3 comments/ 6086 views/ 0 favorites I Love the Smell of Gunpowder in the Morning By: fanfare The Loving Marriage of Christie & Jason McTavish "Ach, gah ayem, uh what...'m sorry!?!" I stuttered in total disbelief. My face must have been doing one of those comical 'Saaay! Whaaaat?' routines. George pulled his beer can away from his mouth and repeated himself. I just gaped slack-jaw at him. My overloaded mind, suffering through cascade failure, desperately trying to translate the gibberish coming out from under his mustache. There was a windy whistle through my ears as I heard "Whaa whaa, whaa Whaa whaa Whaawhaa wha." Then he paused and looked at me expectantly as though he hadn't just uttered utter nonsense. My mouth must have gone up and down like a grumpy bass but no words would come out. Finally he sighed and slowly repeated himself, again. "Jason..." Okay, my name. I understood that. "Have you and Christie..." Clearly my wife's name. "Have you two discussed joining our swinger's group? Kathy said she would talk to Christie about joining, to get her opinion." See, right there! After the words "and Christie". Gibberish. Hecks! & Shucks! There it goes again..... "Whaa whaa, whaa Whaa whaa Whaawhaa wha." I was now panicking that maybe I was having a stroke. Gollydammit! I'm too young to have to go to a nursing home and be fed babyfood with a plastic spoon. Hmmm, maybe I would luck out and get me a big-titted darkie nurse who'd be willing to breastfeed me. More likely, I'd wind up with some gay Filipino caretaker who'd insist on giving me a rectal exam twice a day. That rat bastard wants to make my pooperhole an insie when all my life I have faithfully cherished it as an outsie. He can dang well forget receiving a Christmas tip from me! Hah....them old Hawaiians sure had those darnblasted Filipino's pegged right! Trying to pop my anal cherry, would he!! Now George was obviously getting exasperated with my sudden medical condition. The son-of-a-beeswax should be on his cell phone calling 911 for an emergency medivac and instead he's waiting expectantly for me to respond with some sort of coherent akweeeseunce, akwesonce, acqueesense. Hey! Youse donna lick meye spulling? Wehl flatulate youseshelfs! Youd'n hall duh udder anonymousie fuggets woo whyne hagenst te righters on dis sight! An'a flieing figgaroa to hall de illiterated progroommers four spiltczech! Thus ist ME storie end aye'll missspell eny dam whey eye wont. Sew their! I laid my fishing pole down inside our rented skiff before my shaking hands could drop it into the channel. Then I folded my arms over my knees and laid my head down while trying to remember how to inhale. Oh, Thank The Lord! Finally I managed to swallow some air past the taste of bile in my throat. My third wife Christie {I'm her fourth husband} and I, Jason McTavish, had retired last year, here to Flora City, Florida. I thought we were becoming good neighbors and maybe eventually good friends with George Saunders and his wife Kathy. We live a couple of houses apart on the same cul-de-sac off of Flowerscent Avenue by Florabundance Park. In the Floramora Village Association development. Speaking of which, ain't there some sort of association regulation against group sex? Hockey Pucks! You shoulda seen all the blastdammit paperwork I had to get signed off on to be allowed to put a screen door on the front of our house. It took two months, going through four applications before the last was deemed acceptable. In addition to having to attend three committee meetings to plead our case. Meanwhile tolerating monthly inspections before receiving final approval. And then, to top it all off, we were only permitted two specific choices in model and color of screen door. One of which is no longer manufactured! I've seen less regulation at nuclear power plants! "Jason. Earth to Jason..." I think this stranger/alien/pod-person, pretending to be my neighbor George, was finally losing patience with my stuporfication. "Come on, buddy. You and Christie have had to at least discussed the subject of sex with other people at some time in your marriage. Jesus H! Neither one of you were virgins in this century!" Obviously there has been a failure to communicate here. Christie and I had both suffered through excruciatingly painful histories of multiple infidelities by our former spouses. Christie, with her bimbo deceased husband. And me, with both my slut ex-wives. May all their diseased sex organs decay and fall off! And poison the drinking water used by their rotten shyster rat-lawyers!! This was one of the important subjects she and I had thoroughly discussed when it became apparent to the both of us that our friendship was becoming a relationship. We talked a lot for that year, fourteen months actually, before we got up the courage to marry one another. And we both verbiously decreed that as for sex outside our coupling, the answer is not no. The only correct answer is, HELL NO!! I am certain that we have discussed this on numerous occasions with both George and Kathy and the rest of our new neighbors............ ...........I could be positive that it is possible that we previously may have said something negative about this subject.............. ...........I might be comfortable with asserting that we've probably mentioned our strong objections to the concept at least once or twice.............. ................I assume? I finally snapped. "George..." I intoned in a baritone growl. Where the heck did that come from? I've always sung tenor in my church choir. I leaned forward to make dammit sure he could not only clearly hear me but read my snarling lips "George...If you...or any other...oversexed, overeager, overblown asswipe ever...EVER! Make a pass at Christie! Try to seduce MY wife!......" I took a deep gulping breath, let it out with a slow whistle, then continued "Go out to the Sheriff's shooting range. Put yourself in front of the targets and practice dodging the bullets!" George was leaning back, obviously stricken by the vehemence of my words. Or at least to avoid the spittle I was projecting. Every exclamation 'point' got a blink out of his astonished face. "Cause if you ain't fast enough to evade those sorry ass klanner peckerwood inbreds hanging out there everyday guzzling 'shine and shooting up paper and butt-packing each other behind the outhouse." I guess now in shock, his face got paler then white. "Sure as the Fiery Pit!....NONE of YOU!........are fast enough!.............to outrun MY bullets!" I kept my eyes locked on his, through a very quiet silence. Even the metaphorical falling pin was not heard from. Rhetorically speaking of course. Finally, wide-eyed, he did a slight nod with his head. So, I leaned back and deliberately turned my head aside while I picked up my