“Presents” Chapter 1
by c.w. cobblestone
The fruitcake wouldn’t fit in Elena’s suitcase, so I set the tin by the front door near the ski equipment, causing my bitchy wife to fly into one of her tirades.
“Why is my mom’s fruitcake on the floor? You don’t put food on the goddamn floor, Roger — what’s wrong with you? Are you stupid?”
“S-sorry, honey, it’s in a tin so I thought—”
“There’s your problem right there: You thought. Don’t think. God didn’t give you the equipment — upstairs or downstairs.”
I hung my head and absorbed the familiar insults to my intellect and three-inch penis while my wife glowered at me with her nostrils flared.
“And, quit calling me ‘honey’ — how many times do I have to tell you that? It makes my skin crawl.”
“S-sorry.” I stared at my shoes, trying not to cry.
“Should I tell Kurt you won’t stop acting like we’re husband and wife still?”
I blanched. “N-no, please, I … I’m sorry. It’s habit, that’s all — I’m used to calling you ‘honey’ after all these years. I’m trying, but it’s hard sometimes.”
“Well, you better not let him hear you, if you don’t want another ass-whooping. Seriously, do want me to have him kick your ass again? I can, you know. All it’ll take is one word.”
“No, please, I …. no. P-please.”
“Then stop calling me ‘honey.’ I don’t love you, Roger. I love him.”
“I … I know.”
“Don’t give me that sad face. How many times do we have to go through this? You heard what Kurt said: If you want to stick around, you’re going to have to change the way you think about things. It’s that simple. I’m not your wife anymore, even though we’re technically still married.”
“I know. But it’s … well, the holidays are coming up, and—”
“And what? Are you trying to lay a guilt trip on me? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you because I’m taking him to the lodge to meet my parents? Maybe you forgot our little talk, Roger. Did you forget what Kurt told you after he kicked your ass? It happened right there where you’re standing. Did you forget already?”
I licked my lips. “No.”
“Did you forget getting on your knees like a little bitch? Begging me not to leave you?”
“N-no.”
“Evidently, you did. We can stay married, Roger, since that’s apparently what you want for some sick, pathetic reason. But what did Kurt tell you?”
“Um, that I’m … I’m not good enough for you.”
“That’s goddamn right. You’re not good enough for me. You’re dogsh-it on my shoe, Roger. All those years before I met him, I kept it buried. But I never loved you. And you knew that. I mean, you’re not stupid; you knew it was your money. Right?”
I nodded, dislodging a tear from the corner of my eye.
Elena pouted. “Aw, now he’s crying.”
“I … I’m sorry,” I sniffled.
“Enough with the drama already. You need to stop this sh-it, Roger. If this is going to work, then like Kurt said, your job is to make me happy so I can concentrate on pleasing him. It’s all about him, and what he wants. I don’t give one sh-it about you — you’re here to make things better. For me and him. And you don’t make things better when you keep acting like we’re still married, Roger. It does the opposite of making things better — it pisses me off. Now, you either start acting like Kurt wants, or let’s just call lawyers and be done with it.”
“No, no, please, I’m sorry, Elena — please!” I played with my shirtsleeve. “I’ll remember not to call you that. Honey, I mean. I … I really am sorry. It was a slip-up.”
After a few seconds, my wife threw up her hands. “Why are you still standing there with a stupid look on your face? Didn’t I tell you to get my mom’s fruitcake off the damn floor?”
“S-sorry,” I muttered yet again as I scooted across the hallway and scooped up the tin. “Uh, should I put it in a bag or something?”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Jeez, you’re useless. Yes, Roger, put it in a bag.”
As I turned to retrieve a brown paper bag from the kitchen, a horn tooted twice from outside.
My wife squealed. “Ooh, he’s here. Go see what he wants.”
I set the fruitcake tin on the foyer table and trudged outside to greet Elena’s asshole boyfriend.
Kurt was halfway up the stairs by the time I opened the front door. He acknowledged me with a sneer and jerked his thumb toward his truck. “Hey, fat boy. Fetch my skis and the other sh-it from the flatbed — and be careful with that suitcase, numb-nuts; Elena’s gift is in there.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, hating myself for submitting to the smug bastard so humbly. But one of the rules he’d imposed after kicking my ass in my own home was that I call him ‘sir,’ and show him respect at all times. Like a sap, I went along with it. I would’ve agreed to anything to keep Elena in my life, and I kept telling myself that calling her boyfriend ‘sir’ and kissing his ass while he disrespected and insulted me wasn’t the worst thing in the world, as long as I was still married to the woman I adored.
When I got back into the house with Kurt’s gear, he was snogging with my wife in the foyer. He’d been out of town on a construction job, and the lovers hadn’t seen each other in a week. While they made up for lost time by dry-humping in the hallway, I scurried off to retrieve a bag for the fruitcake.
Elena and Kurt finally came up for air when I got back from the kitchen, and she asked, “You ready to go, honey?” I was flooded with hum-iliation at her use of the very term of endearment that had gotten me yelled at only moments earlier.
“Nah, I could use a cup of coffee before we hit the road,” he said, nodding at me. “And I was thinking of having numb-nuts here give me one of his foot massages, too, if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes. We busted our asses on that Cleveland job, and my dogs are barking.”
