the underside of a leaf, nor the touch of a lover’s hand on our ass, nor the sweetness of red, full wine on our lips. We feel rage that we cannot feel the slow thud of our hearts, the red blood being forced through our veins, and we rage for all the love we have lost.

Ay, the beautiful caress of the wind through chartreuse, green leaves, the tilting of white clouds careening across a turquoise sky. We rage for the days gone by. Life is but a droplet of rain sliding down a window pane. I am much honored but I have also been reviled much in my life. One cannot be vivid without breaking some hearts. Que lastima, I say and winner take all. I have been what people thought I was, and I have also been just myself. It is impossible to sort.

My carriage is six black stallions and a pale driver. I asked for a rubio to ferry me across to the other side. Inside my carriage is gold and red velvet. Red is my color: blood is my legacy. They will line the streets and call my name holding long white candles. My story begins as I am sixteen. The year is 1679, and King Carlos having ascended the throne at age fourteen, has married Marie Louise, the niece of Louis XIV of France, at age eighteen. It is not enough for France to defeat Spain in war: she must also rule us on the domestic front as well. King Carlos, or El Hechisado as he is called, is simple and in ill health. What a sin to have to lie with a fool. Don Juan of Austria, Carlos’s illegitimate brother, rules through violence and intimidation. The queen mother, Mariana, is weakened and her valido, Valenzuela, deposed.

King Carlos is not our king, and Spain is not our country. We are ruled by our own king, a Rom Baru, and to hell with Spain. Soy una gitana. (I am a gypsy).

Escuchame, querida. Tengo mas que contar.
Listen to me, dear. I have much to

CHAPTER ONE

I am Tekla. Soy una gitana. The lower part of my body is marime, or unclean, two parts pressed together like a dusky rose. My upper body is pure like a virgin’s shoulders. So it is with all the woman of the Romani clan. We are pure and impure, and can pollute by our actions. We must never expose our lower half to anyone but our husbands and even then we must take care not to pollute them. We must stay away from our men and male stallions when we have the time of blood and when we are in child birth. There is a special red tent for these times. One who is marime by action or by nature cannot walk amongst us. The worst punishment for a gypsy is to be cast out, or judged marime, for he can never live the gypsy life or be with other gypsies. It is a fate worse than death for it is death to the spirit. Family is the most important thing for a gypsy, not possessions, as it is for the gaje.

When I was a girl I used to wander bare breasted through the camps free as a flower, my high little girl’s breasts catching the light like burnt calla lilies in the morning sun. The little, ragged boys would run by and try to touch them but I always avoided their greedy, curious fingers. As I have said my gypsy name is Tekla. My gaje name is Carmen, and my secret name you will never know. My sister, Rupa, at fourteen is much more beautiful than I. Yet, I do not shed a tear: my heart is a stone. I am a mere thistle at her feet.

Rupa! Rupa! Rupa! Even the birds sing her name. Who sings mine? The thistles and the thorns. But under her surface is but sugar and air. Sometimes I think she will never truly love another.

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A Lady’s Virtue is worth all the Gold in Ft. Knox

A LADY’S VIRTUE IS WORTH  ALL THE GOLD IN FORT KNOX

This is Auntie Carol and  I want to say I am flabbergasted.  A Young lady’s virtue is worth all the gold in Fort Knox.  It would seem that our young lady’s are pleasuring young  hooligans on the school buses, doing the unthinkable.  I blush to name it but I will say lollipop.  I have  heard it by a reliable source that they even wear colored bracelets indicating the sex act they will perform from A to Z.  Young ladies, wake up you are being used like cheap strumpets.  If you do all these things what have you saved for the marriage bed?  No man like used goods: he wants his wife t be pure as the driven snow.  You give them  your beautiful woman’s flower and for what?  It’s called a hook-up. And in the tight clothes you all wear you can’t be distinguished from a street walker!!!

 

Young Ladies, Wake up.  I sound the clarion call.  You are just being used by these lascivious  Lotharios.  I adamantly urge you to save yourselves for marriage. However, you may let him fondle your breasts on the major holidays like Christmas.  Heavens,  don’t tell Lady Lynda I said that.