rod and made sure the line wasn't tangled by the whirly-gig rig I was using. Then I made a nice cast across the mass of water-grass to where I knew there was a deep hole eroding into the embankment. I figured the fish would be hiding there from the high noon heat. Turned out to be a good choice, as in the next thirty minutes I pulled out two good size poppa bass. They each weighed in at about eight pounds, gutted and iced. Gonna get some mighty fine, lip smackin' eating off of those! As I had discovered the hard way at the end of my second marriage, Divorce Courts refuse to enforce Pre-Nuptial agreements. That slut gold-digger got away with a lot more then she was ever justly entitled to. I thought my lawyers were good, turned out her's were better. To be sure, I now have a whole new set of lawyers on retainer. And this time, None of them are relatives! Among the important subjects Christie and I were discussing included pre-nups. Actually Christie brought it up first. Her children had been rather insistent since she was bringing a substantially larger fortune to the table then I was. My ex-slut-wives, had each taken away a sizable chunk of my wealth and property. Her daughter and son were surprised but Christie wasn't, by how agreeable I was to protecting her estate. She had faith in my good intentions, as we had become closer, she understood my motivations a lot better then her adult children could. And it was Christie who had researched and discovered about LIMPITs. A Lifetime Invested Marriage Partnership Insurance Trust. A binding contractual agreement for a respectable percentage of each spouse's estate, that penalizes failure of the marriage and severely penalizes proven adultery. We each deposited, a half-million dollars, into an insured escrow trust account to be held by a major insurance firm. The Lifetime Invested Marriage Partnership Insurance Trust, would be our self-insurance against infidelity. We each agreed to pay for half the cost of our house up front. Then, we would split in half monthly bills such as utilities, property maintenance, taxes, insurance, Association fees and assessments, groceries, cable and other miscellania. Each month, from our separate Savings Accounts, would be deposited an equal sum into our Joint Checking/Debit Card Account to cover these household expenses. Exceptions are personal expenses, such as our cellphones, our automobiles and personal insurance. Also, all our personal bank accounts, credit cards, retirement funds, investment portfolios, etc; are kept completely separate. This may not seem very 'spousal' to you, but to us it was imperative too protect each of our families interests. We are adults and we deliberately sought to avoid getting emotional over our personal business affairs. We each keep what we keep and we each share what we share. Sorry if this does not agree with Your ideal of marriage. With Our trust issues, we firmly believe that this is working very well for us as a married couple. Upon her passing, the remainder of Christie's wealth and personal property would be equally divided by her son and daughter, or in case of their prior demise their descendants. Plus, they are the beneficiary's of her insurance policies. Upon my passing, the remainder of my fortune and personal property would be equally divided by my two nieces and a nephew and any other children my brother and sister may have or in case of their prior demise their descendants. Plus, they are the beneficiary's of my insurance policies. If either partner dies while we are still married, the cash escrow bond in trust + interest/dividends earned portion of the LIMPIT is divided equally and returned to each estate for distribution as set by our wills. The surviving spouse receives the deceased's interest in the house. If Mr. & Mrs. McTavish should choose to divorce for irreconcilable differences. The two parties would only receive one half of the half-million dollars we had each deposited into the cash escrow bond in trust. The remaining half +all interest/dividends earned by the LIMPIT would be donated to charity. It is contractually obligated, that the house be vacated by both parties and sold. We would each only receive the return of what we each had invested in the house. Any deficit would be split equally between us. Any profit would be donated to charity. Thus encouraging compromise and conciliation and marital stability. If irrefutable evidence {physical, such as but not limited to photos, video recordings, voice recordings, and/or DNA} of infidelity is proven against one of the spouses. The injured party receives the entire cash bond in trust + interest/dividends earned from the LIMPIT without any recompense for the other party. In addition, the Injured Party will receive sole possession of the family home. The Offending Party is contractually required to move out, that is a signed, witnessed and notarized codicil to the deed. Except for possible, Court Ordered exceptions such as, requiring a division between the two parties of any, if any profit from a Court Mandated forced sale of their house. In this case, due to tax laws that would penalize the receiver of a gift, the house is technically not part of the LIMPIT. The Injured Party may retain residency until death or permanently vacating the house, unless otherwise dictated by Court Order. Then the home is to be sold and whatever profit if any is to be divided equally unless otherwise set by Court Order. Losing any part of the LIMPIT still retains all rights for the remainder to be awarded to the injured spouse as compensation for the other spouse committing proven infidelity. My niece mischievously asked me. "What happens if Christie gets pissed enough at you to shoot you? Like she did her previous husband!" I laughed and replied. "Due to legal constraints we could not include that issue in either the Trust or the Deed. It would be considered against the public good, against public policy. Just remember, we each have our own personal fortune's, held separate and inviolate from the other. If I was going to do anything with premeditation, that I thought would make Christie angry enough to shoot me. I intend, toot sweet, to be on the other side of the planet when I telephone her and try to explain. And then, on the off chance. Duck!" Christie and her third husband Ned. Time after time, she had caught him screwing around with other women. The second to the last time she caught him in the dirty deed, he slapped her around and made it clear that as his wife, she was his property to abuse as he saw fit. She brooded over the asshole adding injury to insult and determined she wasn't going to take any more of his steershit. The other woman at that time had ran off back to her own husband, who had taken advantage of