So, the Holidays have come and gone and I’m still here and the relationship is going well.
A few notes about him: First, he’s a nice guy. I remember meeting someone like him when I was in college and thinking to myself, “Oh, come on! NO ONE is THAT nice!” I did not want to date the college guy, because…maybe I wasn’t ready for nice yet. Now I am, and I lucked into a guy who is sweet, thoughtful, cares about me, listens to me (though I know he struggles when I’m rambling away) and most of all wants me to be happy. It’s easy to take him for granted and just assume that he’ll always be there and that he’ll always put my happiness before his own and so on.
But he is gone a lot because of his job, which can be nice because I have time to myself, but also difficult because it seems like we try to get all our relationship in during short periods of time. It makes me miss him more than I remember missing anyone, and it makes a lot of things more difficult. I feel a little guilty complaining about his job and his absence, because I can see he loves what he does and he’s really good at it, and when was the last time you met someone so lucky? And what am I supposed to do? Ask him to give up what makes him happy to make me happy? That wouldn’t work either, because then he’d be unhappy, which would make me unhappy. So we’re kind of stuck, but that’s not what I really wanted to write about.
We had our Xmas, a little late because he was out of town (sigh). It was just me and him and I wasn’t feeling particularly attractive. Brownies, pie, ham, potato salad…I was a fat little Xmas piggy. But we were cuddling in front the Xmas tree, and it was nice to feel his warm body next to mine, to curl up into him, feel his chest rising and falling, and the deep rumble of his voice (gives me shivers when I can feel it under my fingers and in my ears).
It was New Years as well, and I guess I’d been introspective about us. I was talking about my New Year’s resolutions for me and for us. I don’t remember every detail of our conversation or how we got into it, but it went something like this:
Me: I want to be a better girlfriend.
Him: Not possible.
Me: No, it’s possible. I could be more understanding, more patient, more trusting that we’re okay when you’re not around…
Him: Maybe I should be a better boyfriend.
Me: Not possible (um, okay a little possible, but I didn’t say that).
Him: Very possible. I could give you more of what you need, try to be around more.
Me: I want you here, but I want you to be who you are, too, and that means being away–
Him: I’m looking at a way to be away less.
Me: But I don’t want you to give up what you love.
Him: I wouldn’t, but that’s not what I meant.
(Seems like he had a phone call in here somewhere. Can’t remember where exactly. Work stuff? On New Year’s Eve?)
Me: What did you mean?
Him: I meant the “other” stuff.
Me: What other stuff?
Him: Spankings, bossing you around like you like.
Him: I’m always terrified I’m going to hurt you.
Me: I’m not some delicate fragile thing. I can take a lot more than you think.
Him: But I like thinking of you as a delicate thing, because I can protect you.
Me: I meant, you’ve never once really even come to close to really hurting me when you spanked me. I mean . . it hurts, and I don’t like it, because it stings, but it makes me feel amazing.
Him: And the bossing around.
Me: That makes me feel like a bad little girl.
Him: You are a bad little girl.
Me: Am not.
Him: Are, too. You must be if you’re getting a spanking.
Me: Hm, that’s true.
Him: I can never quite figure out when is a good time though. I’m not sure how to get into it.
Me: I’m not sure, but it’s like when you’re starting something. I’m not always really turned on at first, but I get turned on pretty quick once you start something.
Him: Yeah, okay.
Me: It’s weird, because I can’t tell you I need this right now, because it’s not spontaneous. It sort of spoils the magic when I tell you to do this and that.
Him: You just want it sprung on you.
Me: Yes, but . . I guess I want there to be a reason behind it, too. If I’ve annoyed you or just said or done something that makes you, whatever, then that would a reason.
Him: Hm, like the other day when you were helping me picking out curtains?
Me: I annoyed you?
Him: Well, I picked something out and you said I couldn’t use that, because those were bedroom curtains.
Me: (They were.) Well, but I thought you brought me along for advice, to help you pick something out?
Him: I did.
Me: But, so, I gave you my advice. (Getting a little heated here, lol).
Him: You did.
Me: But, I annoyed you.
Him: A little.
Me: But–how can I annoy you if I did exactly what you asked me to do?
Him: You just did, so maybe you should get a spanking for that.
Me: (speechless here)
Him: This is what you just asked for, isn’t it?
Me: (gulp) Um . . I don’t know, sort of, maybe, not exactly.
Him: Well which is it?
Me: I was trying to help. I thought you wanted my help. The whole reason you brought me along was to help you pick something out.
Him: Oh, I know. Why don’t you turn over?
Him: You know why.
The sensation here is hard to describe: it’s sort of like the pit of my stomach is all stressed and churning; I get that funny empty aching feeling in my chest; my face is hot; it’s total dread and stress . . but everything between my legs and ears is in total “turn on”. It’s a weird, conflicted feeling.
I turned over and showed him my horribly fat bottom (not feeling very sexy).
Him: Are you going to do this halfway?
