Wednesday, May 3, 2017

May Day Dance of the Rising Dong

Dear 1950s Wife,

People in other parts of the country can expect warm weather this time of year but here in the frosty upper Midwest there's no guarantee. So I was especially pleased with blue skies and sunny temps we enjoyed for our town's May Day festival this weekend.

Among the many activities is crowning May Day Queen: a senior girl from our local high school who exhibits best mix of beauty, brains, and citizenship.

This year's queen more than met the criteria: head cheerleader; salutatorian of her class with an intended major of home economics at State University (she actually posted the highest GPA but our school board members are a traditional lot and maintain the long-standing rule that the high school valedictorian be male); and participation in several civic-minded organizations, including president of the school's Student Virgins Society and treasurer of Future Republican Women Homemakers club.

How grand the queen looked in her ankle-length gown with minimal d├ęcolletage designed by our town's popular dressmaker, Christian Couture, with tiara on top. The crowds along Main Street for the May Day parade cheered with joy as the queen passed on her float accompanied by a military escort of young men from the high school ROTC program and girls in her court: fellow cheerleaders as well as the student honored with school yearbook senior superlative of "Jolliest Fat Girl."

After the parade, the crowd gathered by the town square gazebo to hear speeches by local dignitaries followed by an excellent barbecue lunch prepared by the high school's Culinary and Future Pig Meat Producers of America clubs.

Then at night mutual dances: one for farmers and townies at the local firehall where cider flowed and polka music played and a country club gala for our community's doctors, lawyers, agribusiness executives and their wives with music provided by our town's nationally recognized barbershop quartet, "The Mellow Fellows."*

But, as exciting as Saturday's festival activities are, they still can't can't top the Sunday afternoon ceremony featuring myself and my fellow submissive wives and our husbands: the May Day Dance of the Rising Dong.

As soon as we returned from church, my husband and I changed into our workout clothes and drove to the dance site at a field just outside town where temporary bleachers were erected.

But we weren't planning to jazzercise. The workout clothes were merely for modesty's sake because once we reached the dance (an adults-only affair) we stripped down to our birthday suits.

Participation in the dance is limited to 21 sets of dominant husbands/submissive wives in the 21-to-39-year-old age bracket. As the 1950s lifestyle is quite popular in our town, selection for the dance is very competitive. A committee of town elders chooses the dancers based on such criteria as church attendance, participation in civic organizations and, of course, looks. The less attractive are certainly entitled to frolic naked in the privacy of their own homes but nobody wants to see a pigeon-chested man and his buttocks-sagging spouse in the buff in public.

The ceremony begins with us couples standing at attention before the bleachers as the crowd rises for a stirring version of The National Anthem sung a capella by The Mellow Fellows barbershop quartet. Then introductory comments by the mayor before he hands our husbands commemorative foot-long paddles with "2017 May Day Dance of the Rising Dong" written on the face of the boards.

Then, to accompaniment of a retired Marine Corp bugler provided by the local VFW Hall, the Mayor commands: "Wives assume the position."

Each husband puts a foot on the first step of the bleachers and places his wife across a bent knee.

"Husbands," the mayor shouts, "Ready. Aim. Fire!"

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Thank you beloved husbands," we wives cry. "May we have more?"

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

We wives repeat our refrain, though this time much sniffling goes with.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

The 21-sets-of-buns-spanking-salute is done.

We wives take a moment to dry our tears, then gambol to the middle of the field where the May Pole lies. At this point the plastic pole lies deflated behind a pair of two-foot rubber balls colored red-white-and-blue.

But as we wives gyrate before the pole accompanied by sexy songs by The Mellow Fellows the pole slowly fills with air till at last it reaches it's ten-foot red-white-and-blue glory with a drawing of our nation's chief executive covering its head.

Twenty-one sets of streamers are attached to the shaft of the pole just underneath its presidential head. Once erect, each wife grabs a streamer and skips around the shaft in the traditional "May Day Dance of the Rising Dong."

After five minutes of dancing, the mayor again shouts "Wives assume the position."

We prostrate ourselves before the pole and our husbands mount us from behind to perform vigorous doggy-style fucking. Once husband-and-wife reach orgasm, the wife rises and throws herself against the balls surrounding the shaft. Eventually enough wives press against the May pole's balls forcing air pressure causing cream inside the pole donated by the local dairy to burst through the top giving us a symbolic semen shower.

Thus the May Day Dance of the Rising Dong is done.

Our town's May Day festival was such a success this year. Though contraception is not forbidden for participants in the dance (our town's Catholic and Protestant clergy agree-to-disagree on the subject, a fine example of our community's  all-get-along attitude), many wives are hoping for a bun-in-the-oven to come from the dance.

I know I am. Counting the days till it's that-time-of-the-month for me and so hoping the red river runs dry.

I so want to be a featured attraction in our town's other big festival, The Great Baby Birthday on the first weekend of February. A little May would be fine but the child would be our first. So we're really hoping for a little Dick.

Good woman:

That sure is a freaky May Day festival. Our town's springtime parade of homes and gardens seems tame by comparison. But to each his own.