her drunken panic to have her committed to a psychiatric hospital so he could continue with his own sexual escapades. Unimpeded by the presence of an inconvenient wife. The last time Christie caught Ned screwing another woman, for crying out loud, it was their housemaid! What a bad cliche. She threatened that she was going to take a lover just so she could get some of the affection and loving and safe sex that Ned was denying her. He went all Neanderthal on her, shouting that she was his property and would have to shut the fuck up! And accept his manly philandering. When she demanded a divorce, again he tried to hit her but this day he had made the classical blunder of bringing a fist to a cast iron skillet fight. The housemaid, frightened by the confrontation had grabbed Ned's cellphone off the nightstand and was fumbling trying to call 911. Instead, she accidentally videoed Ned attacking Christie and her cast iron retaliation upon his outrage at his wife's disrespect of his masculine privilege. When Ned punched at her, she swung up the skillet and he shattered several knuckles of his right hand against the heavy cast iron. I gathered he'd been drinking heavily and failed to notice Christie was holding her chosen implement of chastisement behind her skirt. Which she then proceeded to wheal it all over his sorry ass, literally. He was crouched down of the floor yelling, clutching his smashed hand, with his fat ass stuck up in the air. Christie got several good spanks in on his naked butt with the frying pan. For which of course she was arrested for spousal assault. The film the maid had inadvertently recorded of this event went viral on the internet, and is especially popular among women viewers. Go figure. Eventually the overworked judicial system let her off with a hefty fine, time served and a few hundred hours of community service. A couple of months later at his lawyers office, as the divorce settlement was being worked out, Ned pulled a gun and attempted to shoot Christie. Precipitantly, he clumsily got off one shot into the bookcase behind her. The half-dozen or so tall, masculine Attorney's-at-Law-Esq. pile-drived themselves under the table for cover to save their manly asses. An experienced Girl Scout, Christie had come prepared with a .32 Bulldog revolver in her large handbag. Turns out, she was a better shot then her swiftly expired husband. With calm grace she stood her ground, as he fired again shredding another volume of Blackstone. With cool determination, she returned his fire and drilled him right between his beady little eyes. As you can imagine, His attorneys were very upset that they no longer had a client to bill for their services to be rendered! The Mortician was very upset that he never did get that astonished look off the decedent's face for the open casket viewing. The coroner's jury declared her nonchargeable for committing self-defense. Several churches chastised the Happy Widow for her lack of submission to her divinely appointed husband and the sanctity of wifely obedience as defined by never married, self-proclaimed celibate theologians. A thousand years ago........ They have forgotten the modern proverb "God made Man, Mr. Samuel Colt made Men Equal." That's Gospel! Since the divorce was not finalized and his will and insurance, having never been updated, still listed Christie as sole beneficiary. She eventually wound up inheriting the late, unlamented decomposing's estate to add to what she had inherited from her own family. Whatever the lawyers didn't manage to hoover up first. Naturally. She always said dividing the spousal inheritance she received from Ned's estate, by the years she had to endured with that infidelis. Was the equivalent to the interest earned from an uninsured savings account at a failed savings and loan. The widow Christie was working as Regional Manager and my sister Marion, was her Assistant RM. They became good friends and socialized a lot. At this time I was rebuilding my businesses, gutted in my second divorce. What little free time I had, I devoted to spending with my sister and brother's families, as I had never fathered any children that I know of. Considering the sluts I had been married too, I'd guess it was good fortune for the gene pool that neither bitch bred. Hooray! For low sperm count! Christie and I found ourselves thrown together at numerous McTavish family get togethers. Christie began inviting me to her own family, the FitzRoy's get togethers with her adult children and grand-children. Slowly, timidly, we built a friendship into a relationship. Affection developed into love. Together, we were able to overcome the lingering pains of our former marriages. We became a true partnership. With the LIMPIT, we may not have a conventional marriage but the constant threat of giving away a half-million dollars plus interest and dividends earned. Is a great encouragement for us to focus on our relationship and our partnership. And, if we fail, with an amicable parting, no one will be able to say we did not give this marriage our total effort! Simultaneously, benefiting some great charities. Huh, I wonder? Would they be praying for us? For our marital success, or.........? Today, while George and I were off pestering fish. Kathy Saunders came over to try to convince my wife to convince me that we should join their swingers club. Christie got out the scrapbook she had put together, of news-clippings, police reports, photos, legal transcripts, etc; about the end of her previous marriage. Making it perfectly clear, that my wife would react with precipitous violence to any attempt, by any other woman, trying to enjoy my five and three-quarter inches of heart pounding strange. Also, my wife proudly pointed out the glass case containing the medallions and trophies she and I have won over the years at amateur shooting contests. Then Christie took Kathy out to our extra-large garage where, to the side of the parking for her fully restored '68 Chevy El Camino with a rebuild of the original V6 engine, my Dodge Diesel 4x4 crew cab truck and our Buick SedanLSX, is a small workshop setup. I Love the Smell of Gunpowder in the Morning There, while describing the end of her first marriage and the pre-nuptial discussions we'd had about expected and mutually acceptable behavior. Christie broke down her two pistols and gave them a thorough cleaning right in front of Kathy's dumbfounded gaze. Unfortunately, considering the sentimental value it had acquired for her, Christie never got back her old reliable .32 caliber Bulldog revolver from the police. To replace it, she rewarded herself with a restored 1921 blued-steel, 8-round clip, Colt 1903 Pocket Hammerless .32ACP semi-automatic pistol. Her hands are small enough to comfortably control the small