Message-ID: <37497asstr$1027512602@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: profnjax@aol.comnocrap (Profnjax) X-Original-Message-ID: <20020724032859.06722.00000487@mb-bk.aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 24 Jul 2002 07:28:59 GMT Subject: {ASSM} ASSM Life in the Yard, Part 1 (MFmf/F Dog Training, Humil, Satire) Date: Wed, 24 Jul 2002 08:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: kelly, IceAltar Life in the Yard (MFmf/F, Dog Training, Humil, Satire) by Chris Part 1 Hi. I'm Elizabeth Carlisle,39, attorney, mother of two children: Megan, 14, Morgan, 12. Actually, I'm just called Lizzie now. I'm no longer an attorney. I'm still the mother of Morgan and Megan, of course, and I remain married to their father. Formally at least. He's told me that he does not want to be divorced. Too much unnecessary hassle, money needlessly squandered on lawyers (he should know; he's one too). Too much family disruption. Fussy, costly, messy. The pitfalls of divorce. A terrible inconvenience for all concerned. So, it was decided we would not be divorced. Rather, I have been displaced. It's a complicated story. And I won't get into all of it here. Quite frankly, I don't like to think about it. And I'm too tired to write about all of it. And there's not enough time. They only give me a few hours on the computer a few times a month now. I'm not sure why they do this. Give me time on the computer when I'm in the house, which is not very often anymore. At the first I thought they were just being nice. You know, let me do something familiar from my old life. Which lots of time on the computer was for me, both at the office and at home. But now, and precisely because of that really, though I may be viewing this too negatively, I think they're doing it to taunt and torment me with it, just being mean. I mean, why bother, right? And it is a bother too. Have to clean me up, unbind my legs, take the mits off, exercise my fingers, get them working again. So much trouble re-activating all these motor and mental skills that have been deterioriating out in the yard. Takes an emotional toll on me too. Which I guess is the point I was trying to make. Get me all excited to be invited in the house, get me cleaned up, put me on the computer, pretending things are like they used to be, before sending me back out to my new life, my normal life now, in the yard. I know, this sounds really weird, doesn't it? You're wondering, what in the world is this woman talking about? I know, I know. My mind always seems to be wandering these days. But I suppose I should try to explain something about what's going on and why. Provide a little background and context. Suffice it to say that both my professional and personal life have changed dramatically. Gone through a real revolution, you could say. Or maybe an evolution. Or devolution. Anyway, I was fired from the firm. By my husband, who heads it, and who's the one who hired me. So that was his right. I was replaced at the firm by a younger female associate who'd started out as my intern. Turns out my husband had been having an affair with her for quite some time. Young enough to be his daughter--our daughter; I considered myself her mentor--so I just never thought . . . Well, before law school, I double-majored in anthropology and psychology, so I knew older men and younger women, even girls, was fairly common in other cultures, and not really very unconventional in our culture. Across cultures, the psychology of men makes it seem almost normal. So, after I found out about him and her--same day I was fired--once I thought about it a little, I felt pretty stupid I hadn't seen it coming. I mean, I practiced family law, handled lots of ugly divorces and custody suits, and yet this just seemed to come out of nowhere in my own family. Oh, I know, I know. Older married man, younger single woman. How could I be so dumb and naive? Husband in mid-life, dumps wife for younger woman. Stale old story. Sad, but tediously redundant. It is, I suppose. But I think this story, my story, will surprise you. I know it did me. Not just a normal variation on the standard old story, but a real deviation here. Revolution, as I said. Or evolution. Devolution. But I'm wandering again, and you're probably still wondering, what in the world is this woman babbling on about? Well, I'm not quite sure myself. But the major pivotal events involved are pretty self-evident, I guess, objectively speaking. As attorneys say, the basic facts of the case. "Just the facts, ma'am," as Sgt. Friday used to say on that old TV show Dragnet, that my dad used to watch on re-runs when I was a little kid. Well, OK. Fact is, my husband replaced me with this younger woman at the firm, and then at home too, where I have been displaced. First out of the firm, sent back home. I'd only been at the firm a few years. Interrupted my career to be a stay-at-home for my kids. But staying at home this was different. Out of the firm into the home. Then, out of the master bedroom and into the guest room, which became a maid's room as I became the family maid. I'd felt like a house maid sometimes as a stay-at-home mom. But this wasn't the same, and my heart just wasn't in all those tediously mundane, routine household duties. I felt so humiliated, it was hard to get motivated. I mean, I'd always tried to look at the positive side of things. But this was just so negative. No incentive. Like I said, too