Better late than never, right?
I’m late with my birthday spanking blog, I know. Not like me to be off my schedule, OCD as I am. But it’s been an unusual birthday.
Before I get to yesterday’s festivities, I need to touch on the weekend a bit more. I know John wanted to make it wonderful and special; he always does. But the timing couldn’t have been worse. The man was absolutely trashed; he’d just come off two grueling weeks of insane hours on a project from which he got summarily removed at the end, he had a bad cold and wrenched back. I know he was trying to put on a good face, especially on Saturday night, and I love him for it. But I knew better.
As soon as we got home from our lovely dinner and dessert, he fell asleep on the couch. I was worried about him and didn’t sleep well. And the next day, I guess it all kind of caved in on him, and he was despondent. He was dreading going back to work the next day, because of the manager who had been so rude to him. He felt like a failure because he’d done his job to the best of his ability (and then some) and it wasn’t appreciated. I know John; I know a great deal of his self-esteem is tied up with his work, and this was killer. When I saw him like this, the strain of the past couple of weeks caught up to me as well, and I burst into tears in the restaurant at brunch. Not good.
We went home, and I tried my best to give him a pep talk. Regarding the manager who’d yelled at him on Friday, I reminded John that this guy has always had a bad temper; he blows off, and then he forgets about it and it’s like nothing happened. Chances are, that was the case this time as well. And if John was worried about it, perhaps he should go talk to him the next morning. John said, “Well, I’ll wait to see if I bump into him in the kitchen or something.” “No,” I said. “Don’t wait. Get it over with; go see him first thing.”
When I went home, I felt like crap. Worried about John, and yeah, selfishly sad about my birthday and my own mixed feelings about it. It dawned on me, after the fact, that for the first time in 16 years, John hadn’t sent me birthday flowers. Not that I think that’s my due, but it’s something he always does. And he always sends them early, anywhere from a couple of days to a week prior to the date. My logical mind said, “Don’t take it personally; he’s been in hell the last two weeks.” But my inner, insecure little self said, “You’re not a priority in his life anymore. You’re too damned old. It’s his work, then his mother/family, then you.”
Monday morning, John sent me a text, saying that I was right; he’d talked with the manager and the guy was fine, friendly, even thanked him for his work. He was hugely relieved (as was I). We have a silly couple-y thing we do: we sign all correspondence (email, texts) to each other with LYVM (Love You Very Much). This time, John signed off with “LYMTYCI.”
Took me a minute, but I figured it out. “Love You More Than You Can Imagine.”
I felt better. I worked out, came home, showered and dressed and made up… and then Mr. D called. More bad news about the neighbor he’s been caretaking. Really bad. He offered to come over later that evening, but I said no; I knew his heart wouldn’t be in it, I could hear it in his voice. He suggested the next day, and I said yes. He kept apologizing, but he really didn’t have anything to apologize for. After we hung up, I thought, “Fuck it. Let it go, Erica. It’s life. Life doesn’t revolve around you and your damned birthday. Forget about it.” I stripped off all the nice clothes I’d put on, laid them out to put back on the next day.
Yesterday morning, it felt like a different world. I’d had a call into the building manager to change my A/C filter, and he came over and did so. Instantly, I could feel a better flow of air from the vents. Plus, the weather finally gave us a break and dropped into the 80s. Amazing how life always feels better when you’re physically comfortable. Then, later in the morning, my doorbell rang. It was a delivery for me… a massive bouquet of long-stemmed peach roses. What John always sends to me. My spirits kicked up another notch. I love you more than you can imagine as well, sweetie.
Then, it was Mr. D time. He arrived around 1:30, and he brought me flowers! A beautiful flower box filled with big, bright sunflowers and two-toned yellow/orange roses, with greenery. I went from no flowers to two bouquets. On September 25, three days after the fact. Talk about surprises. 🙂
We sat and talked for a long time, catching up. He told me about his vacation, and then what was going on with his neighbor. I told him about the past couple of weeks: John’s work hell, my stepfather losing his license, etc. Before we started our play, he had to make a call to his friend’s doctor about some meds he was supposed to get which had been denied by the pharmacy. Of course, he got snarled up in a mess of being on hold, being disconnected, listening to recorded “Your call is important to us” messages, blah blah blah. But finally, that was done and it was birthday spanking time.