grip. I've always admired the design but my hands are too large to get a comfortable and stable hold during the recoil. As my gift to my beloved spouse upon our second wedding anniversary. I gave Christie a Hammerli's 208s series, 8-round magazine, .22LR semi-automatic target pistol. I, half-jokingly, told her as she greedily fondled it. While she was crooning something about "My Precious". "If I ever did anything to disappoint her moral standards. If I ever was disloyal to her. If I ever betrayed our marriage vows. That she had my permission to use this pistol to shoot me." She looked at me thoughtfully during my pledge. Then graciously nodded with a heart warming smile upon her pretty face and promised me that she would make good on my offer. If, in her opinion, circumstances should ever warrant. I may want to reconsider my offer......d'Yah think? When I used to patronize bars with colleagues and customers, there'd always be some drunk going on and on about how evil women are. Bitches never seem to appreciate how handsome and dashing they are, how brave their masculinity, how strong their swivel chair tested muscles are, how vigorously voluminous their virility, how clever their humorous jesting, how brilliant their paternalist wisdom. Especially after this self-proclaimed Man of Wonder has consumed a quart or two of alcohol. For some reason I never fathomed, they spend a lot of time whining about 'Once a Cheater. Always a Cheater!' ..................and my thoughts responded Once a Loser. Always a Loser! Then I found out, I was one of those sadsack losers......twice! Twice bitten, thrice shy? And that brings my twisting thoughts back to my third wife, my beloved Christy. Once a Husband Shooter.......Always a Husband Shooter? I wonder how many of her husbands Christie could get away with shooting? Shall we start a betting pool? Last man running collects? Where the hades do these crazy thoughts come from? The garage was where George and I found our Loving Wives when we returned from today's abbreviated fishing trip. Hmmm, well I'm happy to have refused that hook! It was amusing to watch George and Kathy scurry away, muttering an urgent bye-your-leave. Christie came up to give me a hug and I put my arm possessively around her waist. We could see the both of them whispering frantically at one another before rushing into their home, as we waved with our free hands. I idly wondered if George would remember to retrieve his bait can and cooler with his catch out of the back of his SUV. He'd left it parked in his driveway. Another hot, sunny Florida afternoon and it won't take long for them to cook into a stinking mess. Oh well, I snorted. Goes to show how stupid the big head is when it leaves the little head in charge of the thinking. I put my bait can in our garage ref/freezer and took the cooler with both my eight pound bass around to the sink in the garden shed. After I got them cleaned and filleted, Christie took them to our fancy BBQ setup to do her cooking magic. I hosed everything down and poured all the scraps and water across the garden where I used a hoe to mix it with some fresh dirt. Makes a great natural fertilizer. Of course, most every night the garden is visited by one nocturnal prowler or another attracted by regular applications of nature's own oderous. We can see them while we are wearing the night-vision goggles I had swapped for, with an old friend who wanted my antique odyllic detector to add to his collection. The goggles were some of the souvenirs he had saved from when he flew [redacted] helicopters, for the DOD [redacted] Section [redacted] during the [redacted] crisis in [redacted] with NATO [redacted] Order [redacted] by SecDiv [redacted]. Per Official USG Dept. [redacted] Advisory, Under DOJ Directive [redacted], by [redacted] HS Office of [redacted] and counter-authorized by [redacted], so ordered by HUAC Secrets Act [redacted]. Christie uses a low powered, lever-action pellet air-gun to discourage and chase off the cats and skunks. They are rather noisy in expressing their indignation at her plinking their haunches into getting along back over the fence. I have my semi-automatic high-pressure gas-powered pellet-gun for the coons and possums. They are mighty good eating! And I gotta a guy who pays me for the skins. As a kid, I had run a trapline to earn the money to buy my first truck, so I know how to handle a skinning knife. After carefully scrubbing my hands, I went in to take a shower and change my clothes. I came out to find that Christie has plates of grilled bass filets with sides of multi-colored fried, sliced garden tomatoes and her famous peppery-bacon dressed six-bean salad ready for us. With a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade to wash it all down with. Holding hands we bowed our heads for a short, silent grace. Then we sat down for our dinner. As we ate this delicious meal and casually chatted, I looked across at my loving wife. She blushed at my gaze then smiled happily back at me. I was thinking how blessed our lives are now. And happy, that as a spousal team we had firmly slapped down any seductively devilish whisper of betraying our marriage vows. Christie must have shared my thinking as she drolled "I'm guessing we'll have to be looking around for a better quality of friends?" With a sad look on my face, I nodded agreement "Yep Sweetie, you're right about that. We can't help being neighbors and I would hope that all us can remain publicly friendly or at least courteous." She bit her lower lip, then pensively pointed out "We'll have to be cautious to not be alone with them, in circumstances that could be misconstrued." I had put down my fork and with my elbows on the table, clasping my hands right under my chin, I mused "I am disappointed that the people on this street have been so standoffish. It would have been nice to have friends living conveniently close-bye." Christie put her fork down, wiped her napkin across her lips and with her other hand reached across and took one of mine. A serious look to my wife's visage, alerted me to listen carefully. "You know Love, I have been wondering about that..." Quirking an eyebrow I asked "What do you mean?" "Well, uhmm, think about it, Jason. Remember that George and Kathy were about the first people to introduce themselves as we were moving in." I nodded, she continued "And then they had us over to their place several times that first couple of weeks. I suspect the other neighbors are deliberately avoiding us, thinking we were already part of those two's swinging set?" Gollydammit! That would explain the reluctance of the rest of the neighborhood to associate with us. An angry flush to my face matched Christies glower of humiliation. "Jumpingjacks, Lovey. I think you are right. Others