humiliated to be motivated. So anyway, after several months of dubious maid service, out of the house, into the yard,.as I became a family pet. See what I mean here? This negative pattern? Out of the firm into the home. Out of the master bedroom into the guest bedroom, which became the maid's room. Out of the house into the yard. Attorney, wife, mother. House maid. Yard pet. I mean it's just so negative, don't you agree? I'm sure you find this implausibe. Unbelievable. Inconceivable. And, even if you found it credible, quite perplexing. Me too. Some of you might be thinking, why would a husband do such a thing to his wife? Hmph. Come on now. Men? You don't need any family law, anthropology or psychology to answer that question. No middle-aged person in a long-term marriage would even bother to ask. But most of you are probably thinking, how could he get away with it? Why would his wife or their children put up with it? Good questions. I've thought about them myself. Lots. Too much really. Got obsessed with those questions. But had to give up thinking about them. Got too distressed. Too tired. Too depressed. So, I try not to think too much about that stuff anymore. What's done is done. Try to focus on the present, the positives. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Trying to tell you my story. How it started. Well, at least the recent stuff. OK. To recap, in brief. My life took several negative turns. Out of the firm, into the home. Out of the master bedroom, into the guest bedroom. Out of the house, into the yard. Attorney, wife, mother to house maid to yard pet. Sounds rather discouraging, doesn't it? Lots of negatives there. No doubt about that. It was pretty traumatizing. Demoralizing too, when I thought about all the negatives. But there were positives, too. Take being turned into a yard pet. I admit, the pet turn started out negative. Real negative. After my several months of my dismal performance as a house maid, there was a family conference, which I sat through mostly in silence. Anyway, they reviewed my performance as house maid--all very negative--and discussed potential alternatives. And that's when they offered me the opportunity to audition as a cow, a pig (sow, really), and a dog. I know. Sounds so demeaning, doesn't it? I thought so too at the time. Got really upset about it in fact. Ran to my room screaming and crying. But they told me that was maid's room. I'd been removed as maid, so I was removed from the room. Made me come back out, calm down. I was still traumatized, always so calm and reasonable, my husband said he wanted to handle this in a civilized way. I had to remove my maid's uniform first, though. I didn't deserve it. Had to leave it in the maid's room. I didn't think that was completely fair. My maid's uniforms were the only clothes I had left, besides my underwear. I was embarrassed about being in my underwear while we discussed this, when they got to stay fully dressed. But, they reminded me, it was my own fault. If my performance as house maid had been up to form, I would still have my uniform, and there would be no need for this family conference. In brief, like the conference itself, the loss of my uniform was simply a consequence of my poor performance. My husband made this argument. But I'd been a lawyer too, its general logic impressed me, though I was still very distressed. Regardless, he was still a lawyer. Head of the firm. I'd been a maid at home. Made a mess of that. As a disqualified maid, once he clarified his argument, I didn't feel qualified to refute it. In fact, as a modest person, I lost my confidence to protest when I lost my uniform because of my poor perfomance as maid. So, I suffered most of the rest of the family conference in embarrassed, undressed silence. Well, I did still have my underwear on. And, in all fairness, that did offer the family one further, more human alternative to consider, before they moved on to the animal auditions. I was standing there in a bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings, staring down at the floor. My husband asked if, looking at me, anyone could think of something worthwhile for me to be and do. He pointed out that prostitution raised legal and health risks, so that was ruled out. He also said, for objective judgement, it would only be fair if he and his lover recused themselves. So any ideas would have to come from the kids. My daughter didn't say anything. My son said, looking at me, all he could think of was a stripper. Of course. What else would occur to an adolescent male. Then again, consider the garments I had left. It was the only thing for which I met clothing requirements. My son picked the music. MTV. Most music videos looked like strip shows anyway, so it seemed a reasonable choice. Of course, all the girls in the music videos were much younger, firmer, bolder and better dancers than me. But we were dressed alike. I was already really embarrassed. And clumsy besides. Which made me more embarrassed. Which made the whole thing an embarrassment for all concerned. In the interest of giving me every chance--with the prurience of male adolescence--my son said there was no way I could win unless I lost the rest of my clothes. I'd never make it as a dancer without going further as a stripper. Ethically evasive, but logically persuasive, it was the kind of argument one would expect from an attorney. Like father, like son, I thought. I stripped. It was a