A peek inside Dangergirl

Thought storage

2010-06-11T12:53:00.004-04:00

FYI - My friend Southern Sage pointed out that this is dated 2010 (so it will stay at the top) and some might miss my latest musings. My real/current posts are ALWAYS below this one and "story posts" so please scroll down, that is if you are interested. If not, well...be that way.

I have been thinking about the purpose of this blog (little boring, I know). Actually, big changes have been happening in my life for the last year causing Dangergirl to come out of hibernation. She has been flexing her literary muscles the past few months and needs a place to store this stuff that is away from prying eyes that lurk at home...I cannot afford both therapy AND college for the offspring.

This blog will chronicle my journey since discovering/acknowledging a previously forbidden interest, at least for now. DG shines the light in the shadows until I can do it myself. How fucking cool is that ?!!!

dg

PS Want to know what subject I am talking about ? See "Ignored* which kinda, sorta dances around it without actually saying the word.

06/24/08 Not sure why I felt compelled to do this but I did so here it is...
Addendum : any similarities between these postings/stories and real life is unintentional. These may be loosely based on events (or wanna-be events). I hope I remembered all the details of the Law and Order disclaimer. If not, catch an episode and it will fill you in.

Story posts

2010-06-11T10:59:00.008-04:00

Yeah, keep scrolling for my real/latest posts. This is always post # 2 since it explains some shit.

Hey there...good news (at least for me) is I have managed to store all my stories in this neck of the woods (don't worry - I hear the thundering applause in my head).

I should mention that I started writing these as a New Year's resolution...didn't hurt that no one in r/l knows about my "hobby" so I gathered up some courage and dove in. I am soooo not a r-brained person so this was almost as hard as quitting smoking but fucking easier than exercising regularly ;)

I listed the links to the stories on the right since they are a bit wordy. Personally, I would suggest using the links to read the Sam/Tina ones since they are listed in sequential order there (oldest on top since that is how I read)...choice is yours.

Almost forgot, I included a "vanilla" story category...only has 1 so far. *lol*
06/16 - another vanilla post so this wasn't a fluke !!

Thanks for stopping by and visiting....dg (another spawn of Lil bit)

PS If ya' notice some typos or other grammatical errors - please drop me a line so I can fix them....that shit drives me crazy and I sometimes miss 'em.

Thank you Alyx - my Obi Wan

Breakin' up is hard to do

2009-02-23T17:39:00.003-05:00

You expect me to be there for you. I can't be your safety net anymore. I can't be your first call. I can only do chit chat with you. Actually, I need to break things off for awhile so I can get my bearings.

You knock me for a loop every time you contact me. I just can't live like that. Hell, right now I am hoping you will contact me after your shrink appointment and how fucked up is that. It only drags out the pain and I want it over. I want to work through this and emerge on the other side. I have no idea what the future will bring...all I can do is put one foot in front of the other and keep taking steps.

You hurt me. I trusted you and now that is gone. I was an idiot for jumping in like I did but quite frankly I couldn't stop it...neither could you.

God this hurts. It feels like my breath is being sucked from the room. The vacuum left by your betrayal feels like it is too much to overcome. Truth was a given for us or so I thought.

I just gotta feel bad for awhile and you have to be out of the picture for me to heal. I can't be your friend right now. It isn't healthy for me and that is my primary concern right now. You have people to help you - I can't be one of them...You can't be one of mine either.

I lost so much in 24 hours. I'm not sure how it happened - my head is still spinning. It is a little clearer now about what I need to do. My friend Craig said you have "issues" - damn he is spot on.

Your comments:

1. You love me (as Tina Turner says, what's love got to do with it ?)
2. You want a future with me (ditto - aint that a bitch)
3. Timing is the problem, if only, yada yada (whatever - I have no response to this)
4. You think about me when you're with her (again, what am I supposed to say ? The operative phrase is "with her")
5. You list all the great things about us (see # 2)
6. I make you happy (see # 2)
7. Mg will never work out - you need closure on it (see # 3)
8. It needs to run its course (fuck that, grow up)
9. You will earn the batphone back (not up to you - that's up to me)
10. You are running a risk that I will fall in love, etc (Please, that is more wallowing and manipulating on your part.)
11. You want her to leave, you want me but she has a hook. (whatever, be a grown up)
12. You know I won't be alone, I'll be dating - this you say in a forlorn voice with puppy dog eyes (wtf ? again, trying to manipulate me into saying I'll wait, don't worry, whatever. )

You never let me finish - you keep saying what you need to say and demanding time to calm down (Friday you "just couldn't hear me"). We never come back to this so everything is unfinished for me. Talk about lack of closure. That is just selfish.

I do love you - that's why this hurts so much. Coulda, woulda, shoulda is pointless. Weird, there is still that voice that is asking me to wait, slow down, don't cut things off right now cuz the results could be catastrophic. That voice has merit but can't determine my actions. I won't be prisoner to "what might be" - hard to maintain self respect. We both know you would lose respect for me as well.

I realized that it doesn't matter how I deconstruct this or talk it to death...the result is the same. I want to say I'll wait, call me when you figure this shit out, we can be friends, etc. Some of that may be true but it can't happen until I get my bearings.You do move me and that hasn't changed. ...it just isn't an emotionally safe thing for me right now.

On some level I want you to hurt like I do, I want you to feel the loss, I want you to ache for "us." Problem is those voices are not as loud as the others. Fuck, that sucks on quite a few levels.

I wish I could say "I hope you find true happiness" or "I am sorry you are hurting." Truth is I believe those things in my heart - I just feel like I am betraying myself a little if I say that while hurting this much. How odd is that ?!!

Weird, I am texting the batphone which is oddly helpful. I still can say "good morning" and that is some comfort.

The articles I read (you know I love to do research) all say it gets easier, distractions are important, write and don't have contact for awhile to heal. I know time heals all wounds - I also know my "worst hour" can only be 60 minutes long. That I can hang onto.

I have absolutely no regrets about us - it was incredibly good in so many areas. I would do it all over again to have such an amazing experience. I still feel blessed. I also feel pissed at God.

I keep looking at my contacts and seeing if you are on chat. That is sooo fucked up...and normal. Shit, you're back on chat. I feel me heart beat and can't breathe for a minute. I want to IM you, to ask how you are, how did the appointment go. I can't do that. Maybe I should make myself "visible" to see if you will respond. Yeah, even I know that is a secret love test.Funny thing is you would probably pass it.LOL

I de-friended you on facebook today (only 2 days after you confirmed me as a friend). I went to your site and saw the responses from mg. I can't put myself in that position. I can't read anything from her...can't see her interactions with you. She has what I crave.

I miss you. I hate her. God is a total asshole. I'm gonna strut my slut tonight and download some old school country. The song "Breakin' up is hard to do" is playing in my head.Fuck, I don't even like Neil Sedaka

This is supposed to be a letter that I won't send so I can be completely honest. I'm not sure if that is what I'll do or not. I do know I won't send it today. I want to though...

A family picture (revised)

2009-01-01T11:07:00.000-05:00

I revised this a bit - actually, I came upon a revision I made who knows when and I like it better.

Mother's Day came and went without my permission. Yes, I said permission. I wasn't ready for it to visit and I damn sure wasn't ready for it to leave. Things were planned and expectations appeared out of no where. Odd, expectations have a habit of not being met on these "special" days set aside for me by the male members of my household. Maybe I just need to quit buying into the hype.

I woke up late and immediately went to the "fuck, he's not coming" place. The aroma of a wonderfully and lovingly breakfast prepared by him was supposed to be my wake-up call. Instead, the clock read 9:30am and no activity. I called him and was informed he was in the driveway - breakfast was on the way. His voice had that "why would you even wonder if I was coming" quality, know what I mean? Yeah, I wondered since his intentions are honorable but follow through can be iffy at times. Blind trust was discarded a long time ago along with pedestals...casualty of fill-in-the-blank.

Breakfast was served and that comfortable silence that comes with familiarity hung in the air. You know what I mean? That feeling of calm, solace...and intimacy. God how I have missed that...the question is can I trust it to last? Is it real or just making an appearance today? Not up to me but I wish it was...if only I controlled the world!! I nestled into that warm place and decided to let it wash over me while the gift was there. I didn't know when it would be offered again.

I noticed that look …that twinkle mixed with lust. Not “tear your clothes off” lust but the kind that couples settle into after many years….the kind that develops after thousands of interruptions by children, countless nights of working late and falling into bed from exhaustion… we became quite adept at snatching those moments whenever they appeared….whenever.

I could picture lying over his lap, head resting on a pillow while he gently caressed my body. I feel his fingers lightly skimming my body, waking up buried needs…my body slowly awakening and yearning for more. With longevity comes familiarity and…boredom. He didn’t let that happen – refused to succumb to the inevitable insipidness…I did.

He knows where my secrets are and the key to unlock them. He also knows I am unable to give voice but my body will tell him what he needs to know. As I relax in his care, I become focused on his hand. The hand that is exploring…teasing. Finally, if happens…what I have denied for so long…and he somehow figured out.

The sound is louder than I expected…the impact softer. Then it happens, a glimmer of what awaits. As he brings his hand down time after time in a steady cadence, the warmth begins to spread over my body. How could this possibly what I desire…crave…and ultimately need? More importantly, how did he know?

I relax under his care and immerse in the sensations…pain mixed with pleasure mixed with pain mixed with pleasure. I feel him pull me closer and wrap his arm around me …refusing to let go. I hear someone moan…it is me. I can feel the pleasure he is getting also…a reminder that I am not alone in this desire….we share this moment and intimacy. As he continues to bring his hand down on my reddening cheeks, it happens. My body is engulfed by the force of this need…the intensity of this desire…the overwhelming satisfaction. As I lay basking in a sea of pleasure, I am overcome with love for this man who tends to all my needs with complete acceptance…at least he did.

The sound of our child stumbling into the living room interrupts my reverie. It quickly became apparent plans need to change. The youngster (okay, a teenager but still my, sorry, our baby) was sick...not “sick” sick but enough to look pitiful. As he crawled onto the couch next to me, attempting to tuck his six foot frame into a three foot space, I noticed him resting his head on my shoulder. He didn’t want any more touching or talking or even acknowledgement of this contact - just needed his Mom.

It was automatic - child trumps everything. Frustration lingered a bit longer...I know I shouldn't resent the sick child but I did...if only I was in charge of everything!! Few words were spoken as we settled into the comfort of family. Nothing big or spectacular happened...just a family watching a movie. Funny, this gift filled my heart and any expectations were blown away. I am sure there is a more eloquent way to describe that besides “blown away” but that is the first thought I had as a lone tear fell from my eye and I casually placed a kiss on the top of his head. Yeah, blown away.

I didn't want the day to end - I wanted to hang onto the picture of an intact family...the picture of safety, security and consistency. This picture of my family that I carry around in my head and heart. The picture I had until a few months ago...As I kissed my husband good-bye and watched him walk out the door I realized we had both let go of that picture. It is a nice place to visit. We just can't live there anymore.

The new picture is unfamiliar and unsettling...and easier.

A personal message brought to you by Dangergirl

2008-10-28T16:39:00.014-04:00

Hey there,

I posted a piece a few days back called "Someone explain." It was about sexual assault/rape and the aftermath. I removed it as it just didn't feel "right" posted here. I don't want to contaminate my slice of cyberdom with his abhorrent behavior.

I thought about it and really want to tell my story so maybe someone else will know they are not alone. That is the predominant feeling - aloneness and shame.

After much deliberation (a nights sleep-same thing) I decided to start a different blog. Here it is: Never a valid reason.

Decide if you want to visit and do so. Please spread the word a bit - if just one person knows they aren't alone or freakin' crazy then we will have changed the world for the better.

How totally COOL is that ?!!

Thank you,
dg

Update 11/20/08: I want to send a big shout out to Southern Sage for posting about this blog. The out pouring of support has been phenomenal. SS is a true Southern Gentleman.

A first for me....

2008-09-22T16:20:00.005-04:00

This is a political post so move on if that would be a problem. Actually when I viewed the video I was moved by the power of the images combined with the music. As someone that has children attending a public school in the South I have noticed this part of our history tends to be glossed over or simply lost.

All those hours my children spent studying _______ history (trust me - I live in a "real "Southern state) seemed to include a complete list of the Confederate generals, the location of their houses and a blow-by-blow of every "atrocity" committed by the "those" Yankees during the War of Northern Aggression (they didn't actually call it that but the flavor remains) .

Somehow the Alabama church bombing of 1963 was overlooked in the junior high school curriculum.

So far it hasn't appeared in the high school curriculum either.

The last screen of this video is the main reason I am posting it.

Hardware collection

2008-08-21T11:47:00.006-04:00

I received this award from Lil' bit. For those of you who don't know who she is let me offer some information on the downlow. First, I am her spawn. Yep, she is responsible...Mmm, since she has the power to create life in cyberland that makes her ...OMG!! Yep, that's the answer...

Second, she has an awesome blog and her irreverance inspiring. I strongly suggest checking her out. If not then you are missing out on a wonderful treat (in other words, fuck you).

BTW, here's my acceptance speech (sorry, no video - cheap camcorder!!):

*blushing while walking to the podium* "Oh Academy of Lil' bit, I don't know who to thank. First of all I want to thank my family and readers. I owe it all to Lb and of course, my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ." *grabbing the award..only need one hand, btw and walking off stage*

"Thanks again to Lb - I am priviledged to be one of her *oops, I meant 'your'* spawn. "

"Fuck, I tried to use HTML tags but was not successful - please try to picture the italics and bold in your minds eye." *you will notice this last sentence no longer applies*

Jeez, it's everywhere

2008-07-24T15:21:00.002-04:00

This showed up on CNN's website...

When to reveal your secret to a date

...Besides, waiting to reveal a potential deal breaker such as herpes or $300,000 in credit-card debt is just good dating decorum, says syndicated sex columnist Dan Savage, author of "The Commitment: Love, Sex, Marriage, and My Family."

"You don't want someone to reveal too much at first because that itself is a deal breaker," he says. "If somebody sits down on the first date and says, 'I'm into spanking,' even if you are into spanking, [too], you might react negatively to that."

I laughed a bit - internally, of course!! Please, I 'm at work ;)

When do you bring it up ?

Out & About

2008-07-18T13:52:00.013-04:00

07/22/08 Hey there cyberland folks ! I have been thinking about this post for a few days, mulling it over, etc. Anyway, I decided to add a few things or "tweak" it if you will.

Fine, I added stuff so I could post it on another board - happy now ?!
That's it - just added some stuff and I kinda like it ;)

This is loosely based on a real life event...names have been changed to protect the innocent, yada yada (see Dragnet this time for the full disclaimer). Anyway, hope you enjoy it - if not, well, bummer for you.

Also, a big shout out to Lil' Bit for the title!!!

Well, I outed myself today at work (in more ways than one). It really wasn’t my fault…well, maybe but certainly wasn’t on purpose. Here, see what you think…

A little background - I work in a small office with 3 other women. As the nurse (and only medical person), I pretty much play things cool and am considered very level headed. My boss was surprised a few months ago when I picked out this modern geometrical painting. I mentioned it would look great in my bedroom since I painted it red. She stopped, turned around and simply stared at me a moment. She then said she would have never expected me to have a red bedroom. Yeah, I hide it well. You get the idea...

Soooo, I was reading my email at work and my boss walked in - didn't think anything about it. I minimized whatever I was reading (I am sure it was work related – ya’ know I can see you shaking your head, right?)

Swiveling my chair around, I turned my attention to her. She asked me about drawing some labs, if I could do it there, etc. After assuring her that I could perform the required tasks and she didn’t have to make the trek to the dark, dingy lab she nodded her head and exited my immediate work area. I then turned around and realized that my email was covering the screen of my computer. Apparently when I minimized the “work-related” screen this was waiting in the wings. Wish I had noticed it before I turned my back on the screen.

The subject of my email was "Is this a woman who is about to get her next spanking?" I'm sure you have noticed that Google uses a large font plus bolds the subject lines of emails...guess they want to make sure the reader can see it from across the room (they can). Please note that I don't actually say the *s* word out loud often- causes my face to turn lobster red and radiate enough heat to rival the sun.

Just another little wrinkle in the ditty...

Yep, that was the subject...guess that explains why she was looking at my screen for a full minute. She never said a word. I, on the other hand, began focusing on the resumption of respirations (mine) and wondering how in the hell I was going to fix this mess.

After all, how do I explain the incredible turn-on spanking is for me? How do I articulate what happens to my body as I am draped over someone’s lap, their hand resting gently on the small of my back while softly rubbing their fingertips over my ass ?

What exactly is the appropriate sentence structure when describing the tingling feeling that creeps over my body while waiting for that most delicious of sensations and the immediate intake of breath when the hand is removed and …there it is. What adjective does one choose when describing the silence followed by the deafening crash as flesh meets flesh that first time or the overwhelming relief when it happens again?

Mmmm, just what words should I use?

I can only imagine how tongue-tied I would be when describing the almost hypnotic state caused by the multitude of sensations as a regular cadence is established. ..the sound of each stroke coupled with the warmth slowly creeping throughout my body… the heat building as my body reaches out to accept the proffered gift…groans escaping while becoming lost in the world of pain/pleasure and ….

Wonder how to tactfully explain that I get wet as sweat pours from both our bodies…the need continuing to build until….Yeah, wonder how I explain that.

Anyway, back to the problem at hand (go ahead and take a break if you need to – I’ll be back after a glass of cold, COLD water).

So, we’re waiting for everybody else (all 2 of them) to get in the car and I mentioned that I didn't want to piss off one of my co-workers since I already had one person pissed off at me. It was a beautiful segue into the whole "yeah, I'm helping with a presentation, missed a deadline - well, not quite but he thought so, etc. so he threatened to spank me thing." I told her I didn't want her to think I was kinky.

"I already did." Funny, funny woman (I know she smiled at the color that flooded my face and neck…hell, my entire body).

I'm thinking things are cool and we had a little chuckle. Yeah, yeah so I lied - she'd probably be surprised by that too!!

Wait, it does get better (I know that is hard to believe but trust me).

So, I'm now off to lunch with my boss and the two other women that make up our employee roster. I’m the youngest there and we are like a family which is a nice way of saying no one is shy about asking pointed questions...I usually manage to stay out of the firing line.

Lunch was good, lots of laughs. We were talking in the car and there was a discussion of short hair = dyke haircut (long story). The conversation continued and somehow it came up that not all lesbians have short hair. I quipped, "Yeah, look at lipstick lesbians."

Bantering continued and someone inquired as to my knowledge about the hair length/lesbian connection. Without even thinking I shot back that I have shoulder length hair to keep my options open. Chuckles, laughing and we went on to the next exciting “chick” topic.

A co-worker grabbed the local community paper and began commenting on current events. We began reading aloud various events and pondering what they “really” meant…come on, the local grass roots organization called “Aphrodite’s revenge” probably isn’t a local anti-war group anymore than the “pole dancing” class is for exercise only.

So, Linda and I continued our perusing of upcoming events (a nice after-lunch bonding exercise). We came to the “local groups” section and she mentions that F##### (local gay/lesbian organization) has a great ad for the upcoming Social (hey, it is kinda sorta a proper noun!). Without missing a beat, I asked if the lesbian potluck was listed (we were still on the whole “dyke” haircut). Yvonne (my boss) quickly shot back, "Why, you don't cook?"

Yeah, it was an interesting day and all is cool. I'm thinking my co-workers are seeing a different side of me and aren't sure if I am serious or not. The wit, grin and twinkle in my eye definitely keep them guessing.

Hey, at least the whole lesbian/bisexual thing was a nice distraction from the spanking thing, don't ya' think? Also, one of my co-workers knows a lesbian that is single and she jokingly mentioned setting me up - that was before the "keep my options open" comment.

Wonder what will happen now...

I'm not sure what category this one falls into - vanilla or *s*. Fuck it, maybe it needs its own category !

07/19/08 Addendum - my co-worker is going to set up a girl's nite with her lesbian friend after all. It will be a group thing (apparently she knows all the local girls - she's straight as an arrow - go figure).

Shit, I haven't been on a date in a few decades...

A silver-lining moment

2008-06-24T15:43:00.002-04:00

not a story, just a whine...

'k folks, this weekend pretty much sucked out loud. A lot of events happened (none of which were planned, btw) that impacted my little slice of heaven. If only other people would do things my way...oh well, their loss.

After reviewing things I have come up with the silver-fucking-lining moment (I try hard to find some semblance of positive energy in things - just takes awhile sometimes). So, drum roll....

The water has stopped pouring into the bathroom and the ceiling is only cracked - hasn't actually fallen down.

See, what did I tell ya' ?

Father's Day

2008-06-24T12:48:00.006-04:00

Hey guys, this is a bit angsty. Just wanted to warn ya' in case you were having a good day (I'm like that, always looking out for folks). The muse decided "A family picture" needed a sequel...

Today is Father's Day. I am not sure what I am supposed to do...wasn't supposed to be here...again.

How did this happen ? There are a million reasons...and none.

My head understands...just wish my heart did.

He's here and everything looks normal. It isn't.

I hear the screaming in my head - how can he ignore it ? Maybe he hears it too...as a whisper.

I look around the room and see my family...at least it feels like my family.
Is it ? The more important question is...do I want it to be ?

I cherish this picture...just don't trust it.

It isn't mine now...how odd. It never occurred to me that I would lose it.
I didn't lose it...wasn't up to me.

I told him to leave...helped him pack.

It still wasn't up to me.

He said it was...the kids said it was...it looked like it was.

It wasn't....would've been easier.

He knew what was required to stay...and agreed.
For a minute or so it seemed.

I love him...always have and always will. I can't change.....him.
How odd.

I tried...desperately hung on. It started to crumble that day so long ago...and another day....and another day.

Finally, all that was left were the crumbs. Enough to survive but not live.

That's ultimately the choice - survive or live. Just took me a long time to tell the difference.

I know the difference now...and it still hurts.

What to do now...that is up to me.
Always has been.

Fuck him.

Slut, tease or normal girl ?

2008-06-17T14:55:00.007-04:00

This is an interesting question and one that more people should be asking themselves. I'm not going to wonder about guys since: 1. I am not a guy and 2. They really don't care as long as the offer of future sex is on the table (come on, you know it's true...fine, pretend to be all "offended" then).

Thinking back to the origins of this question, I would have to say it started with my last break-up. It wasn't pretty, wasn't ugly - just was. Before you even go there, NO I wasn't a slut and neither was he. We maintained a monogamous relationship (at least he said so) for several years and I have no reason to doubt that. Besides, we both suck at lying and no one ever brought any little critters home.

Where this comes into play is after the break-up. Now, do you stop seeing each other completely or is an occasional booty call okay? Stop shaking your head and think about it for a minute. Here are 2 people that have been together for a long time. We are comfortable and can walk around naked without thinking about it. Come on, the level of intimacy required to have a conversation with someone while performing a bikini wax is pretty impressive and let's not talk about all the times I was brushing my teeth or popping into the bathroom for something while he was contentedly sitting on the throne. Anyway, you get the idea...