must have been approached before and everybody must be wondering if we're also perverts. Now what are we going to do?" She squeezed my hand and with a shrewd tone, she suggested "Last Sunday at Church Services, I remember there was a notice in the Ladies Auxiliary bulletin. Asking for volunteers to help out with setting up next Memorial Day's Observation and the Church member's picnic to follow. I think it will be at the Flowering Park Veteran's Cemetery on the other side of the Church rear parking lot." "Good thinking, Christie! That would give us the opportunity to meet new people who haven't yet heard the tarnish to our reputations." "Better yet, Honey. I noticed that at least a couple of our neighbors attend the same church we want to join. The Smith's, across from us and I think the Washington's, on the corner?" I nodded to encourage her to continue expounding upon her thinking. "Next Sunday we will sign up to volunteer. When Services let out, we should approach both the Smith's and the Washington's directly and ask for pointers about assisting at the Church." My face must have reflected that this was sounding good to me. She plunged on with "Let them feel that they could mentor us and help steer us away from the Saunders. That would quickly put scotch to any wild gossip on this street about the McTavish's being swingers." I stood up and pulled her to her feet and gave her a big old bear hug and twirl as I chuckled "Thank God I married a genius! You are so smart, Darling. You're right, gaining their friendship would have the rest of the neighborhood a bit more friendly towards us." Sunday Schooled Late that Sunday morning, after Church Services, Christie walked over to the Washington's who were conversing with another couple. While I made a beeline for the Smith's who were just walking away from talking to the Assistant Pastor. Not wishing to intrude on a personal conversation, Christie stopped a few steps short and waited to be noticed. The other couple with the Washington's remarked that they had to go collect their daughter, she taught Sunday School for the younger children. As they pulled away, they nodded politely to Christie who nodded back before stepping forward and introducing herself to the remaining couple. The Washington's were courteous, if cautious, they let her explain "Good morning, I am Christie McTavish. My husband Jason and I have begun attending services at this wonderful Church since we moved to this area a few weeks ago. We bought the house inside the cul-de-sac, I believe your home is on the corner?" "I am Olivia and this is my husband Ernest Washington. Yes, we do have the house on that corner. We are happy to see you applying to this Church, this is a wonderful congregation and Pastor Cornerstone is so inspirational!" "Yes, her sermon today, on the contemporary relevancy of Paul's Letters to the Corinthians. Should encourage all of us to reflect upon the moral concessions we each make to maintain our relations with the society around us. How can we fulfill our obligation to be Observing Christian's, bearing true witness on behalf of our Faith, to those around us who do not have a personal relationship with Christ." From the look on their faces, the Washington's were mildly astonished and impressed that this seemingly average housewife could so clearly digest and simply explain such a complex message. Meanwhile, across the milling crowd of worshippers enjoying the after-service ambience, I was introducing myself to the Smiths, Thomas and Jenny (for Genevieve). Together with the Washington's and the Smiths, we strolled out to the parking lot. Ernest looked at his wife then at Thomas who looked at his wife, then he asked if we would care to join them at brunch. We beamed our acceptance and followed their cars several blocks over to the Floral Mall and parked near them inside the parking structure. Together, we all walked to Pappy Pat's Palatial Pancake Palace. We were fortunate that there was only a short wait for a table. The ladies of course took the opportunity to go refresh themselves enmass. While we men gave a quick run down on our professional lives. Our ladies returned cheerily chattering about their grandchildren. We all placed our orders and the conversation covered some of the volunteer work the other two couples do through the Church. Finally there was a lull. That was when Mrs. Washington looked at Mrs. Smith, who nodded a silent agreement. Turning to Christie, Olivia bluntly asked "Did the Saunders try to sound you out about wife-swapping?" Christie looked at both women and with equal bluntness replied "Yes, they did. And, NO! We Did Not!" We three men just sat there, looking embarrassed at the emotional release of this confrontation and contributed by staying silent except for loudly slurping at our coffees. Uttering a chorus of sighs of relief when the waitresses brought us our orders. We all took hands and bowed our heads in a short grace of thanksgiving by Ernest for good food with good friends. I added "And with good intentions!" which sentiment we all agreeably amened. Then we dug in with hearty appetites. After the first rush of hunger was off and we began to talk and eat in a more leisurely manner. I think it was Thomas who asked about how we handled the Saunders. Ernest snorted and muttered darkly "Those two have no shame and wouldn't take a hint!" Our three ladies all expressed their agreement and distaste at facing those two profligates. Christie allowed me to reply "Yes, I know what you mean. We were totally clueless right up until they came right out and openly asked us to join their little coven." Everyone chuckled at my choice of words. As I went on, I barely noted that Mrs. Smith was sharply gazing at Christie, as if Jenny was trying to remember something. "Christie and I have both had terrible experiences with our former spouses. As we had previously agreed, our mutual response to such a provocation was brinkmanship. Flat out let them both know, that both of us were off limits and together, we will violently respond to any attempt to breech our breeches!" That provoked laughter except for Jenny, whose eyes got large and waving a fork across the table in the direction of my wife, excitedly blurted out "You're the 'Frying Pan Lady'! The one on YouTube smacking your husband with a frying pan! I knew I'd seen you before!" Christie, mortified at being thought a celebrity, blushed so red I thought she was about to combust. As an excited murmur ran around the table, I hastily jumped in to correct the missedimpression "Whoa Nelly! Back that wagon up! Not Her Husband. Her EX-husband! Not me! The preceding deceased husband. The one she shot. She hasn't had to shoot me. Yet. Hopefully, never!" Still excited at being at the table of a