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Left to her own devices, Cassie makes some poor decisions, frightening Sue and causing Tom to lower the boom. Tom's new schedule for Cassie, including her getting a job, leaves her little time to get herself in trouble - yet she still manages.
“Cassie Jane, where are you?” I heard Tom call. Oh dear, it never bode well for me when he used my middle name.
“Tom,” I called to him from the attic, “I’m up here, honey.”
Tom came to the top of the stairs. “I’ve searched this whole house for you. What are you doing up here?”
“I just finished unpacking and I was putting the bags away.”
“You shouldn’t be carrying those heavy bags up here, I’d have gotten them.”
“Oh hush,” I told him. “I’m not too old to carry some empty suitcases. But once I got here I began looking at a few of our old treasures and lost track of time. Did you need me for something?”
“No, but when I couldn’t find you I was beginning to worry you’d run off and left me.”
I reached up to give him a kiss. “Not likely.” I laughed and we headed downstairs.
I’d been leafing through old pictures and I smiled at the memories. Leave Tom? Of all the worries we may have had over the years, the idea of one of us leaving the other had never been one of them. Tom and I had been married for more than thirty years. He was my world and I knew he felt the same about me. When I thought back over my life, I knew I wouldn’t be alive today if I’d never met Tom.
I’d been married once before, at my father’s insistence, to a man with whom he wanted to do business. I know that sounds crazy now, but I really didn’t have a choice. The man was violent and abusive and I was so young, barely twenty when we married. Five years into the marriage he died of a heart attack. Through what I’m sure he would have felt was poor planning on his part, having not expected to die in his forties, he left his entire estate to me. I realized I was free � free from my uncaring parents, free of an abusive husband, and free to live anyway I chose.
My choice at the time was to dive into life, often without checking the depth of the pool. I lived in the best hotels, ate the finest foods, and drank the most expensive wines. I shopped, traveled, and partied with the best of them. To be completely honest, I also slept around a good bit and, according to my two best friends, hooked up with the most horrible men I could find.
Although I thought I was enjoying myself at the time, I have no doubt that had I continued that lifestyle it would have killed me � or some of the men I picked up would have done the job.
Tom was not one of my pick-ups; Tom found me. And through the grace of God alone, he fell in love with me. We married less than three months after we met. Tom’s cocoon of love has surrounded and protected me ever since. But my man is an old-fashioned man. Before we married he explained his ideas of marriage: He was the head of the family and I, as his wife, needed to calm down and let him take care of me. I only had to act like a lady at all times and keep myself safe.
I knew Tom led an orderly, disciplined life. But I admit at that time I wasn’t completely aware just how “disciplined” my life was going to be. We certainly had some rocky times, especially at first, but our love has grown deeper each day. Although I suppose not all our rocky times were so long ago.
A few weeks ago, I confessed to Tom that I’d been writing an online blog about our marriage. I had met some lovely people, but Tom only saw them as “strangers” and he expressed his displeasure so thoroughly, I was sitting sensitively for days. But with much explanation and by letting Tom read all I’d written, I was able to persuade him to let me keep writing.
Coming home from our trip yesterday, I found the most impressive birthday present in the driveway � a beautiful BMW convertible. I’d been begging for a little sports car for years. “The Toy”, as Tom dubbed it, is perfect. I know you shouldn’t go to church to show off, but that’s where I’m taking my sleek, sexy looking toy tomorrow. I’m ready to show her to the world.
Coming downstairs, Tom said, “There isn’t much to eat here. Where would you like to go for dinner?”
I really didn’t feel like dressing and going out. I opened the French doors onto the veranda. “Let’s enjoy being home. It’s just cool enough to have a fire out here and we can order pizza.”
It was a perfect evening. We sat together in the big porch swing eating pizza, sipping wine and watching the fire. Then again, any evening with Tom is perfect.
I loved my little car, but unfortunately my cute little “toy” soon got me in a little trouble.
We took her to church Sunday morning and stayed for the lunch that the church held after services. After we ate, I helped clean the kitchen. Well, I’m not sure just how much I helped, but I enjoyed visiting and I could at least put things away. As we were finishing up, my friend Lucy told me, “Cassie, you better leave those things and come rescue Tom. They’re at him again.”
