"Presents: A Christmas Tale"

"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 cabin 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.

"Presents" Chapter 2
by c.w. cobblestone

After Elena and Kurt left to spend Thanksgiving at her parents' cabin near an Aspen ski lodge, I briefly considered crashing on the couch inside the nice, warm house. The garage could get awfully cold at night, and since I was home alone for a week, I could've slept on the sofa every evening and nobody would've been the wiser.

I ultimately wimped out, though, reminding myself that Kurt had specifically ordered me to sle-ep in the garage. Even though he was hundreds of miles away, the thought of crossing him scared the sh-it out of me, so I lay on my cot all night cocooned in a horse blanket, shivering uncontrollably and worrying about my testicles.

Did Kurt seriously want me castrated, or was he merely trying to scare me? Was I honestly entertaining the notion of having my balls removed to keep my marriage intact? How did things get to the point where such an atrocity was even possible?

Sle-ep wouldn't come. I was kept awake by an endless loop that played in my head of that fateful night when Kurt came into my life, and everything changed.

Up to that point, I'd been a pussywhipped, rich husband with a bitchy trophy wife, although because of my success in business, I'd never thought of myself as a beta. But getting the sh-it kicked out of you by your wife's lover while she cheers him on has a way of crystalizing the universe. It helps you see things how they really are.

I came to realize that only a beta would've put up with Elena's sh-it for six years like I had. Throughout our marriage, I lavished her with gifts and affection, but nothing I did was ever good enough. She rarely had a nice word to say to me, although she'd fake it during business functions, so as not to jeopardize her cash cow. She berated me in front of her friends, telling me how stupid I was, and making fun of my weight and my small penis. Elena and I stopped having sex a few months after the wedding, and she banished me to the couch because she said my snoring bothered her. After our sex life evaporated, it quickly became obvious that my wife was running around on me — and it became obvious to her that I wasn't going to do sh-it about it. She became more brazen, and would taunt me about her infidelities if she'd had a few dri-nks.

Then came the night I'll never forget, when I met Kurt for the first time. I knew Elena had been dating someone for a few months, and I'd overheard her on the phone telling friends how this guy was "special." But she had never brought home any of her lovers before, so I was caught completely off guard when the amorous, intox-icated couple stumbled through the front door while I was watching a nature video.

I jumped off the couch. "What the fuck, Elena?"

Kurt snarled. "Watch how you talk to my woman, fat boy."

"Who the fuck are you? This is my house, asshole!"

The muscular invader snatched me by the collar and started punching me in the face. Amid the flurry of fists, I heard Elena say "Hell, yeah, kick his ass, baby."

When Kurt was finally finished, he tossed me against the wall, which I hit with a dull thud before sinking to the floor.

Elena stepped into view. "Me and Kurt decided we're tired of sneaking around; we love each other, and we don't care who knows it. So, you and me are done. Now, when we draw up the divorce papers, I don't want a whole bunch of—"

"Honey, God, no!" I struggled to my knees. "Please, don't leave me, Elena, I'm begging you."

Kurt jeered. "Can you believe this fucking guy?"

"I told you he's a turd." My wife sneered at me. "Wipe your nose, idiot; you'll get blo-od everywhere."

While I sopped up the stream with the back of my hand, Elena rained down verbal fire.

"I don't love you, Roger. I love Kurt; I think it's fairly obvious why. You're a fat, ugly pig with a little dick."

Kurt chortled. "Damn, girl, tell him how you really feel."

"Oh, he already knows," Elena replied. "Now, then, Roger, like I was saying, I don't want some big fight over money. I know you can afford fancy lawyers, but I also know what I'm entitled to, so you might as well—"

"Honey, please don't do this. PLEASE!! There's no need for a d-divorce, I swear. We can stay together. You can keep on ..." I glanced at the smirking Kurt. "Um, you guys can keep on seeing each other. I don't mind. I'm begging you, Elena, you can do whatever you want — just, please don't leave me!"

Elena cocked her head. "Why in the world would you want to stay married if I'm seeing Kurt openly?"

"Because he's a fucking wimp," my wife's boyfriend answered with an amused glint in his eye.

"Why?" Elena persisted. "If I'm with Kurt, then why would you want to stay married? Isn't that going to be embarrassing? We're not going to hide our relationship, Roger."

I hung my head. "Please ... I ... I can't imagine what the world would be like if I didn't have you to come home to."

"What a fucking wuss." Kurt smacked his lips. "Path-e-tic."

Elena scoffed. "He's got separation anxiety because his birth mom left him in the woman's bathroom at McDonald's when he was a baby."

"Wow, no sh-it?" Kurt chuckled.

"I thought I told you that."

"No, it's the first I heard of it. Damn, I guess that would make someone desperate. That's fucked up, dude."

My wife rested her head on her lover's shoulder and smirked down at me. What a sight I must've made, kneeling there with my hands folded in front of me, with my left eye swollen shut and my nose ble-eding.

Her green eyes cut through me. "Ask him."

"Um, ask him what?"

Elena bared her teeth. "Ask him if we can stay married."

I was unable to meet Kurt's gaze when I turned his way. "Um, please, is it okay if she doesn't get a divorce from me? I promise, I won't stand in your guy's way. You can keep on seeing each other, whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?"

"Um, y-yeah."

"And why is that? What would you get out of this?"

"I ... I love her."

Kurt stepped forward and bitch-slapped me. "Not anymore, you don't. She's mine. I don't ever want to hear you say that sh-it again. You hear?"

"Um, yeah, sorry, I ... I won't. Please, I'll do whatever you want."

"Hmmmm ... whatever I want." Kurt played with Elena's earring for several seconds, allowing the anticipation to build. "Well, Rog, for starters, if this is going to work, you need to think of things in a different way. She's not your wife. She's not your girl, your companion, your best friend, or someone to watch movies and eat popcorn with. She's mine. You hear me, fat ass? Let me hear you say it."

"Um ... she's ... she's yours."