So, back to the question. What about just having a booty call without sex? Think about it for a minute and let me explain. We could meet at his place or mine, either works as long as we are the only ones home. He could still get that look in his eye - the one that causes a little flutter of butterflies and a little tingle in other areas. He can still take my hand and gently but firmly lead me to the chair. He can sit down, pull me in front of him and speak that one word.

"So...."

His voice will be a little harder but his eyes will still be gentle as I risk a glance. He'll wait patiently as I stand before him, eyes downcast as a pink tide slowly washes over my cheeks. Eventually my body will start moving a little, shifting weight from one leg to the other. It won't be obvious but he will notice the subtle movement as he studies me. I'll feel his hand under my chin as he raises my eyes to meet his.

"So...." he'll repeat, this time a dash of impatience may be present in his voice, maybe not.

I'll take a deep breathe and begin my part in this play. "I want to be spanked."

"Have you done something to deserve a spanking?" His voice will be calm and controlled as his eyes remain fixed on mine. I'll try to look down but he won't let me. "Answer me little girl."

I'll confess whatever misdeed I have done. It may simply be swearing or missing a medication dose. It may be letting dishes pile up in the sink or not paying the bills on time. It may be staying up too late or working too hard. It may be that I just need a spanking. Regardless, I'll confess.

"Lower your pants, please," is the next line in this play. My hands may shake a little as I unsnap my pants. I'll place my hands on his shoulders as I lower them to my ankles with trembling hands...eyes gazing at the floor.

I'll feel myself gently moved to his side, his firm thighs underneath as I am pulled over his lap. His arm will firmly drape around my body, securing me next to him. I'll notice his hand resting on my bottom while he softly scolds me. The absence of his hand will alert my body...nerve endings will come alive. A sense of welcome and dread will fill my heart for a moment. It is hard for me to accept this desire...craving....need. Nonetheless, I will.

I'll jerk a little at the shock of his hand smacking my bottom. He'll quickly develop a rhythm as I slowly immerse myself in the hypnotizing cadence. I'll feel the weight of his hand...the increasing warmth spreading across my body as he continues to offer this gift. I'll hear the sound of each smack coupled with the increase in my breathing while relishing in intimacy. Yes, we can still participate in this play.

I'll be brought out of my reverie by the sensation of his hand simply resting on my ass. He'll continue scolding me for whatever transgression I confessed. His voice will remain soft but sternness will touch every word. I’ll refrain from speaking...this is my part of the play.

Eventually, I'll feel his hand reach under my panties as he slowly peels them down to my knees. A sharp intake of breath and possible plea for an end will pass my lips. "Not yet," will pass his.

The cool air will provide some comfort to my warm skin and I know a rosy hue is under the surface waiting to erupt. He'll gently rub my ass and may give a little squeeze to each cheek. His hand will leave as I am forced to wait. He’s in control now...that is my gift.

He can use his hand or paddle or belt to continue...choice is his. Another gift from me.

He'll pull me closer to his body and simply state, "I love you." I'll feel the burn as I hear the crack of something…his hand will feel hot, the paddle cold and the belt warm...choice is his.

He'll continue to smack my bottom as the rosy hue bubbles to the surface. The warmth evolve to stinging and eventually pain...pleasure...both. I'll get lost in the intensity of this world as my body reaches out for more. As it finally ends, he'll slowly caress my ass while summoning me to this world with his soothing words.

I'll make my way back, languishing in the pleasure of having this need satisfied...for now.

I'll find myself resting on his lap while his arms provide a secure blanket of comfort and safety. I will feel peace here...his gift to me. I'll nestle deeper into his chest and smile at the question in his eyes...my gift to him.

What happens next is my dilemma. If we do have sex am I a slut? I think so, especially since I am in another monogamous relationship. Good, you agree.

If we don't have sex, am I a tease or a normal girl? Sure, it could be construed as teasing but it could also be considered flirting (which is normal human behavior). Now do you see my dilemma?!

Yeah, she thought so too…and likes the play.

Think I’ll be a normal girl after all.

I wonder...

2008-06-16T15:57:00.005-04:00

I wonder if I'll ever be able to articulate my thoughts and feelings without resorting to this "prose."

Is it really easier for me to express them this way or just something I can hide behind ? A way to have a barrier between me and them ...to take the edge off the rawness ?

Otherwise, they seem so intense, confusing and ...brutal.

I wonder if this is how true artists feel. If they experience the same sense of freedom I do...and the desperation.

The need to release becomes consuming...the fear of being devoured by them growing...until I write.

I wonder if this makes me an artist ? A wannabe ? Or simply desperate ?

I wonder if it will ever get easier. My head knows it will...has in the past.

Still, I wonder if that will be the truth.

Will the intensity wane...will I breath again ? I wonder when...

I wonder if it is worth it. Did I make the right choice ? For me ? My family ? For you ?

I wonder if I am just being selfish....I am.

I wonder what that makes me...human.

I wonder if that is enough...it has to be.

I know this is all I can do...for now.

Framing is the key

2008-06-11T10:44:00.001-04:00

Part 6...usual disclaimers. Oh yeah, this one is also long so I suggest a comfy chair and empty bladder.

Shit. Looking around from my vantage point, I spot my anthropology book resting on the bedside table (I use it as a sleeping aid). Bolting out of the chair, I walk (run) to retrieve my school book and replace it with the novel (alright, trashy novel) I had been reading. See, I (Tina) set up a study schedule this semester, especially for boring classes like Anthropology. Yeah, I said it – boring! I am required to study this horrid class for at least a half-hour each day and one hour per night at least three days before a test. The bedtime reading apparently doesn’t count towards my study time per the School Czar. Nope, doesn’t count at all.

“Hi there,” states my beloved from the bedroom door. Whew, almost didn’t make it.

“Hi honey,” I reply from the comfort of my chair. “Dinner should be ready in about 30 minutes,” I inform her smiling innocently.

“Good, that gives me enough time to shower while you study.”

Now, I have options here – the first is “What do you mean – I’ve been studying since I got home.” Behind door number two is to simply ignore her comment and resume reading the book. I could provide an eye-roll or pout as an adjunct to door number two. Door number three is my personal favorite – just stand up and undress – this should provide a sufficient distraction and there is a chance she will completely forget about the study schedule. Seeing her arched eyebrow and arms crossed, I elect door number two.

See, this is the deal. I am a fulltime music teacher who decided to return to graduate school. I forgot how utterly boring some classes are and it just pisses me off that I am paying to be put to sleep (I can do that myself for free). I am in my third year and have got four more classes to complete before I am free of the collegiate shackles (pretty descriptive, huh? Living with an English professor does have advantages). I really hate school right now.

Apparently my interest has been waning the closer I get to graduation. I didn’t really see it and requested some objective data to support that statement (I know – pretty good comeback). Tina responded with three swats and asked if that was enough data. It was.

My major is music…MUSIC, not anthropology. One cool thing (and there is ONLY one) about this class is the field trip. We are scheduled to go on a “dig” somewhere in Utah (apparently a lot of old things are buried there) to uncover stuff. Yeah, an openly gay lesbian musician in the heart of Utah – sounds fun, huh? I’m sure there will be plenty of entertainment venues to explore.

Anyway, I am scheduled to go next week (taking freaking vacation time from work – can you believe that?). Tina will be unable to accompany me (she’s saving her vacation time for …vacation…. I hate school) during this excursion. I mentioned to Tina that Jan and Ian will be going (we’ve been classmates for the past two years) and I shouldn’t be too lonely (pout with glistening eyes – didn’t want to overdo it). She still decided to save her vacation time (I so hate school).

Engrossed in my book (hey, you’re not the only one surprised by that) I didn’t hear Tina come up behind me. “Come on honey, lets go eat,” she says while giving me a quick squeeze. Sounds good to me!! I’m hungry, will get credit for the meal and get to quit reading this book (I hear Alistair Cook from Masterpiece Theater narrating the book in my head – told you it was boring).

Placing the book on the table (leaving it on the floor would violate the MF ‘mess-free for you first time readers’ policy) I decide to follow the aroma of garlic (we’re having lasagna). Dinner proceeds nicely (Martha Stewart moment for me) and I really enjoy spending time with my partner. We discuss politics (republican free house), the events of the day and my upcoming trip. Life is good.

Finally, the day of my departure arrives. We say our good-byes (hug and kiss) as I race towards the bus. Thankfully it is a charter bus with relatively comfortable seats. We had ‘good-bye’ festivities before leaving the house…fun but lingering, know what I mean? Ah well, the slight discomfort with sitting was well worth it (she’s been studying also - bet she doesn’t hear Masterpiece theater when reading those books. Then again, Alistair Cook did have a sexy English accent…).

We arrive at the location and begin the process of disembarking. No, we aren’t sleeping in some flimsy tents like the Indiana Jones movies. Instead, we are staying at a quaint local motel. Yeah, quaint….real freaking quaint. A Bible, radio and TV (gets three channels) are the only “extras” in the room. The bed isn’t bad, sheets smell clean and there is a desk. The only evidence of twenty-first century know-how is a wireless network for my laptop (probably other people’s too). Apparently, this entire area if wi-fi. Go figure.

The actually work at the site is surprisingly interesting. Supposedly you can tell a lot about people based on buried stuff. Lot more interesting seeing it then reading about it, that’s for sure. The Utah sun is a bit bright and I am glad sunscreen had been tucked away in my bag (Tina is always looking out for my health) and a big floppy hat will adorn my head anytime I venture out into the sun. I have no problem sacrificing looks for comfort in Utah…no problem at all.

Now, I know what you are thinking and it isn’t true. I have no intention of offending the local folks in this area and will be very respectful of the quaint customs. In other words, I won’t wear the “I’m a lesbian and so are you?” button. People really do a double take when they first read the button (lesbian is in pink letters) and I frequently need to point out the whole” it’s a question, not a statement” thing. Still, I don’t want to get shot so the button will remain tucked away.

Digging all day is very tiring and I do find shoveling to be tasking. Kneeling on the ground while using a brush or little pick-ax thing isn’t a whole lot easier. Times like this I realize that I am, in fact, NOT a twenty-something kid… I really hate them right now.

Ibuprofen and Tylenol are quickly becoming a regular part of my diet and I learn how to dry swallow those pills. Let me point out what an amazing feat that is considering we are in the middle of a DESERT so spit is a luxury. Can’t wait to show Tina the new trick I learned in school (is the sarcasm apparent yet?).

The five days are quickly flying by and since I want to get the most out of my educational experience I elect to abstain from evening festivities. Okay, okay – I’m older than they are and ready for bed by 8pm – satisfied?! Man, I hate twenty-something people. Anyway, the last day finally arrives and we set about wrapping up the trip. A final briefing on the bus and I am making my way back to the welcoming arms of my beloved.

Oh yeah, I skipped something…just a little something but it does have the potential to throw a monkey wrench into the welcome home festivities. Granted, a little monkey wrench but a monkey wrench none the less. You know, I see the smirk and it really isn’t nice to revel in the misfortune, sorry, ‘potential’ misfortune of others…not nice at all.Yeah well, you’ll feel really stupid when everything works out FINE…I hope.

So anyway, this is what happened and it really wasn’t a big deal. Remember how I said the dig finally came to an end and we wrapped up the trip? What I forgot to mention was HOW we wrapped up the trip. We (Jan and Ian) decided to dine at a local establishment. The food was good and all was going well…a few laughs, high fives and we were having a grand time. While eating our burgers at the bar (didn’t mention that – sorry) we decided to support the local business owner and have a few beers (always civic minded). Now, I think everyone knows that beer automatically improves one’s pool game. Quit shaking your head – you know that you have thought the same thing.

Anyway, pool seemed like a good idea at the time and it only made sense to continue improving our game by whatever means were at our disposal(as long as we had cash there was plenty of beer at our disposal). We continued to play (and drink) for most of the evening. Around midnight it became apparent that we sucked at pool plus the cash was almost gone. It also became apparent to the bar owner that pool cues in the hands of drunk college students had the potential to inflict damage on both customers and glassware. It was time to go.

This is where the little monkey wrench makes an appearance. While walking home I decided that I was overdressed and went about rectifying that situation. Unfortunately, I didn’t remember that: 1. I wasn’t wearing a tank top underneath my blouse and 2. I had traded the sports bra for a black lacy thing. That lapse in memory was going to cost me.

I took off my blouse, looked like a hooker and had no idea of the aforementioned 1 and 2. It seemed fine to me. The local sheriff deputy didn’t share my opinion.

I could have simply put the blouse back on, apologized profusely to the man with a gun and all would have been well. Yeah, I could have but I didn’t. Instead my mouth opened and words began pouring out. I tried to explain that I was NOT in fact a hooker by pointing out the flaws in the deputy’s assessment (called him a hick cop with no concept of fashion) and insisting on my right to display my personal fashion preferences. He quickly followed up with his right to handcuff me and haul my ass to jail. This is the potential monkey wrench I was alluding to earlier (just in case you missed it).

Handcuffs have a sobering effect and I conceded his point well before entering the police station…well before!! As I was escorted inside the local station the kind officer noted a change in my demeanor. Okay, it may have been triggered by my weeping and continual apologizing during the trip – I don’t know.

Anyway, we arrived, handcuffs were removed and I was only issued a ticket for public intoxication. Apparently, the fashion Gods smiled down upon me and opened this man’s eyes…either that or the sobbing. The sobering effect of handcuffs seemed to extend to Jan and Ian by the time they arrived at the police station to collect me. I put the fine on my Visa and we made a beeline for the motel.

So, that brings us back to the bus briefing. The ride home seemed to drag on forever and I had already taken my last two Tylenol that morning with breakfast (a little toast, lots of coffee and a Pepto-Bismol chaser…mmmm). Arriving at the bus station, everyone quickly disembarks the bus and the three of us head to Jan’s BMW (she isn’t a teacher). She deposits me home fifteen minutes later and I stumble into the foyer, kick off my shoes, and lug the duffel bag to the laundry room…the contents will just have to wait until I have had a shower and nap. Yep, that is my plan and I am confident I will be able to adhere to it as I head up the stairs…first shower and then bed…goal met.

Slowly emerging from the blissful state of REM sleep, I quickly identify the soothing aroma of coffee. “It’s on the table,” Tina softly informs me while gently kissing my forehead. After being together for almost two decades, she knows how I am before coffee. She once described me as an adorable kitten with vampire fangs…hence, the forehead kiss.

I manage a “thank you” and proceed to focus on the lifesaving liquid before me. “It’s 10 by the way,” she casually mentions as she walks out the door. She must be psychic…then again, she knows how I feel about alarm clocks (product of the devil) and who the hell knows where my watch is. Wow, I must have been out cold since I have NO memory of anything after burrowing under the covers last night (yes, it was around 8pm and I am not old...just mature).

The coffee helps me return to the land of the living and the potential for becoming vertical increases with each sip. The final sip, however, cinches the deal and I decide to make my way to the kitchen. Arriving in the land of plenty, I notice the coffee pot is already on the table and breakfast is waiting (Martha Stewart moments aren’t exclusive to me). Sitting down, I fill my cup and begin to devour the bacon and eggs my beloved has prepared for me (and her too, I guess). Tina chuckles during my eating frenzy and I remind her that I am paying a compliment to her cooking. She mentions the potential for choking when inhaling food. Yeah well, I laugh in the face of danger so there. I didn’t realize how prophetic those words really were…

I make it through the perils of breakfast and we decide to enjoy our coffee on the back deck. A beautiful day, sun is shining and the birds are chirping – nothing can go wrong.

“So, Sam how was the trip,” she asks in a calm voice. Now, that is a perfectly reasonable question (or so the voice in my head says) and there is no cause for alarm.

“Good.” I’m thinking one word answers are the way to go right now. Hopefully she will get the hint and let me enjoy my coffee in silence. She doesn’t.

“What did you do?” Well now, that question is a potential minefield and I need to think about the intricacies of answering without actually lying.

Tina isn’t going to give me any flak about the drinking thing, being arrested or even the wardrobe malfunction…after all, we are both adults. She will, however, have an issue with the “disrespecting a man with a gun” thing. I need to think about the best way to “frame” the activities…yep, that is the key to the whole thing – framing while blurring the picture just a little (remember Cybil Shepard in the last season of Moonlighting…see, precedent? For those of you not old enough to remember Moonlighting, I hate you along with your twenty-something friends).

I quickly fill Tina in using phrases such as “you know school stuff” and “back-breaking digging” – figure I might as well go for the sympathy vote. I decide to end the narrative by telling her about our dining experience, performance enhancing techniques and subsequent run-in with law enforcement. I described that as “we were drunk, I took off my shirt without realizing I didn’t have on my tank top so the cop gave me a ticket. Oh, by the way, I put the $67.00 on the Visa.” Stop shaking your head like that – framing, remember?

“Wow, sounds like quite a trip,” she blurts out before succumbing to a laughing fit. “That explains the extended trip to slumberland.” I just nod my head and start laughing too. Laughter is contagious and important for mental health. It is also important for butt health, at least mine. A laughing Tina is a happy Tina and a distracted Tina…at least I hope.

Finally, we both stop laughing and make a run for the bathroom. Since I had not enjoyed my morning Tylenol/ibuprofen cocktail, she beat me to the downstairs bathroom. You would think the obviously injured person would be shown mercy…you would be wrong.

I am amazed by the pain relieving powers of urine or rather the desire to dispose of said urine. Yessiree Bob, I ran up those stairs and bolted into the bathroom while untying the drawstring on my pajamas in my dash for the bowl. Fortunately I was in the process of sitting down before the dribbling started so this goes in the win column. I’ll ask Miss Blizzard Feet if she had any dribbling before the finish line. Then again, if she did experience moisture, she may not think it is as funny as I do…fuck it, I’m going to ask anyway. (Hey twenty-something folks – enjoy being dribble-free while you can!)

Ten minutes later I am finally washing my hands and marveling at the strength of my sphincter muscles (it’s not THAT gross), open the door and head towards the stairs.

“Sam, why don’t you come sit by me.” I swear there is huskiness in her voice.

Turning around slowly, I see Tina sitting on the bed gently patting the spot next to her. I, of course, am still on an endorphin high after the run/pee endurance contest and figure it is time for some “welcome home” activities. I find out later how mistaken I am.

Quickly making my way to the bed, I decide to forgo tying my pajamas and step out of them on my way to a different “land of plenty.” I can’t wait to explore the inviting territory before me. As I reach my target, Tina reaches out and takes my hand. Guiding me across her lap, I conclude we are about to start the festivities. Seems reasonable to me. Stop shaking you head - must be nice to have a prophet license and see the future…fine, I concede that possibly, maybe there were a few hints along the way that I might be off base. I find out later that I’m not even in the ballpark (glad I could make you laugh).

Relaxing over her lap, I feel her hand gently rubbing my back and ass. Lulled into a false sense of safety, Tina asks me if there was anything else she should know before she gives me my welcome home present. “Uh uh baby,” I manage to say as my breathing increases. Shit, that woman knows me well!!

“And the conversation with the police officer?” Later I find out Jan had stuck a “get out of jail free” card in my bag and had written “replacement” on the back. Sucks that Tina wanted to get a head start on the laundry…really sucks. Still in an endorphin fog, I inform my beloved that I did get a little mouthy but he let me off with the public intoxication ticket once we got to the police station.

“You failed to mention that earlier.” That is all she says. You would think the sudden drop of two octaves in her voice (yes, it dropped that much…musician, remember?) plus the light flickering would tip me off…you would be wrong. Throw in the theme from “The Omen” and you get the idea. Tina waits patiently for the inevitable “click” in my brain. Fuck, I am dead and I have no one to blame but myself. Then it happened, reality came crashing down on my poor ass with a vengeance.

Not one to waste time on trivial matters (my sniveling), Tina goes about communicating her views in a passionate manner. I had no idea how swiftly endorphins wear off and my libido follows suit. After fourteen hours (no watch or alarm clock, remember?)of hard-hitting expression, Tina finally rests her hand (wooden) on my scorched bottom.

“Sam, why are you getting this spanking?” Like she doesn’t know? It is certainly NOT my idea so why should I answer the question?! Is she in an “information gathering” mode? Suddenly stricken with amnesia? Noooo, she asks this question to and I quote “make sure there are no misunderstandings.” Fuck, who cares about misunderstandings when all I can think about is being transported to the North Pole (beam me up Scotty) and sitting on an iceberg for the next ten years. Think about it - Tina would be responsible for glaciers melting. I’m not going to mention that right now.

A sharp smack brings me back from Santa’s homeland. “Because I didn’t tell you about my conversation with the cop.” That little revelation is met with the four words I dread the most. “Sam, please lift up.” No need to clarify “what” I need to lift or why. A small shudder runs down my spine as I comply with her request (demand). She takes a minute and rubs my back – she felt the shudder too. Tina is like that – making sure I know that she loves me and is there no matter what. That little act brings solace…a little.

Now that the lovefest is over, Tina sets about turning my blushing bottom into a hot, crimson mound of quivering flesh. I hope I have painted a vivid picture. Let me say it another way – I am fucked and this is going to hurt beyond the telling of it. I also need it to atone for lying. Tina forgave me a long time ago...I haven’t.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes off the walls for five years (10 minutes, SUPPOSEDLY). Of course, “I’m sorry” mixed with “please stop” and “that’s too hard” make their way into the medley. Oh yeah, no “Sam spanking song” would be complete without the timeless “I’ll NEVER do it again.” Tina always makes sure I include all the choruses before ending.

Tina’s vocal contributions consist of “You will never do fill-in-the-blank again” and the occasional “knock it off Samantha Marie” – this happens when my hands/legs decide to sacrifice themselves to the “bottom buster” in an attempt to save my ass. The “bottom buster” always wins but there is a chance some leg or hand will get thru to provide a protective shield for the targeted area. I know, it NEVER works but a girl can dream.

Tina secures my arms and legs with ease (she has six hands) while continuing to make her point. Swat after swat rain down as tears roll down my face. Then it happens, I surrender and the guilt washes over me. Tina intuitively knows when this happens and quickly pulls me into the safety of her embrace. I nestle further into her chest and feel her arms wrap around me as she carries me to the rocking chair.

Tina continues to softly repeat those timeless words that all repentant souls long to hear. I love you…I forgive you…I’m right here. My tears continue as I struggle to trust her comfort and silence that voice that questions my worthiness to be forgiven. That voice always makes an appearance but has been rendered powerless over the years – almost. The voice is quelled as acceptance/love replaces my guilt. Tina’s response to that voice is simple – “Fuck off.” She does have a way with the English language, huh?

I shyly glance into her eyes. I know I will find compassion and unconditional love. I also know my eyes will reveal relief and contentment. Slowly crawling off her lap, I notice the arched eyebrow. My response is quick – removing my shirt I whisper, “It’s time for the ‘welcome home’ festivities to begin.”

Life is good. Life is very good.

