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?