Naked Valentine's Day CelebrationbySuperHeroRalph©
This is a Valentine's Day contest story. Please vote.
Husband sabotages wife's Valentine's celebration with his sudden nudism.
Robert listened to his wife, Susan, yapping endlessly about her plans for her Valentine Day celebration. She was like this with every obscure holiday. Every month it seemed they threw a party that cost nearly as much as their daughter's wedding. To him, the only days worthy of a celebratory party were birthdays, Christmas, and possibly New Year's, so long as he wasn't always throwing all the parties and shouldering the all expense. Let someone else throw a party for once.
The only other day worthy of a part was the wedding reception, the day his daughter finally got married and left the nest. One bloodsucking, money drainer in a family was enough. Between his daughter, Katherine, and his wife, Susan, they couldn't spend his money fast enough. No more, Daddy, I need this and Daddy, I have to have that. Now that his daughter is married, she's someone else's pain-in-the-ass worry and financial burden. Good luck to her husband because his daughter is just like her mother, a gold digger.
God forbid he should be able to listen to the news without having to listen to his wife yapping about planning to have another extravagant theme party. Last year he footed the expenses for a Valentine Party, an Earth Day celebration, a Summer Loving party, and a Halloween party, along with a Thanksgiving party, Christmas party, and then a New Year's party. Now, here we go again this year. It's someone else's turn to have a party and invite them as guests. Let them have this year's Valentine's party. He's done with feeding people, while plying them with his alcohol and hoping they don't crash their car on the drive home, kill someone, and then sue him.
God forbid he should be able to keep a thought in his head without having to hear her voice drone on about the same things every day, parties, party planners, caterers, landscapers, and interior decorators. God forbid he should get a good night's sleep without having to awaken in the middle of the night in a sweaty panic thinking about his wife spending every penny he has on new furniture and redecorating. The only time she gives him any peace is when she's out shopping. The only time she stops talking is when he fills her mouth with his cock and he's been doing that more lately, just to shut her up, so that he can hear the quiet.
"I want this Valentine's Day party to be the biggest and the best Valentine's Day party we ever had, Robert," she said with her head up in the clouds. "I found a new caterer and went there yesterday to taste their food and it's all yummy. Dorothy said she'll give me the name of her interior designer, Handsome Homes by Homer."
As far as Robert was concerned, the biggest and the best party translated into the most expensive and extravagant social function. Robert figured, no doubt, that Homer was another homo. With every party, from interior decorators, exterior decorators, landscapers, caterers, wait staff, party planners, and classical musicians playing songs that makes him wish he were dead, Brahms, Beethoven, and Mozart, his house is crawling with homos.
Classical music puts him to sleep. Why can't they play some Beatles, Led Zeppelin, or Pink Floyd? At this point in his life, if his choice is to go to Heaven and hear harp music or go to Hell and listen to the Devil playing Charlie Daniels on his violin, he'd pick Hell. He was tired of having a full house over a holiday. He'd love to spend just one holiday alone, so that he could just chill and relax in front of the television.
He hated working with the last interior designer. He was everywhere changing everything. He even came walking in the bathroom with his assistants, when he was in there on the crapper taking a dump.
"Get the Hell out of here," he yelled.
"Pardon," said the designer.
For him to get any peace at all, he had to move his recliner out to the five car garage. At least, as his birthday gift last year, his wife had Todd do his garage over. It was as nice as his basement. He could live out here, if he had to, which some days he thought about doing, just to get away from her.
When Todd, Odd Todd, he enjoyed calling him, was done decorating, he didn't even recognize his own house. Then, when Odd Todd threw out his collection of porn magazines, that was the last straw. It was worth the fifty thousand dollars he had to pay for punching him in the face. Never is when he wants to see that designer in his house again.
"That's nice, dear," he said tuning her out and squinting to focus to hear the football scores.
"I'm stuck on a band, though. Marsha knows of a trio that has an opening on Valentine's Day, a man on cello, a woman on harp, and a man on piano. Of course, the upright piano we have is much too small. We need to buy a baby grand piano, as our garden room isn't big enough to fit a grand piano and all 150 of our guests," she said looking at him, as if waiting for him to protest.