disaster. Lost a lot of face there, along with the rest of my clothes. The laughter they'd been considerate enough to restrain before rained down on me in a torrential downpour. I felt so fully defeated and so totally depleted that, as utterly pitiful as it seems, I was actually grateful to get down on my hands and knees. That's when I was, once again, offered the animal auditions as alternatives. Not very positive alternatives, at first glance, I'll grant you. But I was being given another chance at something. Was there anything else that I would be able to be or do without clothing? It almost seemed reasonable under the circumstances. I mean look at what had already happened. Disqualified as a lawyer and wife, lost my office and place in the master bedroom. Disqualified as a maid, lost my uniform and my place in the guest room that had become the maid's room. Disqualified as a stripper, lost my underwear. Disqualified as a mother for even performing as a stripper in front of my son, much less at his direction. See what I mean? A whole series of negatives there. Not many alternatives left, much less positive ones. Cow, pig (sow), dog. They didn't sound like very good alternatives to me, either. Couldn't think of any positives among them. But they tried to be encouraging as they discussed the possibilities. They started with the cow, which was to be my first animal audition. I have big breasts. Used to be embarrassed and feel demeaned when men were always looking at my breasts while they were talking to me. But since my breasts began sagging, and men stopped goggling, I'm embarrassed that a secret part of me has been begging for the ogling I found so degrading before. But, how now? Being a cow? I was down on all fours. Big breasts dangling down. Jiggling. Brought giggling from by daughter. Brought more embarrassment and shudders from me, and a murmer of resentment about sags. Brought comments about udders and milk bags from my son. All I thought about was my embarrassment and debasement. But, once they get beyond their amusement, everyone else voiced their agreement that I had the tits to be a good cow. Something positive in the negative of having big, sagging breasts. But, they said, there's more to being a good cow than just having big, sagging breasts. Hmm. If they're judged on something other than their jugs, cows have it better than women in some respects. Another positive, maybe. I was trying to balance my positive assessment of being a cow against all the embarrassment and debasement. But, by the time I finished my cow audtion, we all came to an agreement that there were just too many negatives. They thought my moo was deficient. When I got my moo low and loud enough, it wasn't nasal enough. And when I made my moo more nasal it was not low and loud enough. My moo was worth a good laugh, they thought, but definitely was not good enough to be a good cow. Actually, I thought my moo might improve with more practice. But, regardless, I thought it hurt too much to have my son pulling down on my nipples so hard. And I gagged and threw up grazing on grass. So, on balance, being a cow had more negatives than positives, and I just wasn't very good at it, despite my big, sagging tits. I admit, I was really discouraged and feeling pretty low then. Verified mammary material, but disqualified as a cow. But then my husband's young lover took the initiative to offer a sympathetic incentive by pointing to the potentially positive aspects of being a pig or sow. I admit, I was pretty cynical about her motives, and skeptical about there being any positives at all in being a pig. But she came up with one right away. Never have to worry about dieting again. Could pig out all I wanted. Hmm. It sounded tempting, I admit. I'd already been gaining weight since I left the firm. I was just weighing the positives and negatives of pigging out on an ongoing basis, never dieting again, and becoming a big, fat pig, when my son got carried away with enthusiasm. Most men grow out of it--one of the few ways they mature--but my son was still young enough to think rolling around in the mud was a positive thing. I didn't agree. Even as a girl, I'd been kind of prissy, and never really liked getting messy. As a frequently bathed and elegantly clothed woman who considered herself a classy lady, and I loathed even being tacky. As a mother recalling scolding and cleaning my mud-caked son, the thought of rolling around in the mud myself was simply appalling. Of course, that's precisely why my son found the prospect so gleefully appealing. I was already nude on my hands and knees. Had just performed as a cow. Given that, I thought girly prissiness, classily lady-like tidiness and motherly fussiness might be inappropriately strict standards to apply to the prospect of rolling around in the mud. And, my son was so enthusiastic that I'd try to be a good sport about it. So, I crawled out to a fallow corner of the garden and let him hose me down. All the squishy mud felt really yucky and gross at first. And I felt pretty foolish about rolling around in it. But once I gave into the childish sensation of shameless and mindless abandon, it was pretty fun. I was already snorting and grunting pretty good. And every time my son pointed the hose between my legs I started squealing too. With thoughts of guiltlessly pigging out forever blissfully bouncing around in my snorting, grunting, squealing, mud-caked head, I was really getting