"Damn straight. You ain't good enough for her, you fucking blob. She told me she never loved you; she married you for your money." He guffawed. "But that's not exactly the scoop of the century, is it? I mean, look at you." He pointed to the foyer mirror. "Look at yourself, Roger. Now, look at this beautiful woman." He kissed my wife, making a loud popping sound. "Tell me, Roger: Are you good enough for her?"

"N-no."

"Say it."

"I'm ... not good enough for her."

Elena nodded. "You got that sh-it right."

Kurt folded his arms. "Okay, if I let you stay married, we'll have to lay down a few ground rules. First of all, you need to move your sh-it out to the garage; I know Elena already has you sle-eping on the couch, but I don't want you sle-eping in the same house with her. You ain't her goddamn roommate. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"You say 'yes, sir' when I tell you to something," Kurt snapped. "You hear me, fat boy?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Elena purred. "OMG, that is so fucking sexy. I need you to fuck me right now."

And that's exactly what happened. Without another word to me, Kurt dragged my wife upstairs. I spent the next hour curled up on the living room floor, nursing my black eye and throbbing nose, listening to my wife's screams and the headboard hammering the bedroom wall. Then, the house got quiet, and I realized the lovers had dozed off, so I grabbed a blanket, trudged to the garage and spent a sle-epless first night in my new quarters.

I'll never forget the sense of betrayal I felt hearing my wife tell her boyfriend how much it turned her on to watch him beat and hum-iliate me. I'll also never forget the warm feeling that washed over me when I realized I'd had a hand in making Elena sexually excited, something I'd never been able to achieve.

That was the moment when I accepted myself as a beta, and realized that I could carve out a place for myself in Elena's life where I actually contributed to her happiness and sexual satisfaction. It was like getting a shot of morphine; I was instantly hooked on that calm feeling of acquiescence, and like many junkies, my addiction led me down a road of degradation and loss.

After that first night, Kurt came and went as he pleased, and whenever he wanted sex, he knew he could make his girlfriend horny by bullying me. Elena eventually gave Kurt his own key, and he took to barging in at all hours, either to fuck my wife, to just hang out and watch TV, or both. I walked on eggshells whenever he was around, knowing at any minute he might slap me silly, trip me, give me a severe wedgie, or pull some other meanspirited trick to get my wife going.

When Kurt was gone, Elena paid very little attention to me. She'd always been bitchy, but after introducing me to her lover, she acted like I was an annoyance at best, ignoring me for the most part unless barking out an order. Sometimes, if she'd been dri-nking, she'd cut me to pieces by calling me all sorts of spineless wimps, but she otherwise treated me like a servant she didn't trust.

We settled into a routine, and I learned to endure the hum-iliation at home while throwing myself into my job at the firm. Still, although I'd adapted somewhat to the debasing new normal, I'd been dreading the holidays, because I knew Elena planned to leave me alone for a week while introducing her lover to her family at the ski lodge. None of my in-laws had liked me to start with, and I was mortified at the prospect of them learning that I'd begged to stay married while Elena and Kurt rubbed my nose in their relationship.

As it turned out, my fears were nothing compared to reality. On my first night of solitude, I had a hellova lot more than embarrassment and loneliness to worry about.

My main concern was my balls.

"Presents" Chapter 3
by c.w. cobblestone


In the cold, lonely darkness of the garage, I fondled them. Jiggled them. Hefted them. Rolled each one between my thumb and forefinger, exploring their shape and pliability.

My balls. My precious balls.

I curled up on my cot sobbing with Elena's words echoing in my head:

"People lose their testicles all the time. It's not like you need 'em anyway."

My beloved wife wasn't wrong. People routinely lose their testicles after medical issues, or because they choose to alter themselves that way. Elena was also right about there being no need for me to remain sexually viable, since she had absolutely no use for me in the sack, and I'd never think of cheating on her. When I thought about it logically, I couldn't come up with a valid reason why I needed to continue producing sperm.

Still, they were my balls. My BALLS! Aside from the symbolism of losing my masculinity, I didn't want any body parts lopped off, especially at the whim of some asshole who was fucking my wife.

Unfortunately, my wishes had never been a priority, especially when it came to Elena. Life is about making choices, and in my situation, it all boiled down to one question: Would I rather hold onto my wife or my testicles?

Kurt had said he wanted me emasculated because he didn't like the idea of sharing his woman with another man — even a "fat fag" like me. It surprised me when he said that; I didn't think I presented any kind of challenge to him after he kicked my ass in front of my smirking wife. Following that fateful evening, I always showed him the utmost respect when he came over. I spent hours in our driveway washing his truck while he was busy with Elena inside the house, and I often gave him long, relaxing foot rubs when they were finished in the bedroom. Once a week, I'd drive straight from work to his apartment and spend all night cleaning it from top to bottom while he crashed at my place.

I desperately wanted to avoid reliving the humi-liation of getting thrashed in Elena's presence, so I called Kurt "sir" like he wanted, and I never questioned his orders, not even once. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. The more I did for him, the more he wanted — including demanding that I give him my balls as a macabre Christmas present.

My face was raw from crying as I lay in my cot in the garage going over the depressing situation from every angle. Finally, with new tears chafing my cheeks, I resolved to go through with it. I'd have the goddamn operation if that's what it took to keep my wife from running off with the evil bastard. I held onto the hope that Kurt had been kidding, or was testing me to see if I was wimpy enough to actually do it, but if not, I promised myself that I'd be brave and see it through.

For her, I kept repeating. For her. For her.

I considered either calling or texting Elena to let her know I'd decided to acquiesce to her lover's demand, although I decided against it. I knew she didn't like to be bothered when she was with Kurt unless it was an emergency, so I figured my news would have to wait until they returned from Aspen.

The first two days of solitude dragged by. After work, there was nothing to do but mope around worrying about the fate of my balls, pining for my wife, and wondering what she and her boyfriend were doing at the cabin that had been in her family for 100 years. I pictured the amorous couple relaxing around the fireplace after a day on the slopes, chatting with Elena's parents, Tom and Linda, and her two bitchy little 20-year-old twin sisters, Rachel and Taylor. Part of me longed to be there, but considering the company I'd be keeping besides Elena, I wasn't so sure it would be worth it.