This day keeps getting better and better

2008-06-11T10:43:00.002-04:00

Part 5...usual disclaimers

Whoa, where the hell am I and who the hell is standing over me? “Lady, are you all right?” Hell yes I’m all right – why wouldn’t I be?

Scanning the surroundings a few things dawn on me. First – I am lying in the street which explains the “Lady” question. Second, my head is killing me and I am not sure I can get up. Third, squinting is the best I can do. Shit, this is a little awkward and people are beginning to gather ‘round. It’s time to get vertical again.

Slowly getting to a sitting position (much more dignified than lying on the street) I am overcome with a bout of dizziness coupled with nausea. Man this isn’t good. “Do I need to call someone?” my teenage Knight in Shining Armor asks as I struggle to retain my stomach contents. This isn’t going well.

Opening my eyes and glancing upward, I realize the sun is shooting arrows into my retinas. This is actually quite painful (arrow-retina thing). Using my eyelids as shields against the attacking sun, I realize my quest for verticalness (yeah, it’s not exactly a word but you get my drift) may need to be tweaked a bit. Quickly deciding vertical isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, I decide to go horizontal again. Yeah, it is a conscious decision, completely in my control. Completely.

A grandmotherly type woman, at least she sounds that way, gently pats my shoulder and tells me help is on the way. Now, usually I would insist that help was completely unnecessary; I was fine and quite capable of taking care of this myself. However, the arrows-retinas thing coupled with the ‘spins from hell’ leave me surprisingly agreeable. Amazing what pain and nausea can do to decision making processes.

Hearing the siren and yes, it is pretty freaking loud, only serves to bury the ‘retina arrows’ deeper into my brain as I struggle to get up. “Don’t even think about it.” I recognize that voice and quickly decide to remain prone.

You see, that voice belongs to my partner of seventeen years. She is a lovely woman with soft hazel eyes, long brown hair and an athlete’s body to die for. Tina is an English professor at the local college and was certainly not expected home at this hour – at least not by me. Yes siree Bob, her arrival is definitely an unexpected event and I have a feeling she has surveyed the surroundings and has a pretty good idea of the underlying cause of my current position. Oh yeah, she is a quick study and knows me well.

This is definitely not turning out how I planned.

Groaning, I do the only thing left and just let my head fall back. I feel her hand on my shoulder as she gives me a little squeeze. “You’ll be okay honey,” she whispers softly in my ear. For some reason her voice quells the nausea a little and she deftly places her hand over my eyes to further thwart the sun’s attempts to impale me. Bad sun…bad, bad sun.

The paramedics arrive, ask some basic questions and determine I would benefit from a quick trip to the ER. I don’t share their enthusiasm for this plan and am not shy about stating my views. Tina quickly takes their side (I’m the one she loves – not them!) and informs the nice healthcare professionals (and me) that I will be making the suggested trip.

“Don’t worry lady, I’ll put your board on your front porch,” my ever-so-helpful Knight in Shining Armor assures me. I can just hear the scowl (can’t open eyes) on Tina’s face. Yes, I said it… “hear” the scowl – ever heard of prose? A few things are bound to rub off from living with an English professor.

The nice paramedics quickly scan my body for injuries (ask “where does it hurt” – pretty scientific if you ask me). One attempts to open my eye and shine a 1000 watt spotlight in it to check for pupil response or so he says. This is quickly met with a wave of nausea as I attempt to explain the light-retina-arrows thing. Apparently the green hue on my face conveys the problem and I am quickly moved into the relative dimness of the ambulance. They do pause a moment to make sure I wasn’t actually going to hurl (just looked like it). This is definitely not turning out how I planned.

After asking a few more questions, ensuring I am securely fastened (tied down) to the stretcher, and placing a garden-hose (IV) in my left hand, the ambulance pulls away to begin the short trek to a healthcare facility. The waves of nausea subside as long as I keep my eyes closed and don’t move my head in any way. Focusing on not moving is a welcome distraction from the incessant throbbing right behind my left eye. Yeah, a definite silver lining moment.

See, this whole thing is gravity’s fault…maybe global warming too. We’ll see.

Anyway, this is what happened. I have been experiencing what can be described as a little restlessness as my fortieth birthday looms closer. Tina understood that (she experienced her fortieth last year) and has been very supportive of my need to change things up a little. Get out of the rut – know what I mean? Not get crazy (I didn’t dye my hair or stop wearing a seatbelt for God’s sake) or anything but I did decide to try some new sporting activities.

We had agreed a long time ago that I wouldn’t participate in a sport that involved leaving the ground – nothing that involved plummeting to the Earth- until I was eligible for Medicare. I’ve already begun scouting around for parachute instructors that offer AARP discounts.

Last week I noticed some kids riding this skateboard with only two wheels and it seemed to be two pieces. I asked about it the next day and was informed that is was a Ripstick. “It’s lots of fun” mixed with “It’s very easy” filled the classroom and I knew I had found the sport for me. Street surfing on a Ripstick – how cool is that? I went in search of this exciting object after work and quickly located a red one. Completing my purchase, I turned towards home and the exciting new world of street surfing. Oh yeah, this was definitely going to be fun.

There was only one problem (didn’t realize it until I got home, of course) with my plans. I discovered this after reading the directions (how hard can it be after all) and watching the instructional DVD (it really did look easy). I should have noted that no one under the age of twenty-five was in the DVD – that would have been helpful. Yeah… really wish I have been a little more observant.

You see, a helmet is suggested when riding this thing. Some might argue it is required (guess who?) but I subscribe to the “freedom of choice” camp (closeted Constitution fan). I knew there was a helmet somewhere in the garage. After an exhaustive search (five minutes) in which I scoured the bowels of our garage, no helmet was found. Oh well, how hard can it be…I’ll be fine.

Yeah, fine.

Quickly donning some sweats and tennis shoes, I bolted for the door with my new toy, sorry, exercise equipment. I was afraid Tina might not be as enthusiastic as I was about this and would point out the potential for injuries. I decided to save her from worrying (her well-being guides my every action) by beginning my Ripstick career two hours before she was due home. I figured I’ll be a pro by then so “no harm, no foul”, right? Let’s not forget this is actually a way to improve my health (exercise, remember?). This is turning out exactly how I planned.

So, I’m standing next to the car with my hand resting against it for balance as I step onto this board. Okay, it might be a little harder than I initially thought (apparently you need perfect balance) and will take a bit more practice. I am nothing if not tenacious and I set out on my quest. It’s not like I ever let a silly thing like ability keep me from doing something (case in point – the reason I’m horizontal now).

I can feel the years melting away as I ride this new mode of transportation, hair blowing behind me as I whisk down the paved streets of our neighborhood, neighbors stopping to marvel at my skill while kids shower me with cool points. Yeah, I’ll be the coolest teacher in my school. That’s how I saw it in my minds eye.

The truth is I would start and get maybe six inches before the board vacated its location from under my feet. Once I went a whole foot before Mr. Gravity reared his ugly head and I was once again standing still while the board continued on its journey. I would like to point out I always remained standing during this endeavor regardless of the circumstances. ALWAYS. Until that fateful moment (there’s always one in every story) when I fell forward as the board shot out from under my feet. Fortunately I was able to spare my hands and wrists from any injury as my left cheek broke my fall (always looking for the silver lining). Yeah, it was as nasty as it sounds…my left cheek landed on the pavement full force. BTW – the asphalt didn’t give at all. My face did.

So, that brings us to a tied-down me (not in a good way) riding in the back of an ambulance as it barrels down the road to a hospital. Thankfully the siren is off and this nice paramedic has put away the spotlight. We arrive at the emergency room where I am whisked into a room and surrounded by a bunch of people in white coats. Well, maybe not a bunch but certainly more than one. We go through the entire “where does it hurt” and “how did it happen” again (lack of communication is the bane of healthcare).

Someone puts twenty pieces of paper in front of me to read. I opt for the condensed version of the forms (amazing how flexible the rules are with the threat of projectile vomiting) and sign my name continuously for ten minutes (had to do this by feel due to the arrows-retinas thing). Sheesh, no wonder the rain forests are disappearing. Man, my head hurts – where is the morphine?

After determining I, in fact, am not going to die (they don’t know Tina) but a CAT scan would be prudent, the nice doctor authorizes some pain medication. It is about time!! I thought this but couldn’t really articulate my words (blinding pain thing). After four hours (supposedly five minutes) this nice teenage nurse brings me two Tylenol. I knew this had to be a mistake and am about to inform the youngster of this when Tina magically appears next to me. One look at my face and she knows what I am about to explain emphatically to this “supposed” healthcare provider.

“Sam, this is all you can have right now,” she gently informs me. Before I can respond, she further explains that any stronger pain medication would mask worsening symptoms. So what!!! I really didn’t care and inform the occupants of my room (probably the hall way too) that I need relief and they had better quit being so cruel to patients.

A voice whispers in my right ear, “Samantha, cool your jets right now.” Fuck, now I’m definitely not going to get any morphine. I decide the best course of action is to keep my mouth shut and simply lie here in excruciating pain. That will show them. I do take the Tylenol though – I’m not a masochist.

Finally I am informed of the CAT scan results (normal which I already knew) and am being released to the care of a responsible adult (not me). The next twenty four hours will require someone to wake me up every two hours (at their own peril) to make sure I don’t get worse. Of course I cannot have anything stronger than Tylenol for pain (this concussion thing sucks). This day keeps getting better and better.

The trip home is conducted in relative silence. I focus on preventing the vomit thing (coincidentally Tina is also focusing on ‘me preventing the vomit thing’). Definite conversation stopper. Thankfully we arrive home after thirty minutes (didn’t have to stop and pick up a prescription – lucky me).

Tina quickly comes around and helps me into the house which is a good thing as the freaking sun is still in the sky. She had the foresight to grab my sunglasses before heading to the hospital which provides some protection from the evil rays. Times like this I wish I had sacrificed appearance for those ugly-ass wrap around babies you see old people wear.

We (Tina) decide the safest place for me is the couch in the living room. Personally, I couldn’t care less as long as I can lie down in the privacy of my own home (public displays are uncouth and tend to require damage control later). I collapse onto the couch and quickly realize the importance of: 1. moving slowly and 2. ensuring no part of my face comes in contact with ANY surface (have a sneaking suspicion this won’t be the only part of me that will need to be contact-free). Finally I am able to find that perfect position in which all light is prevented from impaling me and my head is secure enough to prevent accidental movement (yeah, about a 5 on the vomit meter – don’t actually hurl until a 7).

“Get some rest honey,” my beloved tells me as she gently places a kiss on my forehead (I thought the same thing – what am I, a five year old). Placing a blanket over me (this is an adult thing – just shut up) I hear her quietly take a seat next to the couch. I know she won’t leave until I am asleep and she knows I am okay. This concussion thing does suck but having Tina within arms reach is nice.

Finally, sleep comes a calling… Feeling a nudge on my shoulder ten minutes (two hours per Miss Watcher) later, I am forced to surface from the relatively pain free state of slumber. Fuck – the arrows are still in my retinas and Bob Marley is playing the bongos in my head (Reggae rhythm – beats Barry Manilow). Moaning, I slowly open one eye and try to focus on the person foolish enough to attempt waking me. I’m irritable enough when rising from slumberland on a normal day, throw in pain and I become downright homicidal. Fortunately the excruciating pain with movement prevents any rash actions on my part…for now (wonder if I could get morphine in jail).

“Sammie honey, it’s me. I need you to open both eyes for a minute.” Yeah right, like that is going to happen. I respond with a “get away” and quickly snap my open eye shut.

“Come on honey, I need to make sure you’re okay and I have something for pain,” this glorious angel of mercy informs me in a soft voice. The mention of pain relief could be clouding my perspective bit. Gritting my teeth, I open my eyes and try to sit up. Suddenly the Earth gets tilted on its axis and begins to spin out of control. The other alternative is this spinning phenomenon may be related to my sports, sorry exercise, related injury.

Quickly discounting that option, I elect to resume my prone position - at least I’ll be comfortable for the eventual Earth crash (I should be able to get morphine then). Tina decides to ask a few questions (apparently she is oblivious to the upcoming disaster) regarding the state of my general health, head and presence of any additional symptoms.

After eliciting satisfactory answers from the patient, she offers me some soup, soda and two Tylenol. Did I mention the Bob Marley-in-head thing? That is not a pleasant experience and I have serious doubts that freaking Tylenol will be an adequate substitute for the required morphine. Big, big doubts!!!

Tina patiently informs me that Tylenol is the only option to prevent worsening symptoms from going undetected. Once again, who cares about that?? I would welcome worsening symptoms if it curtailed the throbbing pain in my head. Being conscious is not all it’s cracked up to be – a position I emphatically relate to my current healthcare provider. She is unmoved by my pleading words and refuses to provide anything stronger. Good thing she hasn’t quit her day job to be a nurse. I decide to keep this comment to myself – Tylenol is better than nothing.

Twenty four hours pass and I am finally allowed to sleep without interruption. I cannot begin to describe my appreciation at this possibility and eagerly embrace this future state of being.

I have moved into the bedroom (completely light-free) and snuggle under the covers. The pain is better and it is possible for me to bury my head in my pillow (silver fucking lining moment). Tina is off doing something – I probably should care but can’t quite bring myself to do so at the moment (quite shaking your head – I’m injured, remember? Fine, I’ll buy her a present later – satisfied?!)

The next couple of days pass without incidence as the pain in my head subsides and the nausea has completely left the building. Currently I have a little headache and Tylenol is actually an appropriate pain reliever for it…NOW. I am slowly resuming my life and have stowed the offending piece of exercise equipment in the closet (NO need to bring attention to it – no need at all). Tina has been wonderful and not said anything about my date with gravity. Great, I’m living with a Stepford lesbian (must come in two models now – het and ho). Truth is that is probably safer right now.

One Saturday (a week after the ‘unfortunate incident’) I have an inkling my day of reckoning is here. It's not that Tina says or does anything – it’s just this sixth sense I have developed over the years (I know – you’re surprised at that revelation - I am too).

Grabbing a cup of coffee, I make my way to the kitchen table. I give my lady a “good morning” and quick peck on the cheek first. Every little thing helps right now. She greets me with a smile and resumes reading the paper. Now, she knows I know something is up. She cannot hide behind this façade of niceness forever and she knows the waiting is making me crazy.

Deciding that two can play at this game, I pick up the sports section (no, I’m not reading it – get real. Who could read under these circumstances ?) and look like I’m reading it. As the minutes tick away, the butterflies make their way to their summer residence (my stomach). Fine, I can wait for her – no need to borrow trouble here. Maybe I’m just over-reacting and she will be so filled with relief that all will be forgiven. Shit, I must have brain damage.

“So Sam, how are you feeling honey?” she asks in a soothing voice. Maybe I don’t have brain damage after all!!

“Better thanks. My head doesn’t hurt at all,” I reply before I can help myself. There is no reason, no reason at all to bring up the ‘unfortunate’ incident and I just did it with my head comment. Maybe she didn’t notice it…yeah, maybe.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” I can’t help but smile at that –she does love me. “Let’s go talk in the study.” Her tone of voice quickly brings my head up as I try to gauge what is going on.

There it is – she has her Gloria Steinem/Karl Malden face (odd pairing I know but that’s what she looks like – a shiver runs down my spine too). This is so not good.

Following her into the study, I decide the best course of action is to sit anywhere but the couch. Yeah, out of arms reach is a good idea about now. “Now Sam, care to explain to me how you ended up with a concussion?” Her voice is calm but flames are dancing in her eyes.

Gulping, I decide the best course of action is just the facts. “I decided to try something new to make exercising more appealing. The kids all raved about this Ripstick and it looked like fun.” So far she is sitting quietly and looks very relaxed. Yeah, so far.

“Anyway, I bought the board and decided to try it AFTER reading the instructions and watching the DVD.” Want to make sure I throw in that I did both and didn’t jump in half-cocked. Tina continues to lean back comfortably on the couch, her eyes never leaving my face (she is polite that way) and nods for me to continue.

Here is where it can get a little tricky for me. I need to tweak the truth without actually lying about it (yes, I DO see the problem with that statement but self-preservation trumps Miss Honesty-is-the-best-policy under these circumstances). After bitch-slapping Miss H. I decide to continue my rendition of events.

“I changed clothes and went out to try the board. As I was practicing, I must have lost my balance. The next thing I know I am lying in the street and you are next to me telling me I am going to be okay - that was very sweet by the way. You know the rest from there.” Doesn’t sound too bad, right?

Tina just sits there and continues to look in my direction. Yep, she just keeps sitting there and looking at me….she’s not even blinking.

“Sam!” Oops, I was focused on the non-blinking thing - didn’t realize she had turned on verbal mode.

“Sorry, honey. Guess I zoned for a minute,” I say with my angel eyes coupled with a look of total adoration. Maybe she will be overcome by the depth of my love for her and shower me with kisses (ya’ know I can see you rolling your eyes, right?).

Her face transforms into Karl/Gloria again and I wonder if I can become one with the chair.

“I asked you where your helmet was? I didn’t see it on the road.” Like she really thinks it rolled underneath a car …shit, I almost roll my eyes.

“Ididnothaveone,” I respond while examining the beautiful craftsmanship of the Tiffany lamp. Man, those freaking butterflies are having a field day and have been joined by their friend “butt tingle” (both unwelcome guests, btw).

“Didn’t think so.” She understands “Sam freak-speak” so it wasn’t necessary to repeat myself. With the preliminaries out of the way, she quietly asks (tells) me to join her.

Taking a deep breath, I manage to rise from my very comfortable seated position (it was nice while it lasted) and shuffle my way to her waiting hand. Grasping my hand, she quickly relieves my legs of their burden and allows them a needed rest from supporting my body. Yeah, they were really freaking tired.

I don’t have to wait long for the festivities to begin as Miss Iron-hand begins to make her views quite clear regarding my past follies. Damn, she spanks hard. First one cheek then the other in this unrelenting cadence from hell. Initially I decide to accept my punishment stoically– it was stupid to get on the board without a helmet and I knew better. After four minutes of my ass being pounded I’m wondering if I need to rethink that strategy. The decision to cry is in my control. Completely.

Finally, her hand comes to rest on my posterior (just in time, let me tell you). Tears are leaking out of my eyes by now and I have professed my deepest regret for my actions in the sincerest voice possible (aka begging her to stop and promising NEVER to do it again).

“Sam, why are you getting spanked?” I knew this was coming (Miss Predictable) and let out a little groan. I really, really, really, REALLY hate it when she does this – I become this naughty ten year old (the point – I know).

“Because I didn’t wear a helmet.” There really is no defense or anything else for me to say. She knows Mr. Self Loathing and Ms. How-Can-You-BE-So-Stupid have been visiting my head…and soul. Those voices lurk in the shadows, just waiting for a chance to make an entrance. I know these are remnants from my childhood and do not reflect the true me as a person. It just doesn’t feel that way right now.

“Lift up your hips Sammie,” she commands in a soft voice. I find comfort in that command, know that forgiveness will be forthcoming and this heavy blanket of guilt and shame will be lifted. Tina quickly lowers my pajama bottoms and rests her hand on my bare skin. I want this over with, this ache inside me to go away. I know Tina will take care of me. I feel her hand move away as she pulls me closer to her body. Shit, this is not going to be pleasant.

Smack followed by smack followed by smack descend on my bottom. I thought she was hitting hard before – it was nothing compared to what she was doing now. “Ow” mixed with “I’m sorry” and a little sprinkle of “please, stop” are my contribution to today’s events. Tina is contributing a little more.

Smack – YOU-Smack-WILL-Smack-NEV-Smack-ER-Smack-RISK-Smack-YOUR-Smack-HEALTH-Smack-A-Sma ck-GAIN!! She opted for the spank-per-syllable rule. The pain I am experiencing is beyond description right now. My entire being is consumed with this sensation of hot pokers touching every part of my ass. Does take my mind off the returning headache (lucky me).

DO-Smack-YOU-Smack-UN (please, not that word)-Smack-DER (no such luck)-Smack-STAND-Smack (guess she wanted to emphasize her point)? I quickly inform her I completely understand and will never do it again (luckily she understands Sam sob-speak also…multilingual).

Tina helps me up and deftly sits me on her lap. She makes sure nothing comes in contact with my ass (very skilled at that). I put my arms around her neck and continue to let the tears cascade down my cheeks. I feel her arms envelop me as she rocks my tired body. She whispers those words I need to hear to heal my heart. Those words that soothe my aching soul and quiet those voices in my head. I love you. All is forgiven. I’m not going anywhere. Those same words my mother whispered in my ear many years ago.

Finally the tears subside and I nestle close to her chest. I risk a glance at her face. She smiles softly as her eyes reflect love and acceptance. Tina offers unconditional love and acceptance to me - never withholds her forgiveness. I struggled to trust this gift. I don’t anymore. Finally I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. I know Tina will hold me in her arms as long I want …and need.

Life is good. Life is very good.

Home sweet home...F/M for a change

2008-06-11T10:26:00.002-04:00

Part 4 with usual disclaimers...this is a long one but I needed someplace to post it...you'll definitely want a beverage and an empty bladder before starting it.

Home sweet home, here I come. I love coming home, especially after a long day and today certainly qualifies. Qualifies in a huge freaking way!! Trudging through the snow to the front door I quickly remove one glove, slam the key into the front door and turn the lock as I use my hip to open the door. The frigid climate is an amazing motivator and I have gotten the key-door-hip move down pat. The trick is to keep from falling into the house once the door is open which I have done a few times. Hard not to look stupid lying on the floor in winter garb. Real hard.

The house is dark and eerily quiet as I make my way into the kitchen. Okay, so I track a little snow - it’s only water which will evaporate and help decrease the use of the humidifier. I am doing my part for the environment. Thankfully a chair is available in the kitchen corner for me to sit on and remove my winter garb. It also doubles as a “Sam’s winter gear” storage area. All I need to do is tuck the boots neatly underneath the chair and I have maintained our mess free home.

Now, let me explain the “mess free” policy we have recently adopted in our home. Tina is an obsessive-compulsive neat freak. I realize it is not her fault but the result of a tragic clothing/accidental wine stain incident. We don’t bring it up anymore for obvious reasons. This “incident” occurred when I was a freshman in college and she was the dorm monitor. She was visiting my dorm room for some reason. I was being hospitable and offered her a glass of wine. The distance between me and Tina proved somewhat perilous that day as I tripped over something (she said shoes, books and a candle) and the wine became airborne. Unfortunately, it landed on the white blouse Tina was wearing. I apologized and yet she still seemed upset later that evening. I repeat - it was an accident and I had apologized. She had a hard time letting it go (I agree that she was being unreasonable).

Anyway, that day marked the beginning of her “neat freak” mode and determination to indoctrinate me into her way of thinking. Over the last fifteen years we have compromised (me) and have been able to work out any differences. I learned the value of picking up after myself and putting things where they belong. She quit labeling everything and ensuring all the books were filed alphabetically (she agreed to grouping by subject). Works for us.

