This is just a bit of silliness that came about with my own Neanderthal.
The word that escaped her lips as olives exploded around her was not lady-like at all. Neither was the foot that she stomped down. Luckily, the Wench’s foot hit the metal lid of the broken jar rather than one of the shards of glass. Gripping the knife in her hand even tighter, she was tempted to throw it. She’d been tapping the knife against the stubborn jar of olives in hopes of loosening the lid when a light tap turned into a hard strike. The glass of the jar couldn’t withstand the pressure and broke. This disaster was all the knife’s fault! Deciding to toss the knife across the room, she lifted it high…and froze in place.
A loud and quite scary growl echoed through the kitchen. A growl like no other. A growl that turned Wench’s blood to ice. A growl that often led to the most uncomfortable condition-hot bum.
Turning carefully, Wench went into great detail explaining what had happened. “Um. It broke.”
The Neanderthal snarled.
“The jar wouldn’t open,” Wench said.
More snarling and growling erupted from the Neanderthal.
Wench’s tummy tingled at the dominance the Neanderthal was showing. “Yes. I could have asked you. But I can do it myself! See it’s open!”
Ok, so that may not have been the best example to show what the Wench could do on her own. The Neanderthal’s eye brow lifted menacingly and he took a step toward her. He stopped at the sound of crushing glass on his feet. The Wench was sure he stopped because as we all know Neanderthals are knuckle-dragging men. He must not have wanted to cut his hands.
Wench was too busy thinking these sarcastic thoughts so she didn’t see the big man reach out for her. She let out a scream as she was suddenly swept up in his hairy arms. The Neanderthal took three large strides and sat her down on the kitchen table with a growl.
“Stay?” Wench shrieked. “I am not a dog to be told to stay!” At Neanderthal’s intense glare, Wench decided to stay. She watched as he took out the broom and started to sweep up the glass and olives.
“I can clean up my own mess,” Wench said quietly.
But not quietly enough she decided when the Neanderthal barked at her. She decided to keep her thoughts inside her head as he turned around to finish cleaning up the mess she’d made. Wench felt miserable as she watched the man she’d married so long ago sweep up the glass. She felt even worse when he put the broom away and got out the mop. The vinegar the olives had been in would make the floor sticky unless it was cleaned with soap and water.
As soon as the sticky was cleaned up, the Neanderthal stalked toward her with purpose. Wench knew what was coming next and her butt tightened as he picked her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her into their bedroom.
Neanderthal seemed to have the coordination of a juggler as he sat and carefully flipped her over his lap. He didn’t bother baring her behind. He knew he’d get his message across despite the jeans covering her. His large Neanderthal-hand spanned both her cheeks as he brought it down with some force. Several times that paw landed until she was twisting from side to side, kicking her feet. She knew better than to try and open a jar by banging a knife against the lid. This catastrophe had happened before and she’d been warned several times since then.
When the Neanderthal’s hand stopped falling with force, he asked her with a series of grunts and growls what was going on. Wench knew he meant more than just trying to open the olives. Neanderthal was really asking what was going on that she was pushing the limits. They both knew she had been asking for this particular type of attention for the past day or so.
“Nothing is going right,” Wench whined pitifully.
Neanderthal let out a rumbling question that she correctly deciphered as, “What isn’t going right?”
“Everything! I’m so tired and my joints are hurting. And there’s so much going on at work, I don’t think I’m going to get everything done I’d planned on doing this summer,” she wailed. “Everything is a mess!!!”
Neanderthal let out a gentle rumble about her health.
A rumble that melted the Wench’s heart. “Yeah,” she answered. “My medicine probably needs to be adjusted.” At that gently enforced confession, Wench found herself pulled around to straddle the Neanderthal’s lap. “I think it kind of gets away from me.”
She gave a soft laugh when the sound of a caring growl came from the Neanderthal. “Yes, I know. Nothing gets by you.” Wench sighed and laid her head on his broad shoulder. “I’m just so tired all the time.”
The Neanderthal stood up from the chair with Wench in his arms. He walked to the bed and lovingly laid her down.
“I don’t want to nap! You know I hate to sleep during the day!” Wench protested. But the protest died away when the Neanderthal covered her body with his own. She knew where this led and she didn’t hate it at all! As her mouth was taken by his, Wench had one last thought. She really didn’t those olives anyway.
If you'd like to read more stories with Neanderthal and Wench you can here: Neanderthal and Wench