My in-laws had never liked me. I'd overheard Elena on the phone many times complaining about me to her mo-ther, and I happened to be walking by the bedroom the night she broke the news to her mom that she was seeing other men because I was a "fat pig" who "disgusted" her. I'm sure Linda relayed that bit of gossip to her husband, and Tom's lack of respect for me plummeted — and he'd never thought much of me in the first place. He and Linda were in great shape for being in their 50s, and they often berated me for my weight. But at least they didn't constantly call me "lard-ass" the way Rachel and Taylor did. My sisters-in-law openly made fun of me and nobody stopped them. I loathed visits to that hateful family home, although whenever Elena wanted to visit her folks, I had no say in the matter and would obediently tag along.

Three days after Elena's departure, she sent me a text that thrilled and crushed me at the same time:

We need u here. Tell work you have an emergency and need the rest of the week off. Use the debit card to take a Greyhound. Call when u get here

"Presents" Chapter 4
by c.w. cobblestone

My mouth watered as I watched a woman take a bite of the hamburger she'd purchased from the bus terminal's concession stand. With a sigh, I added hunger to my list of miseries.

The last of the food I'd prepared for my long Greyhound journey had been devoured hours earlier, but I had no cash and didn't dare use my debit card to buy a snack, since my wife didn't like me spending money without permission unless it was an absolute emergency. So, I sat on a bench at the front of the station listening to my grumbling stomach, rising every few minutes to fill up with water from the dri-nking fountain.

I'd been cooling my heels for more than two hours after sending Elena a text letting her know I'd arrived in Aspen. Feeling totally alone and wondering why in the world I'd been summoned, I watched the crowd, which was mostly college kids lugging ski equipment, happy families, and grubby drifters.

When people-watching became boring, I fumbled around in my gym bag for the paperback I'd brought. My spirits soared when my fingers found a candy bar that I'd forgotten about. Elena didn't allow me to splurge on luxuries, especially food (since she was always on my ass about losing weight), but after our office Halloween party a few weeks earlier, I smuggled a Snickers bar home and threw it in my bag so she wouldn't see it.

With a satisfied smile, I leaned back on the bench and savored the chocolate, relieved that something had finally gone my way.

A familiar voice snapped me back to reality:

"FIGURES YOU'D BE STUFFING YOUR FAT FACE."

My fat-her-in-law's rude greeting made me jump, and I almost dropped the candy bar. "Uh, hey, Tom."

"Hey, there. Looks like you've put on a few pounds — you sure you need that Snickers bar?"

"I ... uh ..."

The older man snapped his fingers. "All right, I ain't got time for a bunch of bullsh-it. Grab your bag and let's go."

Tom had always been gruff with me, but he seemed to be treating me particularly discourteously. With a pounding heart, I followed him out of the bus station and hopped into his SUV's passenger side.

My fat-her-in-law twisted the ignition key and revved the motor. "You're probably wondering why my dau-ghter told you to come out here."

I nodded.

Tom snorted. "Well, it sure as hell ain't because she wanted to spend the holidays with you, that's for sure." He leered. "Kurt's something else, ain't he? My dau-ghter finally found a real man. They're totally in love with each other. I knew it would happen sooner or later, since she never loved you — but I didn't figure you'd want to stay married to her. What the hell's up with that?"

I hunched forward in the passenger's seat. "Uh, I dunno, Tom, I, uh ... I just want her in my life."

"Kurt says he has you slee-ping in the garage?"

"Uh, yeah."

"And he makes you call him 'sir?'"

My ears burned. "Y-yeah."

Tom shook his head. "Elena says he kicked the sh-it out of you. And then, you got on your knees with your nose all ble-eding and begged her not to leave you."

I didn't know how to reply. My wife had clearly told her folks everything, and it was beyond mortifying hearing the events of that life-changing evening relayed back to me by someone who'd always made it clear that he didn't think I was good enough for his dau-ghter.

Tom put the SUV in drive and we rolled out of the bus station parking lot. "Well, you are one pathetic sonofabitch, that's all I can say," he mused. "I always knew you was a wimp ... but, DAMN. You're about a spineless mo-therfucker, you know that?"

I jammed my hands under my knees and said nothing.

"What kind of man lets his wife have a boyfriend, and flaunt it right in front of his face?"

Still unable to conjure up an answer, I shrugged.

"Well, Elena is right — you are a fat turd who needs to be taken advantage of, if you're gonna put yourself in that position. Which brings me to why we needed you out here. We were planning on having Thanksgiving dinner in the cabin, but the damn water main burst the other day while we were out skiing, so we've been staying in a motel. Kurt says he can fix the break with the tools he's got in his truck — because he's not useless like you are — but the pipe is about 15 feet underground, and it's a mo-therfucker of a job to dig that deep. We can't hire anyone to do it on short notice so close to the holiday, and Kurt doesn't want to spend two days digging. So, Elena says you'd be glad to do it."

My jaw dropped. "Uh ... you ... she wants me to dig a hole?"

"Well, she sure as hell don't want to share a drumstick with you and look into your eyes, does she? I think she's found the love of her life, don't you think?" Tom chuckled. "It's gonna be a bitch getting that hole dug before Thursday, but maybe it'll knock some weight off your ass."

My fat-her-in-law turned on the radio and blasted a Johnny Cash song, making it impossible to continue the conversation.

The song, "Cry, Cry, Cry" reminded me of my early marriage to Elena:

Everybody knows where you go when the sun goes down
I think you only live to see the lights of town
I wasted my time when I would try, try, try
When the lights have lost their glow you're gonna cry, cry, cry
I lie awake at night to wait till you come in
You stay a little while and then you're gone again
Every question that I ask I get a lie, lie, lie
For every lie you tell you're gonna cry, cry, cry

Listening to that song reminded me of the days when I'd sit at home alone sobbing, knowing my beloved wife was out fucking around on me, and thinking that eventually she'd see the error of her ways and do some crying of her own. But that was before I'd accepted that I was a beta, and had resigned myself to being Elena's doormat so I could keep her in my life. In this new paradigm, Elena wasn't doing me wrong — she was taking what was rightfully hers. My job was to keep her happy, and do things like spend six hours on a Greyhound bus, and toil for two days digging a hole in the freezing cold so she could enjoy Thanksgiving dinner in her family cabin.