Elena shrugged. “Sure, honey, whatever you want.” She looked at me like I was a bug. “I’ll have a coffee, too.”
I nodded and shuffled to the kitchen. After I served the hot beverages and sank to my knees in front of the sofa with the foot lotion in hand, my wife scowled down at me.
“He keeps calling me ‘honey,'” she tattled to her lover as she melted in his embrace. “I told him you don’t like it.”
Kurt bopped me in the ear with his socked foot, jarring my head sideways and causing me to see stars. “You trying to make a move on my girl, wimp?”
Elena giggled.
I snapped out of the daze. “Uh, no sir, I … I’m sorry, it’s just habit, sir.”
He kicked my head a second time. “Well, you better break that habit if you don’t want to be out on your ass.”
“I told him — we can go get lawyers right now.” Elena sneered at me.
“Nah, that won’t be necessary. Ol’ Rog is gonna be a good little fag. Aren’t you, Rog?”
I averted my eyes. “Y-yes, sir.”
Kurt pushed up the sofa’s footstool, snapped his fingers, and pointed at his foot. I hurried to obey his unspoken command, removing his sock and lathering his foot with lotion while he cuddled with my wife.
“I can’t wait to give you your gift,” Elena chirped. “I’m not sure whether you’re going to like it, though. I think you will, but … ugh! I’m so scared you won’t.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it, honey,” Kurt replied. “Give me a hint.”
“No.”
“Is it bigger than a breadbox?”
“Maybe.”
“Does it have electronics in it?”
Elena punched her boyfriend’s arm. “I’m not telling you, damn it! Stop asking.”
Kurt smirked at me. “Your wife is a bitch, you know that?”
I replied with a fake half-smile and leaned into my work, vigorously rubbing lotion into the foot of the man who’d stolen my beloved Elena.
Kurt pulled my wife closer. “So, Rog, what did you get me for Christmas?”
“Um, sir, I don’t … I don’t have any money, sir.”
“I know; your wife takes it all. Like I said, she’s a little bitch.” He kissed Elena on top of her head before turning back to me. “But that’s still no excuse for not getting me a gift. I’m the one who let you stick around when you begged Elena not to divorce you. And this is how you repay me?”
“I … I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t …” I bit my lip and continued massaging my interrogator’s foot. “You’re right, sir. I should’ve made you a gift. I’m so sorry.”
Elena glared at me. “Did you make me a gift? You better had.”
“Um, y-yes, I did.”
“Where is it?”
“In my gym bag.”
“Go get it.”
Wiping my hands on my pantlegs, I hurried to retrieve the wood plaque I’d spent hours carving and shellacking.
Elena smirked when she saw the inscription, and read it aloud in a mocking tone: “‘May you always find happiness.’ Aw. Isn’t that sweet? You know what makes me happy, Roger?” She turned and tongue-kissed her lover for a good 10 seconds before pulling away and leering at me. “This man makes me happy, you pathetic fucking loser. A real man.” She tossed the plaque to the carpet. “Now, go throw that stupid sh-it in the garbage.”
Kurt cracked up. “Damn, girl, you’re cold,” he said before snapping his fingers at me. “Do what the little lady says, and then get back on these feet.”
I don’t know how I was able to toss my gift in the trash can without falling into convulsions, but in less than a minute I was back on my knees in front of Elena’s boyfriend, dry-eyed and rubbing lotion into his foot.
“So, Roger, we need to address your lack of gratitude.” Kurt wiggled his toes. “After Elena and me decided to take things to the next step in our relationship, who begged me to let you stay married to her?”
“Uh, I did, sir.”
“Exactly. You did. And this is how you repay me? You thought to make your wife a Christmas present, but not me?” He pulled his foot from my hand and kicked me in the head again. “That’s pretty damned inconsiderate if you ask me.”
“I’m so sorry, sir.”
Kurt snorted. “I don’t believe you. Are you really sorry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then do you want to make it up to me?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Great. Soooo, I’ve been thinking.” Kurt leaned back and stroked his chin. “Remember when you got down on your knees and said you’d do literally anything I wanted, as long as I didn’t make Elena divorce you?”
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach as I answered in the affirmative.
“Well, then,” Kurt drawled. “How about you give me something special for Christmas? Something that’ll really show your gratitude?”
“Um … what, sir?”
“Your balls.”
Blo-od drained from my face.
Elena hooted. “You mean have him castrated?”
“Fuck yes, have him castrated. I told you — I don’t like sharing you with another man, even if it is a fat fag like him. It’s why I made him move his sh-it to the garage; I don’t want some other guy being your roommate, especially your husband. I know you don’t love him — that’s not a problem. But it would make me feel a lot better if he was a eunuch.”
My wife smiled. “Well, if it would make you feel better, honey, then let’s have it done.”
I somehow managed to croak, “I … but … please don’t do that to me.”
“Oh, stop your whining.” Elena scoffed. “People lose their testicles all the time. It’s not like you need ’em anyway.”
Kurt smirked and squeezed my wife’s tit through her shirt. “Yeah, Rog, don’t worry — I got that department well taken care of. Now, how about you get me a quick warmup on this coffee, and then do this other foot, so the ol’ girl and me can hit the road? We got a long drive ahead of us.”
“Ooh, I can’t wait for Mom and Dad to meet you,” Elena squealed to her boyfriend as I trudged toward the kitchen.