gystex
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Feb 14, 2002
- Posts
- 386
I've got a new concept that I'm working on - it's called "The Women of West Park Drive".
The time is 1950s post-war America, the place is a typical middle-class suburb. Every day the men go off to work and the kids go off to school, leaving the wives alone... well, here's the introductory thread:
The Women of West Park Drive
"Bye honey, I'm off to work!" My husband gave me a chaste peck on the cheek, took his briefcase, and strode out the door on his way to the office.
"Have a good day, sweetie!" I called after him with a bright smile.
"Bye Mom!"
"Bye-bye Mom!"
My kids took their lunchboxes and skipped off down the front walk, off to another promising day of learning and growing at grammar school. Up and down the street, a similar scenario played out on the front porch of each sunny little suburban home, as the men drove off to work and the kids marched off to school. A smiling housewife in a skirt and pearls waved each family good-bye and wished them the best for their day, whereupon they would all head back inside, clean up the breakfast dishes, and set about cleaning the house before going out to do the daily shopping. Until the kids came home from school at 3:15, the women of West Park Drive would perform their busy housewife duties, playing our part in the 1950s post-war American suburban paradise.
Yes, our idiot husbands actually believed that crock of shit.
As our men drove off to work in their cars, the women stood at each door, and as one we waved at each other and turned back into our houses. We all knew we would have thirty minutes to take care of the irritating little chores that our stupid husbands actually thought would take us all day. Really, how dumb did they have to be to think that it would take four hours each day to keep a three-bedroom suburban home clean? I'd gotten the time down to twenty-three minutes. Then there was the shopping - well, it doesn't take a fucking genius to realize that one can cut that time way down by simply designating a shopper among the group who buys the food for everyone. My turn was on alternate Thursdays.
So, one wonders, what DID we do all day? Think about it - twenty women, each of us in the prime of life, living in an era when we slept in twin beds and our husbands were trained to think that anything beyond the missionary position once every two weeks was an abominable perversion. Getting the picture yet? Need I also point out that a woman between the ages of twenty-five and forty is at her sexual peak? Can you say, "Pussy-licking lesbian fuckfest?"
Perhaps, though, that gives the wrong impression. We are not the type of women who simply rip off our clothes and throw in together for a wild orgy in Betty Smith's pool. No, we are nothing if not organized. One cannot have daily affairs with the entire neighborhood and remain totally undetected for years without a plan. Our weekly newsletter, distributed by Sally Walton two doors down, describes in detail exactly who has what duties for each day of the week. Some of us need to provide security in case a husband comes home early, or a child is sent home from school, or even if the delivery man arrives unexpectedly. Sometimes one of us is sent incognito to acquire the necessary sex toys or stimulating literature (we keep such things in boxes that are clearly marked "menstral pads" - no husband has ever investigated). And of course the newsletter itself is written in code, so that a passage that reads "Coupon clipping at Mary Anne Thompson's house" actually means we're going over there to tie her up and take turns fucking her with a strap-on. You get the idea.
Anyway, I finished the cleaning in near-record time and walked down to the mailbox to retrieve the newsletter, waving cheerfully to my neighbors who were doing the same. No one who happened to drive down the street would ever have guessed that every pair of panties on the block was dampening at the thought of what was yet to come.
Back inside, I sat on my sofa and looked over the newsletter for what the day had in store...
--------
So that's it. I'm going to compose the first four threads myself, and from there open it up. What does everyone think?
Oh, and I know I have threads to approve - I will get to that tonight or tomorrow.
The time is 1950s post-war America, the place is a typical middle-class suburb. Every day the men go off to work and the kids go off to school, leaving the wives alone... well, here's the introductory thread:
The Women of West Park Drive
"Bye honey, I'm off to work!" My husband gave me a chaste peck on the cheek, took his briefcase, and strode out the door on his way to the office.
"Have a good day, sweetie!" I called after him with a bright smile.
"Bye Mom!"
"Bye-bye Mom!"
My kids took their lunchboxes and skipped off down the front walk, off to another promising day of learning and growing at grammar school. Up and down the street, a similar scenario played out on the front porch of each sunny little suburban home, as the men drove off to work and the kids marched off to school. A smiling housewife in a skirt and pearls waved each family good-bye and wished them the best for their day, whereupon they would all head back inside, clean up the breakfast dishes, and set about cleaning the house before going out to do the daily shopping. Until the kids came home from school at 3:15, the women of West Park Drive would perform their busy housewife duties, playing our part in the 1950s post-war American suburban paradise.
Yes, our idiot husbands actually believed that crock of shit.
As our men drove off to work in their cars, the women stood at each door, and as one we waved at each other and turned back into our houses. We all knew we would have thirty minutes to take care of the irritating little chores that our stupid husbands actually thought would take us all day. Really, how dumb did they have to be to think that it would take four hours each day to keep a three-bedroom suburban home clean? I'd gotten the time down to twenty-three minutes. Then there was the shopping - well, it doesn't take a fucking genius to realize that one can cut that time way down by simply designating a shopper among the group who buys the food for everyone. My turn was on alternate Thursdays.
So, one wonders, what DID we do all day? Think about it - twenty women, each of us in the prime of life, living in an era when we slept in twin beds and our husbands were trained to think that anything beyond the missionary position once every two weeks was an abominable perversion. Getting the picture yet? Need I also point out that a woman between the ages of twenty-five and forty is at her sexual peak? Can you say, "Pussy-licking lesbian fuckfest?"
Perhaps, though, that gives the wrong impression. We are not the type of women who simply rip off our clothes and throw in together for a wild orgy in Betty Smith's pool. No, we are nothing if not organized. One cannot have daily affairs with the entire neighborhood and remain totally undetected for years without a plan. Our weekly newsletter, distributed by Sally Walton two doors down, describes in detail exactly who has what duties for each day of the week. Some of us need to provide security in case a husband comes home early, or a child is sent home from school, or even if the delivery man arrives unexpectedly. Sometimes one of us is sent incognito to acquire the necessary sex toys or stimulating literature (we keep such things in boxes that are clearly marked "menstral pads" - no husband has ever investigated). And of course the newsletter itself is written in code, so that a passage that reads "Coupon clipping at Mary Anne Thompson's house" actually means we're going over there to tie her up and take turns fucking her with a strap-on. You get the idea.
Anyway, I finished the cleaning in near-record time and walked down to the mailbox to retrieve the newsletter, waving cheerfully to my neighbors who were doing the same. No one who happened to drive down the street would ever have guessed that every pair of panties on the block was dampening at the thought of what was yet to come.
Back inside, I sat on my sofa and looked over the newsletter for what the day had in store...
--------
So that's it. I'm going to compose the first four threads myself, and from there open it up. What does everyone think?
Oh, and I know I have threads to approve - I will get to that tonight or tomorrow.