"See? I have a mind to the budget, Robert. I'm always trying to save you money, whenever I can, and the baby grand pianos are much more affordable that a grand piano," she said smiling and batting her eyelashes, when he looked over at her.
He wondered how long he'd serve in prison for strangling her? In the way she makes him crazy, he could claim temporary insanity. At least his cell would be quiet. He wondered if he could bring his flat screen to jail with him and if they had cable. He'd go mad, if he couldn't watch his football games. Suddenly, he had a vision of duct taping her mouth shut, before taping her to the garage wall, and pulling her off the garage wall, as if she were a handy tool, only when he needed a blowjob.
Gees, I wish she'd take a breath, have a drink, and take a valium. She's been wound up like this over this damn Valentine's Day party, since the day after the New Year's party we just had. She lives to entertain. She lives to spend my money. Doesn't she have any idea what these parties cost?
"That's nice, dear," he said again hoping she was done talking, but knowing she wasn't.
"Oh, and I forgot to tell you. My mother and my sister are coming for an extended stay, perhaps through the summer when..."
He stopped listening when she said her mother and her sister were coming for an extended stay. He just got rid of them last year, when they were here for nearly a year, nine months of mooching. She's got to be kidding. Blonde and busty, if she wasn't so damn beautiful and gave a great blowjob, not to mention that she'd get half of everything he has in the divorce settlement, he'd call his divorce attorney right now and put the paperwork in motion.
He'd do anything to stop her from talking, blah, blah, blah. Shut the fuck up! Maybe she has an ulterior motive. Maybe she's hoping to drive him crazy, so that he'll divorce her. Well, if that's the case, then her secret plan is working.
He was sick of listening to her on how she was going to spend his money. He was tired of coming home to a house full of people, most of these people, he didn't even know or like, for that matter. A pretend model and a wannabe actress, the woman never worked a day in her life. She doesn't know what it is to earn a dollar and he regretted the day he married her. He's been supporting her entire family, extended family, and her down and out friends their whole marriage. Enough! The bank of Robert is closed.
"Oh, and, of course, you'll have to cancel your trip to the Super Bowl in Texas. I'm going to need you here to help run some of the last minute errands that I'll surely have to throw this Valentine's party on such short notice."
"Sorry, Susan, I must be hallucinating and hearing things," he said with an angry laugh. "I actually thought you said that I'd have to cancel my trip to the Super Bowl in Texas. What was that about cancelling my trip to the Super Bowl? Surely, you didn't just say that I'd have to cancel my trip to the Super Bowl, after you just said your mother and your sister are coming here again."
He looked at her with a focused stare, as if his eyes could burn a laser hole through her pea sized brain or as if taking aim on a ten point buck and putting a bullet between the eyes. He envisioned his three favorite 300 plus pound defensive linemen, Big Bubba, Tank, and Mad Dog tackling his wife and holding her down, while the rest of the football team gangbanged her to inject her with enough football spirit and semen to be their number one cheerleader and biggest fan. After living and dying for football, heated by football fever, never again would she want to throw another party.
"The caterer has a conflict with the date, honey."
He hated when she called him honey in that placating tone. Every time she used that tone, it cost him money. He'd rather be burned with hot oil than to listen to her calling him honey in the way she elongates the last syllable, as if it's a bee buzzing before stinging.
"So? Get another caterer."
"I can't, honey," she said it again. "He's the one to have this season and he's already booked for Valentine's Day, which falls on a Monday this year," she said and all he heard was blah, blah, blah. "He's booked all that weekend. The only day he's free that month is Sunday, February 6th, the same day as your stupid, little football game that you go to every year, since forever. So, if you don't mind, just this once, for little old me, if you'd--"
Smiling and batting her eyelashes again, he hated that she thought he was so stupid or so much head over heels in love with her that he'd do whatever she wants, whenever she wanted him to do it, by just batting her eyelashes at him. To him, she was just another dumb blonde, who happened to be his wife. If he could kill his friend for introducing them, he would. If he could change anything, he would have married his sister's girlfriend, Maureen. She was a nice women, who hated parties. Now, he's stuck with Martha Stewart on steroids, who thinks she has an unlimited budget to spend on theme parties.