So, that brings us up to the “mess free” or the MF policy as I like to call it. I mentioned the cold weather, right? Now, I am not a cold weather person. I can deal with it but prefer to spend my time within the confines of a warm structure. Snowboarding and ice skating no longer have any appeal for me. Then there’s the “driving in the snow” issue – other people’s driving, not mine. I drive just fine and am well versed in remaining on the road (necessary to avoid the cold) under all circumstances. On a few occasions, other drivers have even sacrificed their space on the road to ensure I continued my journey (heart-warming, isn’t it?)

Anyway, I left my boots in front of the door (not exactly in front, more to the side) and Tina tripped (she really should look where she is going) one night. You can guess how the subsequent events unfolded and culminated in the MF policy.

Deciding to start dinner (yes I know - I am a keeper), I went in search of ingredients. I notice the answering machine light is off and there is no note on the “kitten” notepad on the front of the frig. Remaining in hunter-gatherer mode I locate carrots, celery, onions and a pork roast (hey, meat in any way designates me a hunter). Quickly placing all the ingredients in the roasting pan with some carefully measured seasonings (I see you smirking) and a few cups of water, I shove the whole meal in the oven at 375. Dinner should be ready in an hour and I can cook from any room in the house. It just doesn’t get any better than this.

Next, it’s off to shed the remaining remnants of this horrid day. After taking a quick shower and donning my favorite flannel sweats, I decide to wait in my favorite chair. Lost in my book, I didn’t realize what time it was until I heard the front door open. “Hi Sam.” I can hear the tension in her voice and know immediately something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong. I leave the comfort of my chair and make my way downstairs. Quickly…very quickly.

Tina is standing in the foyer and I quickly walk up to her. Seeing her face, I pull her into my arms – she has definitely had a bad day. Looking down at the floor, I can’t help but notice a second pair of boots. Now, most people (Tina) would expect to find two pairs of boots by the front door (the two people live here thing) but one compromise to our MF policy was allowing boots to be in any room with an outside door regardless of the location of entry. She had decided to throw me a bone – I don’t have a problem with a pity victory.

Before I can ask the question I hear the answer. “Hello Aunt Sam.” Quickly turning around I find myself looking at the chest of Ethan. Tilting my head up, I lock onto his beautiful green eyes and pull him into a big hug. Usually he reciprocates and I find myself dangling off the ground. Not this time.

See, Ethan was a kid we more or less adopted. Tina met him during her last year of teaching twelfth grade and immediately saw the scared little boy hiding in the sullen teenager. As the trust began to grow between the two, Tina discovered the source of the fear. Ethan’s dad was gone and his mom was an alcoholic. Now Ethan never said that, would never say anything bad about his mom but Tina was able to piece things together.

Ethan would come over for tutoring (conveniently around dinner time) twice a week. As his mother’s behavior became more erratic, the visits to the house increased in frequency and pretty soon he had a toothbrush and spare set of clothes in the guest bathroom. We visited Ethan’s mother a few weeks after Tina had started tutoring him. She looked at us with the saddest eyes I have ever seen and simply said “Thank you.” This woman knew she was drowning and didn’t want to take her son with her.

We gave him a key after discovering he had spent a few nights sleeping in the park. At first he denied there was any problem but soon we found him at the breakfast table at least four mornings a week. It quickly became clear that the late night entrances into our home could be problematic, especially if only one of us was home. On more than a few occasions we have met Ethan in the hallway with a baseball bat. Yeah, this needed to change. So, the deal was he had to be home by 9 pm if he was staying with us. No exceptions. He laughed and said it was a weird kind of curfew. We didn’t think so.

He violated that rule on two occasions. The first time we told him there would be consequences - that it was dangerous and someone was going to get hurt. The second time he experienced those consequences. I remember the utter look of shock on his face as Tina grabbed his ear and marched him to the couch. She sat down and pulled him over her lap in one smooth move (she’s had a little practice). Quickly bringing her hand down on his posterior, she was focused on the lesson at hand. Ethan tried to be stoic (manly as he says) but Tina is a spanker extraordinaire. That woman can spank and has a cast iron hand. I’ve done the stoic route before and knew the “manly” boy would soon become a pleading boy. She rained swats down in rapid succession for a good ten minutes making sure every inch of his bottom experienced her attention.

I remember little gasps at the 1 minute mark, yelps plus a foot twitch at 2 minutes, definite squirming at 3, tears at the 4 minute mark, rivers of tears pooling on the floor at 5 (actually, he was pretty manly), hands reaching back to cover the target area at the 5 ½ mark and pleas for mercy before the 6 minute mark. Of course, like the teacher she is, Tina used both physical and verbal methods to make her point. “Young man” made several appearances as did “do I make myself clear”. Oh yeah, let’s not forget the timeless “if you ever do that again, this spanking will seem like a walk in the park”. Tina’s goal wasn’t to make him cry but to learn the lesson at hand (hers). His safety was paramount – simple as that.

I also remember the way he fiercely held onto Tina as she held him in her arms afterwards. Ethan cried a long time that night. He cried for his mother, father and lost childhood. Later, he lay down on the couch with his head cradled in my lap, a few tears sneaking down his face. Tina kept stroking his hair and whispering words of comfort, holding that little boy safely to her heart. We became Aunt Tina and Aunt Sam that night – family. Neither of us could carry this “little boy” to bed so we left him on the couch. Tina slept in the recliner that night just to make sure he was okay. He was.

Hearing the oven timer go off, I announce that dinner is ready. Neither says anything as we all make our way to the kitchen. “Ethan, please set the table,” I ask while removing the delicious roast from the oven. I didn’t really need to say anything; we all know what our kitchen duties are. Grabbing two pot holders I place the scrumptious dinner on the table (a Donna Reed moment). I pray the tension would ease between my dinner companions as the aroma of dinner (very nice if I say so myself) continues to drift upward. No such luck.

"Look you two, I slaved hours over the stove to make this dinner. I have no intention of using my knife to cut the tension between you two so suck it up for thirty minutes and pretend to like each other’s company.” With that pronouncement, I decide to fill my plate with meat (falls off the bone), vegetables (sans carrots – hate cooked carrots) and hand the serving utensils to Tina.

“Need some help?” I inquire as she looks at me sheepishly.

“No thank you. This looks great. Thank you.” Yessirree Bob, I am wearing the pants in the family right now. This power can be a little intoxicating – know what I mean? I’ll just enjoy it while I can.

Tina offers to dish up a serving for Ethan. I notice she avoids the carrots as she fills his plate. He hates them too. Ethan notices her gesture also and I see him relax his shoulders...a little but still worth mentioning. Finally, dinner is served to all.

Now, I know this isn’t going to be a talkfest but I do like a little conversation around the dinner table. I have a feeling the real conversation will take place later. Tina catches my eye and my suspicions are validated. Ethan just answers my questions with one word answers but in a polite way. He’s trying, poor boy. Okay, maybe not a boy. This twenty year old “boy” is a junior in college, 180 pounds and 6’2”.

The rule (not the MF but another one) in our house is the cook doesn’t have to clean up – the other diners have that duty. Tonight, however, I’m thinking a change would be very helpful. Sending Ethan in search of a shower, I begin clearing the table. Hearing the shower running, I wait for Tina to begin. After five grueling minutes, I realize she is not going to break the silence. Closing the dishwasher (somewhat forcefully) I turn around and glare her way. Of course she has her back turned – so not fair.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Seemed like the appropriate question at the time and I am trying very hard to keep my temper in check. Sitting down, she meets my gaze. “Well, it’s like this. I picked Ethan up from the police station.” Not good…so not good.

“What!!! The police station.” I am sure you figured out my voice has risen somewhat in volume and I quickly make my way to join her at the table.

“Yes, the police station. It seems Ethan and a few friends decided it would be a good idea to improve the aesthetics (gotta love an English professor) of the chem building. Using spray paint, they decorated the back wall with an eclectic collection of words and pictures. The overall theme was pizza, sex and screw authority.” Well, that’s not a combo you see every day.

“A police officer happened upon this work of art and the boys, sorry men, decided to vacate the premises. Additional men in uniform blocked the escape routes and...well…the police station thing. Apparently our budding artist decided to utilize his extensive vocabulary upon seeing the initial police officer but was quickly dissuaded from that particular course of action.” Seeing my worried face Tina quickly assured me only verbal methods were used by the police officer.

“Wow, he certainly does make an impression,” I manage to say after whistling through my teeth.

“That he does,” Tina responds with a smile, “Anyway, the other boys called their parents. While the parents fetched their sons, Ethan sat handcuffed to the bench. Luckily, a campus police officer walked by, recognized Ethan and called me.” As she told the story, I could see the fatigue creep over her body and those worry wrinkles showed up. My baby did have a bad day.

“Ethan didn’t say anything when I arrived and has pretty much been mute. I was too shocked to speak when I saw him handcuffed.” At this junction, tears begin to roll down Tina’s cheeks. “Sam, I didn’t know what to say. When they released him from those handcuffs, I held onto him as tight as I could. When I pulled away, he had this look in his eye, reminded me of the little boy look he used to get. I took his hand and we walked out of that place.”

By now I am holding her hands in mine. Shit, I need to grab a Kleenex before the snot string makes contact with the table or my hand (oh please, we have ALL experienced the snot string before). Now, this is an art – reaching for the box of Kleenex while maintaining enough contact so Tina will NOT turn her head thus detaching said snot string and casting it into the night (sounds more poetic than kitchen and it’s not easy to bring poetry to “snot string”). I am successful, tears are dried and the snot string is safely secured. Mission accomplished.

Making a command decision, I take Tina’s hand and make my way to the bedroom with her in tow. She still looks pretty tired…very tired. “Okay, I’m going to draw you a bath and you will soak for awhile.” I put my fingers on her lips, effectively stopping her protest. “I will check on Ethan and make sure he is okay,” I softly reassure her.

Nodding slightly, I make my way to the bathroom and focus on a different recipe. The ingredients I need are different but the result will be the same… a more relaxed and content Tina. Adding the anti-anxiety or was it anti-oxidant bath salts, whatever…I walk out and give Tina a hug. “Go now, rest and relax. I’ve got Ethan.” My voice may be gentle but my eyes are firm. Okay, time to move onto the next family member.

Slowly making my way down the hall I listen for the sound of the shower. Noticing the absence of such sound, I can’t help but smile at his decision to avoid the shower delaying tactic...our little boy is maturing. Knocking softly on his door, I wait for an invitation to enter. No response – maybe he didn’t hear me due to hearing loss (kids today with their loud music). See, I know he couldn’t be purposely ignoring me so that made sense.

I knock a little louder this time and still get no response. Great, now I have to open the door and face the remote possibility he is ignoring me – I so do not want to shatter that dream. Taking a deep breath to prepare myself for the potential dream-shattering moment, I cross the bedroom threshold and head inside (courageous if you ask me – facing my fear and all). Spying Ethan sitting in the chair next to the window, I slowly inch my way in his direction (no need to accelerate the dream-shatter-moment). We both share that - gazing out the window from our chair to find some serenity, acceptance and clarity. It helps…sometimes more than others.

Softly calling his name I reach the chair. He is asleep, head listing to the right. Reaching for a blanket, I cover him up and kiss his forehead. Looking down, I smile and send a thank you to the Powers that Be for guiding this special creature into our lives. I savor the moment knowing this quiet will evaporate tomorrow. Yep, things are definitely going to get noisy around la casa tomorrow.

The next morning I am rudely roused from a blissful state of slumber by an annoying and high pitched beeping sound. Hoping that Tina will silence the source of my distress, I pull a pillow over my head and try to recapture my blissful state. Shit, can’t she hear that? Peeking out from under the pillow, I quickly understand why she has not silenced this technological irritant. She appears to have awakened from her state of slumber and is somewhere else at the moment. Great, now I have to silence the beast. Reaching out with my right arm, I search around for the damn alarm using the touch method. Where the hell is it? Finally reaching the pinnacle of my frustration, I role over and bring my arm/hand down somewhat forcefully. The result – wonderful silence. Tucking both hands under the pillow, I resume my quest for sleep.

“Sam, honey, wake up.” Great, someone or something else is screwing with my slumber. Opening one eye, actually squinting, I notice Tina is standing next to the bed holding a cup of ambrosia (coffee). Man, it is really bright in here – who let the sun in anyway?

“I see you hit the snooze on the alarm clock,” Tina casually mentions as she pulls the covers off my head. “Huh,” is all I can muster, “what time is it?” Handing me my coffee (she is a Godsend) Tina informs me that it is time to get up which usually translates into 7-7:30 am depending on her schedule during the week and around 9am on weekends. Shit, what day is this? Nonchalantly glancing towards the bedside table I plan on using the time to orient me to the day. Seeing the little bits of plastic I realize how she knew I had hit the snooze.

Look, alarm clocks seem to creep into that part of my psyche that is part Arnold and Stallone when I am emerging from sleep. Guess you noticed I am tenacious when it comes to preserving said sleep state. I’m getting better at treating the electronic devices gentler but at least once a month I bury an alarm clock. I know it will happen, Tina knows it will happen and she keeps a spare alarm clock on her side of the bed. Seemed the prudent thing to do. We also keep spares in the closet.

“Come on Sammie, let me make you breakfast,” she gently offers, “and it’s 9 by the way.” She knows me well.

After performing all those morning habits, I make my way into the kitchen. The aroma of bacon (should be an air freshener scent if you ask me) draws me to the stove. I’m not going to cook or anything but I’m still drawn.

“Put this on the table please.” A plate of eggs suddenly appears in my hand and I pick up the toast on my way to the designated location. Tina follows with the bacon and a pot of coffee. I decide to wait on her to begin the ‘Ethan’ conversation. After ten minutes I realize I may need to rethink my plan.

“Honey, about Ethan…” She looks up and I can see the smoldering anger mixed with fear in her eyes. My eyes reflect the same. “Yeah, Ethan…” she replies just as the person of interest appears in the kitchen. Kid has great timing.

Ethan grabs a cup of coffee and takes a seat at the table while completely avoiding eye contact. We both greet him with the customary “good morning” and sit back while drinking coffee. Catching Tina’s eye I begin the conversation. Ethan has a difficult time maintaining eye contact. Actually, he has a difficult looking anywhere but the floor.

“Ethan, look at us while we are talking to you,” Tina admonishes softly. As he picks his head up I notice the tears falling down his cheeks increase and his lip begins to quiver. Grabbing one hand while Tina grabbed the other, I take a deep breath and decide to plunge in. “I am sorry Aunt Tina and Aunt Sam. It should never have happened and it won’t happen again.” After all my preparations, the boy stole my thunder.

“We had a few beers and some of the guys suggested we have some fun. It seemed harmless at the time. I have no excuse for my behavior. I am planning on going over to the chem. building after breakfast and work on scrubbing the mess off the building. I already have an appointment with the Dean of Students (apparently he made one phone call from the police station) to discuss this and accept any consequences he deems appropriate. I’m meeting him at 10am. I cannot tell you why I joined in except to say it was a serious lapse in judgment.” Wow, you have to be kind of impressed at Ethan’s initiative…at least I am, not sure about Tina.

“Good, I am proud of you for accepting responsibility, honey,” I whisper in his ear as I reached over to give him a hug. “We’ll talk more tonight.” Rising and proceeding to begin the process of making restitution, he trudges off into the cold. Tina remains silent, a sadness reflected in her eyes. I’m not sure what is going on with my baby but I know there is more to this story. A lot more.

When we are alone again, I notice she still has that look…sadness and hurt hidden deep within her eyes but I can see it. I know her well. Reaching over, I gently brush her face. I give her my raised eyebrow coupled with “concern corners” – hard to resist combo. Oh yeah, let me explain “concern corners”. They are those little wrinkles that show up on the outer corner of your mouth when your lips scrunch together. They really are a nuisance and can cause lasting wrinkles. I try to avoid them – getting (vanity) and giving (painful).

“I’m okay, just tired.” Tired is code for “leave it alone for now”. Finishing the kitchen clean-up in silence (MF, remember) we both head off to do whatever we were going to do this Saturday. In my case a little reading, trip to the grocery store, maybe some laundry, piano time, and a chick flick. A quick kiss and Tina heads out the door to keep student office hours until 2pm. I like my plans better than hers.

Enjoying my piano time, I hear someone enter the front door. Actually, I hear the thumping of boots in an attempt to remove winter remnants. “Samantha…” heralds from said person. Shit, the use of my full name rarely bodes well for me.

“In here honey,” I respond using my most angelic voice (should have been practicing that). There is no reason for me to go to her – none at all. Close proximity doesn’t seem like a good thing right now. Don’t need a committee member to tell me that (committees occasionally form in my head with different voices (all mine) - not in a crazy way but rather in a think-outside-the-box look-at-both-sides-now way). It works for me.

I hear footsteps rapidly approaching my location and decide to remain behind the piano (pretty impressive barrier). “You would not believe what he did!!”

Whew, it’s not me that she is pissed at although it’s not good that it’s Ethan – just better that it isn’t ME. Coming out from behind the piano (safe to do) I head towards the couch (Tina’s location). Ya know, she looks ready to explode - I decide to sit back and wait. Man she is pissed – very pissed.

“He met with the Dean and discussed what happened. Apparently he had already cleaned off the artwork with his buddies.” Okay, this doesn’t sound too bad – seems like Ethan is on track. Nodding my head, she continues.

“After discussing everything, Dean Reynolds decided that each offender had to perform 15 hours of community service at the rec center and talk to the kids about their behavior, why it was wrong, etc.” Still waiting for the punch line and I can tell it is coming next.

“Ethan decides to pick that moment to become possessed with a sixteen year old BRAT. He tells Dean Reynolds that this is unfair, that the damage had already been taken care of and they have been punished enough…punished enough!!” Ohhhh, so that is why she is so pissed off.

“Wait Sam, it gets better.” Can’t see how that could happen.

“He continues to argue with Dean Reynolds and was this close (holding 2 fingers really, really close together) to getting thrown out of the office and suspended. Thankfully, campus security called me after they received the call from the Dean.” Shit, this really wasn’t good. Campus security in two days – his face must be plastered on their ‘call-if-trouble’ wall.

“I got there, had Ethan wait outside and calmed the Dean down. Ethan refused to apologize until I grabbed his ear and explained the error of his ways. He did apologize and agree to the community service. Sam, it was a close call.” Wow, where did the mature man from this morning scamper off to?

“Ah, Tina, where is he now?” I carefully inquire in a calm, cool and quiet voice.

A look passed over her face which can only be described as a rolling ball of fury. The hair on the back of my head began to stand up and I slowly edged my way to the far end of the couch – hopefully out of arms reach. “He’s not here?” asks the usually mentally stable person before me. Her voice has taken on this menacing quality and I swear she is growling. I elect to nod my head – no need to add fuel to this fire. It seems he was supposed to come back here. The boy probably went to the frat house – he’s not stupid. Then again…

Time drags by as this horrid day continues. I work very hard at staying out of Tina’s way and NOT irritating her in any way. Once she barked at me over a dish in the sink. I retorted that she shouldn’t be taking her frustration with Ethan out on me. She quickly apologized and all was forgiven. It really was a martyr moment for me. I savored it but climbed down off my cross after ten minutes or so. I know – I’m such a softy.

Around nine o’clock I hear the back door open. Tina has been asleep for an hour – she was completely drained and exhausted. She did spit out that she had been upset that Ethan hadn’t called us from the police station. My comment was “duh, he’s not stupid and he would have eventually made the call.” That seemed to make sense to her – we are on the same page. I will check out my theory with Ethan the next time I see him.

Making my way to the kitchen I spy the missing family member. “Hi Ethan,” I softly say as I make my way towards him.

“Hi Aunt Sam,” he responds as he returns my embrace.

“We need to talk,” I inform him, “now.” That came out a little sterner than I expected. Oh well.

I decide to inquire about his mental health. He raises his eyebrow with a slightly cocky look on his face. Shit, no wonder Tina almost lost it with him. “That is the only explanation I can think of to explain your apparent loss of manners, judgment and common courtesy.” I am on a roll now.

“Aunt Sam, I know I was out of line (understatement) but so was Aunt Tina.” This ought to be good. He certainly has my undivided attention.

“I am an adult and it was my problem to handle. The Dean was being unreasonable and I was perfectly within my rights to say so.” Perfectly within his rights…perfectly within his rights!! Law and Order has done this boy a disservice plus he has obviously lost his mind. I simply nod and clench my jaw – I can feel the headache looming before me. “I don’t know why campus security called Aunt Tina anyway. Talk about an over-reaction.” Okay, I have exercised amazing self control – have conducted myself in a manner befitting a nun. Tina was right – he is a sixteen year old brat.

“Ethan stop!” I need to get his attention. I quickly inform him he has been behaving like an ungrateful little brat and I have just the cure. Grabbing his arm (he’s too tall for me to reach his ear) I escort him to the den, sit down and deposit him over my lap. I recently had the chance to practice this technique with my niece and I am pleased with my performance. Securing him with my arm, I begin to school Ethan in the error of his ways. That sounds nicer than spanking the brat out of him. Either way works for me.

To say he was surprised is a gross understatement. The fifth swat lands before he can register what is happening. Then again, I am pissed so my arm is moving at a pretty quick clip. “Stop it right now.” All I need to say as he gives a half-hearted attempt to get up. I continue to land smack after smack on his hindquarters ensuring no area is left unattended. I notice his fists clenched tightly around the pillow he is holding. Either he is pissed or hurting – I really don’t care.

After a few minutes I decide to move things along at a brisker pace. “Lift up you hips,” I order. His hesitation is met with six sharp smacks and the command is repeated. This time my voice has dropped a few octaves and he complies. I grab his pants and quickly pull them down to his knees. He can’t help but inhale. At least he’s breathing.

I quickly focus on the task at hand. Maintaining a steady cadence, my hand rises and falls on the target area for several minutes. He remains stoic, sorry manly, but I see his foot twitch and pretty soon “ow’s” and “oh’s” begin to escape. I inform him that his behavior was inexcusable and he was lucky he didn’t get suspended. The only reason he caught a break was because of the strings Tina pulled. I decide to use the spank-per-word rule - lucky for him I’m not the English professor.

As the lesson continues, Ethan begins to kick his legs, and I hear sniffles (means the tears have arrived). Soon he is squirming over my lap and I know a fire has been ignited in his posterior. “I’m sorry” and “please stop” make an appearance and I can hear the contrition in his voice. Maintaining the spank-per-word rule, I pull out those timeless classics “You will never act like that again young man” and “You will apologize to Tina, campus security and anyone else we decide” - improvised on that one. I end with six swats to his sit spot – “Do I make myself clear?” (myself counted as 2 words – sue me). He assured me I had. He didn’t need any help extricating himself from my lap and quickly returned his pants to their previous position. He really is quite industrious when properly motivated.

Standing up, I pull him into my arms. I know he isn’t ready for a heart-warming moment right now so I simply tell him I love him and forgive him (actually I tell his chest). He gives me a little squeeze, lets go and heads upstairs to continue making restitution.

