Festive First Time
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Festive Revelries free porn video
"But, Harry, you agreed last year that you would do it."
"I can't remember..."
"Well it's a good job I got you to sign this then, isn't it?"
I picked up the note. My hand was shaking for some reason.
***********************************************************************
I hereby agree that next Christmas, I will be mother
and do everything that Jane does normally; that includes everything.
Signed
Harry/Harriett.
***********************************************************************
"Clear enough Harry?"
"I suppose so. I must have been drunk."
"Well you did have several gins and tonic."
"But will the Mother-in-Law From Hell, play up?"
"Don't worry about her; she knows you dress-sometimes-well, a lot
really- Let's face it, the whole town knows about you after the
"incident."
"Don't talk about 'the incident'. You know it embarrassed me no end and
that picture in the papers..."
"I wouldn't mind, but when you dress, you look prettier than me. The
kids think you look great and remember, the milkman fancies you
something rotten when you open the door in a negligee, I'm quite
jealous."
"Enough, I'll do it."
We went to bed in matching pink satin nighties and were soon asleep in
each others arms.
~*~
It was a cold night and I wakened after a nasty dream to do with a huge
turkey and stuffing.
I got up and looked out of the window. I shivered slightly in my thin
nightie.
The snow lay on the ground, all deep and crisp and even (it made me
think of a pizza, Deep pan, crisp and even!. The moon was shining
brightly, everything looked clean, fresh and bright.
In the little village of Trumphampton there was no noise. It was as
quiet as it ever was at two A.M. on a cold winter's night. For this was
Christmas time: a time of peace and good will to all men, women and
children. A time when you forget all your troubles, let your hair down
and generally go all mushy.
All the carol singers had finished demanding money with menaces, having
gone to their homes to count up the loot dreaming, no doubt, of the next
scam they can think of to dupe a gullible public. They were all asleep
now and I wished I was.
My thoughts kept returning to the note. How could I have agreed to do
the Mother thing this Christmas? I promised myself that I would lay off
the G&Ts in future.
Our household was typical of houses up and down the country. The
children were tucked up in bed dreaming about what presents would be
awaiting them the next morning. We, the parents were sleeping fitfully
and snoringly awaiting the five o'clock wake-up call from children who
usually needed a crowbar to prise them out of their beds. Apart from me
of course, wide awake at two in the morning and worried about whether
the Yorkshire puddings would rise enough to please the mother-In-Law
form Hell.
Our household swells somewhat during the Yuletide season and this year
was no exception. Aunts, Uncles, Brothers and Sisters, black sheep and a
clutch of Grandparents all descend on the house like vultures picking
off a prime leg of gazelle. It is a strange phenomena of the unreal and
unearthly time known as Christmas that during its all too brief period
we talk to and invite into our homes the most incredibly obnoxious and
anti social creatures known to man i.e. the in-laws. My in-laws are
Betty and Jim Dalrymple.
Betty Dalrymple's whole life is devoted to undermining her daughter's
confidence and blaming her for marrying a freak of nature like me; she
did not approve of my cross-dressing and she told everyone who would
listen that it "was not normal and I was silly calling myself Harriett
when in a dress and-" You get the idea.
Jim Dalrymple knows everything about everything and tells everyone about
it. He's seen it, done it, is an expert in it and during a delicate
operation could no doubt give a brain surgeon a few tips about it; if
asked.
I went back to bed and cuddled up to Jane, she was as warm as toast and
after a few minutes I drifted off into a fitful sleep.
And so it came to pass that at five A.M. the kids were awake and, of
course, if they were awake they had to make sure we were.
After little Timmy had bounced on my stomach several times, I got the
message and got up. Jane stayed in bed for a few minutes and then after
being threatened by the family dog who wanted to open her prezzies to,
she reluctantly followed me downstairs.
Christmas in the village was like Christmas everywhere. You got up-at an
ungodly hour-to watch your darling little ones shout with glee as they
tear open presents in just a few frantic seconds that took hours of
painstaking wrapping. They then completely ignore the incredibly
expensive toys from Argos and proceed to play for hours with the gaudy,
crappy and crumpled shrink wrappings they came in. It's the mother of
the household whose lot it is to spend most of the Christmas period in
the kitchen preparing the traditional roast meal and this year was no
exception. The trouble was, the Mother this year was me and I cursed
silently as I surveyed the kitchen and thought about what I had in store
for me today.
Needless to say, I was not a happy bunny. I now realised what Jane went
through at Christmas.