Robert was so angry that he couldn't even formulate the words. He knew that if he said anything right now and he knew that if he stayed in the house, he'd strangle her to death. He got up from his easy chair, grabbed his car keys, and went out to the garage to go for a drive. Driving his Ferrari 599GTO cleared his head. Driving his Ferrari fast, with the focused tunnel vision that the sensation of speed gave him, erased her voice from his mind. One of the few true enjoyments he had in his life, a place where he could be alone, as she hated driving fast, which explains why his other car is a Bentley Continental GTC Speed, which is nearly as fast as the Ferrari, he felt more relaxed now and more at one with the car than with her.
She especially hated the Ferrari because it was so low and so loud. She had a difficult time talking over the exhaust music.
"What's that, honey, I can't hear you," he said double clutching before burying the gas pedal.
She hated the Ferrari because she had trouble getting in and out of the low car, when wearing a short skirt without flashing her panties to someone in the process. She was such a prude when it came to nudity. The type of women who undresses in the bathroom or stays hidden in her dressing room, she thinks she's fat.
How someone who is 5'8" and a 130 pounds can think she's fat is beyond the scope of his understanding, especially after a plastic surgeon turned her down for liposuction but recommended a psychiatrist, instead. Never had he seen her so angry, when the plastic surgeon refused to give her what she wanted and thought she needed. Determined not to waste her visit, she got another boob job, instead.
For a woman who hires people to cook and clean, the only skill she acquired, before they met is sucking cock, probably because she had so much practice giving blowjobs to talent agents, casting agents, directors, and producers hoping to land a movie roll. Only, she's as stiff reading dialogue, as she is when making love in bed. Too preoccupied with her hair and makeup, while thinking how she can spend his money, even though she's there physically, she's never there mentally in bed with him.
Now that he cleared his mind by driving at a high rate of speed and could think, he got an idea. Instead of going along with her lunacy of having another expensive party, he'd sabotage this one. Why not? Yeah, that's what he'll do. He'll kill two birds with one stone. Sabotage the party and sabotage her mother and sister's visit.
Just as he was tired of her freeloading relatives coming to stay with them for months at a time, he was tired of seeing the same guests eat his food, drink his booze, and never reciprocate by having a party of their own. Never is when anyone invites them. They all wait to see what she's planning next. Then, when she goes through the expense of throwing, yet, another extravagant party, they don't have to waste their money, when she's spending his.
In a word, nudism was his plan. Robert decided that he'd become a nudist. On the very day that Susan's mother, Audrey, appeared, yet again, at the front door with her daughter, Barbara, and all their suitcases for, yet, another extended stay, was, coincidentally, the day that he'd become a nudist.
"Oh, mother, how nice to see you, again," said Susan meeting her mother at the door with a hug and a kiss. "Barbara, how was your trip?" As if they hadn't seen one another in years, she greeted her sister the same way.
"Oh, we're so very tired. We can't wait to get up to our rooms to take a nap. I typed a list of mother's and my special dietary needs," said her sister handing Susan the list. "What time is dinner?"
"Robert! Robert! Come help carry my mother's and my sister's suitcases upstairs," yelled Susan up the stairs.
It had been a long time coming but enough was enough. A man can only take so much. A man's home is his castle and his castle is under siege by her relatives and barrage of party planners, caters, interior designers, and freeloading guests.
Last year, after that interior designer moved his big screen plasma TV to the garage to hang a painting in the living room that nearly cost him as much as the new kitchen that Susan suddenly needed to have, when she doesn't even cook and when they already renovated the whole house five years before, he felt his blood pressure boiling. His frustration necessitated that he buy a fast car, which is when he bought the Ferrari, and then later, the Bentley. For the sake of losing a battle to win the war, this was his line in the sand and the point of demarcation. If she thinks he's going to cancel his Super Bowl for her stupid Valentine's Day party, she's out of his mind.
Football is his life. Every Sunday during football season he has the guys over to watch the games. When there are games on Saturday he invites them over, too. Monday night football is their tradition. They aren't bothering anyone. They're all downstairs in the soundproof home theatre he had especially created for the surround sound of watching football on his 100", three D screen.