 

I  rather like Keat’s Ode to a Grecian Urn  where the two lovers never catch each other.  It’s  so poignant .  I guess I’m a romantic at heart.  They never consummate their love. Ah!  Theirs another thing in my treatise on morality.  Don’t wear pearls: they reflect down.  And don’t wear patent leather shoes: they reflect up.  Do you really want to show your private parts in such a brazen, whorish way?  I think not.  Alas, there so much sinning in this world.  I despair: I weep for all you misguided young ladies.  It’s so terribly wrong.

Well, it’s time for my sherry.  Aurevoire mes amis.

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Lady Lynda’s proper footware lecture leads to unexpected consequences.

Lady Lynda proudly walked up to the stage to begin her lecture on proper foot ware for today’s young ladies. She looked rather proper in her rose and pink brocaded business suit Her prim white flats a nice touch/. Her manicured nails matched the rose hues of her outfit. She smiled as she recalled her fawning husband’s pedicures. She beamed how lovely he painted her favorite part of her body, her toes.

Her eyes quickly perused the crowd in front of her . She noticed the scowling faces of the slovenly dressed girls. It was clear they were there only because their prnciple and parents wanted them to be there. The poor dears Toze’s wife chagrined. If only they knew how major this topic is to them.

The woman took pride the local school board requested her talk. How caring of them to want their young ladies to dress properly from their heads to toes. This was her chance to fulfill her mission No more would these female teens brazenly wear sneakers in school. Oh the horror and the disrepect for their teachers. Yes true they were called walking shoes, running shoes the fact was they were sneakers.

“First thing I want to stress is how important the right shoes are. “The wrong ones can ruin practically every outfit. It is crucial ladies don’t look cheap by wearing spiked heels. Especially ones with open toes. Today’s young miss should be demure. Can you imagine what boys think of you in low cut tops and skirts or shorts up to there? Blouses shouldn’t be any lower than just below your neckline. My word don’t you know your bodies are temples Young men should want you for your brains, not only your bodies.” She spoke in dulcent tones.

Suddenly a sullen looking adolescent girl earnestly asked why can’t he want both?

Lady Lynda told her choices must be made. “Do you want to be seen as a cheap hussy? There is nothing wrong with young people dating. But you should respect yourself and save yourself for marriage. The young woman who made the query started to giggle. The giggling soon became contagious to the entire audience. Seymour Toze’s wife was feeling indignant She was feeling hurt too. Those insolent teens she thought How ungrateful of them. Well I’ll show them.

Just then the lecturer heard jangling. She wondered what the noise was. She noticed a female teenager dangling her charm bracelet. Lady Lynda could clearly see the words on the charms. The order seemed to be a code? The insolen teen told her it was an availability bracelet. Lady Lynda replied “Available to be a loose woman I suppose”

“Some crucial words. Never let a young gentleman think you’re easy. You don’t want be thought of as a harlot. . Never,ever enter into a place of a man you don’t know well. You don’t want him to think you’re cheap. If a man is flirting with you stop and ask how will the behavior make feel feel tomorow? What are your sexual morals? Don’t let a man convince you being fast is the right thing to do.That’s only what you want to hear in the moment. As the Shirells sang its not just for a moment of pleasure. “ The crowd looked at her with blank stares. Who the hell were the Shirelles?

“My word “ the lecturer thought” they’re babes in the woods. This is more difficult than I thought it would be. Acting so insolent yet knowing so little. If only there was a way to get through to them.

Just then a phone rings behind the stage. A stage manager says its for Lady Lynda. She excuses herself and answers the call.
“Oh its you Auntie Carol. These youths here are a lot more hard to penetrate than i thought. “Oh yes you’re right penetrate is an interesting choice of words with my topic of saving themselves for marriage. At any rate what do you suggest.” Lady Lady wrote trying to stay calm. “Okay Auntie Carol I’ll just leave the solution to you.”

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