semi-celebrity, Jenny insisted "But didn't he try to kill her first?" Christie decided that she better take control of this conversation before she wound up having to give autographs to all the women in the restaurant and face the glowering glares of all the men. "The frying pan incident occurred when I caught him in our home! In our bed! In our maid!" She got an angry look on her face as she grumbled "He didn't understand how difficult it is to find good help, these days. When I chastised him for his incorrigibly incorrect behavior, he tried to punch me. One, Last, Time." The other women shook their heads in sympathy at the sad news of losing a decent housekeeper because some idiot man couldn't keep it in his pants! "Instead, he punched the cast iron and then I delivered a few good smacks of chastisement to his fundamentals! That's the part most people see on the YouTube clip. It was a couple of months later, when we met with both sets of attorneys to work out our divorce settlement, that he tried to shoot me." Finally, to all of our rapt attention, she drolled "He missed, twice. I didn't, once. Justifiable homicide, case closed!" The women listening loudly applauded, all of us men responded with slightly less enthusiasm. The ones preferring not to sleep on the couch were careful to avoid expressing an honest masculine opinion. But, we were all thinking, Real hard! We need to get out to the Shooting Range and get in some practice. And perhaps, get rid of all cast iron cookery! Ridden Hard & Put Away Wet One of the nice things about being retired is that fun activities can be enjoyed during the week when the venues are less crowded. One can enjoy the amusements without feeling rushed or getting stuck in a long queue. One of the McTavish's favorite entertainments was their membership at the Reserved Equerry Ranch. The opportunity to shift their membership to this Ranch from the one back home, was one of the major incentives for their move to Central Florida. Jason and Christie preferred to go and spend one or two nights from Wednesday thru Friday morning. The mounts needed Monday and Tuesday to rest from the heavy usage they endured during the weekend. And the McTavish's always left by noon Friday, before the more obnoxious members began to arrive and started drinking and carrying on like fools. Plus the advantage of driving against the heavy end-of-the-week traffic on their return to Floramora Village. From the freeway, I exited onto Flank Road and stopped at the service station to fill up. This way, when we leave Friday, we won't have to contend with the busiest day of the week. From Flank Road, we turned onto Private Circle, then Dead End Drive. Halfway to the end, we enter the accessing S driveway. Christie tapped the transponder for me, causing the first gate to swing up. I drove ten yards forward into the outer postern, as the first gate swung down behind us. Stopping by the post with the card reader, I swiped our card through and waited a half-minute until the CCTV had made a positive ID of our faces. Then the Snap gate ahead of us, descended into the ground allowing our car to roll forward into the inner postern. Then rising back up behind us. We stopped again beside the guard-shack, as I pressed the button to pop the trunk lid. There were two guards and a dog, some sort of large shepherd mix I think. The first guard politely greeted us by name as he scanned for electronic devices. Then he accepted our mobile phones and the little digital camera I always keep in the glove compartment, into the shielded bag he held out. We would pick those up as we leave at the Exit postern guardpost, Friday. The second guard, with the dog, walked around our Buick. Checking for anyone trying to sneak in and for contraband such as drugs. Some members are so competitive that there has been suspicion they dope their mounts for the races. Never could understand such stupidity! Then the inner Snap gate descended and we rolled past the outer buildings into an underground parking garage. Helicopters and other aircraft are generally not encouraged but once in a while air traffic gets diverted over us but all that is visible are some obviously agricultural buildings and residential wings and the Manège is roofed with sail panels. Geez! your thinking. Heck of a lot of security for a Dude Ranch. This is a very private association of like-minded enthusiasts. Some very wealthy and very powerful and very recognizable people are members and they all share a fetish for privacy. They would become very petulant if the public ever learned of their attending such an exclusive and privileged club. As I had said, there are races and other competitions for big stakes. Including high-stakes card games, cutthroat bocce tournaments and vicious badminton matches. A number of our fellow members enjoy having somewhere they can let their hair down, so to speak. Get wild and crazy and get their groove on, without it winding up on the news or YouTube. Those people are why Christie and I choose not to visit through the weekends. The Ranch becomes a lot more boisterous and promiscuous then either of us care to participate in. And for the biggest gambling of them all. Out for a stroll, enjoying a cool evening for a change. While Christie was having a chat up with some old girlfriends we ran into at the dinner service. I myself inadvertently recognized a couple of notoriously hostile-in-public CEO's walking around a deserted part of the grounds and with their heads close together, quietly talking. Discretion being an important part of the services I render my good customers, I faded and took a different walkway. I Love the Smell of Gunpowder in the Morning I remember this was just a few days before there were screaming headlines that their biggest competitor had crashed insolvent due to the usual Senior Management malfeasance in collusion with incompetent Bankers and corrupt Brokers. Into a multi-billion dollar bankruptcy and to be forcibly broken-up. Followed with rumors hinting that those two conversationalist's conglomerates are picking up the pieces they each wanted at fire-sale prices without bidding against one another. You believe in coincidences? Heck and shucks, neither do I! But then I'd just be speculating. And I don't get paid to guess. Financially, I hardly qualify for membership in such an elite demarcate but fortuitously one of my businesses publicly produces customized computer systems and a few semi-popular online games. As a cover for discreetly manufacturing unique security systems and writing specialized security programs. These functions gained me admittance to our old Ranch and I was grandfathered in when we applied here to the new Ranch. It didn't hurt that Christie's grandfather had been a founding member of