Amazon at home

Expectations in marriages have changed a lot over the years, especially since the women emancipation movement in the seventies. As they have progressed towards their rightful equity in many fields, men have taken duties traditionally assigned to women, especially at home. As a result, countless young couples don’t know what to expect from each other. They often feel disoriented since they don’t know how to divide responsibilities with their spouses. Gender roles have suffered a major transformation, and are frequently reversed. How’s one supposed to get to an agreement as to who does what and when?

When you get to the not very pleasant issue of housework, arguments and quarrels repeatedly arise.

During the early days of our marriage, I used to work for a law firm. My job was a quite lousy and not a very important one for the company, so, having recently got married, I felt that I really had to work hard in order to get a promotion. That seemed quite to unlikely to happen, as I had not yet graduated from College. I decided to enter back to school as soon as the next admission term was announced. Meanwhile, I tried to impress my supervisor, so I did my best to become the ideal employee. I took double shifts and I even moonlighted in order to make extra money I could put away for my upcoming tuition expenses and to support my wife and eventually our off-springs.

Now, going back to my expectations: what did I assume my wife’s role to be? I knew she would never be the “perfect household” of a TV show of the 50’s. Before we got married, I could notice that her place was always messy. But one tends to overlook those issues when one’s young and particularly when one’s in love. But I certainly supposed she would back my plan and do most of the housework. I was, on the other hand, eager to do my share, and inanely expected her to tell me what it was to be.

Well, reality couldn’t be further removed from my expectations: when I returned home, way after dusk, shattered after up to 16 hour of work, I entered our small department, and what did I find?

The passing of a hurricane wouldn’t be a misplaced metaphor. Dirty cups and dishes from our breakfast were still sitting on the dining table. Her clothes were scattered all over the place, and the leftovers of her lunch, a pizza or a Chinese meal she had ordered, could be found anywhere: in the living in front on the TV set, over the blankets of our undone bed… and she was not even at home.

Once as I entered the apartment, I felt something crushing under my feet: popcorn she had spilled and had not swept or vacuumed. I furiously started to tidy up, waiting for her to come. My anger gave me unexpected energies and I entered into a cleaning frenzy. My anger didn’t diminish with my exertion. On the contrary: as hours passed by, and as I encountered more and more mess, filthy stuff hidden under the bed, my favorite suit on lying on the floor, coffee stains on the couch, my irritation grew even bigger than before.

She finally showed up, displaying a beautiful smile on her face as she came in leaving marks on the floor with a pair of muddy boots and wearing dirty leather trousers:

“Hey! Look what I’ve got!”, she shouted, and before I could reply, she flung me over to the elevator, leaving the apartment door open.

She entered the house wearing a pair of dirty leather slacks and muddy boots.

I made a sketch from what I can recall. Sandy has changed a lot over the years (look who's talking!). She is now a body-builder and her shoulders have grown broader, but I still find her very feminine when she's in a dress. What really turns me on, though, are still her leather pants and her muddy motorcycle-riding boots

“I knew you were coming in late, so I went out with the boys”, she explained, adding jealousy to my distress. But the beauty of her smile and the glow in her mischievous green eyes finally melted all my anger away, all I could muster was “Look, sweetie, there’s something I’d like us to talk about”
“Later, later”, she interrupted, “now look!”, she said as the elevator door opened at the underground level:… there it was, all covered with mud, a second hand motorcycle.

“Want a ride?”
“No darling, not really, I’m so tired… besides I had to clean up and…”
“Oh, c’mon! Be a good sport”, she said, as she dragged over me to the vehicle, “Look, you wear the helmet”
“But we left the door open”
“Nothing’s gonna happen”, she said as she turned on the engine.

As she rode at high speed in the middle of the night, I had the weirdest feeling. I sensed that she was in command, while I was there, sitting behind her, clinging to her waist, sort of kidnapped by this beautiful Amazon, who could take me anywhere she wanted in her filthy motorcycle. I could feel the texture of her leather pants rubbing my crotch. I felt I would come at any moment.

“Hold on!”, she yelled, and there we were, leaping in the air I couldn’t say how. We landed with a violent bump
“We’re gonna kill ourselves!”
“Sure!”, she laughed, “we all are!”

We ended up somewhere in the countryside. I really had no idea were we could be: the night was dark and I couldn’t see a thing, sitting there in the back seat wearing her helmet, her hair blown over my face by the wind.

“Here we are”, she said, “this used to be my sanctuary back then when I was in High School”
In the dimness it gave the impression of a large abandoned barn.
“Come on in”, she said with a mock gesture of politeness.
I couldn’t see a thing, but I felt her hands. She hand taken her gloves off, and was unbuttoning my shirt.
“But, look, it’s cold, and I have to work tomorrow…”
“Today”, she pointed out.
“Today?”
“Yes, it’ll be dawn I a few hours”
“It’s chilly” I protested, as she laid me over a bunch of hay.
“I know”, she said, while unzipping her own jacket
“L.. l… leave your trousers on”
“Of course”, she said as she mounted me, sucking up my erect penis through the flies of her trousers, a conquering female warrior claiming her prey.

That day I didn't go to the office... there was so much housework to be done.