My Wife’s Ass
May I just point out the little “e” next to my HubPages Profile picture and the hair rising caption “HubPages Elite” under my name? I have just been informed that I have been selected to be in this prestigious group, one of just only six mind you, and I feel like the Queen has knighted me. In consequence I shall no longer write frivolous and superficial hubs, but concentrate on stories which are calculated to Educate, Elevate and Cultivate, in line with my new prestigious title.
I have been on HubPages for some months now and have been fortunate in making a great number of friends here. Those of you who got to know me during this time know that the De Greek clan has considerable similarities to George Washington. More specifically, just like Washington, we cannot tell a lie. It is a great burden, I know, but there you have it.
I mention this not for the regular visitors who know me, but for any newcomers who might happen to be persons of bad faith and who might doubt my claims about my wife’s Ass. I use a capital ‘A’ advisedly when I write the word, because it’s HUGE!
I have no doubt that there are men of a lesser sort who would act differently if they were married to a wife with such a gigantic one, but the De Greeks are not amongst them as we are a gentle and tolerant breed of men who regularly read Schopenhauer. That in itself should speak volumes to you, but even we have our boundaries and our limitations and we draw the line at such an ENORMOUS one.
In fact, though the De Greeks are known to be men of steel with strong domineering natures supported by iron determination and incisive minds, we are, in truth, pussy cats when it comes to our loved ones and we tend to roll on our backs to have our tummies scratched whenever the situation presents itself. I know that Genghis Khan was the same.
Most of you know that my wife and I are from Cyprus and as is the custom in quaint little backwaters such as ours, we were betrothed prior to puberty, before we were fully developed and became aware of what was really good for us. And because the union was arranged by a professional match-maker, my wife and I did not meet each other until our wedding day.
Those of you of a certain age will remember that in our day it was customary for brides to wear those long Victorian wedding dresses with the large extension at the back over the bottom, which gave a rather curvy, sexy and attractive appearance to the lady’s rear. She made a very attractive bride I remember and I could not wait for the honeymoon to start.
Little did I know at the time what awaited me and the amount of shock, surprise and grief her Asss would cause me. In fact the very next morning after our wedding night, I opened the window and called out to the matchmaker across the street and told her a number of things about herself which, while undoubtedly not news to her, must have been painful hearing nevertheless. Even to one such as she, who was used to hearing the unrestricted vocabulary that is the favorite in our village to this very day amongst the more unrefined element of the village. The ones living on the other side of the tracks in effect.
Of course my new wife later chose this specific incident to harp on continuously, setting aside my own legitimate grievance, in line with what I later learned is the practice prevalent world wide as far as women in general are concerned. No female life appears to be complete unless the party of the second part gives in to what seems to be a call of the wild, following which the female proceeds to torture her loved one to the point of watching him squirm in absolute humiliation, lost to all shame.
In a situation where the female of the species should be feeling nothing but mortification and embarrassment for her dastardly deceit, she proceeds instead to heartlessly and callously tear the innocent party of the first part to a million pieces and dazed and confused the poor chump begins to apologize instead of standing up against the inhuman deceit he has suffered.
And if you think that a blameless past is any defense against such female deviousness and cruelty, you have another thing coming. There is the poor male waiting for a lifetime to lay an unblemished heart at the feet of what he thinks is the love of his life, a heart full of the denied passion of a lifetime, only to have it kicked like a soccer ball by his love interest. Something like “Akirchner-The-Insane-One” in her soccer hay days. Women simply wait patiently until love wakes in our hearts and we are even ready to try our hand at poetry, or we are ready to show off by diving off the springboard, only for them to remove the water from the pool while we are in mid air.
But I digress. For those of you who do not know our part of the world, let me just tell you that Cyprus is famous for it s big asses. In fact, when the Greeks want to specify something REALLY big, they refer to it as a Cyprus asss. Seriously. So had I known that my wife had such a big one, I would never have entered into this union, despite the childish and innocent love I bore her.
There we were, alone at last in the old house my new wife received as a dowry, with our newly bought bedroom furniture, two innocent virgins ready to experiment. I removed her top and I felt that God loved me and was kind to me. Then I removed her skirt and I received the shock of my life! The most atrocious braying began to emanate from the barn downstairs where her jackass was kept. The ground floor was always used as a barn in those days and that is where she kept it. And because it was such a big one, its braying was proportionally immensely loud. Not only that, as if by some perversion, every time I tried to touch my new wife, it seemed to sense it and began to bray more incessantly. This went on all night and though we tried to drown the sound with some classical music to put us in the mood, I can assure you that Bach and braying do not go well together. That witch of a match-maker had insisted that the donkey be part of my wife’s dowry and my father-in-law was only too glad to get rid of it!
Suffice it to say that it took us eight years before we managed to have our first child, so do you blame me for being upset?