Every evening when I arrive home from work, the girls are usually sitting in the living room watching TV while George is cooking. Most often Ben will be with him in the kitchen, perhaps helping to lay the table while they chat together. Ben absolutely adores his Dad!
After we have all greeted and kissed, I make my way to one of the sofas, sit down and start chatting to the children about their school day (Ben has usually joined the girls in the living room by this time). When I sit down, George knows this is his cue to bring me a glass of wine. He then sits next to me on the sofa and what follows is a ritual that we have been doing for many years.
I will turn and put my feet up on George’s lap. He carefully removes my shoes and then gently massages my feet until I tell him to stop. During this whole time we are all still chatting normally as a family. This is seen as perfectly natural by our children. Their father is worshipping their mother by performing this simple, caring task for her.
However I have just implemented a variation on this ritual following some email correspondence with another dominant lady who lives in the Netherlands. She also runs a female led household. After returning from my recent business trip, I told George that in future I would require him to sit on the floor, rather than the sofa, when massaging my feet. I could tell by his expression that he was a little surprised at the request, but I simply raised my eyebrows and he did not complain.
The following day when I arrived home from the office, he followed me as usual into the living room and handed me a glass of wine, but then he paused and looked inquiringly at me. I saw his eyes briefly flit between my feet, resting on the floor, and the vacant seat next to me on the sofa. I looked at him sternly and dipped my finger, pointing to the floor. Only he and I saw the gesture, but he understood immediately and sat down at my feet. Amusingly to me, he rested his back against the sofa (for reassurance perhaps?). But, finding this position awkward, he soon turned around so that he could access my feet in a more comfortable manner.
The children were oblivious to all this and simply carried on chatting with us. Apparently seeing their Dad sitting on the floor massaging his wife’s feet was no big issue to them! It was just Dad serving Mum as usual. After about 10 minutes I ruffled George’s hair as I might a child (another tidbit I borrowed from the Dutch lady, although in her instance, it was her daughter ruffling the father’s hair) and said “Okay, that’s enough, let’s go and eat.” Before he got up, George asked me which shoes I would be wearing the following day, so that he could polish them and have them ready for me.
מתוך הבלוג המצויין: http://worshippingyourwife.blogspot.co.il
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