the National Equerry Association when the previous organization had collapsed amidst a series of notorious gambling rigging scandals during the 1960's. Christie always kept a reservation in for the stallion Spade, whom she loved to ride. While I always reserved my favorite, the filly Chocolate Darling, I'm a sulky driver. After our morning exercises, the grooms took Spade and Chocolate Darling back to the stables to be cooled down and rested. Christie and I strolled across the Manège and along the inner fence enclosing the paddock. Approaching where the Head Trainer was telling a couple of his assistants what he wants them to work on with the teams for the pair of sulkies now circling the track in a pickup race. They left and he turned to us and cracked a rare smile. The grizzled Ol'Trainer spat some tobaccy juice over his shoulder, then turned his craggy head to face us again and said in an admiring tone. "McTavish, you two are about the best amateurs, I've had the pleasure to observe in at least twenty years! If you ever want to go professional? Put together a stable and you could do the National or Hell! Even the International Circuit." Christie blushed and shyly shook her head. With a glance at her expected response, I looked backed at the Ol'Trainer, responding with an amused tone "Thank you, coming from you that is quite a complement. But no, we just do this for the pleasure of it as a couple. Such as when we go shooting or to car shows, we are a team. Not for trophies or plaques anymore, together just for the fun of it. We don't need our egos stroked or have to display the most snobbish status symbols. Been there, done that, have a nice collection of the t-shirts. Now we just want to relax and enjoy our golden years." The Ol'Trainer spat another splat of chaw as he thought, then answered "I'd say I envy you two! Your equanimity towards living your own lives as you choose and your strong love for one another. Mighty rare! Especially among all the egotists this sporting life usually draws. You two stand out brightly in your modesty!" After that splendorous compliment, we continued our leisurely stroll across the track after the trotting pair of racers passed. We went onto the Patio and had a light luncheon before returning to our room and taking a refreshing nap. I would guess maybe an hour later I woke up to find Christie gently stroking my erection. She smiled at me, I grinned back with a murmur of gratitude. I then gently pulled on her arm for her to crawl over me and present her neatly trimmed vulva to my onomatopotential. Vigorously I applied my tongue and horizontal to gastronomic carousing with her clitoris and vertical. While stroking and squeezing her legs and buttocks with enthusiastic prestidigitation as she babbles incoherent peals of lust. I could feel her body convulsing with orgasmic splendor as squealing, she let out little squirts of paraurethral aqua vitae with each pulsation of pleasure. Finally, sobbing that she couldn't take any more, she pulled away and laid down on top of me to cuddle. I could feel her shake as aftershocks reverberated across her body. I could hear her whispering "Jason, Jason." I dunno why, Christie at this point always cries and sobs a little. She claims it is her overwhelming sense of gratitude for sharing my love with her. Considering the selfish asshole she was previously married to before, that sounds reasonable to me. We laid cuddled, and as the aftereffects of my efforts on her behalf began to fade, my beautiful wife once again began to gently stroke my flagging erection. Slowly, lovingly, running her hand up and down my penis. I laid back, feeling the gathering pleasure throughout my groin. As she meticulously, with metronomic regularity, digitally pleasures my manhood. The hydraulic pressure built to concentrate my consciousness to one focal point of ecstatically blinding eruption as I ejaculated over the pair of us. Christie didn't stop, she continued her exertions on my part and a second orgasmic burst struck me, then a third! Wow Wee!! Usually I only get a double-your-pleasure out of a handjob to my spear-mint. And here today, my loving wife gifted me with a triple orgasm! Okay, I know, I know! There's some controversy over whether or not these are one spastically repetitive orgasm or actually counts as three separate orgasms. Get the fudge away from me! Just let me enjoy the dangblasted moment, Okay? Jupiter! People argue about the stupidest things...... As she carefully lapped up my spillage with a thoroughly feline skill, her fine hair drifting across my skin with little electrical shocks, my body would tremor with the joy of sharing joy. Then in post-coital bliss we laid, embracing as we dozed on and off for a while. Finally getting up and having a little fun in the shower. Christie giggles "Darling, I just 'loofa' how you do that!" We dressed for our late afternoon exercise. Over at the stables the grooms were harnessing Chocolate Darling into the shafts of my custom built, carbon-fiber sulky. Nearby, I could see other handlers fitting the specialized saddle onto Christie's mount, Spade. Not satisfied with the previous available saddles, Christie herself had designed the New Mount saddle. It has proven popular among professional and amateur riders and is credited with reviving the sport. My wife has licensed out production to a few select manufacturers of proven quality. Her grandfather would have been so proud of her. Like I had said before, we are not interested in competing professionally or showing in amateur contests. We enjoy sporting around with one another and that satisfies us. I methodically double-checked the harness and traces and wheels. If I was careless, it would devastate me that Chocolate Darling could be harmed by my inattention to the details. I could hear Christie behind me talking to Spade as she did her own pre-flight checklist. Then I could hear one of the grooms grunt as he gave my wife a boost up onto the saddle. She ordered him to check the right stirrup and draw it up a little tighter. I was finally satisfied, as one of the grooms held the reins I mounted onto the seat of the little cart. Then he handed me the reins as I was checking my balance and firmly planted my boots, while observing to make sure Chocolate Darling was standing comfortably between the shafts. I looked over to Christie, she smiled back at me, tapped her crop to the brim of her Gaucho hat in a salute, then made a clicking noise with her tongue and a nudge with her heels to start Spade in a steady walk forward onto the track. I just snapped my whip into the air and Chocolate Darling obediently followed behind, she is well use to our routine by now. There were three more riders on the track, youngsters still learning how to handle