I peeked out into the fellowship hall to see Tom surrounded by women, as usual. Most were widows or grass widows, as we called the divorcees. When I was not with him, they clustered around him like flies. Most of the time they backed off when I was around.
I turned to Lucy, laughing. “The boy is just going to have to fend for himself for a bit longer. I’m almost done.”
We were finished within another ten minutes. I stepped out and stood near the kitchen door, quietly watching Tom. I knew he’d be looking for me and sure enough, in just a moment, he spotted me, and I got that look that’s mine alone. His face lit up as if he were spotting the most beautiful woman in the world. At my age, and not exactly being the looker I’d been in the past, it warmed my heart.
Lucy spotted the look, too. “Goodness, Cassie,” she said as she sighed, “do you know what I’d give if my husband looked at me that way?”
I gave her a quick smile as I saw Tom excuse himself from the ladies and head my way.
“You ready, girl?”
“I am. Just let me get my purse.” I hurried off, but before I could get back to him, they were on him again. The women wanted his advice on finances, legal matters, whether or not to move to a smaller house� the list went on and on. I didn’t know why I let it get to me sometimes. I wasn’t jealous. I truly didn’t expect Tom to come to me one day and say, “It’s been great, Cassie, but I’m leaving you for another woman. Have a nice life.” But sometimes the situation just bugged the fool out of me.
We finally made it to the parking lot. “Tom, let me drive. It’s my car.” I rarely drove when Tom was with me. He grinned, knowing I just wanted to do a little showing off. I backed out carefully and pulled up to a group of friends. Those in the youth group loved it and I got many compliments from others; not that I liked being the center of attention or anything.
I was just getting ready to pull out, when one of the old biddies in Tom’s fan club called out, “Oh wait, Tom honey, I just wanted to ask you one mor�” I didn’t hear the rest because I floored it and burned rubber out of there. I didn’t really mean to. I just thought it was time to leave. I’m sure once I’m completely familiar with the car I’ll be able to avoid those jack-rabbit starts. I nearly laughed at Tom’s look of shock and exasperation as I swung out of the drive way and onto the road. . I thought he might have been fussing a bit, but it was so hard to hear with the top down.
I rushed into the house as we arrived home, and was halfway up the stairs when I heard, “Come back here, Cassie, I want to talk with you.”
“Back in a sec, honey,” I called down to him. I just had to get out of that uncomfortable dress and heels, and slip in to some shorts. However, in hindsight, perhaps I shouldn’t have been in such a rush to remove my clothes right at that moment. I came from the closet, wearing only my bra and panties, I saw Tom. He leaned casually on the doorframe, viewing me with arched eyebrows and a stern look, although I could sense amusement just behind that formidable expression.
I gave him my sweetest, most innocent smile as I quickly picked up the shorts I’d laid on the bed. “Uh-uh,” Tom said, coming over and taking them from my hand. “You won’t need those for a minute.”
“What did I do?” I asked, still trying for an innocent look.
“Well, let me tell you. You behaved rudely to Mrs. Evens when she tried to speak to me. And squealing tires out of the church parking lot is most unladylike.”
“What about her?” I realized I might as well give up my innocent act. “How polite and ladylike is it to spend so much time trying to steal the attention of another woman’s husband?”
“I don’t believe her actions are particularly ladylike, either, but her behavior doesn’t concern me. Yours does.” Opening his bedside table, he pulled out the leather paddle I’d picked up a few months earlier on a, perhaps ill-advised, shopping trip to an adult store with my friends.
Tom sat on the bed and, with a gentle tug and a small sigh of resignation on my part, I found myself across his lap. With my torso on the bed, my head rested comfortably on the pillow. Other parts of my anatomy, I knew, would soon be less than comfortable.
Tapping me gently with the paddle, he told me, “Acting like a lady isn’t optional. You act like a lady always and you’ll always be treated like one.” With that he took off with the paddle, spanking thoroughly and making me wonder for the hundredth time why I’d ever bought the darn thing.