Of course, he has the guys over watching baseball games, too, during baseball season, basketball games during basketball season, and hockey games during hockey season. He's such a big sports fan. So what? He's not bothering her in the way she bothers him by spending all of his money.
Ready to help his guests with their luggage, Robert came walking down the main staircase totally naked.
"Robert! Where are your clothes? How dare you embarrass me, my mother, and my sister. Go upstairs this instant and put on your clothes."
"Sorry, Susan, but I can't do that," he said standing on the lower step, as if he was a model on a platform.
"Can't do that?" She put a hand on her hip, tossed her long, blonde hair, and stomped her foot. "Why not? Have you lost your mind?"
"No, I'm totally sane. I've finally come to my senses."
"Then, why, Robert, why this sudden vulgar and perverted exhibition of nudity?"
"There's nothing vulgar and perverted by my nudity. I'm a nudist, Susan," he said putting his hand on his hip. With his testicles hanging and his cock dangling, in his best Captain Morgan pose, he faced forward to make sure that her mother and her sister got a good view of his cock.
"Nudist? You are not a nudist," she said looking at him, as if he was drunk and/or insane. "I'd be first to know if you were a nudist. Now go upstairs this instant and put on your clothes."
"Sorry, Susan, but when I woke up this morning, I realized that I needed to be a nudist. Nudity is my escape, my release valve. There's just something about walking around naked in one's own home that is a freeing experience. Try it for yourself. Won't you join me, Susan? Surely, your mother and your sister will remove their clothes, too, so that we all can be free and naked," he said jumping up and down to make his penis bob up and down and back and forth, while Susan's mother and sister stared at his exposed cock.
"Robert! Really," said Susan turning a bright red from the embarrassment she surely felt by her husband's display of public nudity in front of her mother and her sister.
"C'mon, Audrey and Barbara, join me. Show me your tits. We all should experience the joys of nudity, which is when I had the epiphany that we should have a nude Valentine's Day party. How about that, Susan? A nude Valentine's Day party. Wouldn't you just love to parade around naked in front of all your highbrow friends, while all of your socialite friends were naked, too?"
"Maybe we should find other accommodations, Susan," said her mother.
"Yeah, I really don't want to stay here if Robert is going to walk around with an erection our whole visit," said Barbara.
"Sorry, do I have an erection? I really didn't notice," said Robert looking down and taking his cock in his hand, as if presenting it to his mother-in-law and sister-in-law. "Wow, it is rather big, isn't it, mother?" He looked at Susan's sister with lust, "Don't you think I have a big cock, Barbara?"
"This is preposterous," said her mother. "Come Barbara. We'll find a hotel."
"Mother! Wait! Don't go."
"Sorry, but we can't stay here with him walking around like that," said her mother pointing to Robert's cock, as if he and it were road kill. "It's disgusting. He's disgusting. Please call us a cab. We'll wait outside, if you don't mind," said Susan's mother going out the door, while dragging her suitcases behind her.
"Robert! How dare you? How could you?"
"How could I what? How could I express myself in my own home? I'm sure your guests at the nude Valentine's Day party won't mind seeing me naked because we'll all be naked. A day filled with love, joy, and sex, maybe we'll turn the Valentine's Day party into a giant swingers' orgy. There's usually a lot of gay men. It certainly wouldn't surprise me, if they joined me in my nudity."
"You wouldn't dare," said Susan glaring at her husband.
"Try me," he said reaching down to scratch his balls and reaching around to scratch his ass, before taking his index finger and smelling it."
So, Susan cancelled the Valentine's Day party. She cancelled the caterer, the interior designer, the classical trio of musicians, the party planner, and the order for the baby grand piano.
That weekend, comfortably ensconced downstairs in his home theatre with his best buddies there with him to watch the last few football games of the season, before flying off to Texas to see the Super Bowl, Susan came downstairs to serve refreshments.
"Susan! What the Hell are you doing? Where are your clothes? Go upstairs immediately and dress yourself."
"Sorry, but when I woke up this morning, I realized that I needed to be a nudist. Nudity is my escape, my release valve. There's just something about walking around naked in one's own home that is a freeing experience. Try it for yourself. Won't you join me, Robert? Surely, your friends will remove their clothes, too, so that we all can be free and naked. We all can experience the joys of nudity."