So he and I sort of persuaded my body to drape across his lap. We were on the floor anyway, the Xmas tree lights twinkling.
Him: I thought you said you like it when I put your arms behind you.
(Getting quiet now, can barely breathe, and I’m on my stomach over his leg, too.)
Me: I do.
(I stretched my arms behind me, which really made his knee cut into my stomach, cutting my off breath.)
Him: I think this would be better with your pants down.
(I start to kneel up, but he has his hand on my back and he sort of nudges me, doesn’t push me exactly, but I get the message.)
Me: I thought you wanted me to take my pants off.
Him: I didn’t say anything about getting up, did I?
(I am silently cursing him, because he’s making it difficult for me. Intellectually, I’m thinking, “Not fair”. My body is thinking, “mmm, good, perfect”.
(So, across his lap, I squirm to get my hands under my tummy, which is probably pushing my ass up, so I’m sure he loved that. I unbutton, unzip and push my pants down, exposing my ass, and he gets to see I’m wearing his favorite thongs just for him. He said he liked the little bow on the back.)
His hands are on my ass almost right away. It’s very nice and warm. He reminds me of my arms again, because I forgot and folded them under my head. I try to squirm a little to get my tummy off his knee so I can breathe, but I really strain to keep them behind my back, because it’s not really a natural or relaxing position.
He’s giving me little slaps, not hard at all, and I’ll admit, I’m getting a little disappointed.
Me: But what did I do wrong?
(Is this me tempting him?? Or am I really thinking it’s all so unjust??)
Him: It was the way you did it.
Me: I gave you my opinion, which you asked for. How should’ve I done it?
(If I was tempting him; it worked. But I really am thinking I didn’t do anything wrong. He starts slapping me here. And it’s hard. And I can feel the stinging of his hand on my cheeks. He’s alternating between them, but he’s hitting me right where I’m fattest, so it’s not really hurting that much .. yet.)
Him: You should’ve phrased your opinion as a suggestion, not some all-knowing edict.
(O-kay. . .)
He goes on slapping me sort of randomly, and I’ll admit, my cheeks are warming up. He’s not really hitting them very hard, and I think I lost track of time, but my ass is starting to kind of burn a little and feel raw. I guess the nerves are getting sensitive. I think he’s been slapping me for several minutes now (probably only a minute, but it feels like it’s going on forever).
Me: I’m sorry if I put it that way.
Him: Don’t apologize.
(Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Get punished, admit your guilt and be forgiven)
Him: I’m not through yet. You can apologize when I’m done.
(He’s shaking his hand between spanks. I feel extra bad because my bottom is hurting him.)
He’s still slapping, but now he’s hitting only my right cheek and it’s getting very close to feeling like it’s on fire. It’s hot and I’m really squirming and trying to keep my arms behind me and trying to find a comfortable place for my head and trying to stay still, but it’s all such a struggle. I can’t get comfortable and I can hear myself making those little noises every time he hits. I’m making that noise that you make when you breathe through your teeth and say “eee”; it sounds like steam escaping.
Then I make the noise before he even hits me, and he sounds really cross.
Him: Wait until I hit you, Goddammit!
Him: Don’t be sorry, just do it right!
Oh, God, I am totally melted. This is heaven. I feel like I’m totally his, and I never want to leave. It goes so deep inside me that I can’t even put it into words. It’s not words or thoughts; it’s all feeling, all through me and I’m completely liquid where it counts.
It goes on like this for a while, and then we just both sit there (well, I lay there), breathless.
I don’t dare say a word, because I know when I’m done. My right cheek is just pulsing with heat. I can feel it all the way up my side. It’s like every nerve ending has re-routed itself to connect to my burning bottom.
Him: You can apologize now.
(I want to salute and say “Yes, Sir” without any humor, but I also don’t want to set him off again, because there is no guarantee he’ll spank my left cheek instead of my right, and my right cheek is as done as a Thanksgiving Turkey.)
Me: I’m sorry.
Him: For what?
Me: (gulp, he’s going to make me talk more and risk setting him off again) For talking to you that way.
Him: What way?
Me: Like . . . like I was an expert on something.
Him: No. I don’t mind that you were an expert. It annoyed me the way you said, as if your opinion were absolute. You patronized me, too.
Me: I didn’t mean to.
(His hand falls hard on my poor bottom.)
Him: I thought you were going to apologize.
(But I DID! Okay, okay…)
Me: I’m sorry for being so . . . expert, like I knew better than you and you just didn’t know or couldn’t know or like you were stupid. That’s now how I meant to say it.
Him: I know. Next time, just be more gentle about it. Don’t tell me things like that. You can suggest them, and no patronizing.
So, I could on like this forever, but it was my Xmas gift (he said later). It was the best gift I could’ve gotten from him. It meant much more than the ear rings (expensive!) and anything else he could’ve given me. I would’ve gotten all weepy about it (I did, a little), but he doesn’t like it when I’m weepy (I think he does sometimes).
I can’t wait for Valentine’s Day?!