Thought storage post

Disclaimer: 'kay, this post sums things up for me and offers a kind of "introduction" to my blog. I am working to make sure it stays in the top spot of my homepage but if it doesn't, sorry and you need to go look for it.


Framing is the key

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 actual 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.


Just another Guy! said...

I really love the Sam & Tina stories.

Such a wealth of stuff!

All good.


dangergirl said...

Thanks SinfullyAnon - glad you came by to visit my little slice of cyberland.

You put a smile on my face with your kind words :-D


sinfullyanon said...

I just read this one for the 2nd time.
I love these characters.
Smart & sassy..:)


dangergirl said...

thx sinfullyanon - as a matter of fact there is another one floating around in my head. You just inspired me to get it on paper !!


chungdokwanus said...

i love your Sam/Tina stories. Do you have a story when Sam got her first spanking form Tina. If you do i would love to read it. you should write more. i love your work.