I hear him talking to Tina and know they have made peace with each other. I hear her tell him she loves him…I know he tells her the same. Finally, the time has come for him to leave our house and resume college life. He gives me a hug and an “I love you” before heading out into the cold. I don’t know where he will go or what he will do. I do know he will always be part of our family. This will always be his home. He knows that too.

Making my way to Tina and the comfort of her arms, I realize life is good.

Life is very good.

A glass half full moment

2008-06-11T10:10:00.002-04:00

Okay, here's the 3rd story in the series with the usual disclaimers.

What the hell? Where is that sound coming from? My brain attempts to comprehend why it is being forced to leave the glorious state of slumber. Not anywhere near awake mode, I roll over making sure to keep my exposure to the elements at a minimum. I decide to open one eye - it wasn’t being protected under the comforter anyway. Besides, someone has to take one for the team and I have a spare.

Let me look, 3am (I didn’t smash the alarm clock this time – learning impulse control and all that). Damn, it’s cold. There it is again. Shit – it’s the doorbell.

“Somebody better be dead or they’re about to be,” I mumble while making my way from my toasty bed onto the cold, harsh tundra. I am able to keep the comforter wrapped around my body. Works okay as long as I take little baby steps. Stairs are a little trickier but I persevere until I reach my destination (sounds heroic, huh?).

“Girl, what is going on? Are you okay?” I inquire as my nineteen year old niece stumbles into my arms before the front door is barely open. Fortunately the officer (oh goody) has a grip on her coat so I am able to keep from falling (so there Mr. Gravity) as she elegantly embraces me (oh yeah, a glass half full moment). I quickly surmise what is interfering with Kate’s ability to remain erect.Yep, Kate has had a little too much to drink. At least I hope all she did was drink.

Mr. Campus Police Officer gives me the abbreviated version (she’s drunk...underage...a campus party...no ticket...good luck...give my regards to Professor McAlister). On the positive side, nobody is dead. On the negative side (and there is one) an officer brought my drunk niece home at 3am. Can’t quite bring myself to the glass-half-full side of the Force. Nope, that’s definitely going to take a whole lot more work.

“Hi Aunt Sam. I couldn’t get the door to work,” she offers as an explanation to my raised eyebrow. Fortunately I speak drunk so I understand her slurred speech. I am also quite adept at navigating the house under such conditions, a skill which proves to be priceless as we (I) make our way (carry my niece) to the guest room. Kate is out like a light as soon as she stumbles onto the bed. Let’s see if I remember the put-a-drunk-to-bed steps: 1.remove shoes, 2. place a blanket over intoxicated person, 3. kiss goodnight.

No problem, like riding a bike. Uh oh, almost forgot number step 4 (don’t even try to pretend you don’t know). I quickly retrieve the little waste basket from the bathroom and place it next to the bed. Kate isn’t an experienced drinker (as least I hope not) so this may come in handy later if the “spins” visit her.

I quickly traverse the tundra (stairs) to reach my comforter and continue the journey to my inviting bed. Shit, it’ll take forever for me to get warm again. Get real - I’m not sleeping anymore tonight.

Lugging my old friend, I deposit myself in my rocking chair and surround my body with the fluffy, soothing comforter. Hopefully looking at the stars will bring me some sense of clarity as they have done so many times before.

Quietly pondering (some say sulking) my situation the committee decides to convene an emergency meeting. Yes…I am referring to the committee of voices that take up residence in my brain. When I revealed that to a friend from Georgia, she responded with, “Honey, bless your heart.” Took me a minute to realize she had just called me crazy. They are polite, those Southerners.

I prefer to view the committee as another charming aspect of my magnetic personality.

I remind the committee that Tina will be back tomorrow night and I can, in fact, handle this situation without her (she’s speaking at some symposium …I’m sure it has to do with books or something – I zoned out after “I’m talking to a group of professors about …”). I am a professional educator with years of experience. I am a mature responsible adult. Yes, glass is half full again!

I’ll have to remind myself of my glass-half-full position tomorrow as I am being the “Mean Aunt”. It’s just so much easier to go halfsies with Tina in these situations… “Almost Mean Aunt” has a better ring to it. Glass half full my ass.

Resting my chin on my knees (nicely padded thanks to my “get freaking warm” measures), I can’t help but smile thinking about Katie (sorry, Kate since she turned eighteen and obtained adult status). Being the first grandchild has afforded Kate with many benefits. Hey, I know what that’s like. I had my grandfather and father wrapped around my little finger too. Depending on the circumstances (getting what I wanted, same thing) a little pout, occasional tears, perfect smile or the angelic “I love you” went a long way with the male members of the family.

The women were a little more hip to my ploys, Mom much more so than Grams. Grams told me one time the nice thing about having grandchildren is you can spoil them and then send them home to their parents. She didn’t care if I had cookies for breakfast, lunch and dinner as long as we didn’t mention it (wanted to spare Mom any worry about my dental health – she’s thoughtful that way). Some in the family have suggested Grams and I share some character traits. I know Kate and I do. Hey, not everyone can be as cool as we are. See, glass half full again!

Kate stays with us occasionally when she needs a break from dorm life (misses HBO). My brother felt much better about sending his fragile, little girl out into the big, bad world (aka college) knowing Tina and I were close by. It didn’t hurt that Tina was a professor at the college Kate elected to attend. I promised Jack we would look out for his little girl. At times this has been easier said then done.

Kate is a good kid for the most part and hasn’t gotten into any trouble. One time last year she went to a frat party and got drunk. Campus police brought her to our house as a favor to Tina and didn’t file any paperwork. According to Kate she was subjected to relentless interrogating (asking) and endless lecturing (twenty minutes or so). Kate promised to refrain from alcohol until she was twenty one. I think she showed a lot of maturity with her decision. Tina was convinced it was the pounding headache and upset stomach. Such a skeptic.

Kate decided to stay with us for three weeks (grounded but we didn’t call it that, her being an adult and all) to take a break from dorm life. Hey, she was an eighteen year old college kid living the college life. All the adults were satisfied that would be the end of it. Tina was even convinced. Damn, Kate’s good.

The unmistakable moan of someone waking up after a night of drinking (like you don’t know exactly what I mean) can be heard from the guest room. Time to put on my I’m-here-to-help Aunt face and minister to my sick niece. With a deep sigh (being an adult can suck at times) I leave the comfort of my chair and make my way to the kitchen. Coffee, a glass of water, toast and two aspirin await my niece’s arrival.

“Hi honey. How do you feel?” I use a very soft voice, have made sure any signs of irritation are erased from my face (not an easy thing) and even closed the blinds. Being the magnanimous person that I am, I let Kate recover from her night out without adding to her discomfort. I know, nice Aunt.

Kate apologizes profusely for last night. It did, however, become apparent to me that last night wasn’t the only night Kate had consumed the nectar of the Gods. You see, she retrieved “Hangover Helper” from her pocket. Hell, wish I had that in college. Back in the day we only had aspirin and a Bloody Mary. I decide not to share my reminiscing with Kate – might undermine my authority a little.

I lean against the stove, arms folded, neutral expression, and look pointedly in her direction as she gulps the mixture down. Wait, wait for it…BINGO – it dawns on her what she has just done. Her face has the “Oh shit!!!” expression as she quickly tries to hide the damning evidence. Such a rookie mistake.

I knew she is praying that she hasn’t been caught as she glances my way. I give her my do-you-think-I’m-stupid look (nice to be on the giving instead of receiving end). Nope, not going to make this easy for her.

And there is…head cradled in hands as the I’m-so-busted look creeps across her face (please, you know exactly what I’m talking about). Time for “I’m-here-to-help” Aunt to be replaced with “I’m-the-adult-so-there” Aunt. She’s more fun…for me, not necessarily Kate.

“All right Kate. This is what I’m going to do. You have exactly one hour to do whatever you need to do to get yourself together. After that, we are going to talk about last night. I will meet you in your bedroom. Understand?” Who knew I could sound so Mom-like!

She softly replies, “Yes ma’am.” Kate has never called me ma’am. Let me repeat – never, ever called me ma’am. As a matter of fact, I’ve only heard her use that when she’s in big trouble. Seems appropriate.

Leaving Kate to her own thoughts, I venture off in search of some guidance. Knowing Tina was doing her “presenting” thing and Kate’s parents were incommunicado (on some cruise – lucky them), I quickly decide to gain some wisdom from Mom and Grams (thank you three-way calling!).

After explaining the situation and enduring a game of twenty questions, both women come up with the same suggestion. I should point out they wanted to make sure I hadn’t overlooked some vital piece of information. Like what? How hard is it – drunk Kate…Campus Police…repeat offender.

Sorry, I digress. This quick resolution is an aberration. See, they don’t agree on much without endless negotiation/compromise (unless Grams pulls the because-I-said-so card – really pisses off Mom!) that goes on and on for hours. I’m thinking their suggestion isn’t going to be at the top of my wish list.

After some discussion and a little whining on my part (hey, I’m the one here with Kate), we (them) agree on the solution. I swear I hear Mom and Grams chuckle a little at my obvious discomfort. I seem to surround myself with funny women. Yay me.

Shit, I was hoping for some other suggestion… any other solution. Spanking doesn’t make the top 100 on my wish list.

I am well versed in the role of spankee (don’t even pretend to be surprised), had lots of practice and really have a talent or so I’ve been told. Spanker, not so talented. I express my concerns to two people who are very much aware of my extensive history being on the receiving end.

Grams offers words of encouragement. “Honey, I know you can do this. Do it for the Gipper!” She’s had a crush on Ronnie since he was Governor of California (betcha weren’t expecting a Reagan reference). Yeah, I’ll be the little engine that could. Where is that fucking glass again?

Mom struggles a bit before coming up with this little gem. “Honey, look at it this way. You have had the opportunity to participate in countless spankings.” Sooo, now I have years of spanking experience…remarkably similar to Hillary Clinton’s 35 years of political experience. Isn’t Mom the glass-half-full person.

I point out the flaw in her assessment – my participation, while extensive, did not allow me to actually see the technique, only feel the results. Neither woman has a response to my flawless logic. I begin to breathe a little easier – I’m not going to be required to be a Spanker after all.

As the conversation comes to a close, I am told “we love you (suck it up)” and “you love Kate (she needs you to do this)”. Yeah…I can read between the lines. No need for either woman to pull out the because-I-said-so card.

As I begin to review Kate’s conduct, feelings regarding her behavior bubble to the surface. Fear, anger, fear, hurt, fear…that sums it up. Maybe this won’t be so hard after all…the Spanker thing. The time has come for Kate to get exactly what she needs.

I make my way (with trepidation) to the bedroom and knock on the door. “Come in,” she quietly whispers. I know she’s as scared as I am. There she is, sitting on the bed looking much younger (and smaller) than her nineteen years. Her diminutive size (Kate’s maybe 90 pounds soaking wet) and Mickey Mouse shirt complete the picture. Great, I’m about to hit a little kid. Glass is not looking half full right now.

Her hands clasped in her lap, downcast eyes and sullen expression convey her contrition. I know she’s afraid of what she’ll see in my eyes. Slowly I make my way to her bed and sit down next to her. I notice the tears and wrap my arms around this suffering soul. I continue to rock her as she sobs, just like my mother has done countless times for me. “Shhh, everything will be okay,” I repeat over and over again, just like Mom did for me. After three hours (ten minutes), her sobbing subsides and I go in search of a Kleenex (for her, not me although I keep the box within reach).

“Katie, look at me please,” I softly say. I can see her take a deep breath and struggle to meet my gaze. “Aunt…” I quickly place my finger over her lips.

“Katie, I know how sorry you are. Let me talk now.” We’re both a little surprised at the firmness in my voice. Must be channeling Mom.

“This isn’t the only time since last year that you’ve been drinking, is it?” She doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to…her eyes say it all. “Yeah, I thought so. I know you think you’re old enough to make decisions on your own without any help, that you’re an adult. The decisions you have made regarding alcohol indicate otherwise.” She looks pleadingly at my face for some understanding.

Great, tears. This time they’re mine.

Can’t stop now Sammie. Come on, you can do it. Kate needs you to be the responsible adult here (sometimes I just want to bitch slap Miss Do-the Right-Thing). Do this for her.

Yes, I’m talking to myself again. So what? As a matter of fact, I think I gave myself a pretty good pep talk. Granted, there is usually dissent among the committee members so this is a little unusual. See, another example of my personal growth.

“Katie, what you did was illegal, stupid and very dangerous. Your behavior was unacceptable.”

Okay, deep breath time and… “I am going to make sure you never forget that.” With that, I grab her wrist and quickly pull her over my lap. Rather deftly if you ask me.

“Aunt Sam, what are you doing?” Katie asks in a somewhat surprised voice. Now, Kate isn’t dumb and I’m not about to be played. She’s messing with the Master now.

Not bothering to reply, I bring my hand down across the middle of her upturned bottom. I quickly follow that with three more smacks, alternating from cheek to cheek. For her part, Kate is playing the stoic-martyrish role. I’m cool with that – whatever she needs to do. After a few dozen swats, legs begin to twitch and little yelps are heard. Being stoic can be a burden.

I stop and rest my hand on her bottom. Damn, didn’t realize how much work spanking is and the sting in the hand- what an eye-opener! No wonder Tina always takes a little “lecture” break.

“Kate, why are you getting spanked?” I want to make sure she gets it, really gets it.

Ohhhh, the light bulb goes off… in my head, not Kate’s. I realize I can’t be resentful when Tina asks me the same question (asked – past tense – want to be clear - PAST tense...no need to borrow trouble). Isn’t insight a bitch.

“Because I got drunk.” I can hear the shame in her voice. Her regret. Her suffering.

“And…”

Taking a deep breath, Kate blurts out, “I know I said I wouldn’t drink again after the first time and that is all it was drinking I mean but it really isn’t a problem and I just wanted to have some fun with my friends and I’m technically underage so I did break the law and Aunt Sam I am so sorry and it won’t happen again.” Wow, she did that all in one breath. At least I know she isn’t smoking!!

“And…”

“And what?” is her whispered reply.

This adult prone across my lap has no idea. No idea that she is precious to so many people...that the idea of anyone, including her, taking chances with her health scares the hell out of me (and a whole bunch of other people!!). She was drunk at a party full of hormonal young men that she didn’t really know – how can she not realize the danger? Well, I’m about to school my young niece in the true precariousness of her situation – then and now.

I reach into her waistband and quickly pull her sweats and panties (a combo on the menu today) down to her knees. Kate is way too slow to react - she is still trying figure out why I am suddenly so pissed. My anger meter went from 3 to 10 in two seconds. How can she not have a clue? It baffles my mind (jeez, I am really being all parentally now).

“No, please Aunt Sammie!!” she pleads. She hasn’t called me Aunt Sammie since she was ten. Considering current events, that seems fitting.

I take a few seconds to calm down – deep breathing, count to ten (150, same thing) before I begin. Here I am, about to continue punishing this obvious adult like a little girl. I need to discuss this incongruency with Tina – then again she’ll just say it’s another thing Kate and I have in common. Yay, another funny woman in my life.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. Kate gives up all pretense of stoicism as her legs begin to flail. Soon the room is filled with “I’m sorry”, “please stop”, and the always present “owww”. The unmistakable sounds of a well-deserved spanking continue to resonate throughout the house (we have amazing surround sound acoustics). I painstakingly ensure no area of this child’s (and yes, she is a naughty child right now) bottom is left unattended. I can be very goal oriented. A few dozen smacks later and my mission is accomplished.

“Now, Kate, do I have your attention?” I ask in a loud voice (need to use a little more volume to overcome the sobs). “YES, YES, YOU HAVE MY ATTENTION!!”
Nice to see an emphatic response in the younger generation.

“Any idea what you left off your list of transgressions?” I ask, hoping is has dawned on her.

“Sorry, Aunt Samantha. I really don’t know what else to say.” I can hear the confusion in her voice (still pisses me off) and know she really doesn’t get it.

“Katie, do you have any idea what could have happened to you? How dangerous it was for you to get drunk? You could have been hurt...or worse… I don’t know what we would do if anything happened to you Katie-bear.” I don’t even try to keep the fear and frustration from my voice.

I wait a few seconds for my words to sink in. There it is…it dawns on my niece. I watch as her head falls, tears flow freely and her body begins to shake with her sobs. Shame comes to visit with guilt following closely.

“I am so sorry, so sorry. Please don’t hate me. I am so sorry. It will never happen again.” She’s right about the last sentence. I’m going to make sure of that.

“Okay baby. I don’t hate you and I know you’re sorry. We are going to take care of that right now.” SMACK, WHACK, SPANK. I pepper her reddened posterior (apparently I am a natural spanker – who knew?). Hitting my stride, I continue my assault on her upturned bottom for several more minutes. I inspect her deeply crimson and very warm posterior…time to use words again.

You, SMACK, will, SMACK, never, SMACK, SMACK, ever , SMACK, do, SMACK, that , SMACK, again!, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. Do, SMACK, SMACK, you, SMACK, SMACK understand, SMACK, SMACK, me, SMACK, SMACK, little,SMACK, SMACK girl? SMACK, SMACK. Screw the spank-per-word rule – something this serious demands improvisation.

“YESSSSS, I UNDERSTAND!” she somehow manages to yell through the sobbing (I’m pretty impressed – I wouldn’t be able to do that). Her twin globes are glowing a brilliant red and radiating enough heat to warm our entire house.

I pull her tightly to my stomach and prepare to wind this down, the same way spankings have ended in our family for generations (Tina doesn’t know this tidbit and no, it’s not lying… I don’t know every little detail about her life…just shut up). Kate clenches her bottom in anticipation – she knows what’s coming.

Using all my strength, I quickly deliver six scorchers to her sit spot. Her howls fill the entire house. Mom would be proud (okay, not the most sympathetic thought but this was a big deal for me too!). I rub her back and tenderly kiss her head, also part of the family spanking ritual.

Long after the spanking is over, Kate’s bottom is still twitching a bit. I know from personal experience it will continue to do so for some time to come.

“Come here baby,” I softy whisper in her ear, placing her on my lap. I make sure her bottom doesn’t come in contact with my clothing. I have had the opportunity to observe this particular skill numerous times!!!

Arms embracing my Katie, I continue to rock her back and forth while the tears drip from her eyes. Pulling her snugly against my chest, I tell her the words I know I’ve always needed to hear. You’re forgiven. You’re a wonderful person (improvised a little so sue me). You are loved. The same words Mom (now Tina) used to comfort my aching heart so many times. After several minutes her tears dry up and I see the beginnings of a slight smile. This precious bundle begins to experience some measure of solace.

Completely exhausted and emotionally drained, I welcome this quiet time with my Katie. Rocking here, looking at the stars I feel her take in my love. She shyly looks up and brushes away a tear running down my face. I see apprehension in her eyes and I know forgiveness is reflected in mine. I smile and open my heart to this precious being. Katie snuggles closer, accepting the unconditional love I freely offer. It’s always there, that unconditional love. Sometimes Katie can’t bring herself to accept it. Another thing we have in common…but not tonight.

I feel Kate’s breathing slow; her body relax and know she has fallen asleep. Reaching for the comforter, I pull it snugly around us both as I drift off to sleep.

Life is good. Life is very good

New posts

2008-06-10T12:45:00.000-04:00

I have been in the process of posting my stuff today and will need to continue tomorrow. Today's stuff was in a somewhat "angsty " vein and I really do have a sense of humor...swear!!

Hopefully tomorrow's stuff will be "lighter" shall we say. Today just felt like Monday so angst won out...huh, wonder if the visiting relative could be affecting my mood ? Nah, no way that could be...no way..no way.

Just trying to be helpful

2008-06-09T20:58:00.003-04:00

Here’s another chapter in the Sam/Tina chronicles. You might want to check out “Who needs statistics anyway?” It kind of gives a flavor of their relationship. Just a thought. Hope you enjoy.

Great…just great. Here I am, sitting in the dark with the TV as my only company. I wonder just how far my lower lip can extend in my quest to achieve the perfect pout. It’s a way to pass the time. The remote (aka beloved) has not been helpful in finding a tolerable distraction among the gazillion cable channels. No, no help at all.

Katrina (yeah, definitely full name time) was supposed to be here two hours ago. Did she make it? No! She most certainly did not make it for the candlelight dinner I had painstakingly prepared. Was there an occasion- hell no!! I made it just because. I know what you’re thinking…how sweet is that. We’re on the same page.

“Hi honey,” I hear as she enters the front door. At least I hope it’s her. I don’t answer...I don’t want to ruin my perfect pout. It’s amazing...I can actually see most of my lower lip if I look down just right. Shoes kicked off in the foyer, keys thrown in the basket and finally, finally, I hear her making her way into the kitchen.

There it is. “Oh shit.” She saw the table.

“Sam, Sammie honey, where are you?”

I have no intention of answering her...it would severely compromise my perfect pout plus I enjoy the view from my cross (decided to climb on it right after perfecting my pout…something to do). Doesn’t take long before I feel her standing in the doorway. She knows me well, knows I will be sitting in the rocking chair looking out the window while the TV is flickering in the dark room.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry,” I hear as she wraps her arms around me. I, of course, can’t answer. Perfect pout thing.

She feels for the switch and turns on the light (we had to get rid of our clapper because it turned into the occasional strobe light, guess when?!) and gently reaches toward me. I remain still. Nope, not going to make this easy for her.

Ever so gently I feel her hands on both sides of my face. She tilts my face up until she can see my eyes…and I can see hers. I see regret reflected in her face. I know she sees hurt in mine (of course, the pout helps).

“I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me when I called to say I would be late?” Oh yeah, forgot to mention that detail but it doesn’t in any way diminish my righteous indignation. I’m not about to climb down off my cross.

“I knew you needed to finish the project.” As I am pulled into her arms I decide maybe the pout can go away. For now but I’m keeping that baby in reserve!! Besides, I’m hungry. She feels my shoulders relax and we both know all is forgiven (yeah, I’ve climbed down off the cross but I’m still carrying it on my back).

“Come on Tina, let’s salvage my gourmet meal. Oh, you get clean up detail and I expect a back rub.” She can see the gleam in my eye and slight impish grin as I make my way slowly (heavy cross, remember) to the kitchen. She smiles and follows me while landing a playful swat. What can I say…that woman loves my backside!!

“Honey, this was a wonderful meal. Thank you so much.” Now, it is coincidental that I made this gourmet meal for my Tina on the same day our car insurance renewal is due. JUST a coincidence. That is all…a coincidence.

See, I had gotten a speeding ticket...okay, two but the last one really wasn’t my fault. I was passing a truck I had been following for ten years. Finally the merciful Zeus smiled down upon me and kindly presented a very small window of opportunity to pass. Of course, I took it (at 80mph). Who knew a cop would be hiding behind the Dunkin’ Donuts billboard? I was certainly surprised.

These unfortunate events happened over the course of several (okay one) month and I, being the responsible adult I am, paid the fines promptly. I did, however, forget to mention them to Tina. Yep, overlooked that one tiny detail. I had a sinking feeling the fines and increased insurance rates weren’t the only price I was going to pay.

