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 ?
7.24.2008
7.18.2008
Out & About
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 !
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...
6.24.2008
A silver-lining moment
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' ?
'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
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.
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.
6.17.2008
Slut, tease or normal girl ?
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.
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.
6.16.2008
I wonder...
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.
6.11.2008
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.
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.
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