After a short pause to let the sting settle in, he pulled down my panties and started once more. He wasn’t really mad, and he certainly wasn’t harsh. Eventually I told him firmly, “Enough, enough, Tom!”
He paused again and rubbed the paddle in circles against my pink cheeks. “Whom did I marry?” he asked in a mock firm voice.
“You married me,” I answered sweetly.
“And who did I come home with?” he continued.
“You came home with me.”
“And who has my complete, undivided attention now?” came his final question.
“I do! Owwww,” I had to add as he sent a half dozen hard spanks right to my sit-spot.
Putting down the paddle, Tom began rubbing my backside. “Trust me, girl, there’s not another woman in the world that could hold my attention like you do.”
Oh, my romantic devil. We spent the better part of the afternoon there in the bedroom and I certainly did not want for attention. Lying there afterwards, I thought of the “ladies” who wanted Tom’s notice so badly. As wonderful as my afternoon turned out, I supposed I couldn’t begrudge them a bit of conversation with Tom.
I started to leave the bed when Tom pulled me back to him. “One more thing: I don’t want to see or hear about anymore tire squealing or speeding. And you better especially mind your manners at church. If I find out you’ve been squealing those tires again, you’ll find out just what that new paddle can do. You listen now, girl.”
I listened; I didn’t want to give Mrs. Evens or any of the rest of them the satisfaction of knowing they bugged me. And I wouldn’t be squealing tires anymore, either, especially since it wasn’t good for the car. But, oh my, it did feel good at the time.
It seemed that I had just convinced Tom to let me keep writing my blog, when an accident put my writing off-limits once again. I fell on slippery leaves outside the other day. I come close to knocking myself out, and did manage to scare Tom nearly to death. He told me I lost consciousness. I thought I was just a bit addled.
I lay there with my eyes closed. Tom’s voice seemed far away as I heard, “Cassie, Cassie, talk to me honey. Can you hear me?”
I knew I needed to answer and I tried to nod, but that caused my head to throb in a sickening way. When I put my hand up to feel what I might have done to my head I realized my hand hurt even more than my head did.
“You be still, I’m calling 911.” I heard Tom insist.
“Stop. I don’t need an ambulance.” I winced again as I moved my hand. “I think I’m fine, but my hand hurts. You can drive me, honey, I don’t need lights and sirens.”
“What happened?” I opened my eyes again to see Ryan, our lawn boy, kneeling on my other side. Sweet Ryan treated me as a surrogate grandmother. “Miss Cassie, your head’s bleeding.”
“I’d forgotten my head, and reaching for it again caused the same pain in my hand.
“Stay with her Ryan, I’m going to get the car.”
“I can drive you, Tom. Let me, and you can sit in the back with Miss Cassie.”
Tom handed Ryan his keys. “That’ll work, son.”
Ryan pulled the car as close as he could. “Try to sit up.” Tom told me maneuvering me gently into a sitting position. After a minute, Tom on one side and Ryan on the other, they stood me up and began slowly walking me to the car. It was a bit of overkill � I could walk fine � but I who was I to complain about two good-looking men fussing over me?
The emergency room took forever, and it wasn’t even crowded. I rolled through the whole hospital it seemed as they first did x-rays and other scans. Hours later, assured I’d knocked nothing important loose I was released. I had a minor concussion and a broken hand. I just broke one tiny bone, but the bandage they had it wrapped in seemed as large as a boxing glove. Tom hated the way it looked. He loved my hands. I didn’t know what it was with him, but I’d been in trouble more than once for doing something that could damage my hands.
Ryan waited all that time and drove us home. I felt sheer exhaustion and didn’t complain much when Tom helped me get ready for bed. He brought me a light supper and insisted on feeding me.
“Honey,” I said with a laugh, “I’m fine. You don’t have to baby me.”
“Too bad.” He smiled. “I like pampering you and this gives me an excellent reason.”
“I just feel so stupid,” I told him. “And of course it had to be my mouse hand. I’m slow enough typing with two fingers and now I’m down to one. It’s not fair.”
“You’re not typing at all for a while,” Tom said firmly. As I opened my mouth to protest, he went on, “I know you. If you start typing, you’ll have your right hand in there trying to use that mouse and you’ll hurt it more. Your blogging days are on hold until that hand heals. You hear me, girl?”
