The Void

Damn, the walls are hard. I should know. I’ve been bouncing off of them non-stop.

Yeah, I know; I almost never blog on Tuesdays. Creature of habit, that’s me. Lover of ritual. Perpetuator of predictability. Well, screw it. I’m writing anyway, because I feel like it.

Monday nights have been the same for nearly two years. Not just the visit from ST, but the hours after he leaves. I change into PJs, take off my makeup and wash my face. I make myself something to eat, as I am ravenously hungry. I go through the photos he took, resize and crop them. I blog about our scene. I read the paper and do the crossword puzzle. Then I watch Jay Leno’s Monday night “Headlines,” eat some chocolate, and pour myself into bed.

Last night, I felt a strange restlessness later in the evening. I waited for sleepiness to overcome it, but it did not. No Leno, since the damned you-know-whats are pre-empting all of NBC’s programming. I watched some old repeats of “Friends” and ate my chocolate. Around 1:00, I went to bed.

But I was missing something. That lingering, stinging, delicious pain. That stoned, boneless exhaustion born of intense endorphin surge and stress release. This morning when I awoke and rolled over, I didn’t groan at the sweet, stiff ache in my bottom. Because it wasn’t there.

Dammit. I have been spoiled. And I am experiencing withdrawal. My limbs twitch in my computer chair, unable to relax. Is there such a thing as spanking DTs?? In “The Lost Weekend,” Ray Milland hallucinated and saw big black menacing birds flying around inside his room. I see flying paddles.

I know. I could have been spanked last night. But I just wasn’t ready to play with someone new yet. It’s easy to look back now and say I should have played with him. Coulda, shoulda, woulda. It wouldn’t have been right, and I know it. Still, the craving is there. The void is there.

I need to let the void be there for a bit, feel it, acknowledge it. I know myself. When I rush to fill voids, to fill that emptiness, I don’t feel better. I know I’m compromising myself and others. That’s why I didn’t play last night. I would have been grabbing at Mr. Possible to fill the void ST left, and that wouldn’t have been fair to him, to ST or to myself.

So today, I face the void. I face the restlessness. I can’t do this myself, but I comprehend what makes people self-spank. They crave that special pain, that impact. But that’s not enough for me. I need the contact of a spanker, of strong hands and arms. I need to hear his voice. Trying to recreate the sensation myself while imagining someone else is providing it just leaves me feeling frustrated and foolish.

Next week, after plenty of time to think, feel and process, I do believe I will be ready. I hope Mr. Possible has a really, really, really strong hand and arm. He will need it. Because I need it.

Do I have any fellow spanking addicts? Can I hear from you? What happens when you go without? How do you feel? What goes through your mind, your body?

"So, Erica, how was your Monday?"

It was certainly different. I was a bit nervous. I felt a bit out of whack, no pun intended.

But I had fun. 🙂

I don’t know what I’m going to call him yet. What was it that Hermione called him — Mr. Possible? Yes, definitely. I asked him if he was OK with my blogging about him, and he said absolutely.

No, we didn’t play. In some ways, I wanted to. But I knew I simply wasn’t ready yet. So, aside from a few test swats on my shorts, we refrained.

Instead, we talked, and talked, and talked some more. Asked questions. Talked about experiences, preferences, limits. I was comfortable enough to sass him a bit. I asked if he’d read my Friday blog, and he said, “No — what did you say?” And I told him to go read for himself; I wasn’t telling.

He said he’ll remember that. Yeah, whatever. 🙂

We watched a couple of my DVDs, short ones. He enjoyed them a great deal, which made me smile. He even watched one of the videos with ST. Watched our chemistry, saw our closeness. I know he won’t compete with that. He is who he is, and ST is ST. Separate people, separate interactions. I showed him how to navigate FetLife; he’d just joined.

He was sweet. Kept checking in with me, asking how I was doing, how I was feeling. Very much into communication; I do like that. Reassured me time and again that it was OK we weren’t playing, he was simply enjoying hanging out with me and getting to know me better. I felt the same.