My mind was such a jumble as the SUV rumbled down the freeway, I totally forgot about my testicle situation. All I could think about was seeing my wife again when we arrived at the cabin.

Alas, it was not to be; when we pulled up to the sprawling rustic dwelling, Kurt was alone when he came outside to greet us.

"Well, well, if it ain't ol' Tubby McGoo," my wife's lover said with a smirk as I exited the SUV. "You ready to do some digging, fat boy?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Tom grinned. "Boy, Kurt, you got this chubby bastard scared to death. His whole attitude changed as soon as you came out here."

"Nah, Tubby's not scared." Kurt leaned forward and roughly tousled my hair, making me wince. "We just got a little understanding between us — ain't that right, Rog?"

"Yes, sir."

Kurt patted my cheek. "Attaboy. Now, grab that shovel over there and follow me."

As always, I obeyed, securing the tool he'd pointed to and trailing behind the two alpha males as they led me to a clearing in the back of the cabin.

Kurt drew an X in the snow with his boot. "Right there. I need a 15-foot hole dug; six feet wide all around." He nodded at a nearby toolbox. "There's a tape measure in there. Once you get down below 12 feet, you need to go easy so you don't damage the pipe."

"Be careful, too — my great-grandfat-her laid that pipe with his own hands," Tom warned.

I nodded.

"Acknowledge him when he speaks to you, fat-ass," Kurt snapped.

"Y-yes, sir," I said to my sneering fat-her-in-law.

Kurt pointed to the X. "You can get it done by Wednesday, but you're gonna have to bust your ass. There's some food for you in a basket in the kitchen, and coffee, which you're gonna need. You'll need to space that food out, because that's all you're gonna get. Don't be eating what's in there for Thanksgiving; you get what's in the basket and nothing else. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want at least half this job done by tomorrow morning. That's seven-and-a-half feet. Let's make it 8 feet. I'll come by at 9 or so to check, so you better have it done. You hear me, fat boy?"

"Um, y-yes, sir."

Tom chortled. "You'll probably be out here till 4 in the morning to get that done, especially with that frozen ground. But there's a lantern in the shed; there's no reason you can't keep digging in the dark. And the ground will get softer as you go down."

"Maybe it'll take some weight off his ass," Kurt remarked with a sneer.

"That's exactly what I said!" Tom clapped my wife's lover on the back. "Great minds think alike."

Without another word my way, the two men strolled toward the front of the cabin chatting amicably.

There were tears in my eyes as I started pecking at the frozen ground with the shovel.

"Presents" Chapter 5
by c.w. cobblestone

When the first sliver of daylight peeked over the tree line, I mustered every ounce of energy left in my aching, exhausted body and started shoveling like a madman. I wasn't sure of the time, or how deep the hole was, since it had been a while since I'd measured. But I knew there was a lot more digging to do, so I pushed myself to go faster, fearful of incurring Kurt's wrath if I didn't make my deadline.

Thankfully, my fat-her-in-law had been correct when he said the soil would get softer as I dug deeper. Since the ground was frozen, it took five hours to excavate just two feet, and I was scared to death I wouldn't get the job done by 9 the next morning. But the task got easier after a while and I made good time, working through the night and stopping only for three coffee-slash-bathroom breaks, and to wolf down a paltry dinner.

The refrigerator in the cabin was stocked with provisions for the upcoming Thanksgiving feast, although Kurt had told me I was restricted to eating what was in the basket on the kitchen floor: A banana, two apples and a small can of tuna. I ate half the tuna, half the banana and one of the apples for supper, deciding to save the rest for breakfast when I'd finished the job, since I wasn't sure when I'd get another chance to eat after that.

Digging a hole in the winter was backbreaking work, but it still left time to think about my depressing situation, so to quiet the voices in my head, I started singing at the top of my lungs. The cabin was in the middle of nowhere, so I wasn't worried about being heard by human ears.

What a sight I must have been, digging at dusk by lanternlight as fast as I could, while warbling out of tune like a deranged idiot.

At sunrise, I measured how deep I'd dug, and was shocked that I'd already gone down 9 feet, exceeding Kurt's order by a full foot. With a self-satisfied smile, I wandered into the cabin and peered at the coo-coo clock above the sprawling stone fireplace. It was just before 7, meaning I had a full two hours to eat the rest of my food and relax.

Then, like a true wimp, I started second-guessing myself. Kurt had told me to dig 8 feet, and I wondered whether he'd get mad that I'd not followed his order to the letter, rather than being pleased that I'd gone the extra mile. In the end, my beta instincts took over, and, playing it safe, I threw dirt back in the hole until it measured 8 feet exactly.

With the first part of the job finally done, I trudged back into the nice, warm cabin and curled up on the couch. I had worked for 18 hours straight, and was absolutely wiped out, so it took only a few seconds to fall into dreamland, where visions of my beloved Elena floated through the blackness .... the softness of her hair ... her dazzling, ultra-white smile ... her incredible, curvaceous body ... the sound of her voice ...

"COMFY, ARE WE??"

The masculine bark jolted me awake.

Kurt stood over me frowning. "Who the hell said you could sle-ep on the couch, fat boy?"

I jumped to my feet. "S-sorry, sir."

Tom shook his head. "What a wimp."

"You got that right." Kurt pointed toward the back of the cabin. "Did you get that hole dug like I told you to?"

"Yes, sir."

"Eight feet?"

"Yes, sir."

He patted me on the head. "See? You ain't totally useless."

That got a laugh out of my fat-her-in-law. "Oh, I don't know Kurt — Elena says he's pretty useless."

Kurt waved his hand. "Nah, Tubby's good for a lot of stuff. Ain't you, Tubby?"