My entire body and soul was craving it, by now. I wanted that sweet oblivion, that pain that clears my mind; I needed to go to my special place. He knew that, too. But he took his time, giving me slow swats, lingering with rubbing, stopping to lean over and whisper to me. Normally, I love all that. This time, I was half out of my mind with impatience.
So… once we’d moved to the bedroom, and he’d picked up a couple of implements, I lost it. When he paused yet again to speak to me, I snapped, “Stop. Talking.”
“Excuse me?” he said. I grit my teeth. “I said, STOP. TALKING.”
“Say that again?” he said, putting his hand on my bottom.
“Is there something wrong with your hearing?” I asked. “You said you just got your eyes checked; have you thought about having your ears checked too?”
Yeah, that was really rude. I didn’t mean it, and he knew I didn’t. But that tipped the scales.
Soon, I was moaning and muffling shrieks in the bedspread, and, as the expression goes, taking the Lord’s name in vain. And he continued until I broke down. It didn’t take very long.
“Let it go, baby,” he murmured. “You need just a little more.” I nodded. I knew I did. He finished me off, snapped a couple of pictures, then came down to the bed to soothe me.
What do you think, kids? Did I get a good birthday spanking?
We talked for a long time afterward. “So,” he asked, “aside from the stress about John and all, how do you feel about this birthday? How do you feel about turning 55?” (It will be his turn, in five months.)
I didn’t hesitate for a second. “I hate it. It sucks.”
He seemed genuinely surprised. “Why?”
I have to stop for a second and interject something. Mr D is a very unusual man, y’all. He’s a native Californian, but you wouldn’t know it. It’s like he comes from another culture altogether. He thinks ageing is wonderful. He thinks women grow hotter and more beautiful, the older they get. He is my age (sans five months), but he could pass for his late 30s. And he could get any of the young ‘uns he wanted. But he doesn’t want them; has zero interest in them. That blows me away, truly.
He’s seen pictures of me from when I was younger, and he thinks I look better and prettier now. I don’t get it. I really, really, really don’t. I’ve never met anyone quite like this. When I told him that the first thing I’d do if I won the lottery is get a facelift, he was genuinely shocked. And upset with me.
Anyway, since I don’t share his appreciation for age, I replied, “Because I feel old. I feel like life pretty much declines from this point on, with age and illness and so forth. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t had a very good year. No one wants to shoot with me anymore, I’ve had a lot of worry over John, I lost my mother, I lost [ST]… I feel like this whole year has been about saying goodbye, especially to my youth.”
He leaned close and whispered, “Well, say hello to me.”
Later, we went out to get a bite to eat, at a nearby Japanese restaurant, which turned out to be a good choice. I got a seafood salad and a side of brown rice, and he got a few orders of different sushi, and shared his eel with me (no wisecracks from any of you). And after we were done eating, he sang happy birthday to me, right at the table.
He’d gotten a call from CVS pharmacy, saying that one of the meds for his neighbor had been approved and was ready, so he had to get back home to pick it up before they closed at 9:00. It was now 8:10, so we had to hustle and get back to my place, so he could pick up his stuff and hit the road. I wished he didn’t have to leave so quickly; I’d hoped he could linger, maybe watch a video, play a little more. But I was being greedy. His neighbor needed him.
Big hugs, many thank-yous, and he was out the door. I was just about to settle in, change my clothes, etc., when my phone rang. He hadn’t been gone more than 30 seconds, but I knew it was him. So I snatched up the phone and playfully said, “Whaddaya want NOW?”
His growl came down over the phone. “Bring me your panties. Now. QUICK.”
Oh, no! We’d forgotten the panty ritual! Giggling, I tore my panties off, balled them up in my fist and ran out of my apartment, down the hall and out to the foyer, where I saw him outside the door, grinning at me. I dashed over, opened the door and handed them to him.
I know. We’re twisted. I told John that Mr. D takes my panties home every week and then trades them off the following week, and he yelped, “He has a panty fetish?? What kind of a sick @#$% is this guy??” LOL!
Here are my birthday flowers, plus some cards (yep, some people still give hard-copy cards!).
I snapped this with my cell phone, since my regular camera’s battery was dead. For whatever reason, the color of John’s roses are off. But just imagine that they are peach. 🙂
Feeling very soft and at peace today. Finally. Like I said, better late than never.