Three hours later, he was going to head out. “So,” he said, looking me straight in the eye, “let’s see how kinky you are.”

Oooh. A challenge. “Yes?”

“I want you to go into the bathroom, take off your shorts, remove your panties, put your shorts back on, and bring your panties to me.”

Well, now. Interesting request. And yup, it gave me a little zing. “OK,” I said, “but the shorts are staying up!” “Understood,” he answered.

So I went into my bathroom, slipped off the shorts, then slid down the little orange-and-white striped thong. After putting my shorts back on and buckling my belt, I went back out to the living room.

He held his hand out, and I put the panties in them. Closing his fingers over them, he smiled and said, “These are going home with me.”

!!!!!!!!!!!

He promised to bring them back next week. And then take home the pair I’m wearing then.

I guess I’m kinky, because I thought that was hot as hell.

At the door, we hugged. He told me he’d had a great time, and thanked me for having him over. Then he added, “And please tell John thank you for being OK with this.” Yes. I’m a lucky woman, having a man who trusts me and grants me this freedom. I never forget that.

No pictures tonight, of course. Not sure when I’ll have those pictorial blogs again. But it’s one step at a time, and so far, so very good.

I will miss that deep, lingering soreness tomorrow, and that sleepy, dreamy bliss that never lingers long enough. But perhaps next week, we can make that happen. 🙂

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes, Part 2

Some of you (and I think maybe ST himself) may be wondering why I seem to have assumed that he and I won’t be playing anymore, now that he’s met someone. Granted, it may look like I’m being sort of black-and-white, one extreme or the other. And there could very well be an in-between, down the line. I’m simply operating from past experience.

I’ve lost several play partners in the past due to new relationships. A lot of girlfriends simply don’t understand the dynamics of a spanking partnership, and I get that. Some are more open-minded and secure, certainly. Others, notsomuch. After having experienced an episode years ago where the (now former) girlfriend of a former play partner was jealous to the point of psychosis and made things so unpleasant for both of us that he dropped out of the scene and I damn near did too, I know just how bad it can get.

When I told John three weeks ago that ST had met someone, his reply was, “I’m sorry, sweetie… better start looking, now.” He’s been through it with me, so he knows. Although his viewpoint on this sort of situation is rather pragmatic. “What’s the big deal?” he says. “Men should explain it this way: that it’s like having a tennis partner. They get together with their tennis partner, play an intense game, and then part company. They don’t go out on a date afterward and they don’t go to bed together. It’s a separate activity.” OK, while I can see the logic of that, my beloved engineer boyfriend is not factoring in human emotions. It’s not that simple, even though it should be. A spanking playmate is not a tennis partner. The latter keeps all her clothes on. There is no physical contact with the latter.

So. I wait. And because my nature is such, I expect the worst, but hope for the best. The best being, of course, that ST will be joyously happy with this new relationship, and still be able to come visit me now and then. But I know that for now, the weekly visits are a thing of the past.

I will miss those, certainly. It’s the first time I’ve been able to see a playpal/friend with such regularity. When Craig and I were playing, it was periodic. And even when Danny and I were playing regularly, it was more like every other week — and toward the end in the months before he moved away, the times got fewer and farther in between. But ST has been as dependable as the sunrise. He was a solid presence, unflappable, even though my moods ran the gamut from week to week.

They say when a door closes, a window opens. But what happens when the door is still ajar, and you don’t know if it’s going to close, or open back up? What if someone opens the window while you’re looking at the door?

I met a man last week. Someone who knows all about John and ST. He is local with a fairly flexible schedule, and his polite intro email to me did everything right. What do you know — two face shots and no dick pics! Hallelujah! He doesn’t want to replace anyone or push his way into anything. Just wants to help me deal with what’s going on, and play when I’m ready. Seems like a very nice guy. Cute, too. 🙂

I did all the proper things, folks — believe me, I learned my lesson about that last year! (wincing) I met him publicly, we talked a long time, I got all the pertinent information. He offered to come over tomorrow afternoon, knowing it will be my first ST-less Monday in a long time, and I will be feeling an emptiness. He does not expect us to play; he just wants to talk some more, maybe watch some of my videos.