"Uh, um, I think so."

"Tell Tom what you're good at."

I worked my tongue around the inside of my mouth. "I ... well, I'm pretty good at predicting stock trends."

Tom scoffed. "Yeah, that fancy job is the only reason my daught-er married you. I must've heard 10 people at your wedding say 'she's only with him for his money.' It wasn't exactly some huge secret, was it?"

"Um ... I guess not."

Kurt smacked me upside the head. "Call him 'sir' when you answer him, fat ass."

"Yes, sir," I replied, rubbing my noggin.

Tom nodded regally. "I knew Elena would end up leaving you someday. My little girl is a free spirit, and she can't be tied down forever to a man she doesn't love, money or not. I'm proud of her — and I'm sure as hell glad she met Kurt here. My Elena finally got the kind of man she deserves, instead of a fat piece of sh-it like you."

"Aw, shucks, Tom, Roger's not so bad." Kurt regarded me with a twinkle in his eye. "He's good at more than stocks and bonds sh-it. He's a great little maid — ain't you?"

"Uh, yes, sir."

"My shoes have never shined so good."

"Um, thank you, sir."

"I have him come over to my place once a week to clean," Kurt explained to Tom.

My fat-her-in-law rolled his eyes. "I still can't get over what kind of a man allows this sh-it. I always knew this fat bastard wasn't much, but I never realized anyone could be so fucking pathetic."

Kurt leaned in closer to his older companion. "You want to know how pathetic he really is?"

Tom leered. "Sure. I can only imagine."

Kurt grinned. "I'm making him give me his balls for Christmas."

Tom's eyes got big. "Say, what? His balls?"

"Yeah, I want him to be a eunuch. I don't trust him living with Elena otherwise, even if he is sle-eping in the garage. It'll be like the old Roman emperor days, when they had eunuchs serving their queens."

It was all I could do to keep from crying when I realized Kurt hadn't been kidding — he really wanted me to go through with the orchiectomy.

My fat-her-in-law turned to me. "And you're actually gonna do this to yourself?"

I hung my head. "Y-yes."

"You are one pathetic piece of sh-it, you know that?" Tom spat in my face.

Kurt cracked up. "Bullseye!"

While the two men laughed at me, I stood there like an oaf, tears mingling with my fat-her-in-law's spittle.

Kurt touched Tom's sleeve. "Hey, don't tell Elena I told you, okay? She wasn't sure we should let you and Linda know; she was scared you guys might think it's too weird."

"Elena worries too much — she was afraid we wouldn't accept you and fat-ass here all living together, too, but we're not as old-fashioned as she thinks."

"Well, I appreciate it. I really do love your daught-er, Tom, and I wanted this all to be okay with you and Linda."

"I can tell you love her — I knew as soon as I saw you two together. And Linda, she just loves you, and she loves how happy you make Elena. It always bothered us that she married for money, because we knew she wasn't happy."

His words hit me like a right cross to the jaw, since all I'd ever wanted was to make my wife happy. But seeing how blissful she was with Kurt had also caused me to accept myself as a beta, submit to them both and support their relationship — even if it meant heartache and hum-iliation for me.

Tom looked at me. "So, how are you gonna have it done? The operation?"

"I ... uh, I haven't really thought about it, sir."

"Well, you damn well better start thinking about it," Kurt snapped. "Set something up with one of them doctors. Say you want to become a woman."

"OMG, can you imagine this fat fuck as a woman?" Tom made a face.

"Oh, I dunno." Kurt rubbed his chin dramatically. "Some guys like them mushy butt-cheeks."

The quip caused Tom to cho-ke from laughing so hard.

Kurt clapped twice. "All right, Tubby, come out back and show us the hole you dug."

I felt proud as I led my wife's lover and my fat-her-in-law out of the cabin and across the snow toward the site of my toil — especially when Kurt smiled upon seeing my handiwork.

"Nice job, Tubs." He clapped me on the back. "Now, you get to do the rest. You have until 3 to get it done — we'll be back from the motel by then, and I can get that pipe fixed before sundown, so everyone can crash here and have a nice Thanksgiving tomorrow. You hear me, fat boy? Three o'clock."

"Yes, sir."

As Kurt and Tom started to walk away, I cleared my throat. "Uh ... sir?"

Kurt stopped in his tracks. "What, Tubby?"

"Um, sir ... is there anything I can eat for lunch?"

"You ate what I left you in the basket already?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Kurt turned to Tom. "I dunno, what do you think? Does Tubs here deserve some lunch?"

Tom shook his head. "Nah, fuck him. He obviously ain't starving."

Kurt smirked at me and shrugged. "Sorry, Roger. No soup for you! Now, get to digging."

The two men strolled toward the front of the cabin laughing. I bit back tears and muttered 'fuck you' under my breath at my hateful fat-her-in-law before grabbing the shovel and attacking the soil with a vengeance.

After working out my frustrations on Mo-ther Earth, it dawned on me that my beloved Elena would be arriving at the cabin at 3 o'clock, which was why I had to be finished by then. I didn't even care that her bitch of a Mo-ther and her two evil little sisters would be coming, too — I dug the rest of the hole with a smile on my face.

I ached to see my wife so badly I didn't think about my balls once.

It's a relatable situation with a funny twist.
In love to cuckold fiction stories

LOVING this!

Thanks

Harsh situation, CW, but nice to have you back.

"Presents" Chapter 6
by c.w. cobblestone

I finished digging a half-hour early, although I didn't repeat my mistake of sle-eping on the couch, opting instead to lie down on a row of logs in the woodshed. It was a hard, lumpy bed, but it did the trick. I furiously rubbed my arms and torso in an effort to get warm while I waited for my wife, her lover and her family to return. Eventually, I buried my nose in my coat and, using my gym bag as a pillow, I dozed off.

It was getting dark when I finally opened my eyes, and I slogged to the cabin to see what time it was. I was surprised that it was almost 6. When it occurred to me that Elena and her folks were nearly three hours late, worry crept in.

