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<blockquote data-quote="Randy" data-source="post: 2038716" data-attributes="member: 233900">...humor a wife&#039;s posterior? I love to smack my wife&#039;s posterior but she rebukes me. What to do?My wife was endowed by the Creator with what can perhaps be considered the juiciest, best formed posterior ever to grace a pair of designer jeans. I met her whilst drunk at Jean-Louis&#039; Cabaret. No doubt you know it. A modest place of assignation frequented by literary figures and corpulent former starlets in search of young bucks got up in fine fishnet stockings. Our shared appreciation of Occitane foot cream led to our marriage, though neither of us remember much as it seems we celebrated it on a Russian collective farm where cocktails were mixed from cleaning fluid drained from a Mig-24 fighter&#039;s defrosting tank. Since our periphrastic co-joining I have found it incumbent upon me to slap up her backside from time to time simply for the pleasure of watching her cheeks contract and (could this be my imagination?) grimace at me in warning. I find her rebukes to be out of place given her habit of waking me before dawn has stretched her rosey fingers over the sky, with martial music blared from 350 watt Marshall amplifier. Presently she has passed out on the floor after drinking a gallon of my home concoction of what some might charitably refer to a wine. I have had two gallons and am on the bring of producing a psychedelic sunburst of vomitus to match the spoutings of the gamest Roman upchucker. And so I ask the advice of the collected Yahoo community how I can resolve this situation?</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Randy, post: 2038716, member: 233900"] ...humor a wife's posterior? I love to smack my wife's posterior but she rebukes me. What to do? My wife was endowed by the Creator with what can perhaps be considered the juiciest, best formed posterior ever to grace a pair of designer jeans. I met her whilst drunk at Jean-Louis' Cabaret. No doubt you know it. A modest place of assignation frequented by literary figures and corpulent former starlets in search of young bucks got up in fine fishnet stockings. Our shared appreciation of Occitane foot cream led to our marriage, though neither of us remember much as it seems we celebrated it on a Russian collective farm where cocktails were mixed from cleaning fluid drained from a Mig-24 fighter's defrosting tank. Since our periphrastic co-joining I have found it incumbent upon me to slap up her backside from time to time simply for the pleasure of watching her cheeks contract and (could this be my imagination?) grimace at me in warning. I find her rebukes to be out of place given her habit of waking me before dawn has stretched her rosey fingers over the sky, with martial music blared from 350 watt Marshall amplifier. Presently she has passed out on the floor after drinking a gallon of my home concoction of what some might charitably refer to a wine. I have had two gallons and am on the bring of producing a psychedelic sunburst of vomitus to match the spoutings of the gamest Roman upchucker. And so I ask the advice of the collected Yahoo community how I can resolve this situation? [/QUOTE]

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