Sad News For Me This Halloween

Actually, it is both sad and unfortunately not the best news I have ever shared. At the beginning of October I mentioned I was going to be getting my work done to do up my haunted house I do every year for the past ten years without fail. This year it will be quite somber and quiet around here because there will be no grand display of Halloween, I will be stuck living in shadows this year, in all regards, my personal Halloween has been canceled. Why? Its simple economics really, I don’t have the extra money to spend on the extra electricity this year, as in the past the bill after Halloween usually had an increase of around $300. Therefore, based on the current budget restrictions we have as a household, my wife and I, but mostly me, decided to forego the expenses this year. My son recommended we put up donation boxes but I refuse, the haunted house and haunted forest walk have always been free to anyone wanting to have the shit scared out of them. That won’t change. Yes I’m very sad, but I think next year I will be able to have my fun. But right now, just paying bills and doing the grocery shopping all but wipes us out each month. Do not despair and do not weep for me, I had the great fortune of finding meaningful employment, well actually, I was found. In many ways I’m thankful I write on this blog because that is how, in a round about way, I was found. But, that and the job are another tale for another day. Look at it this way, for Halloween this year I get to go roam the neighborhood, and when its over I don’t have much of anything to clean up. It will be a considerable change, but hell people, it will be all good by this time next year. I will continue to post in the Halloween spirit as we count down the days to the greatest day I know, Halloween.

A Not So Routine Trip To The E.R.

Often times it is hard to decide what stories make it into The Magic Weekend files. Typically I will not post the story unless it has pictures provided by the sender which can be used in association with the story. I do, however, make exceptions, as in this case, it will be the second exception I have ever made. Why? Its simple really, she sent in 18 pictures with her e-mail, zero which are usable here do to what might be considered to graphic. You may or may not understand, but in her story she does take pictures and she will go on to explain why to y’all. Hers is truly a “Blood” story since it did result in 4 stitches being given in the local emergency room. She did explain that had this not happened to her then her weekend really wouldn’t have been to special. I give you Liz’s story now, she is 23, married, no children mentioned, and lives in Las Vegas Nevada. Warning: there are graphic descriptions of the female anatomy as well as graphic language in the following post.

“This weekend started out as many do for us, get off work late Friday afternoon ready to get home so we can go out on the town. My husband (Justin) and I had decided we wanted to try out a new dance club here in Las Vegas that a few of our friends had been to and said the partying was great. I got home first so I took a quick shower to was my day. As I sat in my towel afterwards, starting my hair, my husband comes in to let me know he had spoke with everyone earlier and we are still on for going out this evening. Pretty soon it was time to get dressed, so I called the girls to find out what they were wearing, we all tend to dress the same as each other already but its nice to check. Last week I had bought a new pair of blue jeans. The store didn’t have my size so I had to go one smaller, no big deal, the tighter the better, and I don’t ever get any complaints from Justin for them being too damn tight. I’m lucky in that regard, my husband is still I’m love with my ass. A common practice I have is going commando in jeans because it leaves absolutely no noticeable lines plus I don’t have to worry about getting all bunched up in the wrong tight places.

Laying on the bed completely naked I grabbed my jeans to wrestle them on. My husband gets a kick out of the show as he finished up shaving. It takes me a few minutes before I get the jeans convinced to be on me. Last step was just zipping them up to seal the deal. All of of a sudden my eyes flashed over white because of the hellish pain I was now in. It hurt so bad I couldn’t even scream. When I sat up carefully to get a better view of what happened I couldn’t bear the pain. I laid back down and called Justin to get in the bedroom. When he came in I explained what I was doing and he tried to hold back the giggles, but failed miserably. I needed him to explain what he could see to me so it could get fixed pronto. ‘Well……shit ……babe…….all I can see it what looks like bloody skin’. He then went in to explain that I zipped over a good bit of skin. When he tried to pull the zipper back down it wouldn’t budge a bit and it hurt so fucking bad I could only scream. But nothing either if us tried did any good, that zipper was very stuck with my flesh still in it. He took some pictures “just for the record” as we made plans to get me off the bed, into his truck, and down to the emergency room. And let me tell you, it was a flesh tearing effort just getting to the e.r. for sure.