With my head full of dire possibilities, I trudged back to the woodshed to wait. Just as I was starting to think something terrible had happened, I heard the crunch of tires on snow, and rushed outside to see my wife's Range Rover trailing Tom and Linda's SUV up the lengthy driveway. I noticed Kurt was driving my wife's vehicle — something she'd never dream of letting me do, unless it was to run to the gas station to fill up the tank.

I stood near the cabin entrance with my hands folded nervously in front of me as the vehicles rolled to a stop.

Rachel, my wife's 20-year-old sister, smirked when she exited her parents' SUV. "Well, well, if it isn't ol' Lard-Ass."

"Looks like he's gained another 20-30 pounds," her twin Taylor added with a snort.

Kurt, whose arm was draped around my wife, winked at me. "Looks like your fan club is here! Did you get that hole dug, Tubby?"

"Y-yes ..." I glanced around at everyone, mortified, before spitting out the required second word: "...sir."

Taylor's eyes lit up. "Dang, Elena, you weren't kidding — he has to call him 'sir.'"

"OMG that's hilarious," Rachel said, holding her hand over her mouth.

Linda shook her head and stared me down. "You always were a wimpy little creep, weren't you?"

I wasn't sure how to answer, although I knew I'd better say something, so I muttered, "um, yes ... ma'am."

Kurt popped his lips. "That's a good boy — call the men 'sir' and the ladies 'ma'am.'"

Rachel crinkled her nose. "Eww, I don't want to be called, 'ma'am;' that sounds like an old lady. Call me 'miss' — got it, Lard-Ass?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Me, too," her sister said.

"Yes, Miss."

The twins grinned at each other.

"He has to call us 'Miss,'" Taylor giggled.

Rachel snapped her fingers. "What do you say when I tell you something, Lard-Ass?"

"Uh, y-yes, Miss."

Everyone got a chuckle out of Little Miss Priss exercising her newfound power. Then, when the mirth faded, Kurt glanced up at the darkening sky.

"Too bad about that avalanche; it's a wonder we got here as fast as we did with all the roads closed," my wife's lover said. "There's not much daylight left to get that damn pipe done now."

Tom nodded toward me. "Have fuckface hold the lantern."

"Good idea," Kurt said. "Go get the lantern, Tubby."

"Yes, sir."

Taylor giggled. "I love how he calls you 'sir.' You can tell he's scared to death of you."

"Well, Elena said he mopped up the floor with the lard-ass, so I don't blame him for being scared," Rachel said, letting me know that my wife had relayed the humiliating events of that fateful evening to her whole family. "Kurt's got muscles, and Lard-Ass has got ... well, lard."

"Hey, Kurt, can you beat him up for us?" Taylor asked with a wicked grin.

"Ooh, yeah, can you?" her sister oozed.

Kurt chuckled, and turned to Tom and Linda. "Your dau-ghters are crazy."

"I know," Linda said, curling her lip at me. "But I've got to be honest — I wouldn't mind seeing you slap the idiot around a little myself. I never could stand him."

I just stood there with my head down, trying not to cry. Elena's family had never hidden the fact that they didn't care much for me, although with Kurt in the picture, openly seeing my wife and exposing me as a weakling with no self-esteem, my in-laws clearly felt unfettered to ab-use me as they saw fit.

"Beat him up for us," Taylor repeated.

Kurt smacked me on the back of the skull. "I'm gonna do just that if he don't get his fat ass in gear and go get that lantern like I told him to 20 minutes ago. Then, go get the toolbox out of the back of Tom's SUV, Tubby, and bring it out back."

"Yes, sir," I said before scurrying away rubbing my head.

Taylor scoffed. "What a wuss."

After the ladies filed into the cabin, Kurt and Tom headed toward the huge hole I'd dug. My wife's lover, who'd been in construction for years, jumped into the pit and began working on the broken water pipe while Tom handed him tools and helped in other ways. I stood there like a statue holding up the lantern. There wasn't much conversation because Kurt wanted to get the job done quickly and go to sle-ep, having been stuck in traffic for hours. Less talk meant fewer jibes at me, so while my arm got extremely tired from holding the lantern aloft, I appreciated the silence.

When the pipe was finally fixed, Tom helped Kurt out of the hole.

"Okay, Tubby, now you need to fill that back up," my wife's lover said, pointing to the pile of soil. "Then, you can go."

Tom laughed. "You're gonna make him walk to the bus station? That's 25 miles away."

"Well, I ain't driving him — I'm tired. You gonna drive him?"

"Fuck no; I'm beat," Tom said.

My heart sank. I had only seen my beloved wife for a few seconds, and for some reason, I'd entertained hopes of getting to hang out with her. I was more upset about the prospect of not spending time with Elena than the long walk. I bit my lip and tried not to cry.

Then, Tom saved my ass.

"Actually, I forgot — Linda was going to ask if the fat-ass could stick around until after Thanksgiving dinner; she said it would be nice to have someone to clean up and do the dishes for a change."

Kurt shrugged. "Sure; I don't care."

I again bit my lip, although this time it was to tamp down a smile.

I was quickly brought back to earth when Tom asked, "Where's he gonna sle-ep? I know Linda don't want him on the couch."

Kurt shrugged a second time. "I dunno. He can sle-ep in the shed, I guess."

Tom chuckled. "Perfect."

The two men walked away without another word my way.

I was too tired to cry. After two days of digging, I slept like a baby on my bed of hard logs.


"Presents" Chapter 7
by c.w. cobblestone

I wasn't in much of a holiday mood when I awoke in the woodshed Thanksgiving morning. My entire body ached from two days of digging, and sle-eping on hard logs hadn't helped. I couldn't feel my toes and feared they were frostbitten, although after I roused myself and stomped around the shed for a few minutes, the feeling returned to my lower extremities.

It was still dark and all was quiet. I ventured out of the woodshed and peeked at the cabin; no lights were on. With a lonesome sigh, I scooped up a handful of snow and ate it before tiptoeing toward the woods, treading lightly so the crunch of footsteps on snow wouldn't wake anyone. When I was a safe distance away, I took my morning leak, and then used more virgin snow to wash up and brush my teeth.