I kind of wished that I hadn't put on a posh frock to cook in. I had on
a nice frilly apron, but I was getting a bit splashed. My long blond wig
was getting in the way and I had to tie it back with a scrunchie and I
just knew without looking that my makeup was a mess. What possessed me
to glam up at this time of the morning?
Seven A.M. and I was yawning. Breakfast was being consumed by the hungry
hoard. I had managed quickly to eat some toast and wash it down with a
cup of tea whilst serving up a full English breakfast to the family. But
somehow I wasn't hungry-just knackered already! I had the rest of the
day to get through yet. I thought that by that time, they would probably
have to collect me in a body bag.
"God," I thought, "if this is what it's like to be the mother of the
family, I'm glad that I'm only a part time girl."
Nine A.M. Whilst being imprisoned in the kitchen, elbow deep in some
cooking or washing chore, I thought dark things about the fact that my
wife, Jane, was sitting down, enjoying herself watching re-runs of
Christmas comedies past on the TV and not lifting a little finger to
help her loving spouse-me! And the kids! Could they make much more
noise? Why, oh why did we give Timmy a bloody drum kit?
Hence there was much muttering and not a little swearing coming from the
kitchen, and would anyone help? No, and if I heard bloody "Jingle Bells"
once more...
Three P.M. and so the meal came to pass, two hours late but I was hardly
an expert and if they didn't like it-tough.
It had taken 48 hours to defrost the turkey and a further fifteen
minutes for me to extract my chapped hand and the still frozen giblets
from the bird's icy rear end, without any bugger to help me. Two tons of
potatoes, carrots, sprouts and other over cooked veggies later, I
stopped and made mental note to see the divorce lawyers as soon as
possible. The place was so steamed up, that it could have been mistaken
for a sauna.
Having spent hours in the kitchen, slaving over a hot stove and cooking
enough food to feed a sizeable third world country, I was absolutely
gobsmacked to find the mountain of food demolished in quick time by the
human equivalent of the locust swarm known as "The Family', but not
without a few hiccups on the way.
After the ritual eating of the turkey, complaints about how cold the
food was and what's happened to Granny's false teeth. It was time for
the Christmas pudding. Promises of money hidden within the gooey mass
ensured the complete silence of everyone but Granny who was gummily
complaining that she can't eat Christmas pudding without her gnashers.
She spent the next ten minutes searching the congealing gravy on her
plate in vain for signs of her false teeth.
While all this excitement was going on little Timmy had found a 5p piece
and of course promptly swallowed it, causing a minor stomach upheaval on
to the tablecloth and the triumphant retrieval of the valued coin.
And so the meal continued: I will pass over the painful reading of the
silly jokes in the crackers and the unfortunate incident involving the
emission of methane by one of the adults who should have known better.
Suffice to say the meal finally ground to a halt under the weight of all
the food consumed.
Half past four:
It was then a time beloved by one and all adults. They sat around the TV
watching Miracle On 34th Street. The fact that the film had been on the
box a dozen times makes not a jot of difference, as immediately the TV
was switched on, everyone over the age of 30 went into an alcoholic
slumber. This left the kids to go and squabble over each others" toys.
After running down batteries and failing that, smashing toys, the little
darlings went outside in the dark and attempted to break their necks
riding their shiny new bikes which were of course two sizes to big for
them. The garden was flood lit so the adults could keep an eye on them,
though it appeared that parental responsibility was in short supply as I
was the only person to keep going out and checking up on things.
I, of course was excluded from any thoughts of siesta because as soon as
the dinner was finished and I had to single handedly polished off the
mountain known as the washing-up, I had to also start preparing what is
to some of the family the highlight of the day, "The Tea'.
And so it was now half past six
I had, several times, vainly asked for help but everyone had strangely
gone deaf. I shrugged my shoulders wearily in resignation and slunk back
to the kitchen.
Mountains of sandwiches had been prepared, with all manner of fillings
from anchovy to yellow pickle with a bit of cheese. There were things-
on-a-stick, cocktail sausages, pork pies, dips, chicken nuggets etc....
Christmas cake, lovingly made by Jane the previous January was taken out
of mothballs and iced with hands shaking from fatigue and the after
effects of too many sherries.
After everything was sliced, spread cut up and laid out I went over to
the only chair left unoccupied, the one with broken springs and sank
into it. At this stage I couldn't care less. I had had enough. The
family, although still engorged from the ritualistic feeding frenzy of
dinner, still managed to find room to pack more into their complaining
and dyspeptic stomachs.
They devoured the various offerings with the gusto and zeal of the truly
greedy and glutinous.