I heard him all right; didn’t mean I agreed, but I heard him. Exhaustion kept me from arguing that night, but I knew I wouldn’t abandon my blogging friends for too long.
Having a broken hand certainly caused me problems, but I was happy it did come with some perks. I had many visitors, including neighbors and ladies from the church. There was a ton of food in the house, because everyone brought something. “Cassie, we know you can’t cook with a broken hand,” was the general consensus. They also politely ignored the fact that if I had four hands, I still couldn’t cook a lick. Regardless, since the accident, we were well-fed.
Ryan brought me flowers and came to visit with me every day. I’d steal that sweet boy if I could.
My niece came to visit, too. Poor thing, she paid a price for keeping up with me. She was married to my nephew, Donald � who wouldn’t even acknowledge that I existed. I don’t come from the most loving family. The last time I saw my parents, we were at my first husband’s funeral. When I made it clear I would not be handing his money over to them to manage, they cut off all contact with me. My lifestyle for the next five years gave them ample ammunition to label me the family black sheep, never again to be mentioned in polite company. My nephew bought into this completely, but his wife made contact and we became friends.
During her visit, I asked if she would type a blog post for me. She knew I had a blog, but not what I blogged about. Thankfully, she wasn’t the nosy type.
I just wanted to let everyone know I’ve had a minor fall, and bumped my head and broke a small bone in my hand. Thankfully Tom didn’t have a heart attack as he watched.
Sad to say, but my mouse hand and one of my two typing fingers is out of commission for a short time. Tom says no blogging, except for this, so I could tell you why you won’t be hearing from me for a while. Of course he says I can’t drive, either. I think there is a conspiracy to keep me from driving. I don’t know why; I have one good hand. But it doesn’t matter that much because Tom is home. Anyway, I can read emails, if anyone wants to communicate. Tom did not say I couldn’t answer them � just no blogging � probably because he didn’t think of it. And, no, he does not read my blog unless I ask him to. Maybe when I get a splint on it I can do a bit more typing. Until then, I’ll be reading to keep up.
Love you all,
I had several commentsfrom friends telling me I was asking for trouble. Nonsense, I only added a line to let them know someone else typed for me. Surely Tom didn’t mean I couldn’t answer an email or two. Well, perhaps he did, but I could get around that little rule.
I soon discovered the best part of having a broken hand was the baths. With the ridiculous bandage on my hand, a shower was impossible. I loved baths, but I had to have help. I’d had a trying day, perhaps too many visitors, my head hurt, my hand hurt, and trying to eat with my left hand was so awkward. Being fed by your loving husband may sound romantic, but only if it’s rare. I found myself in frustrated tears.
Tom helped me to the veranda to watch the sunset. “Will you be all right for a minute, girl? I need to take care of something.”
I’ll admit, it hurt my feeling just a little. I wanted his company. “Fine, whatever,” I said ungraciously.
Tom returned in about fifteen minutes. Helping me to my feet, he said, “Come with me.” Tom led me to the bedroom and silently began undressing me. I hated to protest, but I just wasn’t in the mood. I said nothing and soon I stood before him, nude. With a grin, Tom opened the door into our bathroom.
Oh my stars and garters! Tom must have lit every candle we own. What an amazing sight it was, candles reflecting off the mirrors and even the bubbles of the wonderful bath he’d drawn. My romantic devil eased me down into the water. The scent and the sensation were overwhelming.
“Tom this is incredible. I can’t bel�”
“Shhh� Don’t talk, just relax,” he cooed to me.
I did as he said. I lay my head back on the towel he’d positioned for that purpose and gave in to the luxury of the bath� Oh my, that man knew how to give a bath. He began by massaging my face and neck with his hands as he washed. He gave each and every part of my body his full attention. I felt so peaceful that I feared I would slip right down the drain. Finally helping me stand, he wrapped me in a huge soft towel and dried me silently, and then guided me to the bed. I remember him tucking me in and kissing me softly, but I remembered nothing else until morning. I wanted my hand back in working order, but until then, I was prepared to enjoy the perks.