“Ah, baby...” I quietly direct to her as she’s loading this dishwasher. “Yes?” she replies continuing her task. “Where’s the checkbook? I’ll just pay some bills while you’re cleaning up.”

I’m just trying to be helpful.

She directs me to the second drawer in the office desk. I give her my best I-love-you smile (throw in some doe eyes just in case) as I make my way to the desk. Maybe I’ll get away with this after all.

Uh oh, that pesky you-need-to-do-the-right-thing voice is back in my head. Dammit, the “get away with it” must have summoned her. Guilt decides to make an appearance on the scene followed by shame…just tell her the truth now.

Wait a minute, I find myself responding to Miss Morally Superior (goody, a game of point-counterpoint). I took responsibility for my actions by paying the fines. I have since made sure I do not exceed the speed limit. Okay, by no more than five miles/hour and ten if I have to pass some shouldn’t-even-be-allowed-to-drive jerk. Progress, not perfection is my motto. I handled it like the mature responsible adult I am (high fives all around). So there Miss Morally Superior!! Game, set and match …or so I hope.

From afar I here someone beckon (how often do you hear that word?) my name. Maybe I can ignore her. There it is again. No doubt about it, I’m being summoned back to the kitchen. Fuck... time to plaster that innocent school girl look on my face. I keep that in reserve along with the perfect pout (new item, yay me) and cross.

As I enter the kitchen in a nonchalant way (at least I hope so) I can feel a slight tingle in my bottom. Those butterflies decide to make an appearance – you know, the ones that flit around in the stomach pretending to be harmless. Yeah, right…really harbingers of impending doom.

“What bills do you need to pay? I thought I paid them all last Saturday.”

I should probably mention that somehow the insurance bill had been misplaced (folded neatly in my pocket) on its way to the pile-o-bills perched on the desk. It had been a windy day so, strictly as a precautionary measure, I had placed the bill in my pocket. I did not want to loose any vital piece of mail, no siree Bob. See, responsible me on the job. Once again, high fives all around!!

“Sam, what bills didn’t get paid?” Her voice has an edge and her eyes definitely convey resistance-is-futile (I’m a trekkie, so sue me). Fuck…what to do, what to do…

Okay, here’s the plan. Yes, I frequently converse with the committee in my head - doesn’t mean I’m crazy, just busy. And creative. So there !

I’ll quickly hand her the bill and flee to a foreign country…maybe Canada. I speak French and have a parka. By the time I return she will be so happy to see me (and will have paid the bill) that all will be forgiven and I’ll be showered with kisses (hers, not Hershey’s, although that wouldn’t be bad either).

“Sam!” I quickly snap back to reality and hand her the bill. I watch her face go from confusion to anger in five seconds flat. No need for the inquiring-minds-want-to-know mode, she caught on pretty quickly. That tingle and butterflies are becoming much more pronounced. This isn’t good…not good at all.

There it is …those you’re-in-big-trouble wrinkles around her eyes, tightly clenched jaw and pulsating blood vessel in her forehead. Haven’t seen the “pulse” (we’re old friends) in a long time. Yeah…the true price of my driving habits is about to be revealed. I have an inkling what the price is but, then again, maybe she’ll surprise me. After all, keeping a little mystery helps spice up any relationship... just ask Dr. Ruth.

She places her arm around mine and guides (I call it drags) me further into the kitchen. I find myself being deposited on a kitchen chair (when did it get pulled out and turned away from the table?). I can’t help but notice she’s looking down on me from way up on high with hands on hips (hadn’t noticed her growth spurt until this moment).

“SAM, are you listening to me?” I am now. Shit... there will be no mystery tonight. No, tonight will definitely be mystery free.

“Samantha, why have our insurance rates drastically increased?” she asks in a (deceptively) calm voice. Summoning up all my courage, I raise my eyes to meet her gaze. I try to speak but no words are coming out of my mouth – I look like a guppy gasping for air. After nine hours (or one minute, same thing) I look down and admit the prior speeding tickets. I’m praying my nice dinner will pay off… it doesn’t.

“Did you say tickets?” Yeah, she notices the plural thing... English professor. I can only nod my head as speech continues to be allusive– that guppy breathing thing.

“How many?”

She continues to tower (menacingly) over me (I really am working the pitiful angle) and her eyes remain fixed on me, little ole’me. I am guppy breathing, repentant (cue downcast eyes), and obviously trying to make amends (fine dining). I pray it is enough to melt her heart. In the alternative, a nasty case of tennis elbow or bursitis in her shoulder would also be welcome. May the Powers That Be hear my plea!!!

“How many Samantha Marie!” Slowly I raise my left hand in a peace sign (subtle, I know). That’s all the information she needs.

Finding myself sprawled over her lap (who knew she could move so fast!) I notice the dust bunnies under the counter have increased since the last time I had the opportunity to “examine” down under (I multitask whenever I can). Tina wastes no time in communicating her views concerning my driving habits... no time at all.

I hear a loud boom quickly followed by a sharp sting in my posterior. Man, she hits hard!! I am determined to remain stoic and accept my “attitude/behavior adjustment” in a dignified manner. Yep, that is my goal. Tina is just as determined to make sure I will never get a speeding ticket again. Guess who wins.

As she continues to make her point, I begin to let out little yelps and whimpers while my feet start to do the spank dance (you know the one). My right hand adopts the GI Joe Kung Fu grip as it locates the chair leg.

My left arm is firmly planted on the floor and….. there it goes. I tried to stop it using Jedi powers (Star Wars buff also, deal with it). The results of lefty’s little adventure are five smacks to the back of my thighs. Lefty is now in Tina’s death grip… not going anywhere.

She doesn’t say anything verbally right now but rather uses her considerable strength to do her bidding. I miss her voice at times like these.

I am hanging on to my stoicism by a thread. Suddenly the heavens open up, a bright light shines down upon me and I am granted a reprieve. Maybe my candlelit dinner had softened her stance. Yeah...maybe.

As I cling to hope (a girl can dream) I hear the dreaded words, “Sam, lift your hips.” Great, there goes my hope flying out the window.

Lying prone with my pants (and panties, can’t forget that) around my ankles, I feel her resting her hand on my toasty bottom (trust me, its toasty). I welcome this intimacy. Something my mother used to do whenever I found myself across her lap. A way to let me know I would be forgiven soon, I’d be okay. Not pain free, but okay.

“Samantha, why are you getting this spanking?” I always hate this part…makes me feel like a naughty ten year old. Then again, I acted like one. Anyway, she should already know why I am here. After all, this is her idea, NOT mine! I keep these thoughts to myself as I ponder her question. I’m not stupid.

“Because I didn’t tell you about the speeding tickets.”

“Uh huh. Any why else?” Great, 20 questions. I hate this game. “And hid the insurance bill from you.” That should cover all the bases.

Smack, smack, smack. “And…..” I know her patience is getting pretty thin here. What else does she want me to say? I didn’t tell her about tickets and hid the bill – that covers it. Ohhh, wait a minute. “Because I was speeding.”

Bingo. That’s my biggest transgression in her eyes… taking chances with me.

“Yes, you risked your life to save a few minutes, not once but twice.”

With that being said, she reaches over and grabs the wooden spoon. Why the hell aren’t all the kitchen utensils in drawers where they belong? I’ll definitely need to remedy that.

I let out a whimper and continue my Kung Fu grip. By this time I have given up my goal to remain stoic.

And so the assault on my posterior begins again with that wicked spoon.

As tears and snot continue to pool on the floor below me (don’t shake your head, you’ve had the same pools on your floor), I hear someone say, “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Please, please stop!” I found out later I was the mystery voice.

I try everything to escape the ever increasing fire being ignited in my ass...begging for mercy, wriggling, flailing my legs, squeezing the chair leg until my knuckles are white…anything I can think of. “Young, SMACK, lady, SPANK, you, SWAT, will, WHACK, never, SMACK, ever, SPANK, risk, SWAT, your, WHACK, life, SMACK, again !!! I personally think “ever” was overkill. I’m aware of this all consuming pain and unbelievably intense stinging – it feels like my bottom is covered with fire ants and I cannot escape their relentless feeding frenzy. I have never felt anything like this before and will make sure I never do again.

SMACK. “Did you hear me?” Oh…didn’t realize she wanted a response – focused on the feeding frenzy thing.

I quickly blurt out between the sobs, “yes, it won’t happen again. I am so sorry. It won’t happen again.” I didn’t realize she had stopped making her point until several minutes later. Apparently she was satisfied with my answer.

As my sobs turn into tears, she carries me over to my favorite chair by the window and sits down. Placing me on her lap, she ensures my crimson (no need to look – it’s always crimson) and ever so tender bottom does not make contact with her clothing. As I have said before, she is well practiced in this ritual.

I rest my head against her chest taking in the forgiveness she offers me. I feel her own tears on my face.

“I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you. You are my Pooh bear.” Yes, it is an unexpected nickname as I do not resemble Winnie the Pooh in any way nor do I even like him. Tina said Pooh and I share the same ability to make others feel better about themselves (quit smirking!!). My nickname for her is Yogi...seemed only fair.

I look up and she knows how sorry I am. She gently nods her head and pulls me closer, rocking my tired body as I continue to cry openly. She whispers those words I need to hear. I am forgiven. I am loved. I am a good person.

I gaze at the stars and smile a little. When I was a little girl, I imagined myself living among those stars. They offered me refuge in a frightening world. I don’t have to imagine anymore. I find that same refuge sitting here in her arms.

Later, she will gently nudge me from her lap. We’ll find our way to the bed, shedding any remaining clothes along the way. My mind will quickly register the contrast between the cool cotton sheet and my warm, tender ass. Tina will try not to a smile (unsuccessfully) at my reaction. Funny, isn’t she?!

As she gently kisses my lips, her hands will begin to explore my body. Soon she will caress my breasts, teasing my nipples with her tongue. I know quiet moans will escape my throat as jolts of pleasure begin to course through my body.

Tina will resume her exploration of my body using fingers, lips and tongue. At times I will feel the cool air against my damp skin as she moves from place to place, a reminder of her love for me. Continuing her journey, one finger will find its way inside me, her tongue playfully toying with that most sensitive of areas.

Finally, I’ll feel two, then three fingers inside me. We’ll both find that rhythm which fills my entire being. Her tongue and mouth will tease, caress and suckle my sacred place…the one place only she is allowed to visit. My body will explode with desire as I cry out her name. She’ll continue to bring me to the brink and pull me back, over and over again...

Then it will happen, that moment of surrender. As I’m engulfed in ecstasy, wave after wave of pleasure will travel through my body igniting every nerve ending. She knows my body well.

We’ll repeat this dance again. This time she will surrender to my touch. I know her body well too.

I’ll nestle close to my beloved (not the remote), feeling safe in her arms. As we drift off to sleep, I know contentment will rest in both our hearts.

Life is good. Life is very good.

This is an original work of fiction by me. Jedi, Star Wars, Hershey’s, Dunkin’ Doughnuts, Winnie the Pooh and Yogi are all copyrighted (not sure about Jedi but didn’t want to take any chances) and in no way belong to me. No infringement is intended. They are NOT mine. Please don't sue me.

Who needs statistics anyway ?

2008-06-09T19:58:00.001-04:00

Okay folks - this was my first foray into *s* fiction. Hope you enjoy it.

Shit...Shit… Shit… Shit... I mumbled while slowly climbing the stairs to the "corner" where I was "supposed" to be thinking about my transgressions. Yeah, right. All I was thinking about was how stupid I was and the inevitable price my bottom was going to pay for that costly mistake. This day was not turning out as I planned – that’s for sure.

Slowly, I inched my way up the stairs making sure each foot made contact with every single step along the way. No reason to take a chance on falling. Absolutely not - safety first is my motto. Unfortunately, Tina didn't share my views regarding this issue.

"Samantha Marie, you have exactly five seconds to get in the corner," came her voice from the den in surround sound. Who knew our house had such cool acoustics ?!

Uh oh. There it was - that edge in her voice was unmistakable. You know the you’re-in-so-much-trouble-young-lady voice. Mom had that same edge in her voice whenever my brother or I stepped out of line. I must admit that Tina has elevated it to a WHOLE new level.

Deciding not to push my luck, I hit those stairs two at a time and vaulted into the bedroom looking for the "corner" (there is no way I can refrain from making air quotes whenever I utter that word - it is almost a proper noun in my mind) .

Standing in the "corner" I did begin to reflect on the events of today. It started out like any other day.

Beep...Beep...Beep…

My arm came crashing down in an attempt to obliterate the alarm clock. Fuck snooze - I wanted that piece of modern technology to be rendered incapable of EVER invading my slumber again. Yes, I had a major resentment against that that vile piece of technology. Who could blame me? After all, I had been up until 3 am finishing my research paper for statistics, a class which has absolutely no appeal to me whatsoever. Whoever heard of doing a research paper in statistics? It boggles the mind if you ask me. Why in the hell do I need to know statistics to get my masters in music anyway- someone explain that to me!!

I was quickly refocused on current events by a sharp smack to my hindquarters. Damn, hadn’t any clue she was even in the room. Where was I when she developed her stealth powers?

“Stop thinking about how much you hate statistics and focus on what YOU did to end up in the corner.” She doesn’t use the air quotes thing. Oh, and did I mention she has psychic abilities?

Yelping, I jumped and clutched the part of my anatomy under attack. “Yes Tina, I mean ma’am,” was my quick reply – no sense taking chances.

I risked a quick glance back (maybe it isn't as bad as I think). A set of fiery hazel eyes locked onto my repentant (or so I hoped) blue eyes. As I saw her steely gaze and clenched jaw, self preservation kicked in and I was facing that “corner” so fast my head was spinning. Clenching my cheeks (you know which ones I mean) I held my breath waiting for the rest of her "response." After a few seconds I heard retreating footsteps – guess she didn’t feel the need to be quite as stealth by then. Yep, she was pissed, really pissed.

This did not bode well for me. Nope, this did not bode well at all.

Okay, let’s review the events of today.

After silencing that bloody alarm clock, I decided to blow off my 8am class. After all, I had been up toiling on that stupid paper for a stupid never-going-to use-it-in-my-life class. I was definitely due a well-deserved rest – anyone would agree.

Next I went about the task of attaining that glorious state of REM sleep again. I knew Tina wouldn't be home until 5pm which gave me plenty of time not only to get more wonderful sleep but also make her favorites for dinner.

Yeah, a little change in my schedule, favorites for dinner – this day was definitely looking brighter. I figured there was no reason to bother her with this minor schedule change. Nope, no reason at all.

Somehow her insistence on class attendance slipped my mind. Must have been the sleep deprivation.

Having quickly quelled that voice in my head suggesting this may not be the best idea, I set about achieving my goal. Using multiple blankets, skillfully placed pillows and changing positions about a million times, I was finally able to block all light from reaching my eyes and quickly returned to a state of blissful sleep.

Life was good. Very good.

Too bad I had neglected to look at the calendar posted conspicuously on the refrigerator door. You know, the one central Iocation we both agreed to use to post any appointments, schedule changes, etc. There is also a cute little notepad magnet with kittens next to it. A few months after we moved in together (wow, almost 15 years ago) it became obvious that we needed a communication aid. Rather, it became obvious to Miss Organized after SHE overlooked the message I had left her regarding her doctor’s appointment. Granted it was on the back of the credit card bill (another chapter in the getting-Samantha-organized-no-matter-what saga) but hey, I left the message for her.

Hence, the calendar and kitten notepad came into my life.

It would definitely have been helpful if I had noticed that Tina had office hours this morning (she is an English professor) and would be home at noon. Yeah...if only I had done that.

While blissfully unaware of her arrival (you see, I had achieved my goal of REM sleep - yay me!!) she arrived at our humble abode (how often do I get to use that phrase – pretty cool). After making her way into the house, she called my name several times (or so she says – after all, I was asleep) finally making her way into our bedroom.

Suddenly, there was someone with a bright light surrounding a beautiful face standing above me. My first thought was I was having some kind of heart attack or stroke – those damn cigarettes had caught up with me. Otherwise, why would there be an angel hovering over me insisting I get up and follow her?

Seemed reasonable at the time.

I assumed this beautiful creature was here to take me to the pearly gates. Kinda filled me with a sense of peace knowing I had a guide into the celestial kingdom.

I was wrong. Way off base on that one.

Reality was about to come crashing down and not in a good way.

My so-called angel wasn't quite sure what had happened. The remnants of the alarm clock clued her into the possible cause for my continued slumber and subsequent dazed look. She knows what I am like when I don't get enough sleep. We buy alarm clocks by the case.

"Sam, Sammie, come on, get up. Come with me and I'll fix some lunch." Her voice slowly penetrated my I-just-woke-up-haze. Did she say lunch? Shit. I looked around to see what time it was but...well, that proved to be an impossible task. You know, the alarm clock in pieces thing.

I quickly went into action, scrambled into the bathroom and prayed it was really 5pm. After showering in record time, grabbing a pair of sweats and t-shirt, I made it down to the kitchen in 7 minutes flat. Amazing how your body never forgets that sprint training from college – kind of like riding a bike. Unfortunately the clock in the kitchen indicated 12:30pm. Not good…not good at all.

Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches awaited my arrival. "Comfort food, figured you needed it after last night." Now how thoughtful is that I ask you. No wonder this woman captured my heart all those years ago.

"So, why couldn't you sleep?" she asked casually while blowing on the soup to cool it down. "Just couldn't," was my quick reply. Man, I really hoped that was the end of it.

No such luck.

"Why not?" she asked while looking pointedly at me. Great, she has slipped into her inquiring-minds-want-to-know mode.

You see, I had led her to believe (however, never actually stated – want to be clear on that) my paper had been completed 2 days ago. When asked I had simply stated it was done. She neglected to follow up with any additional questions - you know... which draft I was talking about, what font I used, etc. See - not my fault she drew the wrong conclusion. Somehow I doubted she would share my view on this matter.

"Sam, why couldn't you sleep ?"she asked again - her voice seemed tighter and she had those I-am-getting-irritated wrinkles on her forehead.

”Ifinishedmystatisticspaper," I managed to squeak out in a whisper. The intricate wood design on our kitchen table quickly captured my undivided attention.

There was no way I could look her in the eye – no way at all. She reached over the table and gently raised my chin until I was forced to meet her gaze. "Please repeat what you just said."

"I finished my statistics paper." In a flash her hazel eyes took on a fiery hue and those wrinkles became very, very pronounced. Yeah, I was screwed.

So…that brings us to me standing in the “corner.”

"Samantha, please come here."

Slowly I turn around, gather up all my courage and look towards her voice. She has calmed down – the wrinkles are still present though. I quickly look down and begin the long journey across the great divide (okay, maybe 20 feet but it sure feels like the great divide). As I reach the bed (or final destination as I like to call it), she reaches up, grabs my wrist and sits me down next to her. Now that is a pleasant surprise!

Up until now I had not been able to look her in the eye. Again, I feel her tilting my chin up to meet her gaze. There it is – her eyes filled with sadness, a little anger and disappointment. The tears begin spilling out of my eyes as crushing guilt washes over me.

Here sits (for now) a 35 year old woman, accomplished musician, active in charities (I put money in the red bucket at Christmas) and fulltime teacher. Hell- I even returned to graduate school the past year (had to learn the whole studying thing all over again but I did it – yay me twice now!!)

I manage to juggle school, home and work. I EVEN throw in a work out twice a week. Okay, initially Tina provided some motivation (applied is more like it ) and really impressed upon me the importance of taking care of myself, eating right, getting enough sleep and putting down the cigarettes. She was and still is unwavering in that area. Taking care of me is a requirement for having the privilege of sitting. Choice is mine. I like to sit.

In the last 3 days I lied, cut class, damaged electronics (although that could have happened regardless) and hurt the most important person in my life. Did I miss the “mind going on vacation” memo? What the hell is wrong with me? What kind if person am I? Ahhhh, my old friend Self Loathing is back. Welcome home.

Tina nods her head slightly and pulls me over her lap. "Lift up honey," she quietly says - code for pants are coming down now. No trace of anger but that disappointment is still there. My tears continue unabated. As I lift up my hips, I realize the time for atonement is here.

Finally.

I close my eyes and wait for the first smack. No matter how many times I have found myself in this position, I always try to prepare for that first one. It never works – I am always stunned. This time was no exception.

SMACK. The sound echoes throughout the room (remember, our house has cool acoustics) a moment before my bottom registers anything. The reality of my situation quickly becomes apparent to me. Tina hits HARD! Her athletic prowess in college has served her well over the past 20 years. As she slips into a rhythm, I come to accept that she is: 1. very strong, 2. has the stamina of an Olympic athlete. Good for her….bad for me.

"Ow, Ow, Ow. That is too hard. Stop, please stop." I know I will quickly follow up with “I’m sorry” and “it will never happen again” - the time honored script of anyone on the receiving end of a well-deserved spanking. I know this script by heart...played in this sandbox before.

As spank after spank continue to rain down on my wriggling bottom, the time for spoken words arrives. I quickly thank all that is Holy the relentless assault on my bottom is halted. The uncontrollable sobbing remains. Did I mention that she really, really hits HARD? I tell her through choked sobs. I don’t think she took it as the compliment I had intended.

I am FINALLY able to speak in a somewhat coherent manner. "Samantha, why are you getting this spanking?" she asks after hours and hours. Tina (aka Miss Hand-of-Iron) informs me it was only 5 minutes. How does she know that? No alarm clock, remember? I'll just let this go for now.

"Because I procrastinated," I manage to say through tears.

"Why else, "she asks – I pray she won't physically accentuate her questions.

Shit, my prayer isn't answered.

Tina decides to bring out the spank- per-word rule. The word count includes her questions and my…yes my… responses. Thankfully she doesn't apply the spank-per-syllable rule. See, the glass is really half full.

"And I lied to you and skipped class." Notice the number of words in my response. She certainly did. Sobbing makes an entrance again.

"And why else ? “questions Tina with an additional 3 spanks to make sure I am paying attention. I am.

"I didn't take care of myself," I reply quietly (contractions are quickly becoming my friend).

I know she hears the regret and shame in my voice. I know that is my worst transgression in her eyes. Not taking care of myself. Lying is a close second but my health trumps everything.

"Yes, you didn't take care of yourself. Let's take care of that right now," she states while picking up the hairbrush. See, I told you.

What – wait a minute! Whoa, back the truck up!! I think I have met the atonement requirements for all my transgressions and convey as much to her. Unfortunately, she does not share my opinion. She also doesn't abide by the contraction rule. No, they count as 2 words. English professor, remember… Great, just fucking great.

Marshmallows can be roasted over the fire she has raised in my posterior and she wants to make it hotter!! I sure hope the fire extinguisher is still in here somewhere. Where is that half full glass again? I may need it to keep the flames at bay.

As she pulls me closer to her waist I hear her say "all that's left is 15 with the hairbrush and we will be done." Her last sentence is somehow exempt from the word count. I am grateful for small favors. It’s still going to hurt like hell.