I’m not ready to play with someone else, not just yet. I’m in a weird transition mode, not knowing which way things will go, and he knows it. And yet, he still wants to see me. The idea of friendly company tomorrow sounds wonderful. But I just can’t play yet. I’d feel like I was hurriedly replacing ST, which I most certainly am not doing, because he’s irreplaceable. If/when I play with someone new, it must be because I want to play with HIM, not because I just need to grab onto whoever’s available. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us.

I need more friends, y’all. A lot of people have exited my life in the past year or so, for various reasons, and my world has narrowed. I have so many wonderful friends online; I love my readers, love my email mates. But it had gotten to the point where my only real-time contact with others (besides the gym and other day-to-day stuff) was with John on weekends, ST on Mondays. Maybe it’s time for me to be more open to new possibilities. Open those windows. And leave the door open as well.

So tomorrow, I will have company, a new friend. It will be fun. And I will think of my dear old friend and smile, because I know he’ll be having a fabulous time.

Quickie random Friday thoughts

Happy Friday and congratulations to my fellow Chrosslings. Yup, still get the same thrill as ever.

This blog now has 199 followers. Wondering who’s going to be #200.

I currently have 666 friends on FetLife. ST commented on my wall that he can’t stop spanking me for a minute without my turning into a little devil. What can I say… 🙂

Spankos are partying in Chicago at Crimson Moon this weekend. (sigh) Isn’t it time for Shadow Lane yet? Hope everyone there is having a blast. Play some extra for me.

Probably hundreds of people will want to spank me for this, but I honestly don’t care about the Olympics. John watches them non-stop, so when I’m with him, I’ll see them. Otherwise? OK, maybe the gymnastics. But that’s about it.

And finally — yes, I know this is un-PC. I know it’s in questionable taste. I apologize to anyone who has dyslexia. But all that said, this still made me laugh out loud.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

You want me to read WHAT?

Earlier this week, Beth posted about seeing the Anne Rice “Sleeping Beauty” trilogy on the bookshelves at Target, here. It was on display right next to that other trilogy. She expressed her shock and surprise (and I agree with her) that the Beauty series would be so casually displayed in a family store. For those who aren’t familiar with it, it’s not wannabe stuff. It is hardcore BDSM, very dark. Not “BDSM For Dummies” like that other trilogy.

Reading Beth’s post reminded me of my own experience with the Beauty series, many years ago. In my book, I talked about how John took me to my very first scene party in October, 1996. There, we met a man named Patrick, who gave me my first public party spanking. We chatted him up quite a bit at that party, and he ended up inviting us to his house about a month later.

During our evening there, Patrick asked me if I’d read the Anne Rice Beauty trilogy. Honestly, I’d never even heard of it; pretty much all I’d read up to that point, as far as scene material was concerned, was a few spanking stories and Shadow Lane’s “Stand Corrected” magazine. Clearly, in his mind, this omission was unacceptable. “Oh, that is a must!” he exclaimed. And without any further ado, he marched into his bedroom and re-emerged with three books. “This is your reading assignment,” he announced.

I was a bit taken aback. Assignment? What was I, in grade school? But remember, I was a novice. Brand-new in the scene, just a few months. I was intimidated and thought, well, if he thinks I should read these, then I guess I should.

Oh, man. I knew I was in trouble from practically the first page. I hated it. There was very little spanking in it, as I was to discover. But there were plenty of harsh beatings, whippings, humiliations, torture scenes, ponyplay, and more. Metaphorically speaking, in my scene reading I was currently at the “Dick and Jane” level, and he’d just assigned me “War and Peace.” Plus, although there was a bit of M/F, there was also F/F, F/M and M/M, none of which resonated with me. So I winced and cringed and squirmed my way through the first book, “The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty,” not enjoying one bit of it.