We parked in front of the entrance and Justin went in to explain the situation and get someone to help get me inside. A triage technician (Ron) came out to take a look and gage the severity of my injury. Very lucky for me is the fact that I am the only person here right now so I can get seen immediately. I couldn’t begin to imagine having to wait any length of time in the waiting room. In the room now, laid back on an exam table, I feel a cool liquid beginning to run down to the back of my legs. Ron tells me it is an antiseptic to clean the area so the doctor can get in there and get to work. Enter the doctor, his name is Jack, he looks about 13 but assures me he is in his late 30s and I have nothing more to worry about since he will take care of my complaints. Yes, I do have a complaint, the is a zipper holding the fleshy parts of my vagina hostage! The first thing they do is cut away my jeans leaving only a patch surrounding the zipper. Then doctor Jack makes an announcement, the zipper has entrapped aproxamately 1 1/2″ of my right labia majora. That’s right, I zipped a chunk of my labia right up. After six separate shots into the labia and surrounding areas to deaden everything I was feeling no pain. I watched as it took four people to forcibly unzip the zipper to finally get it separated from my now very swollen, very bruised, and somewhat bloody labia.

After a deep cleaning I was taken to have an xray to confirm that no metal remained unseen under the skin anywhere. After the no metal check cleared the doctor gave me 4 stitches to permanently close the four puncture like wounds. I am guessing this will be a fine place to have stitches for the next three weeks. Now that it is time to leave we realized I didn’t have any pants but the nurse was kind enough to give me a pair of disposable scrub pants. I just wanted to go home at that point, lay on the couch a while, put an icepack on my labia, and hope like hell the swelling would go down so it would stop throbbing so badly. Now I can look back and laugh about this entire ordeal. My stitches ate out now yet I am still really tender, I haven’t wore anything but sweat pants and skirts since that night and I think my husband is getting a little concerned. I’m not sure how a person rehabilitates her labia, but so far it has been time. So, that’s that, this is how a pair of jeans can not only change one’s weekend plans but also for a long time after. Too bad there’s not a warning label on or near zippers. I wonder if this has ever happened to any other women. I can’t be the only one, can I? I’m not worried, I know that all will be well in due time. Thanks for taking the time to read my story and I hope the pictures helped explain the predicament.”

Having My Very Own Magic Weekend

To begin with, my wife and I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day in a traditional (commercial) way. For the most part is it just another day on the calendar that comes and goes with little to no notice. We tend to avoid all the typical things like flowers, candy, and fighting crowds to go out to eat. We both see it as a waste. We will exchange a card (sometimes) but if nothing is said, done, or acknowledged it isn’t dwelled upon by either of us. To be honest, we don’t need a “holiday” for us to get together in any regard. I had plans of making my special version of chicken cordon bleu and I was looking forward to our dinner plans since it was supposed to be just my wife and me. When I got home I was getting prepared to assemble the chicken, the wine was being chilled, and the oven was warming up. Soon after, my wife strolls through the door and tells me we have plans, so stop what I’m doing so we can get dressed. Plans? We don’t do “plans” on Valentine’s day, ever, not even when we were just dating. It’s hard to wear my pissy face when my wife is all excited. Well, let me put everything up so it doesn’t go to waste and turn off the oven for sure.

I follow her to the bedroom which was a pleasant trip because all the way to the bedroom she was shedding clothes. It was like a mobile strip tease. She puts on her robe, if you can call it a robe, sits down to redo her hair and make-up. I decided to jump in the shower to knock the day off and freshen up a bit. My wife isn’t worried because she knows I’m an in and out of the shower kind of guy so she knows I wont take long. Unless, she was to join me, the I’m still the in and out guy but the shower takes a little longer. But, not this time, this was a solo sudsing to say the very least. Five minutes later I emerged, squeaky clean and ready to rock & roll. She took the opportunity to lay my clothes out for me. When I saw what it was I was struck with a little disappointment because I knew what it meant. Laid out on the bed were my black Wrangler jeans, which I hate because they are too tight in the ass and crotch, leaving very little room to breathe normally. Next to the jeans was my red long-sleeved “western” shirt, a very nice shirt which I only wear when we are going out dancing at the redneck clubs. This night is taking a bad turn, I think I might be feeling ill. On the floor were my nice western boots, which I hadn’t worn since my foot surgery a few months ago. I really like these boots, I have had them for 20 plus years and cannot wear them out for nothing, but then it is hard to wear out alligator skin, these are black too, of course. She was wanting me to go all out I see as my black Stetson and nice black leather belt with the headstone belt buckle were also laying on the bed next to everything.

