Please don't expect a literary masterpiece. This is just a simple fictionalised recap of our most recent erm... 'event'. On the Eastern coast of Australia, the two major NRL states, Queensland and New South Wales have a yearly, three game battle called the State of Origin. In this series, players have to play for the state in which they were first selected to play NRL. It is a glorious excuse to drink excessively, scream obscenities at the television and wear blue for NSW or maroon for QLD.
My story includes gloryhole sex, some elements of incest and drug use. If those are not your things, then I apologies for any time you've wasted. Our couple's therapist encourages me to write these accounts. She doesn't read them, but insists the act of ordering my thoughts into a story helps sort emotions and identify areas where she may be able to help. So, enjoy. Hubby and I sure did.
The day before, I'm a mess of nerves. It's the same every time and hubby thinks it's very funny.
"You'll love it. You do this every time and then it's all I hear about for days. Besides, no pressure. Totally up to you."
He's a sweety but he's not going to get in a little room and suck all those cocks.
I am.
He took me to collect firewood thinking it might engage me and stop me overthinking. It was a great idea. We have a bar under the house these days and there is a little pot belly stove down there to warm the place up so the wood is kind of necessary and the active afternoon enjoyable.
"How many coming?" I asked as I throw another piece of fallen ironbark in the ute.
He waggled his eyebrows at me in reply. "As many as you like, my queen."
"Haha. How many, dickhead?"
"Seven or eight. Stu doesn't know if he can make it. Oh, not including your folk."
"Mum was keen."
"That she was."
"What time will they get here?"
"Dad said they'd leave around lunch time so maybe four o'clock. Your mum can help with prep and take a bit of the weight off you."
"Hardly anything left to do. All the meat and salads are ready. I just need you to put the little camp fridge in the playroom so I can put a few fizzy things in it for Mum and I."
The playroom... (Insert naughty giggle.) My friend Trish and her husband Doug introduced the concept to us years ago. Since then, we have made the tree-change to a small property three and a half hours inland from Brisbane. We still keep in contact with them but don't see them very often.
So, when we bought this old Queenslander house, one of the first projects Paul took on was building in a playroom for us. It's kind of an extension off the side of the downstairs bathroom. For whatever reason, the house has a fully appointed upstairs bathroom and s a smaller shower and toilet in a room downstairs where Paul built his bar. Our neighbour said one afternoon when visiting that this place used to be an old piggery and it was commonplace to have somewhere away from the house proper to clean up before going upstairs.
The reason Paul put the playroom next to the toilet was simple.
A gloryhole.
Just for me.
The playroom is accessed from outside the built-in downstairs and the toilet has a door opening into the bar area. We've since furnished the little room with some creature comforts like a little sink to wash hands etc and a small pantry to store toys, lubes, condoms and that sort of thing. The major feature of the room is a six-inch diameter hole in the sturdy chipboard panel that separates the toilet and the playroom.
It has a sliding panel that can be removed on the playroom side and a family photograph proudly hung, albeit at a strange height, that hides the hole from neighbours and visitors. This Sunday night will be our first opportunity to break in the new extension. This Sunday night Paul has invited his colleagues at the mill over for a boy's only State of Origin party, purportedly to christen his new bar.
I've met most of his mates from the mill over the last three months but not all of them. For the most part, they are ordinary, hard-working labourer types ranging in age from eighteen with a couple of men who are probably Dad's age. They are cheeky sods who are quick with a naughty but friendly flirt whenever I drop in to visit Paul.
Our kids are in their teens now and rolled their eyes at the thought of a work party. Jaden eighteen, has taken the opportunity to spend the weekend at his girlfriend's place and his younger sister Ebony sixteen, is staying with neighbours. The closest neighbours have a daughter in her class at high school and horses, so it was a natural solution for her. She loves horses. The promise that we'd consider getting one for her was the only way to sweeten her towards the move to the country.
We stacked the firewood in the box near the little potbelly and I watched as Paul dragged the camping fridge out the door and around the side to the playroom door. I've found some nice little bar fridges in town that we'll eventually install in there but there are no power points in there yet. Some led twelve-volt lights and the little fridge will run off the deep cycle battery we take camping. The little portaloo sits at one end of the space as well so fizzy drinks can be recycled if needed.
As a last-minute addition, I get my work laptop and take it downstairs to set up. Eventually we'll install security cameras to record things like Trish and Doug do, but for now I try and position the little lappy so that it can record the action.
"Oh! Great idea, babe. See..." He grabs me around the waist and squeezes a giggle out of me. "This is why I love you. Stress less lady. Come on, come and have a couple of beers while I get the barby set up."
His kiss is all heat and tongue and the sort of kiss that promises a lot more a little later on.
I watch him as he assembles the new barbecue. He's a good-looking man still. He's kept fit, actually got fitter since leaving the office and starting work out here in the mill. His arms are my favourite feature. He's not huge but they are big and strong and a constant promise of protection and warmth to me. There's a little fleck or two of grey above his ears these days but at least he still has all his hair. I love him.
The hardest thing to organise for tonight was the decoy. In Brisbane we just rang one of the hundreds of stripper agencies but out here those didn't exist. Thankfully, Mum was able to find one from Brisbane who was prepared to travel so long as accommodation was supplied in a nearby town for the evening. She cost us a cool thousand dollars, but when Paul told the fellas about her, they all chipped in a hundred.
So, it was boys only tomorrow night.
By sunset, the butterflies in my tummy were starting to turn into emus and my sweet man could tell.