She knows I haven't let go yet – haven't forgiven myself for the disappointment in her hazel eyes. We both hope 15 will be enough to bring me some relief. I welcome her arm holding me securely against her body. I know she is with me, loves me, is sharing my pain. I feel safe in her arms (I will reflect on the paradox of that statement at a later time).

I close my eyes, grab the comforter and wait for the next barrage of scorchers. I don’t have to wait long as a fast volley of smacks makes contact. By the time my brain registers the pain, it is over. All I can do is cry as Tina gently rubs my back and quietly soothes my heart with her loving words.

Slowly I am lifted up and find myself on her lap. Tina makes sure my bottom doesn't touch the harsh fabric of her jeans. She is well practiced in this ritual. As I lay against her chest with her arms holding me securely, I hear her tell me over and over that I am forgiven. I am a good person. I am loved.

Maybe today wasn’t such a bad day after all. I gaze into her eyes and know the night will be even better. I was right this morning.

Life is good. Life is very good.

Family

2008-06-09T17:10:00.002-04:00

As I sit here in the dark, I long for your embrace. Where are you? Why aren’t you here with me? With us?

I hear the kids getting ready. I need to get ready too. As I notice the hairbrush – your hairbrush – I can’t help but smile a little.

Remember when we caught the twins sneaking back in the house? They had both decided to celebrate their eighteenth birthday as the new adults they were. Or thought they were.

We stayed up watching Joan Crawford movies until 2 in the morning. It was your turn to make the beverage/snack run to the kitchen. I decided to check on the kids, needed to after watching Mommie Dearest. The population in our house had decreased by 50 percent…a statistic I quickly shared with you. The movie fest was over.

I remember the surprised look on Ashley’s face when you walked out of the den. I showed up just as Olivia entered the house. We both had the same pose – head slightly cocked to the side, raised eyebrow, arms folded across chest, grim expression. My blues eyes were cold as ice while your green eyes lit up the room. Oh yeah, they were surprised all right.

You simply turned around and headed up the stairs. No need for words. The twins followed while I brought up the rear (so to speak). I saw Olivia reach for Ashley’s hand. You saw it too. Reaching Liv’s bedroom, you stood sentry at the opened door. I smiled as hands covered bottom when she scooted past you. You smiled a little too.

Ash continued down the hall to her room…her hands taking up the same position as Liv’s. Some things never change no matter how old you are.

“What were you thinking? Where have you been?” My voice was calm but my eyes remained ice cold. Ash knew she was in big trouble.

She whispered, “At the Idle Hour.” Now, I knew my ears had to be deceiving me. My eighteen year old daughter had just informed me she had spent the night at the seediest bar in town. That could not be right.

“I don’t think I heard you correctly. What did you say?” That edge had crept into my voice. “Ashley, look at me when I am talking to you!” Oh yeah, the edge was unmistakable.

As her head snapped up, I could see the tears in her eyes. “Idle hour.” She said it. The Idle Hour.

“The Idle Hour? Are you crazy?” echoed from down the hall. Liv just confirmed Ashley’s story.

You and I were on the same page. Fuck calm.

Towering over my daughter, I asked through clenched teeth, “Are you out of your mind? Do you know how dangerous that place is? How could you have possibly thought that was a good idea?” Eyes staring at the floor, hands in her lap, my usually talkative daughter was rendered speechless.

“You had better look at me young lady while you explain yourself,” I growled. Yep, fuck calm.

“Well, we wanted to celebrate our birthday out and…well… we are adults now."

Gotta give her credit, she managed to hold my gaze. Good for her. I decided to give her all the props she had earned.

“Really…” By now the calm voice had returned and I was still, completely still.

“Yes, Liv and I are eighteen now and can go where we want.” The girl must have brain damage…or suddenly lost twenty IQ points…or maybe just flat out lost her mind. I didn’t care.

“Adult, huh? As long as you live in this house you will follow the rules. I don’t care if you are eighteen or eighty!!” The time for talking was over and I was ready for action.

Sitting down next to Ash, I quickly grabbed her wrist and deftly pulled her over my lap. Now, she was expecting this but I think my speed caught her off guard. Nice to know I held a few surprises.

Pulling her close to my body, I raised my hand and quickly landed three smacks on her bottom. Ash and I have been here before...we both knew what to expect. I knew it will take a few dozen smacks before tears began to flow. She knew I would hold her tightly against my body…would remain silent the first few minutes. We both would.

I continued to land smack after smack, alternating between cheeks. I knew this same scene was being played up the hall. “Ow”, “I’m sorry,” and “Stop” will have filled the room up the hall as tears streamed down Liv’s face. She’s never been the silent type.

Flipping up her skirt, I was greeted with a thong. Yes, my daughter wore a thong to the seediest bar in town !!

Reaching two fingers under the waistband, I quickly lowered the offending item to her ankles… much to her chagrin. I still didn’t care.

Inspecting the upturned bottom over my lap, I noticed her cheeks were rounder and had filled out since the last time we were in this position. She still hadn’t fully crossed over into womanhood, the diminutive size and lithe body a testimony to her youth. I wondered if her sister had completed that journey.

As I reached for the hairbrush, I began anew to make my point...well, several points. I informed my errant daughter that the Idle Hour was off limits, forever. I further informed her that she was NEVER to sneak out of the house again. I knew you were covering the same points down the hall... We were on the same page.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. “You will never, ever place yourself in such a dangerous situation again!!” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. By now her cheeks were a deep maroon and any semblance of stoicism had long since been abandoned. Ash kicked her legs, wiggled her bottom, and pounded her fists in the floor as the lesson continued. Her tears and pleas fell on deaf ears…my heart heard them.

I emphasized my last point by focusing the last six smacks on her sit spots. I wanted her to think about the danger she had been in. I wanted her to remember the fear in my voice. I wanted her to remember the resolve in my eyes.

I needed her to remember.

“Mom, let’s go.” Those three words hurl me back to the present.

It’s time for us to make that journey. I quickly embrace both girls, whispering how much I love each of them…everything will be okay. I see the tears in their eyes and they see the sorrow in mine.

As we make our way to the door, we see you sitting in the chair, staring blankly out the window.

Your body is still...almost.

I long to offer some comfort...some solace in this time of grief. I can’t.

I finally look away. “It’s time.”

I grab each girl’s hand as we walk through the door to whatever awaits us. I take comfort knowing the girls don’t have to make this journey alone…I can ease their fear. I know you take some comfort in that also. It’s not enough.

I know we will have a guide. I pray you find one.

I am flooded with sadness as we leave you alone...in our home.

I know we will all be together again. I hope you know that too.

We are family.

Good-bye

2008-06-09T15:23:00.000-04:00

Looking over, I watch you sleeping in the chair. You rest just two feet away, might as well be a thousand. How did we end up here? How did this happen?

As I glance at your dangling hand, I can’t help but smile.

I remember the day I told you my big secret all those years ago. We had been married for 20 years, had two children, weathered both good and bad times. We were solid and I knew we would grow old together. I’ve always known that.

“Honey, come out here and look at something,” I said as I turned to make my way out onto the deck. My stomach was tied in knots, palms sweating and my heart was beating out of my chest. I prayed I didn’t pass out right there!!

My secret, my shameful secret –that’s what I was about to reveal to you.

I remember the look on your face – confusion mixed with a tad of apprehension as you followed me. The night was warm and a candle was flickering on the table. The lights were off … needed to make sure I could hide my blushing cheeks….conceal the shame reflected in my eyes.

I still needed to hide in the shadows as I shown a light on my secret. As you sat down, I knew it was now or never.

I struggled to find the words but they remained allusive. I needed another approach. Opening the laptop I quickly went to the website. You know the one I mean, the one that brings TTWD into the open. It doesn’t matter which website you visit. They all bring the same thing…hope. They let us know we are not freaks, are not alone.

I quickly turned the screen to you. As you read the screen, I paced around the deck. Anything to distract me from the fear residing in my heart.

Afraid you would think I was a freak…or sick.

Or worse …

Afraid you would reject me.

The screen softly illuminated your face and then I saw …it dawned on you, my secret. I held my breath waiting for your response. You looked up, reached for my hand and smiled. I quickly looked away, feeling exposed. As you stood up, I tried to break free of your grip. Suddenly, I was pulled into your chest, strong arms wrapped tightly around me. I heard you whisper over and over that it was okay, everything was okay. Finally, the fear mixed with relief bubbled to the surface and tears rolled down my cheeks. You continued to comfort my soul with your words as you wiped my tears away.

We talked later that night, on the back porch, in the dark. I wasn’t ready for more illumination!! I saw you smile as you commented,” I just wish you had told me 20 years ago!” I noticed the twinkle in your eye, knew we would explore TTWD. I also knew you would never let me hide in the shadows again.

Initially you were hesitant to “hit a woman”, afraid you would hurt me. “Well duh, that was the point!” That comment earned me a sharp swat.

I assured you this is what I wanted, what I needed. I trusted you.

As your fears were somewhat allayed, you began to hesitantly bring your hand down on my virginal bottom. It wasn’t long or hard, that first time…just enough. It was a pivotal moment in my life and our relationship. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for giving me such a precious gift that night and many more nights to come.

A noise brings me out of my reverie. You shift position pulling the blanket tighter under your chin. I start to reach out but pull away before making contact. We’ve been doing that for awhile now – reaching out and pulling away, especially since the kids left for college. I notice your right hand is now resting on top of the blanket. I know every callus, every scar and how warm it feels resting against mine.

I turn away with a rueful chuckle, reminded of the only punishment spanking I ever got from you. That night will forever be etched in my brain. You had certainly conquered your fear of hurting me, that’s for sure!!

I had gone out with some friends, something I did once a week. I kissed you good bye and told you I’d be home by 1am. I heard you tell me to be careful and you loved me as the door closed. Marge drove me home that night. As I reached for the door, it swung open. I remember being fiercely pulled into an embrace as you whispered, “Thank God you’re okay.” I was confused until I glanced over at the clock.

3am.

I woke up the next morning tucked under the covers of our bed, the aroma of coffee beckoning me to the kitchen. I saw you sitting at the table, arms folded, a solemn expression on your face. I tentatively sat down at the table with my coffee and met your gaze.

“I’m so sorry honey. We lost track of time, I didn’t mean to worry you.” I know you saw the regret in my eyes. I saw the anger briefly flashed in your eyes. It was replaced with a cold, steely gaze.

“I accept your apology and know it wasn’t intentional. That doesn’t change the facts. I didn’t know where you were or if you were okay for 2 hours! You didn’t call or answer your cell. I was in hell until I saw your beautiful face coming up the steps.” I recall your voice cracking, tears glistening in your eyes.

You had been hurt deeply.

By me.

“Sorry isn’t good enough. Your actions were egregious last night. They certainly warrant consequences, don’t you agree?” I had no idea what you meant as I nodded my head. I found out soon enough.

With a look of determination you grabbed my wrist and led me to the living room. You sat down on the sofa pulling me over your lap. I remember feeling embarrassed as you raised my nightgown and lowered my panties. Seemed odd, you had seen me naked hundreds of times and being over your lap was nothing new.

This was different.

You quickly brought your hand down on my left cheek. The sharp stab of pain surprised me. I let out a yelp. It wasn’t the only one that day. Soon it was accompanied by “oww,” “please stop” and “I’m sorry” as you continued to bring your hand down again and again.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. I remember kicking my legs wildly as rivers of snot mixed with tears rolled down my face. My pleas mixed with the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed off the walls for several minutes.

Smack after smack rained down on my defenseless bottom. Unable to escape the inferno, I surrendered. I could only lie there, accepting the chastisement. Occasional yelps left my lips as you continued to make you point.

Then you stopped.

I continued to lie helplessly over your lap, my swollen cheeks quivering while tears streamed down my face. You gently rubbed my back and punished bottom, letting me know I was not alone in my pain.

You were there.

Eventually you helped me up and deftly balanced me on your lap, taking steps to minimize additional discomfort. You softly told me I was forgiven, you loved me. I remember how I basked in your love as it soothed my heart.

I can laugh now thinking about the journey I made to the bathroom to inspect my posterior. Wow, it was swollen, painted a dark maroon and HOT. I hadn’t expected such heat to radiate from such a tender area!! Sitting comfortably remained a challenge for several days.

I remember lying in bed on my stomach later that day. I felt you sit down next to me quickly followed by something cold on my ass. I swear I almost levitated!! You told me to stay put while tenderly applying aloe to my swollen cheeks. The cool substance soothed my body just as your words had soothed my heart. I have always called anytime I was going to be late since that night. No exceptions.

Tears escape my eyes. Deep sadness engulfs my entire being. Somewhere along the way we lost each other. No one or everyone is at fault.

Either way the result is the same.

Your breathing changes and eyes remain closed. You’re awake.

I reach across the chasm, gently touching your shoulder. I softly call your name.

There is no response.

It's simply not fair

2008-06-09T14:49:00.000-04:00

This is kinda, sorta a sequel to Some things remain the same. Warning - very angsty - really, it is.

So if you are feeling good and are concerned at all about this changing, you might want to wait until Monday morning or a family get-together before reading this...just a thought.

Why did this happen? “It’s not fair!!” keeps screaming in my head…over and over.

It’s simply not fair.

I can hear you saying “You’re right but that’s the way it is.” We both know “time to move on” is the follow up…no need to say it.

We’ve fought this battle together…you and I…for so long.

It’s simply not fair.

How can you be so calm? I’m not.

Peace resides in your heart…it always has.

I remember the first time I saw you and was drawn into your gorgeous blue eyes.

My heart was yours and I have never let go…or needed to until now.

That is too much to ask of me.

It’s simply not fair.

Your fierce spirit guided you through many jungles.
My love provided the path.

I remember discovering this jungle…
We both stumbled that day…and held each other up.

That’s what family does…at least ours.

You were so angry…and determined.
So was I…still am.

Looking me in the eye and refusing to accept there was nothing you couldn’t do, no activity you couldn’t participate in. You refused to give an inch.

So did I.

That whitewater rafting trip was the last time we battled over this. You promised to stay in the raft and forgo kayaking. I remember kissing you goodbye and sending a prayer for you to be safe.

I saw the struggle within you….that only you could resolve.
You had to.

That look in your eyes when you walked out the door told me the struggle wasn’t over. Somehow I knew that when I said good-bye…but didn’t admit it.

You needed a break…deserved some fun before facing the next hurdles. I did too.

You came barging through the back door, dropping your bags to the side as you made your way to the refrigerator and called my name. A quick hug was all I was getting – food was the priority. After the second sandwich, you finally found the table and began to fill me in on the details. Your eyes lit up with excitement as you described the beautiful river surrounded by the majestic forest.

“The water was perfect,” you managed to blurt out between bites. The quest for food was still in full gear!!

Seeing the delight in you eyes will remain in my heart forever. It wasn’t until later that a few other details came to light…Walking out of the bathroom, wrapped up in a towel exposed your secret. I saw the bruises…and knew the cause.

You turned around quickly at the sharp intake of my breath... I saw surprise wash over your face. You saw the same in mine.

Arching an eyebrow, the question was asked…and an explanation required. I heard the sigh as you reached for your pajamas. As my patience began to wane, I simply stated “I’m waiting.” Amazing the accelerating powers of that one statement!!

“Kayaking,” you simply stated evenly and calmly. You met my gaze.

“Excuse me, I must be having a problem with my hearing. I swore you said kayaking and know you certainly wouldn’t do something so dangerous and foolish.” My words didn’t exactly match my thoughts with that pronouncement. My anger did.

“I’m not letting this win.”

I saw it then…the defiant child housed in a woman’s body. The child refusing to bow and the woman refusing to make any more sacrifices…until next time. Neither could acknowledge what the sacrifice could have been…I did.

Three steps and I had your arm securely in mine. We both knew what would happen next. With practiced ease I continued to the chair and guided you over my lap. “Stop it! You have no right! I didn’t do anything wrong!” The indignation fueled your protests.

I remember feeling dumbfounded by the last statement…followed by fear. You didn’t see the danger…I was going to show you. “I definitely have the right,” flew out of my mouth as my hand began to smack the secured bottom before me. “Because I love you.”

It seemed like we were locked in a battle... You refused to let go…so did I. This was one battle I would win…needed to for us to survive.

Eventually your righteous indignation was replaced with contrition…acceptance remained absent…and was required to keep you safe from yourself.

Pulling your pajamas and panties down to your knees, I gazed at your pink globes. I knew we weren’t done yet…so did you.

“You,” SMACK, “will,” SMACK, “not,” SMACK,” risk,” SMACK, “your,” SMACK, “life,” SMACK, “again!” SMACK, “Understand, little one?” It happened…a sob escaped your lips. I knew we had completed the journey…almost.

A half dozen smacks later and you surrendered. The battle was over…we had both won. Pulling you into my arms, I rocked your tired body as the tears slowed to a trickle. I waited for your gaze to meet mine. “I will always pull you back from the edge of the cliff…always. “

“I know,” you whispered. Resting your head against my chest, I was humbled by this precious gift placed in my hands.

“I’m tired.”

Those words grab my attention and hurl me back into the present…here…with you.

Watching you close your eyes and drift off to sleep I hear the voice again.

The voice screaming…you’re not supposed to leave….

I don’t want to move on…I want you here…forever.

It’s simply not fair.

Some things remain the same

2008-06-09T14:34:00.000-04:00

I sit quietly next to you as you sleep, your hand grasped securely in mine. A sense of peace fills the room. I know it comes from you. Regardless of circumstances (or level of consciousness apparently) you have always provided comfort. You still do.

I cringe as I hear the door slam. Maybe, just maybe you’ll continue to sleep.

Moving your head slightly I can see your eyelids begin to flutter. Leaving blissful slumber behind your eyes open…then quickly close. I rise to pull the blinds. You like sunlight, just not that much.

Sitting up in bed and running a hand through your hair you begin to look around, trying to get your bearings. “Hi. What time is it?” I smile as your eyes find mine.

“It’s 6 o’clock.”
“PM?” you ask incredulously. I know your ire isn’t directed at me but rather at circumstances beyond your control.

Or mine.

“Yes,” I simply state.

As you look around for your glasses (you swear I move them around when you sleep – sometimes I do) I can see the frustration in your face, your exaggerated movements a testimony to your anger. And fear.

Locating your glasses, you slowly begin to rise out of the bed. “Here, let me help you,” I offer while quickly grabbing you right arm. Your balance is off… you’re weaker. I hold my breath as the anger fills your eyes. I breathe again as it leaves.

You simply nod your head as your left hand gently covers mine. I welcome your touch… this shared moment between us. Just us.

I see the toll the few steps from bed to chair takes on your fragile body. You fiercely battle the fatigue, determined to participate in life. The battle is decided as your eyes close. The war is not.

I place the blanket over your body and remove your glasses. The chair is a place of rest…for now.

I watch your fierce determination slowly ebb away. Finally, your body relaxes and accepts the gift of sleep. I know the warrior will surface and fight again.

I chuckle as I am reminded of the last time I encountered your warrior. Excuse me, Klingon warrior you so eloquently informed me that fateful day.

As I entered the house that evening, I could hear the unmistakable sounds of things crashing into things. Finding the source of the disturbance quickly became a priority! Standing in the doorway, I witnessed what can only be described as a full-blown tantrum of titanic proportions complete with flying objects and an exhaustive litany of objectionable (to me and most people) phrases. From the looks of things it was obvious this had been in force for quite some time. Oh yeah, quite some time.

Calling your name did not appear to quell the fury. Finally, using great care to duck flying objects, I grabbed your shoulders and spun you around. The tantrum ended abruptly as my eyes locked onto yours. I could see the anger simmering below the surface, knew you were working hard to keep your temper under control. We both knew what would happen if you failed.

“What is going on here?” My voice remained calm…your anger just waiting for a spark.

I kept my hands on your shoulders hoping this contact would drain some of your fury. It had in the past. We’ve been here before…me, you and your temper.

You continued to breathe rapidly, eyes ablaze with defiance, refusing or unable (I wasn’t sure which) to answer my question. I clearly remember your bright red face and clenched fists.

Giving your shoulders a shake, I repeated the question with a little more “oomph”. The “oomph” worked.

“Nothing, it’s nothing all right. Just leave me alone.”

Okay, the “oomph” hadn’t quite accomplished all I had hoped but it was a start. Anger quickly flooded my body as my eyes bored into yours. No, I had no intention of leaving you alone. At least not today.

You held my gaze longer than I expected. As your head slumped and muscles relaxed slightly I quickly guided you to the chair. “What is going on?” I growled. You remained silent with downcast eyes and clenched fists. This wasn’t going well.

Reaching down, I firmly but gently raised your chin. “What is going on little one?” That phrase- little one - illustrated the true nature of your position…and mine.

“I don’t know, okay!! I don’t know what it wrong with me! And neither do you or the doctors or ANYBODY!” you spat out through clenched teeth, defying me to challenge you.

I suspected that was behind this display. The nameless, faceless beast attacking your body. You’ve been at war for a long time now. The beast had won some battles recently but you were winning the war…for now.

The need for some control…that’s where this anger lived…with fear.

You told me what you needed by your challenge. I knew you were challenging your body…the mystery…God.

And me.

Meeting that challenge was my responsibility…part of loving you.

With practiced ease I switched places with you in the chair and placed you prone over my lap. “Let me go!! You can’t do this!” The defiance still burned in your eyes…confidence, well, not so much.

“Really...” was my reply as I brought my hand down across your bum. I continued to smack your bottom for several minutes alternating between cheeks. I clearly remember your clenched fists and fierce refusal to acknowledge the fire being ignited in your hindquarters.

Then it happened – a chink in your armor. Your legs twitched and hands pounded the floor in tandem with the smacks assaulting your bottom. You still refused to let go.

I refused to let you go. I always have and always will.

Flipping your nightgown up and lowering your panties, I reached for the hairbrush. Your bottom was a bright pink and definitely warm. It would be boiling before we were through…it needed to be.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. “Your behavior, SMACK, SMACK, is unacceptable. SMACK, SMACK, You will not, SMACK, SMACK, throw, SMACK, a, SMACK, temper tantrum, SMACK, again!!SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. I don’t care, SMACK, if you’re, SMACK, SMACK sick or not! SMACK, That is no excuse! SMACK, SMACK.

Tears silently rolled down your face as you struggled to hold on…hold on to the control…control you really didn’t have…but desperately craved.

I continued to rain smacks down ensuring no area of your posterior was left unattended. After a dozen swats it happened...you let go. You let go of the control and submitted to mine…the moment when trust replaced fear.

I switched back to my hand as I continued to apply light spanks liberally spaced apart. Eventually tears replaced sobs as the spanking drew to a close.

Gently I rubbed your back and bottom until the tears were but a slow trickle. I helped you up and tenderly placed you on my lap. Initially you resisted. “Hush now” quelled the rebellion. I was going to hold you on my lap, simple as that.

Wrapped in my embrace, I rocked you back and forth whispering those universal words of comfort….I love you. Everything’s okay. I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.