Then, it was back to the woodshed to wait. And think. And worry. And hate myself.

I sat on a log near the shed door, which I left open a crack so I could see the cabin. It was too dark to read the book I'd brought, and I didn't want to fiddle with my cellphone because the battery was low, so I closed my eyes and thought of Elena. I smiled when I recalled how pretty she'd looked the previous day in her white coat and the cute, furry hat she always wore in cold weather. I felt a twinge of sadness when I realized I'd only gotten a chance to see her for a few seconds, and she hadn't said a word to me.

Like a lovesick teenager, I groaned out loud and gazed longingly at the cabin, aching from the knowledge that my precious wife was sle-eping just a few yards away. I wondered which pajamas she had on while curled up in bed — and as soon as that picture tickled my imagination, my mind's eye immediately saw her pig of a boyfriend snuggled up next to her. I felt like the world's most pathetic sap, freezing my ass off in the woodshed while my wife and her lover were nice and warm together beneath a fluffy comforter.

The hours crept by. I kept eating snow to try to quell my gnawing hunger. It got so bad I ventured into the woods to seek nourishment, but was unable to find anything, even a few berries. I ended up breaking off pieces of a pine comb and chewing them. It made my mouth gummy but my stomach remained empty.

Finally, lights started flickering on inside the cabin. It was probably 20 minutes before the backdoor swung open, and Tom walked outside yawning and scratching his balls. After sucking in a few breaths full of morning air, he shouted, "Hey, Fat-Ass — Linda wants you!"

I stumbled out of the woodshed and hurried toward the cabin, where a smirking Tom held the door open.

"Did you get a good night's sle-ep out in the shed?" he asked in a snarky tone as I approached him.

I knew it wouldn't be wise to complain, so I replied, "Um, it was okay, sir. I used my gym bag as a pillow, so it wasn't so bad."

He scoffed and headed back inside with me at his heels. I'd spent so much time alone pining for company, I was overwhelmed with awkwardness as I slogged into the spacious cabin, where everyone was up and at 'em. Elena and Kurt chilled on the couch, clad in robes and sipping coffee, while Rachel and Taylor sat at the dining room table engrossed in their smartphones. Linda was in the kitchen rummaging through the refrigerator. Nobody looked up when Tom and I walked in.

"Go see what Linda wants," my fa-ther-in-law ordered, and I headed toward the kitchen.

As I passed the dining room table, Taylor saw me and pointed to her half-empty glass of orange juice. "Hey, Lard-Ass, how about a refill?"

"Yes, Miss," I muttered, scooping up the 20-year-old's glass and rushing toward the kitchen.

"There you are," Linda said when I entered the room. "I'll be working on dinner, but go see what everyone wants for breakfast. You can cook that."

"Um, yes, Ma'am. Is it okay if I refill Miss Taylor's orange juice first?"

Linda nodded and I hopped into action. After setting Taylor's glass in front of her, I figured I'd do some brown-nosing in case Elena was paying attention from the living room, so I asked, "Will there be anything else, Miss?"

Rachel giggled. "I still can't believe he has to call us 'miss.'"

"It's about basic respect — or lack thereof," Kurt called from his spot on the couch as he pulled my wife closer into his embrace. "As far as I'm concerned, he PUT himself in a position where he doesn't deserve any respect, so I think it's appropriate that he show others the utmost respect. What do you think, Rog? Do you deserve any respect?"

I bowed my head. "No, sir."

"Stand up straight!" Kurt barked. "Look everyone in the eye and tell them you don't deserve any respect."

My soul left my body as I complied with the order. Seeing the disgust on Elena's face was pure tor-ture.

Desperate to change the subject, I croaked, "um, Miss Linda told me to see what everyone wants for breakfast."

Taylor's nose crinkled. "Eww, are you cooking it?"

"Y-yes, Miss."

"Then, make sure you wash first."

"Um, yes, Miss."

When the guffaws died down, I took everyone's orders. Kurt wanted bacon and eggs. My wife ordered an omelet, and her sisters each wanted sausage and hashbrowns. I hurried to the kitchen to start cooking, while Linda stood nearby preparing the holiday meal.

My poor, empty stomach was groaning the blues around all that food, and after slaving over the stove for several minutes, I finally worked up the courage to ask my mo-ther-in-law, "Um, is it okay if I make something for myself? I haven't had anything to eat in two days."

Linda scoffed. "It doesn't look like you're exactly starving, Roger. Yeah, go ahead — one egg, and some cottage cheese. You don't need any more than that."

"T-thank you, Ma'am," I replied, wondering to be happy or sad. One goddamn egg and some cottage cheese?! It was something, I told myself.

After cooking and serving breakfast, I wolfed down my meager meal in the kitchen. When I was finished, I ventured back to the dining room, and into a scene straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting: The happy family at the holiday table. I stood there feeling totally left out.

Then, I was literally left out, when my wife snarled at me and said, "I don't want to look at you all day. Mom wants you to clean up after dinner, but until then, go back in the shed. If anyone needs anything, we'll call."

Biting my quivering lip, I peeped, "Y-yes, Ma'am."

Taylor shook her head. "Man, I never thought anyone could be so pathetic."

Kurt snorted. "Roger wrote the book on pathetic, didn't you, Rog?"

"Y-yes, sir."

My wife's lover nodded regally. "Now, get your fat ass out in the shed like Elena told you."

Rachel tittered. "That's just not fair — it looks cold out there."

As I trudged out the door, I heard Taylor laugh and say, "Nah, Lard-Ass has all that whale blubber to keep him warm. He'll be fine."

One thing that occurs to me is Roger isn't physically weak; otherwise he could not have dug and filled in that large hole timely, nor would he have functioned as well in the cold as he has. Emotionally weak he is for sure, which leads to his willingness to be treated the way he is by his wife, her boyfriend and his family.

Very nice writing, CW.

"Presents" Chapter 8
by c.w. cobblestone

During my hours of solitude in the woodshed, the firewood logs were my only friends. I picked a specimen with bark that resembled a grumpy old man's face and named him Johnny. We had a raw, honest conversation that ended in tears.