She goes into the closet and emerges with a handful of clothes which I didn’t get to see and she heads off to the bathroom. I proceeded to get dressed, getting all redneck pimped out for who knows what reason. It will be good though, we don’t go out, just her and I, much any more. Fifteen minutes later she slinks out of the bathroom looking like a stunning redneck angel, looking allot like the day we met so many years ago. Then she asked for my help, she needed me to lace up her leather corset for her and well as pull up the zipper on her pants. Strange, I like it the other way, unlacing and unzipping, but not tonight, she is on a mission I can tell. I’m surprised she is wearing these jeans, they are so tight that is she wasn’t shaven then we could count the short and curlys. Lucky for us she took care of business. These are my favorite jeans, they fit her like a latex glove that is 3 sizes too small. I remember buying these jeans a few years ago, she is a tricky one to buy jeans for as not all jeans conform to a woman’s body the same way for each woman. I never mind going jeans shopping because it is always a show that I don’t want to miss. For those of you new here, my wife is 5’1″, 108 lbs, natural blonde, and she is still very proud of her boobs because after 2 children and being forty years old now, she still has yet to start “drooping”. She told me once I will never have to be one of those husbands who spends tens of thousands of dollars on boob jobs for his wife.

So, due to the nature of her clothing she will be going commando all the way around, as the leather corset does not leave room for a bra. So, now the hard part, I get to put on her socks and her boots for her. I tried to teach her years ago to put the pants on half on way and then put her boots on before she pulls them all the way up. But, she likes it this way it would seem. Now that she is all buttoned, laced, and zipped, she moves back to the mirror to finish up with her hair. I’m a lucky man in many senses of the word, but I feel lucky personally because my wife wears very little make up, mostly eye make up and a little something to throw off the blend of color in her face. She decided to wear her hair down with is nice for me because I always see it up in a ponytail or up in some fashion. I tend to forget her hair is almost down to her ass because I rarely see it down. She’s up to something, she is trying to distract me from something, so I better watch closely so I don’t miss what it is. After a little bit more primping I brushed my teeth and wetted my hair down to stand it back up, a high and tight flat top is such a hard hair style to maintain said no man ever. Final look at both of us, grab my Stetson, and away we go. There she goes down the hall, what a sway she has after all these years, she has never lost it, I do enjoy watching her walk away from me.

As we are walking out the door she mentions she wants to go big and asks if we can take the H1. Sure why not, nothing like trying to squeeze this bitch into a compact car parking spot. I joked with her and told her to grab the butter because it might be a tight fit here in a bit. As we are leaving the neighborhood she is quiet about where we are headed which I hate when I’m driving because I like to know in advance where we are going. We head into town, she tells me where to turn and where to go and soon enough I knew what she was up to. We were fixing to head into a place I know real well as I used to bartend here many years ago, many years ago. Lucky for me they were providing valet parking so I wasn’t going to drive around the giant lot looking for a spot. I got out, went around to the passenger side to help my wife out, and turned to give my keys to this 12 y/o kid, well, he looked 12 at least. I’m thinking that I hope he is tall enough to reach the pedals as I chuckled out loud as we walked. We were greeted at the door by friends my wife works with, I knew this was a damn trap, and we all went in together. Bonus, ladies have no cover charge, bummer, men have a $25.00 cover, ouch. Bonus again, the attendant remembers me and she gives me a break for the promise that my wife will let me give her a dance later. My wife actually agrees to it. What she doesn’t know is she don’t want to dance with me, she wants to grind up and down my leg and if she hasn’t changed she wont be wearing a stitch under that super short mini skirt.

We get in and the freaking place is packed, like 1,000 people over the building capacity packed. I decided to go to the bar and see what I could scare up, we order our drinks and the bartender asks my wife for her I.D., so I had it in my shirt pocket show she showed it and put it back. The group of us made our way to the outside edge of the club and actually found a booth which held the six of us. It’s the perfect place to sit, close to the bar, close to the restroom, and close to the mechanical bull bar. I told my wife already that I would support her if she wanted to give it a spin but I refuse, those days are over for me, way over, years ago, way over. She gave me the “uh huh wink” so I knew we would be arguing later. The ladies all left to go take a powder or whatever the fuck they all do as a gang going to the restroom. Still, to this day, at 45, I don’t understand why it takes one woman at least two other women to pee. Maybe I’m missing something, maybe I need to start spying. Will I ever know the answer? Nope. I decided to go get in line to throw some darts, nothing mixes well better than alcohol and pointy object you get to throw. Man, don’t people move on with their lives, it was like seeing the same people from years ago, except they got a little fatter and gained a few more wrinkles. I lit a cigarette and laid my money on the table. How boring, playing 501 in and out. My wife located me and said she will be out dancing when I’m done, and don’t make her wait or she will grab some young buck and make him wet himself. Awww, she’s such a damn tease.