Gradually, your breathing relaxed and I noticed your eyes close. Your grip on my arm slowly eased as you nestled into my chest. I looked at your face and was filled with relief. The battle was over and we had both won. I prayed we would win the war.

The chime of the clock snaps me back to the present.

“Momma?” I smile as I cover your hand with mine. I switch places with you in the chair placing you on my lap. You don’t resist this time.

“Yes baby. Momma’s here.” I gently rub my fingers through your hair.
I see you look into my eyes…waiting yet fearing the answer to your question.

“Shhh, everything is okay. It’s just the flu honey. That’s all. A bad case of the flu.” I watch you exhale the breath you had been holding. The doctor had watched me do the same earlier in the day.

“Where are the kids?” Your childlike demeanor is quickly replaced with a mother’s concern.

“Baby, the only kid here is mine. Your sister is watching Jack and Timmy tonight.”

Amazing, I care for my child the same way she cares for hers. Some things remain the same regardless of age.

Snuggling closer, I feel you drift off to sleep…a peaceful sleep this time.

The flu. What a relief to have a name for the beast this time.

The flu...it’s just the flu.

My little warrior is winning the war.

Hello

2008-06-09T13:34:00.000-04:00

Ahhh, I hear the “Hi honey” when you walk into our home…same words I’ve have said for the past 10 years.

“Hey babe, I’m in the fill-in-the-blank.” Always my response.

We change the dialogue a little if I get home after you. Ritual is always the same. I find comfort in this familiarity…security in the consistency.

We have developed a lot of these little rituals over the last decade. I used to find them endearing.

I don’t anymore.

Not sure when that happened…or why.

I know you’ll make your way to my location, you always do. I’ll turn and welcome your embrace…a time when I can catch my breath.

Just be…that’s all, just be…the two of us shut out the world for a brief moment.

I notice the brief look that passes over your face…lasts a few seconds…doesn’t linger. You want to be somewhere else for that moment…only for those few seconds.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen that look.

It’s been around for awhile.

Our embrace…you used to catch your breath …sometimes you hold your breath now…slightly.

I notice.

Remember when being apart for one hour seemed unbearable. We clutched each other as tight as possible.

Savored every moment together.

You took my breath away every time I laid eyes on you…the most beautiful creature I had ever seen… You still are.

I just keep breathing now.

Hellos are over and its time for the routine of family…our family.

Time for dinner (my turn) and laundry (your turn). We’ll continue to complete the necessary tasks. Make sure homework is done…baths are taken…teeth are brushed…good night kisses are given. I’ll check on the kids on my way to bed (too old to be tucked in) and pull the covers up on Jack…and Rachel. I know you’ll repeat this ritual.

We perform these things effortlessly…this family routine.

It’s the “us” things that are taking effort...have you noticed?

I don’t know how to reach you…that part that you hide from the world…protect from everything and everyone.

Except me…until now.

I remember when you let me in…abandoned your fear.

Accepted my trust…

It was before kids and a mortgage…when nothing was brighter than my love for you.

And your love for me.

I notice you come in the bedroom…that little hint of peace in your eyes. You’ve already checked on the kids.

I remember before we were parents…and guarded. Where was I when the walls were rebuilt? Where were you?

That was a long time ago…our “newlywed” days. Passion fueled our days and nights…fire always smoldering under the surface just waiting for a spark.

The time you grabbed me and threw me over your lap. I had never seen you that angry before.

Or since.

The look of shock on your face (and mine) as we entered the kitchen. I swear I had turned off the burner. The acrid smoke from the burning towel filled the room.

I swear I had turned off the burner.

Fire extinguisher…wet towel in the sink…opened door and windows. ..and finally crumbling into your arms in tears… I swear I had turned off the burner.

Apparently not.

I remember bursting into tears as I held up the remnants of the “cow” towel.

You held me while I cried…told me everything was okay…everyone was okay.

After the tears had dried and smoke had cleared more details emerged. …everything changed. The issue wasn’t the burner…it was the towel.

My habit of leaving the kitchen towel on the stove after I had wiped it off. We had discussed this several times and I had promised to be more careful– agreed it was dangerous.

You pushed me back and met my gaze. “Excuse me, did you say you left the towel on the stove after dinner?” you asked in a near whisper through clenched teeth. Now, I had already been traumatized from the events, felt horrible and made my apologies. I could feel a flicker of defiance creep in my response. “Yes. I must have overlooked it on the stove after I cleaned up. ” I didn’t add that clean up was your responsibility although I wanted to. The more you glared at me the angrier I got. I remember jerking away from you and folding my arms across my chest, daring you to say anything.

I notice that faraway look on your face…I also see the crossed arms and slight wistful smile.

I haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time…guess only faraway places bring that smile to your lips now.

I walk behind you and put my arms around your waist. I inhale the soft scent of baby shampoo and Mr. Bubbles. It must have been Rach’s night to get her hair washed.

We stand there for a minute…locked in this comfortable place. You turn your head slightly and grab my eyes. Raising my eyebrow I wait for you…

“Remember when the cow towel caught fire ….”

Oh yeah, I remember the cow towel incident.

Remember how angry you got when I glared at you? I couldn’t believe you were still so angry after the apology. You apparently couldn’t believe I wasn’t more contrite. It seemed like we stared at each other forever, neither willing to look away. Finally, the smoldering anger in your eyes erupted and you grabbed my arm.

I remember your refusal to back down until I had reached my limit. I was determined to make sure you clearly understood the danger of your actions. Fueled by fear and anger I grabbed your arm, pulled out a kitchen chair and pulled you over my lap in one fell swoop.

You were sure surprised.

Yeah, I was surprised by your swift actions. I remember being shocked and in total disbelief that you would have the audacity to lay a hand on me. I clearly informed you of my views.

You responded a second later as your hand came crashing down on my posterior. Disbelief was quickly replaced with fury…and embarrassment. This wasn’t going to happen to me – absolutely not.

I remember how angry you were with the first smack. You kicked and screamed at the injustice of it all.
Yep, you certainly got in touch with your angry inner child that day.

I didn’t care – you had jeopardized your safety (and mine). That was intolerable and I was determined to make sure it was not repeated.

Wow, you hit hard. After a few minutes, you flipped up my skirt and down went my panties. I remember you telling me that I was acting like a child and you were going to treat me like one.

That one act of baring my bottom stopped me in my tracks. I felt this huge wave of embarrassment and shame. I had always been completely comfortable around you - you always treated my body with grace and wonderment.

I miss that.

I remember how you froze when I bared your bottom. I remember pulling you close to my body and resuming the lesson I desperately needed you to learn.

Alternating between cheeks I continued to bring my hand down on you…slowly color rose to the surface - white fading into pink...eventually red.

You were relentless in your quest to get your point across. Smack after smack assaulted my bottom as you ignited a fire. I remember refusing to cry, to give in to you. You kept repeating that I had endangered the most important thing in your life. I could hear the fear in your voice…the anger too.

Then it happened – it hit me that I had endangered the most important thing in MY life.

You.

Shame overwhelmed me and I remember repeating how sorry I was…pleading for forgiveness.

I submitted.

It was over. I pulled you up and held you tight. I whispered those words you needed from me. You are forgiven. I love you. I need you.

You said those words soothed your soul. Your reached up and kissed my cheek.

Your kiss soothed my heart.

A “cow” towel hung over the sink the next day.

I feel you squeeze me tighter…resting your head on my shoulder.

You whisper hello in my ear.

I close my eyes and whisper my response.

Welcome home.

Someone

2008-06-01T16:41:00.000-04:00

Okay, this is a story I wrote and posted on a spanking website. Yes, it is hard for me to say the *s* word out loud and thus my little foray into fiction. This story contains the *s* word and , I guess, what could be considered D/s or domestic discipline or yada, yada. If that bothers you then time to go. If not, cool...

Boredom. That really should be a four letter word. Seems like nothing gets me into more trouble than that – boredom. See how it just rolls innocently off the tongue – a completely innocuous word. Maybe but it certainly isn’t an innocuous state of being, that’s for sure.

This really wasn’t my fault. I know you will agree with me once all the facts come to light. It was simply a normal and natural response to boredom – anyone would have engaged in these activities to relieve the tedium. Actually, I was doing a community service and should receive a letter or plaque at least. You’ll see what I mean and agree that someone who shall remain nameless is being completely unreasonable…completely.

It started out innocently enough – beautiful sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. It was the kind of day that begged for you to blow off work (I didn’t) and just lay in the hammock while reading a book. Yeah, it was THAT kind of day. Personally, I think it showed remarkable restraint on my part to go to work in the first place. Again, someone wouldn’t agree but that is not my problem (yet).

Okay, so I go to work completely intent on being productive. I walked in the office and proceeded to begin the arduous task of sorting through my inbox. The paper fairies must have been working late last night. After working diligently for five hours I had completely addressed every piece of paper in the inbox and was pretty much done for the day. I was simply possessed with this desire to be the best employee I could be this morning which explains the extraordinary amount of work I had completed by lunch. The other possibility is the two double espressos I sucked down before work.

Anyway, here I am being all “Miss Productive” and am thinking about going home early (just a little) after clearing it with the boss (not a problem as long as I get my stuff done). Two o’clock rolled around and I decided to take my lunch and go home after that which means I really left work two hours early – not three. It just so happens I decided to take my lunch at home – very convenient and I saved gas by combining two trips into one (yep, community service moment).

Arriving home for lunch (before leaving work for the day – btw) I set out on finding something for lunch. After scouring the pantry and fridge, nothing really appealed to me – know what I mean? Nothing looked good. Grabbing an apple, I decided to head into the living room and read my book. Funny thing happened on my way to the chair. I noticed the surround speakers were still on the floor (a certain someone was supposed to have hung them three weeks ago) and the hardware was conveniently next to the speakers. I did exactly what I was told to do three weeks ago (just leave them alone) and walked past them with my book in hand.

After thirty minutes or so, I had finished my book and was ready to do something else to fill the remaining two hours of leisure time Miss Productive had earned this morning. I tried daytime TV (sucked), wasn’t house cleaning day (didn’t seriously consider this option) and way too wired to take a nap. The day was beautiful so I thought about cleaning the gutters (thought I was going to mention the speakers, huh?). Now, I had never actually done this before but did know it was part of being a responsible home owner.

I set out to begin my task by gathering the necessary supplies. I have watched enough DIY to know what is needed – a big ass ladder, thick gloves and something to stick in the gutters to push the leaves out (I’m thinking a trowel or something). Luckily I am able to locate the said items in the garage (someone insists that everything be all organized and returned to its place IMMEDIATELY after I use it – pain in the ass but helpful when I need to find a tool).

The ladder proved to be a bit more challenging than I had originally thought. The problem is it is one of those big ass ladders that extends so you can actually reach the top of the house and weighs about 400 pounds (approximately). I don’t weigh anywhere near that (trying not to be crushed under the weight of said ladder) and am not a 6 foot giant either. Since this was now mocking me it became obvious what was going to happen – I would clean the gutters or die trying. Hey, the ladder started it…mocking thing, remember?

Finally I succeeded in getting the freaking hunk of metal against the house (upright) and it was secured in place. Put on the gloves, grab the little garden shovel (couldn’t find a trowel) and climb up the ladder – nothing was keeping me from completing this task. Oh, there was one other thing….

I should probably mention I have been suffering from an inner ear infection (don’t worry – tomorrow is the last day of my antibiotics and it is getting better…thanks for the concern though). This had impacted my balance a bit, okay a lot, but it is much better now and I haven’t felt dizzy or bumped into things since yesterday. See, all better.

The climb up was uneventful and I quickly abandoned the stupid shovel in favor of using my hand to push the leaves out of the gutter. It was kind of satisfying watching them plummet to the ground (better them than me). The project proceeded quite nicely (found three Frisbees on the roof) and I was done with the ladder part within the hour. Raking and bagging the gallant leaves (remember, plummeted to their death) took another thirty minutes. Shoot, I was done, bags by the road for pick-up and the three Frisbees returned to their rightful owners by 4:30p (once again a community service moment – will it ever end?). Yeah baby (I’m doing my Austin Powers voice), I was Miss Super Productive today.

Quick shower (productivity has its own aroma), dinner in the oven (ham plus veggies), table set and I am cooking with gas!! The dinner and table setting thing went without a hitch – completely trouble free. The shower thing didn’t go quite as planned (hygiene and boredom get me in trouble). It was the actually trek to the shower that caused the problem (yeah, yeah – it was those damn speakers). I figured I was on a roll with ladders (no silly, even I know to use a step ladder) and home improvement projects so it seemed only natural to continue utilizing my talents. Well, to me it seemed natural.

Strapping on my cape once again, I whisked about the house gathering the needed supplies (easy to find since all the tools were in their proper place). Hanging the speakers wasn’t a problem. I have had tons of practice hanging large pictures so I completely understand the whole “stud or drywall anchor” thing and am quite adept at securing hanging objects to the wall. Those speakers were secured in record time and the tools were put away. There was only one thing left to do and, although I had never done it, I had seen it done a thousand times before and had the basics down pat.

Now, I knooow you are thinking this is where the problem happened – me with electricity. Perish the thought. I was able to complete the wiring (took a few times to get the insulation off without cutting the wire) and the speakers worked great. After crawling out from behind the “media center” as someone calls it, I disposed of the evidence, sorry, I meant wire remnants and put away the wire cutters.

Stopping in the kitchen, I threw some potatoes in a pan of water, ham in the oven and green beans (fresh, I might add – had a few minutes to spare so quickly snapped off the ends) on the counter ready for action. Screw Martha Stewart – Miss Super Productive was in the house now!! Being distraction free I proceeded in my quest for a shower. Mentally checking off the tasks I had completed today, I decided this was definitely a back-patting moment…oh yeah, definitely.

Climbing in the shower and allowing the soothing water to cascade down my productive self, I couldn’t help but smile as I mentally checked off all the stuff I had accomplished today. Damn, I AM good. Electing to use the “girly” soap, I leisurely washed the remnants of my day away and slipped into my favorite jeans with my “Question Authority” t-shirt (remnant from my college days – I would NEVER do that now). A quick glance at the clock let me know I had about twenty minutes before someone came home so it was off to the kitchen to finish my delightful (let us not forget homemade !) dinner for two.

Remember when I mentioned boredom and personal hygiene get me in trouble. I’m about to paint a pretty clear picture of what I mean.

Scurrying down the stairs (quest to provide wholesome nourishment to someone I love) I decided to detour through the living room to admire my handiwork. Here was the problem – on the way to the living room I tripped over the wire cutters (they must have escaped from the garage because I HAD put them away) and fell into the hallway table. This jarred the precariously balanced lamp and sent it crashing to the floor. No, I wasn’t hurt but thanks for asking. I gingerly stepped around the broken glass (there was actually quite a bit – the whole ‘lamp shatter’ phenomenon) and retrieved a broom, dustpan and garbage can. With me so far? Good.

I am dutifully cleaning up the remnants of the lamp when someone walked in the door and told me to freeze. WTF ? Unfortunately I was so startled that I took a step backwards and a piece of glass decided to take up residence in my foot. This was followed by blood (mine) and some colorful expletives on my part aimed at the cause of my current foot tenant. After excising myself from the danger area, it was suggested that I continue to the bathroom and begin the process of attending to my cut (actually, more like a wound) which I did. Some peroxide, Neosporin and a Band-Aid and I was good as new (slight limp).

Making my way to the kitchen, I was momentarily stunned by the site awaiting me. The ham was sliced and on the table, potatoes were mashed and green beans were being dished up by my beloved. Come on, how sweet is that? I was directed to the table and we commenced with our dining experience. I know you are still a little confused about the whole “boredom + hygiene =trouble” connection…just hang with me for a few more moments. I had to present the same package all wrapped up with a red bow on top to someone also so it will save time if you listen in.

Dinner is over, dishes in the dishwasher and I am thinking it is time for some R & R with my honey. Yep, that was definitely my thought…unfortunately it wasn’t shared. Retiring to the living room, we take a seat next to each other on the couch and I commence to cuddle.

“Oh, the speakers are hung,” I heard in a nonchalant voice.

“Yeah, I went ahead and took care of it since I had some free time today.”

I continued to relish in comfort (both physical and emotional) and nestled closer to the object of my affection.

“They sound great.” See, compliment time!! “You must have hung them in record time.”

Now, the nestling apparently was affecting my hearing because NO alarms went off in my head – NONE and usually I can hear a change in tone when trouble is brewing. Not this time – bummer for me.

Before I knew it my mouth was calmly filling in the details of my afternoon – ALL the details. It all started with this little statement, “I got done early at work so I came home, finished my book and nothing was on TV. I was bored so I decided to…fill in the blank.” You pretty much know the rest of the story.

Things were still cool in Cuddle County. Then it happened – the tornado came and Cuddle County was declared a disaster area.

You know what caused the problem (you aren’t going to believe it)? It wasn’t the ladder-gutter thing or the “hung speakers even though told not to.” Nope, it was the freaking glass-in-foot thing – can you believe that?! I get in trouble for being injured – how wrong in that I ask you?!! Apparently (eyes rolling by now) I should have been wearing some type of footwear while I was cleaning up the glass. My response was “I was fine until you yelled at me!” You guessed it – didn’t go over well.

The whole “you could have really hurt yourself” (did the limp go completely unnoticed?) was discussed at great length from every possible angle. You would be surprised how many ways there are to phrase this particular issue (twelve different word combinations – I counted). Lots of verbs and adjectives came into play. During the course of the conversation I couldn’t help but notice a dark cloud descend upon the room. A noticeable chill was in the air. Even I figured out this wasn’t good.

Apparently someone decided to include other actions to my list of transgressions. Well, that certainly explains the cloud and chill now doesn’t it? Actually, someone had started out with the least serious which I found out later and yes, the speakers DID make the list along with that freaking ‘climbing high (altitude, NOT me) with a balance issue’ – that was actually number one on the list of “Another thing I’m not allowed to do and probably didn’t know it” (can you hear the whine in my voice yet? That list is SO unfair). Anyway, I’m thinking this probably isn’t going to turn out well for me. I heard that and yes, I did state the obvious. Can’t you tell this is a time when I need your support, not laughter? Fine… just shut up.

The next thing I knew I found myself splayed across someone’s lap. Okay, I had kinda sorta violated a big rule – the whole “don’t do anything stupid that can get me hurt” rule or the “prevent frolic and fun” rule. Guess which name I came up with…

Anyway, I quickly recover my composure (hey, I was dizzy at the sudden change in position) and voiced my views. A quick flurry of swats descended upon my posterior which “quick started” my mouth. Unfortunately, my brain hadn’t quite evaluated the situation. “Son of a bitch” mixed with “what the hell do you think you are doing” plus “stop it you asshole” flew out of my mouth before I could stop. Actually, they flew out of my mouth more than once as the “little flurry” took on bigger proportions and the next thing I knew my jeans and panties were down around my knees. When you think about it, it is a pretty impressive feat to pull down jeans plus panties while maintaining the position of a squirming, fighting, wiggling person over one’s lap.

To say someone was on a mission to turn my white ass into a cauldron of heat and smoke is an understatement. The whole mouth thing didn’t help me and seemed to add a little motivation to someone. I had no idea I could survive such an event! Smack after smack after smack rained down on my poor, unprotected bottom for a good fifteen minutes. I had quickly changed my tune and “I’m sorry” plus “I promise to be careful” came flying out of my mouth (brain had finally kicked in). Of course these were mixed with “Stop, please stop” and the timeless “I’ll never do it again.” I am sure I said some other things but you get the idea. Throw in the whole scissor leg thing plus wriggling bottom and you have an entire exercise program (I have the perfect name –‘Smack down to perfect buns’ although the WWF might have a copyright issue). By the time this “event” was over I had been transformed from a righteously indignant crusader into a penitent and contrite little girl.

Sooo, to sum it up (get ready because this is a long run-on sentence) – I was bored which resulted in a burst of home improvement activities which resulted in the need for a shower which resulted in the unfortunate tumble over the wire cutters (I swear I put them away) which resulted in the shattered lamp which resulted in the wound. I told you - boredom and personal hygiene.

I spent some more time (finally upright) on someone’s lap and found myself engulfed in an embrace until my crying had been reduced to a little sniffling. I still planned on pouting for the rest of the evening. Yes, I had been careless (a little!!) and probably slightly impulsive (or accomplished multiple goals) in my actions today.

Relaxing under the warmth of the embrace, I let go of my indignation (masked my embarrassment) and begrudgingly allowed the offered comfort to soothe my bruised ego. Admitting I acted like an impulsive kid and did engage in quite a few risky behaviors while justifying them (not well) slowly came to pass as I soaked in the forgiveness. Shit, ain’t that a bitch!!

Finally nature called and I was forced to leave my place of comfort and protection. That place has been available to me for many years now. It took me awhile to recognize that until someone pierced my wall and touched the scared little girl. She’s the one that led me there and placed her trust in someone. I did too.

As I headed to the bathroom, I reflected upon the day. It had been productive, shit got done and dinner was lovely. Inspecting the targeted area in the mirror (damn, it WAS red and hot), once again I was reminded (strongly, I might add) how loved I was by my someone. How cool is that?

I’ll provide my own reminder to someone later tonight. Yeah, how cool is that!!!

Ignored

2008-05-15T11:35:00.000-04:00

Hey, can you hear me? Time to stop ignoring me -I do exist.

I live in your heart, head and soul. You have kept me locked away for years, allowing a little peek when your guard was down.

Getting harder to keep me in the shadows after a taste, isn’t it?... Do you really want to?

How can something so shameful bring such illicit pleasure? Does it really matter?

Do you feel shame or something else? Feel betrayed by the responses of your body – responses you can’t ignore?

And don’t want to…that is TRULY the origin of the shame. See, I know you and have burrowed into the deep crevices that house those secret desires. You can’t hide from me anymore.

So what if the thought of surrendering control to someone gets you wet… So what if the idea of laying across someone’s lap while they gaze on your naked body and prepare to tend to THIS need causes you heart to race.

So what.

Ahhh, I see the problem…the incongruence. How can you reconcile the independent, successful, driven person with the need for submission?

You don’t have to…just accept it.

Just accept. That’s the answer.

I know you.

How can pain equal pleasure and…satisfaction? I hear your thoughts and know the fantasy. Someone taking you in tow and pulling you over a lap…holding you securely as clothing is removed and your vulnerability revealed…I know.

I see the hand crashing down on your exposed target…the loud boom followed by the burning that starts out slow and increases in intensity as smack after smack rains down until you reach the limit...almost. I feel the heat emanating from your body…in both places.

I hear the calm controlled voice that you hear. The voice that offers the rare gift of intimacy. I know how important the voice is for you…to feel connected...safe.

And to trust.

That’s ultimately what it is all about for you. Trusting someone enough to expose your secret…and surrender.

Yes, I know you. Maybe one day you can give voice to the word that consumes your fantasies.

Until then, I’ll wait….but I won’t be ignored.