I was too tired and sick of the sight of food to eat and just slumbered
in a sort of semi-coma like state, oblivious to the eating, belching and
in the case of Granddad, unfortunately smelly gasses emanating from deep
within his posterior region.
Jane just looked blissfully happy that, for once, she wasn't the one to
have to do everything at Christmas. She told me later in a fit of guilt
that she thought several times that she felt a bit sorry for me, my
pretty dress, cream coloured originally, but now peppered with the
detritus of the various Christmas meals; but she held back, remembering
all the times she had been in the same position as I was now in.
It was now eight P.M.
The younger children were now getting rather tired, having arisen well
before the crack of dawn and had now reached that charming state known
in the parenting world as "playing up'.
Young Timmy started the ball rolling by pulling little Tracy's pigtail
so hard that she screamed loudly and dropped her ice cream down Auntie
Daisy's neck.
Cousin Robert, not to be outdone by Timmy, threw his jelly at Bobby. His
aim however was not too good and the quivering mass landed on the face
of Mother-In-Law Dalrymple, leaving her for once speechless. All the
children started crying and shouting at once, each blaming each other
for the atrocities that had occurred.
After a few judicial slaps followed by the blatant bribery of chocolate
they eventually agreed to be good.
A strange peace fell on our household, the only noise being little Bobby
throwing up in the aspidistra plant pot and Timmy eating the contents of
his nose.
At long last it was cartoon time on the TV and the kids were super-glued
to the screen. Thank God for cable. The In-laws couldn't think of any
more insulting things to say about us and me in particular and bid us a
not-so-fond adieu.
Nine-thirty and I was, hopefully, in the home straight.
Supper was now served and more food was thrown down the overworked
gullets of the remaining revellers. Cold turkey sandwiches, sausage
rolls, scotch eggs and indescribable things on little wooden sticks were
once again served up and eaten with apparent relish. Jelly, blancmange
and lumps of cake were strewn around the floor by kids and adults alike.
Luckily the pet poodle Poppy was happy to oblige and did a very
creditable impression of a Hoover or was it a Dyson, clearing up the
mess in ten seconds flat.
I was now on autopilot. Time had appeared to stand still in the kitchen
and no sod had even hinted that they were going to help me out. I was
shocked that Jane, wife of many years would be so vindictive as to hold
me to the promise made under the influence of drink. I cursed the fact
that I was wearing heels and my head ached and my stomach felt as if
Vesuvius was about to erupt.
I could have cried. When I went to the bathroom for a rare toilet break,
I caught site of myself in the mirror. My pretty dress was a mess, my
hair looked like a bird had been nesting in it and to cap it all, my
makeup was badly smudged and my stockings had several ladders in them.
I desperately wanted to change, but in a fit of nastiness, Jane had
locked the bedroom door and had the only key. She told me that as she
never had time to change at Christmas and she didn't see why I should.
The evening was now well advanced. Cliff Richard's Summer Holiday, a
seasonal old favourite was on due on TV.
The kids were finally packed off to bed with the maximum of tantrums and
cries of, "It's not fair!" They eventually go with promises of even more
chocolate next morning if they agree to be good and not be sick all over
their duvets.
The evening dragged on into the night. Cliff Richard continued to sing
along in his converted bus.
One by one the visitors bid a fond farewell, promising to return next
year and leaving the semi-conscious me to clear up the mess and the pile
of washing up. I toyed with the idea of asking Jane to help but taking
one look at her I could tell that my not-so-loving spouse was too
inebriated and busy singing along with Cliff to give a toss about
helping me.
After taking one look at the incredible pile of plates, cups, saucers,
glasses, half eaten scraps of food, dog ends, and other indescribable
leftovers, I said in a voice, I think, full of pathos to nobody in
particular, "Sod it."
I took the bedroom door key out of the lifeless hand of my wife and went
wearily up the stairs flopping on the bed fully clothed.
I vowed sleepily to help Jane next Christmas and not just leave her to
do everything. It had been a bit of an eye opener, this Christmas and
one I think that I had learned lessons from. One thing we were going to
get before next year was a state of the art twelve place setting dish
washer.
Before falling into a troubled sleep I groaned as I remembered promising
to go to the sale tomorrow to pick up some bargains like Christmas
cards, decorations and other festive memorabilia. For, as Jane always
said, it's never too soon to start preparing for Christmas and there was
only 364 shopping days to the next fun filled one.
THE END
My thanks go to Gabi and Kristina for proofing this story.
Please leave comments - Thanks
Dani
- 05.12.2021
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