"Why does my wife hate me so much, Johnny?"

"That's an easy one, dickhead. She doesn't respect you. Why should she? From the very beginning, you've let her treat you like a doormat."

"Well, look at me, Johnny! I'm overweight ... unattractive ... I had to put up with it if I wanted to hold on to a woman like her."

"So, you let her walk all over you? Have affairs right under your nose? Insult you in front of her friends? There are more fish in the sea, Roger. Why didn't you dump the bitch and find someone who wouldn't treat you that way?"

"I ... I don't know. Shi-t. I don't know, okay?"

"Yes, you do, Roger. You do know."

"I don't."

"Who do you think you're fooling? This is me you're talking to. You NEED to be treated like shi-t. You crave it. You blame yourself for your mo-ther leaving you in that McDonald's bathroom when you were a baby. You think you did something wrong and deserve to be punished."

"No! Damn it!!"

"She dumped you like garbage, Roger. Gar-BAGE. So, you deserve to be treated like garbage. Right?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"All your life, you've tried to run from it — studied hard in school, got a high-status job, married the perfect trophy wife — but deep down, you've always known. Your mo-ther thought you were garbage. She threw you away because you ARE garbage."

"HEY, FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!!! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? YOU CAN'T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!! AND WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW, ANYWAY??? YOU'RE A GODDAMN TREE TRUNK!!"

"Now, now, Roger. Calm down. We both know I struck a nerve. But that's no reason to fly off the handle here. That's not helping at all."

"I ... I know. Sorry. Okay, okay, I'm garbage, alright? I know what I am. I'm a beta. A goddamn, lousy beta. I finally admitted it to myself after Asshole came into the picture."

"That's no way to talk about your master, Roger. You'd better wrap your mind around the fact that he's here to stay, and he's only letting you stick around because he enjoys making you his little toady bitch. He's even going to make you cut off your balls. Your BALLS, Roger. How can you agree to such a thing?"

"I ... I keep thinking he's just bluffing."

"He's not. You know that, Rog. He wants your balls and you'll have to go through with it. And Elena's not going to help; she's madly in love with him, and she'll go along with anything he does. So, if you want to stay married to that spiteful cunt of yours, you need to—"

"Come on, Johnny, please don't talk about Elena that way. I know she can be mean to me sometimes—"

"Sometimes?!"

"Well, okay, she's a bitc ... um, she's the b word when it comes to me."

"You can't even bring yourself to call her a bitch, can you?"

"No. No, I can't. I love her."

"You're a sap, you know that, Roger?"

"I ... I ... yeah. I know."

"What is it about Elena that you love so much?"

"I ..."

"Don't bother, Roger. We both know. Being married to such a beautiful woman lets you cling to the hope that you're not garbage, even though she's spent the past six years showing you that you're nothing but. And, you're so clingy from being abandoned as a baby, once you started a relationship with her, you were going to try to hold onto that, no matter what. That's why you're putting up with all this bullshi-t. All this hum-iliation. You love it. You need it. Right?"

"Um ... yeah. Right."

"Look at yourself, Roger. You're so desperate to not be abandoned again, you're allowing your wife to make a goddamn fool out of you in public. It was one thing when she was quietly having extramarital affairs. She told her close friends, and you knew, too, but at least you had a shred of dignity. But now that she's openly seeing Kurt, it's like the whole world knows you're nothing but garbage and should be treated as such."

"Ugh. I know. I swear, it's like I have 'garbage' tattooed on my forehead."

"You pretty much do. Look at how Elena's family were all so eager to embrace treating you like shi-t. They never did like you much, and the twins always teased you about your weight when they were younger. But they've taken it to a new level. They're being downright evil."

"Tell me about it."

"That's because they now know the real you, Roger — the you who needs to be sitting out here in the cold like some pathetic, fat, puppy dog, waiting for your masters to call you. You're a joke, you know that? An overweight, sunken-chinned, tiny-dicked joke."

"Jeez, Johnny, do you have to be such an asshole? Look, I know my life is shi-t, okay? I know nobody respects me anymore. I know I'm fat and ugly. But cut me a break, why don't you?"

"You don't deserve a break, you stupid, lowlife bastard. You don't deserve a goddamn thing. Don't even try to fool me — you know you're a grubby piece of shi-t. So, you need to start thinking like one. Otherwise, stop whining, man the fuck up and get out of here. Use your debit card to call an Uber to the airport, get your ass home and start your life over. Dump that bitch."

"I ... I can't. I can't."

"Then, you don't deserve any kind of break. Do you, Lard-Ass?"

"I ... I ..."

"DO YOU?"

"N-no, sir."

"Pfft. Stupid, fat bastard. You've got no self-respect whatsoever, do you?"

"No, sir."

"Damn straight, you don't. Now, sit there and freeze while she's in the cabin, nice and warm with her boyfriend and her family, not even thinking of your sorry ass. I've got to run. Goodbye, Lard-Ass — enjoy the rest of your sad, pathetic life."

"No!! Wait!!! Johnny!!! Come back!! Please!!! Don't go!!! You can insult me some more!!! Say whatever you want, I don't mind! Please, come back, Johnny. Please don't leave me, too!!! DON'T YOU LEAVE ME, TOO!!! PLEASE COME BACK!!! COMMMMMMEEE BAAAAACCCCKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I wiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my mitten, which was torn from having snagged it on the shovel during my grueling digging job. The logs were silent and I found myself all alone again.

The agonizing hours ticked by. I did jumping-jacks to stay warm, and counted the rings in the logs to pass the time, since we were no longer on speaking terms. I'd finished the book I'd brought, and my cellphone's battery was nearly dead, so if I wanted to take my mind off my shi-tty situation, my options were limited.

As luck would have it, Tom finally called for me while I was in the woods taking a shi-t. I hurriedly wiped my ass with a handful of snow and rushed toward the cabin feeling both elated and scared shi-tless at the same time.

Nicely done, CW. You write amazingly well.