their steppers as their instructor rode alongside encouraging them. Then in the left lanes, a couple of sulky's raced by, neck to neck with the drivers vigorously whipping their trotters on, with a couple of more close behind. One was a double harness with a matched pair of pacers. Not trusting the racers, I kept Chocolate Darling reined in and a couple of steps to the outside to shield Christie if the jerks got carelessly close. As we pulled up into line behind the kids in the right lane along the rail. Their instructor dropped back a length, twisted in her saddle to look behind all of us to see if it was safe to pass. I knew she was an experienced hand and trusted her judgement, so when she waved for us to pass on the outside, I did not hesitate to follow Christie as she swung out and speeded up. After we got a few lengths ahead, my wife swung back in to the lane along the railing and again I followed. Still a couple of paces outside to protect her. Of course, if one of those morons did get closer then I am comfortable with, my fists are going to have a few words of wisdom to impart to their faces. I don't care how entitled they are! Social Registry and other snobbish celebrations of Charles Adams level inbreeding get nothing but contempt from me. I busted my posterior escaping from the stench of a turkey farm to achieving recognized, meritorious status in the business community with my smarts and my hard work. And you should hear Christie go about ripping on such pretentious nonsense. She comes from provable Anglo-Norman and Burgundian aristocracy via the Mayflower and DAR. Heck, if truth be told, she probably has the pedigree to claim half the thrones of Europe, if she ever wanted to be stuck with that load of swillage. Though come to think of it, if we had met when I was a younger man, it could of been fun. Conquering and pillaging our way across Europe to assert Her Divine Right of Majesty. Yeeks! I gotta stop daydreaming and start paying attention! Chocolate had pulled up alongside Spade and they were both trotting along in tandem at a good clip. I'll bet they had a smug look in their eyes! Speaking of said ocular jocularity, Christie looked down at me with a bemused quirk of her eye. Embarrassed, I just shrugged my shoulders and took a quick look around to make sure we were clear of traffic. That's when my chronometer started dinging, it was time to pull in. I raised my hand and twisted my arm so Christie could see I was indicating my watch. She let us pull ahead and at the next turn I steered into the turnout to the stables. The grooms hustled over to give us a hand dismounting and then leading our mounts into the stables to remove their gear. Christie was talking to the head-groom, giving strict instructions about what she expected the handlers to do. Making it clear she expects Spade and Chocolate Darling to be carefully groomed and tended too and rested tonight, ready for our use in the morning. See what I mean, She has this unconscious arrogance of true nobility and the guy is practically bowing and kowtowing at her feet in subservience. I try that and I'd probably get a pitchfork up my nose! Christie turned and strode over to me and affectionately took my arm. As we walked through the stables, we could hear a drill in one of the other barns. Curious we peeked in. There were a some new Pony Recruits being put through their paces. A half-dozen women and two men. We cast a critical eye over their nude forms. Hmmmm, nice! A pair of twin Oriental women, from their height and well-developed breasts I'd say Mongol or Manchurian stock. One of the men, a big bruiser, probably Scot or German, was restive and recalcitrant. Several trainers had to grab onto his reins to bring him under control. At least they were smart enough to have him hobbled, fore and aft. I could hear Christy draw in her breath in an appreciative hiss. She always enjoyed breaking in the wild stallions. I smiled down at her fondly and suggested "Shall we go find the Ol'Trainer and put in a requisition for time with Blondie?" With a giggle, she blushed and looked away but gave a little nod to indicate she would like that very, very much. We set off circling the small training arena and at the other barn door we found him going over clipboards of forms with a subordinate. He looked up and seeing us approached slapped his board into the clerk's hands then waving her away as he turned to face us with a big, shit-eating grin on his face "Yep. So you just saw Jock, did you?" Christie nodded her head vigorously and with a greedy voice replied "He's a gorgeous stallion!" The Ol'Trainer agreed "Once he's broken in, he'll be real popular with the expert riders. I'm even considering training him to be a jumper." My wife's eyes went round and pupils dilated in near ecstasy "I've never ridden a jumper before. Good ones are so rare." A spit of chaw and the Ol'Trainer agreed "Yep, it takes a real athlete to make a good jumper. And the owners in the know expect a fortune for one. I already have you on tomorrows schedule to break him into the saddle. After your morning ride with Spade. And no one else knows that I'm considering him for jumper training. You might check with the Bursar and see what his debt would cost you. If I remember correctly, he got in over his head to a bookie syndicate and they just want what he owes and what he cost them. When he accidentally won a rugby match he was suppose to throw." He hesitated for a moment then warily eyed about that no one was close by as he leaned his head forward and in a confidential tone of voice "You two have enjoyed Spade and Chocolate Darling. Well their Debt Contracts are almost paid off, plenty of thanks to you two and your generous tips." His eyes, evaded ours for a second in obvious embarrassment, he knew how we felt about such matters "Pity the Syndicate would never sell them but, well, they were a popular pair on the weekends. I know you'll miss them but I think you should consider purchasing Jock as a replacement. For your own private stable. If I'm going to turn him into a jumper, he won't last long, physically, if any of the weekenders can demand him." Foe a moment he considered, he must know we refuse to have sexual relations with the stock but he was uncertain of how our personal dynamics would work out with new mounts. So he plunged in "McTavish, you noticed the Mongol Twins? Avyas and Sugar? Perhaps you might want to take up driving your own matched team?" Confused I blurted out "Sugar?" He laughed "Yeah we all react that way the first time. If I got it straight, Avyas means 'talented' in Mongolian, and Sugar means 'Venus'! As in the planet Venus." While my mind was still trying to digest that, Christie piped in with a wicked grin "Sweet!" We all had to laugh at that.