into the prospect of being a pig when my daughter issued a cautionary reminder that the audition wasn't finished until I oinked. I just couldn't get that oink right no matter how I tried. Maybe it was the same kind of vocal limitations I'd demonstrated trying to moo as a cow. It was curious, really, because I'd always had a very flexible voice as a singer. Was even a soloist in high-school chorus and church choir. But an authentic oink is another thing altogether. I mean, you can't just say the word oink and get it to sound anything like a real pig. So, I tried various things out in combination. Simultaneous snorts and oinks for a more nasal sound. Grunts and oinks for more throaty inflection. Squeals and oinks for higher and louder intonation. But none of them accomplished anything near the kind of articulation you get with the authentic oink of a real pig. And everyone agreed I'd been doing really good being a pig up to then. So, I was really disappointed. So many unanticipated positives, but that one decisive negative. I'd gotten my hopes up so high by then, that I was really devastated. I got to admit, that was my low point right there. Being a good pig except for my bad oink. I didn't even squeal any more when my son hosed me down again after I crawled out of the mud. But my spirits were lifted a little in spite of myself when my husband let the dogs out of the kennel and they came bounding over. You know how it is. You can be having the worst of days, and be in a really foul mood. But you get dogs around around you, so happy to see you, wagging their tails, acting goofy, always eager to play, and your bad mood just goes away. Aren't I right? Well, as bad as I was feeling about being disqualifed as a pig, the unqualifed joy of those dogs just jerked me out of it. They'd already gotten pretty worked up in the kennel watching me getting hosed down in the mud, and hearing me snorting, grunting, squealing and trying to oink. They'd always seen me acting pretty ladylike and sedate. So they didn't know quite what to make of my pig antics in the garden. And, when they got really rambunctious--jumping around, barking, nosing me to the ground--while my son finished hosing me down, I couldn't help laughing. Almost got hysterical actually. But then things got serious again when my husband put the dogs back in the kennel and announced that my last opportunity to audition would be as a dog. I was really apprehensive. I mean, it was a really stressful situation. I'd already been disqualified as a lawyer, wife, mother, maid, cow and pig. All that was left was a dog. The pressure was really intensified. I'd always prided myself on performing well in high-pressure situations like college-entrance exams, the bar exam, courtroom appearances. This was a high-pressure situation, to be sure. Kind of like a final, final exam. Still, performing as a dog was different from any of that schoolroom and courtroom stuff. And, bottom line was, I'd already blown it as a cow and a sow. So, I don't think it was just being hosed down that had me hyperventiating. I was really stressing. It was a good thing I was on my hands and knees, or I might have feinted. And I was almost getting my breath back even before my husband put a bag on my head. All the pats on the head and behind helped too. Got them from the whole family. My son, daughter, husband, and even his young lover. In fact, I'm ashamed to admit it, but the way she mixed soft pats with gentle strokes on bottom felt the best of all. And, accompanied by her tender cooing, she did the most to calm me down. She also helped get me in a better frame of mind about it. Really psyched me up with some good coaching. She pointed out that, while cows and pigs were barnyard animals, dogs were backyard animals. So, dogs got to stay closer to home, she encouraged. And, because of that, I'd already become more familiar with their behavior than I was with cows and pigs. She had me really believing in myself. I can do this, I can do this, I was thinking. And you know what? I did it! Everyone agreed I performed really well. So, I got to be a dog! OK, it's not all that great. I agree. But I was a real low point there. It seemed like nothing was going right. And this was something at least. So I latched onto it. OK? Sure, it was humiliating. But I worked really hard at being a good dog. And I made it! A sense of accomplishment is important for a person's self-esteem. And, after all my failures, I felt I could finally redeem myself a bit being a good dog. Do you blame me? After all those negative experiences, being disqualified at so many things, when I qualifed as a dog, I felt really gratified. Well, maybe not quite gratified, I suppose. That's putting too positive a spin on it, even for me. But pretty satisfied, finally, And really relieved. See, I believed what she said about the importance of getting to stay around the house. Women know these things. They're domestic by nature. Oh, I know that sounds so unware from a former feminist and career woman, not to mention an anthropologist. Would have said so myself a few months ago. But people learn things through their experiences. That's what personal growth and self-actualization is all about, right? See? I haven't forgotten my psychology. I've just learned some new stuff. And overall, that's what this story's about in the most positive sense. Continued in Part 2 -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+