Then I started the second book, “Beauty’s Punishment.” If possible, it was even worse, even more graphic. I got through about 1/4 of it, and then I slammed the book shut.

Why the hell am I subjecting myself to this? Because someone I barely know told me to? Screw that! He can take his assignment and… give it to someone else. I’ll read what I damn well please.

Yes, folks. My scene personality developed early. 🙂

The next time we saw Patrick, I brought him back his books, and politely but firmly told him I didn’t like them and wasn’t going to finish. I seem to recall he was a bit miffed at that, surprised that some still-wet-behind-the-ears subbie would defy his orders. I don’t think we saw him again after that.

So cut to 16 years later, and I still haven’t read the rest of the series. Nor do I intend to. And you know what? If, today, a man were to try to order me to read the 50 Sheds of Hay trilogy, I’d punch him right in the bazingas.

Ch-ch-changes

Three weeks ago, when ST came over, he told me that he’d met someone. Not just any someone; a potential relationship someone. A lovely woman with whom he’d had a wonderful first date. Spanks and sparks flew.

As long as I’ve known ST (nearly two years now), I’ve known he wants a girlfriend. It’s been a long time for him. And, while he loves what he has with me, I certainly can’t blame him for wanting more. He deserves the whole package — love, companionship, sex. I want all these good things and more for him.

She knows about me; he told her right away. She said she doesn’t know how she feels about that (our arrangement). We had three weeks to think about it, because right after their date, she left the country for a family vacation.

This weekend, she will be back. Next Monday, he will be with her, as he should be. The following week, he will be out of the state, attending a family wedding. After that… we don’t know.

I am not saying goodbye. But things are definitely changing. I think, even if she accepts me and my presence in ST’s life, we can assume that the weekly sessions are over. Maybe they’ll be once a month. Or maybe not at all, for a while. It’s a new relationship, after all. That should be his full focus.

As he put it, as of tonight, we are on hold.

I was determined I wouldn’t cry. I didn’t want him to feel bad, nor did I want him to leave with his last sight of me being a stupid blubbering baby. Ah, but screw it. I cried anyway. At least I got it over with before we played. This was our last time together for a while, and I was going to make it as much fun as possible. He wished to do the same.

So. He said this was going to have to be one hell of a spanking, in every room of my apartment, with every toy the two of us had. I was leaning against him and yawned. “OK, guess you’d better get on with it.”

“You need to get up, young lady.” And, in my oh-so-mature way, I replied, “Fuck you. Make me.”

Aaaaaaand we were off. First on the couch. Then over the recliner. And then we moved into the dining room. Each place we went, he chose a different implement.

 

 Next, the kitchen. With me over the sink. I threw a handful of water at him over my shoulder. He didn’t think that was amusing, even though I thought it was rather hilarious.

 I had to hold my skirt up so he could swat me all the way into the bathroom. Is nothing sacred? The bathroom, too?

 Uh huh. The bathroom, too.

 

Even in the shower, for God’s sake…
 

Finally, we ended up in the bedroom, and he retrieved all my implements from the closet and the drawer. Then he got down to serious business.

A couple of implements were sacrificed:

This one used to be a loop:

For the final photo, ST piled ALL the implements — his and mine — on top of me. We called this the Implement Avalanche.
 

After that, we took a break for some lotion and some snuggling. But you know what? We were both insatiable tonight. In about a half-hour, we started all over again.

“Are you learning anything? Are you going to be a good girl for a while?” I grudgingly said I would, for a little while. Very little.

We laughed a lot. It was fun. Just as I wanted it to be.

Goddammit. I hate change. I fucking hate it. Have I mentioned that? But I know others welcome it. I’ve always been an oddball that way.

I love you, my friend. My door is always open to you, as is my heart. Until we play again, I wish you all the best with this new and wonderful change in your life.