*The name "The Mellow Fellows" is used fictitiously.





Tuesday, April 25, 2017

"The Handmaid's Tale": Must See TV for Husbands Who Discipline and Wives Who Obey

Dear 1950s Wife:

My husband forbids me television during the day as he wisely realizes I'm apt to squander valuable time watching soap operas, game shows, "Dr. Phil" and other low-brow fare that's better spent laundering, cleaning and cooking.

And our TV set is reserved for Hubby's use at night and on weekends so he can keep up with his favorite teams and athletes in football, basketball, hockey, baseball, professional wrestling and golf.

Consequently I take little interest in television and am rarely up to speed on the latest TV shows. But my ears couldn't help but perk up when I overheard my gal pals at the gym gabbing about the latest release on Hulu network, "The Handmaid's Tale."

In shocked tones they discussed the show's depiction of a dystopian America where Type-A men rule over subservient women confined to the home. (Females who refuse to abide by the patriarchal rules are afforded career gal status cleaning toxic waste dumps until they die of exposure. And men who're wimps are executed.)

An environmental calamity has rendered nearly all women infertile. The few who aren't must serve as handmaids to dominant men undergoing ritualistic sex while their wives look on in the hopes of producing offspring.


The other infertile women not lucky enough to be married but fortunate not to labor at toxic waste dumps serve as household servants or as "aunts" at prisons used to indoctrinate fertile women for future roles as sex slaves and baby makers. And among the training tools are cattle prods!

Naturally, when I heard the show's description I knew it would be just the sort of wholesome TV fare that my husband would let me watch.

But just to be sure, after I dropped my workout clothes in the laundry machine, showered and changed into my customary evening wear of little black dress, stockings with garter belt and five-inch stilettos, I put an extra splash of vermouth in Hubby's martini and made sure to tongue his balls during his pre-dinner blowjob. And of course I served him his favorite meal of meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy spilling over and apple pie with ice cream for desert. (I dined on a yummy asparagus-and-yogurt casserole.)

After my husband emitted a healthy belch at the end of the meal to let me know how much he enjoys my cooking, I cleared the plates, washed the dishes then walked into the living room where Hubby was enjoying his customary after-dinner brandy and cigar.

I popped the question regarding "The Handmaid's Tale" and was delighted when my husband said yes to watching it. In fact, Hubby was so enthusiastic about the show that he only made me spend 30 minutes rather than the usual hour serving as a footstool as he sat back in his favorite chair with his feet propped up to read the evening paper.

When he was done, my husband folded up the paper and swatted me playfully on the behind before escorting me into his man cave so we could watch "The Handmaid's Tale" on Hulu network via streaming service on the computer.



I must admit I was a bit turned on before Hubby even turned on the computer at being allowed in his man cave for another reason aside from vacuuming the floor and dusting his knickknacks.  I sat in his lap and curled up into his arms as the show began.

The show was interesting from the beginning, though the premise of a future where people's fear of terrorism and desire for law-and-order results in the overthrow of democratic government and the establishment of theocracy could never happen in real life. This is America for Pete's sake!

But as the show got into the training of the fertile handmaids as sex slaves my attention strayed from the plot to how wet I was getting. And when the warder whipped out the cattle prod, I couldn't help but turn myself over Hubby's knees and plead for him to spank my bottom as red as the handmaids' robes.

Which he did. And how!

Afterwards, I dropped to my knees, unzipped Hubby's fly and gave him his second blow job of the night. Then he lifted me up and put me over his shoulders and carried me up to the bedroom. Hubby ordered me to undress and slipped out of his clothes to recharge his batteries and mine by doing nude calisthenics for several minutes. Then he climbed aboard for three hours of bed-shaking sex!

So I didn't get to see the end of the first episode of "The Handmaid's Tale," much less episodes two and three that Hulu has available for viewing.

The rub of it all is, after a short break, the National Hockey League Stanley Cup playoffs resume tonight and Hubby will be preoccupied before the TV nightly maybe till the tournament is done in mid-June.


I so much want to keep up with my gym gal pals' gab about "The Handmaid's Tale" but I don't know much about what takes place. Did you happen to watch the entire three episodes that Hulu has for streaming so far and, if so, can you give me a synopsis?

Good woman:

I'm afraid I can't give you the update you seek. As is your husband's dictum, the television in our house was used only to view sports, specifically our beloved Chicago Barez, Bullz, Hacks and Sax. But thanks to the federal government high-handed ruling some years ago forbidding the use of analog TVs, even that recreation is no longer available. We watch our sports the old-fashioned way: on the radio!

But I googled "The Handmaid's Tale Hulu" and see the show got excellent reviews. I also recommend the novel by Margaret Atwood published in 1985 which I bought several years ago but never got around to reading, as it's supposed to be really good too. I plan to read it soon.

I hope you enjoy rest of "The Handmaids Tale" on Hulu once your husband allows you to watch the remaining episodes.

And take heed, dear readers, of the cautionary tone of "The Handmaid's Tale." Cherish our liberty! God may or may not have blessed America. But the framers of the Constitution certainly did.