My turn at the dart board, luckily I went to the H1 and grabbed my darts. Time flies when you can’t lose. It wasn’t because I’m that good, it is because they sucked that much ass. Made me look good and put a little money in my pocket. The last game a cocky sucker wanted a rematch because he felt he had been cheated because he “runs” these dart boards and he “owns” every bitch who steps up. Well, shit, nobody told me I had to ask permission to beat someone’s ass here. Fine, it’s my last match because I had a wanting women giving me the evil eye every dart I threw. Step up, put down some money. After some really big talk, by both of us, the bet was settled, $1000.00 winner takes all, best of three games. I showed my wad, coincidently that wad belonged to the others I beat here since I walked in with only a hundred to throw down for darts. Bam, Bam, I owned and dominated the first two games, no questions and no problems. I picked up my money and walked off to get another shot of tequila on my way to the dance floor. Lets hope I can remember how to dance now, maybe another shot of liquid courage, or three, yeah, four was the magic number. Dance we will, look out ladies, fresh meat coming through. A crowded dance floor full of horny drunk women is a place I would rarely walk alone, but I had to muster though the groping, grinding, and package checks to get to my wife, who always likes the center of the dance floor.

By the time I got to her I was already sweating, what is it in her 666 degrees! Then the world went into slow motion the moment I was in front of my wife, she had sweat rolling down the sides of her face, she was glistening, he hair was all tossed about, and she was just going to town, she had that just fucked put away wet look, this is going to be a good night to be me I can feel it already. We danced, we danced allot, finally after an hour or so, all those shots were talking to my bladder, it was time to make a break for the head before they had to clean a mess up on the dance floor and wet saw dust is so hard to sweep. I seemed like an hour to get off the dance floor, I could see the giant sign that said “<—- Cowboys Cowgirls —>” in bright neon lights, I was really close. Finally, I made it in just enough time to stand in line. The line moved fast enough, if molasses in the winter in North Dakota is fast, and finally I get in to go. Saying what a relief it actually was would be the understatement of the century, I haven’t had to hold it in like that since I was about 6 and never what to have to do it again. Okay, let me the hell out of this zoo before I get anymore wayward drunk piss on my boots, I hate it when a man can’t even have the common courtesy to piss on his own boots, he has to piss on mine. Now that I’m out I am trying to see which direction I need to head, got it, time to start pushing through. About 15 feet from the rest room I feel a hellacious crash to the back of my head, I fall forward to catch myself, turn around, and see the jackass that lost all of his money because he sucked playing darts.

I was told it was one great fight. I was told I held my own quite well against this 20 something punk. Luckily for me, as I was told, I won’t need any medical attention, and I won’t be going to jail if the police can locate my wife in the club. The dumbass, however, gets a trip in the ambulance and then will be headed to jail. Apparently, all of his boys ratted him out when they were talking to witnesses where he had said he was going to kill me if I didn’t give his money back. I love redneck clubs! Within 30 minutes my wife was walking up to the police cruiser where I was sitting. How nice, she has my Stetson. No words were spoken. No looks were given. Just a soft hand held out to help me out of the back seat of the car. The valet asked if we were ready to go and I said of course. He returned with my H1 and I put my wife in and I got in. Hungry, we went across the street to IHOP to get a snack or something. We sat there, staring at each other for a few minutes when she finally asked if it was worth it. Worth it? Was what worth it? I dug the two grand out of my pocket and put it in her hand and told her the guy was a sore loser and wanted his wad back. Her head sunk for a moment and when she looked back up she told me that this would have been a piss poor reason to get killed in the redneck club, she said this with a slick little smirk on her face because she thought the little fight was over something else stupid, like me running my mouth. Me, never.

We wrapped it up, paid the tab, and headed home. It was about 3 in the morning, I was tired, really sore, and I just wanted to be free of the meat locker jeans. After undressing, I jumped in the shower to soak a bit. A little while passed and I open my eyes to my wife standing in front of me as the shower rained down. She reached out, put her arms around me, pulled me tight, told me she is glad I’m not dead, and we stood there and soaked for a good while. Afterwords we both toweled off and headed for the bedroom. I told her I would be back in a few minutes since I was headed outside to smoke. She agreed, declined my invitation to join me, and off I went. I smoked two, locked up, got a drink of water, killed the lights, and ended up in front of our bed. It was a vision of an angel, the lights were on, the television was on, and my naked wife was sprawled out across the bed sideways. As tempting as this might all look, it was probably best, she looked tired, amazing, but tired, I was sore from my ass whoopin’, so I just fixed her in the bed and was out within a matter of minutes. When I woke up the next morning I realized I just had my very own Magic Weekend and figured I would have a go at telling my story. I remember now, that moments like these don’t happen on purpose, nor does everyone get to be as lucky as I am having the wife I have. She might not always agree with me but she will always be at my side, even if she is passed out cold bare assed naked.