Ever Have One You Just Can’t Forget?

I really don’t like admitting vulnerability on here; while it helps readers relate to me, it also opens me up to ridicule from haters who have nothing better to do. But sometimes, in the process of letting go, one has to first admit there’s something they’re holding onto. I know this won’t be relatable to those who only play with their spouses/mates, but for those who have known the unique connection of a play partner who isn’t your primary, hopefully you’ll get this.

In 2019, I was in a bad place, emotionally. In the second half of 2018, I’d had a friend/play partner I’d let in and trusted completely, who ended up hurting me so badly I dropped out of the scene. I deactivated on FetLife and stopped going to parties, so I fell out of contact with a lot of people I was once close to. And then, in the summer of 2019, I met the man I referred to on here as D. He had answered my long-standing Alt ad.

Mind you, I was in a fog of depression. My spanking libido was nil. My confidence was even lower. But this guy tweaked my deadened nerves. He was warm, friendly, full of questions about me, open about his own experiences. We exchanged copious quantities of email. And yes… he was gorgeous, if I could go by his pictures.

We met for coffee… from the get-go, the attraction was mutual and intense. I remember the way he looked at me, the sparkle in his eye. I remember sitting at the table with him, staring at his face, his big hands, his beautiful physique in a suit. I felt that old familiar stirring, one I thought was long dead and buried. That click. That chemistry. That elusive, indescribable something that’s either there or it isn’t. And daaaaamn, was it ever there in this case.

In the following months, we had three incredible scenes at my place. He brought me chocolate each time. He was fun, sexy, good with his hands and with implements, great with the talk, and very eager to learn and improve. Very caring about how my experience had been, how I was feeling. And the attraction? I am not ashamed to admit that my physical attraction to him made our scenes all the more amazing. I can’t explain what it was or how it was happening, but I was like a teenage in hormone hell around this man. My legs would tremble so hard, I could barely stand. My body came alive in every way. No, we didn’t do anything sexual, just played very intensely and I wept in his arms. But yeah. After feeling rejected and horrible for so long, it was pure joy to feel this alive and sexy and wanted again. Plus, I liked him. I liked talking with him. I saw this as something that could be a real friendship that lasted for years.

But it didn’t.

As you guys may remember, he slowly slipped away, got more distant, wrote less, texted less, told me again and again how busy he was. I knew he worked two jobs… but as I’d said then, he’d always had those two jobs and he still found the time to write and text before. And of course, all the old insecurities kicked in, wondering what I’d done or said, blah blah blah. And then, in a moment of weakness, I posted this blog entry.

And he read it. Shit.

He wrote a long email, apologizing, saying he didn’t mean to make me feel that way, that it wasn’t me, it was him… and then admitted that he was back with an on-again, off-again girlfriend. Our play had been great, he learned a lot, I’m sexy and beautiful, and anyone would be privileged to play with me.

I read between the lines. I reread what I had posted and cringed. More than likely, he thought I was a neurotic, needy nut job and he was backing way off, as kindly as he could.

And I was heartbroken. I couldn’t believe I’d found this kind of special friendship again, only to have it yanked away. It took me a very long time to move past it. I’d see his profile on Alt still, and I could see that he had looked at mine. Several times, long after he ended things. But then his profile was deactivated.

Life went on. I played with others, eventually went back to FetLife, and went back to parties. The person who had broken me in 2018 was no longer around. Then Covid hit and I didn’t play with anyone for 15 months. I found C and reunited with Mr. Woodland, and kept up my search for someone regular. I had moved on, or so I thought.

Last week, I had a coffee date with someone who had been giving me the runaround for, quite literally, months. He was interested, he wanted to meet, then he’d disappear. Then reappear, and start up the correspondence again. He told me one name, and then another name. We were writing on Fet, and then he gave me an email address… that didn’t work. We made a plan to meet… and he stood me up. And then apologized profusely and pleaded for another chance. I said okay… and then he disappeared for seven weeks. By then, I’d said screw it, this isn’t happening. Until he contacted me again. I was skeptical, but he seemed sincere this time. He gave me a proper email address. He sent face pictures. He answered messages in a timely manner. And I thought, what the hell. I was curious. After all this, I just had to see who this was.

Long story short — we met last Wednesday. He was 40 minutes late. The pictures he’d sent me were of a much younger man. And the vibe was all wrong. When I said I was sorry but I just wasn’t feeling what I needed to feel, he abruptly got up and walked away. And I went home.

And on the drive home, D flooded into my mind unexpectedly. I couldn’t help but compare the difference between this coffee date and the one I had had with D in 2019. Oh my God, I wanted that again.

When I got home, before I could talk myself out of it, I emailed D. Kept it brief — just said I didn’t know what his situation was these days, but if he should ever want to play again, my door was open. I also said that if the answer was no, that he didn’t have to reply, and I’d have my answer.

Of course, he didn’t reply. I knew he wouldn’t.

I wish I could talk with him one more time. I wish I could tell him that I’m really not a needy, neurotic nut job, that I’m an independent woman with a partner I adore, but I have specific spanking needs and they are hard to fulfill. That he came into my life at a time when I was at a very low and vulnerable point, and that I developed an attachment to him probably too quickly. I wish I could tell him that I don’t want anything from him except play now and then, friendship, and that lovely bliss from great scenes with someone who gets it, who gets me. But I can’t. And I have to let this go.

It’s disconcerting, to say the least, to have all these feelings come crashing back three years after the fact. I am not sure why last week’s encounter made this happen. But I gave it one last try, and now I need to let go.

The other night, feeling defeated, all I could think was, “I am just so fucking tired.” And then, out of nowhere, a lyric from an old Electric Light Orchestra song, “Hold On Tight,” came into my head.

When you need a shoulder to cry on
When you get so sick of trying
Hold on tight to your dream

I guess that’s all any of us can do.

Have a good weekend, y’all. Be safe. ♥

Ah, memories…

Most of you guys know I edit kinky erotica. Today I was working on a book and one scene had the woman stripped naked and about to go over the man’s knee. He was still fully dressed in a good suit, and she expressed concern that she was going to make a mess of his pants. He smirked and said, “That’s what dry-cleaning is for.” He then went on to taunt her that he’d probably tell his dry-cleaner all about it and how it got there.

Art imitates life, or is it the other way around? Whatever. Reading this, I was reminded of the time a couple of years ago when I was playing with D. We only had three scenes, but holy damn, I was fiercely, unusually attracted to this man. And when we played, well, you know… bodies do what bodies do. I secrete when I’m beat. And D always came over from work, so he was in a suit.

Cut to a couple of days later — D emailed me and teasingly informed me that he’d had to take his suit pants to the cleaners because of a prominent stain. (“Did I do that?”) I got the giggles over that, but what made me guffaw was when he went on to tell me that the cleaner had asked what it was! D, not expecting the question and feeling flustered, muttered something along the lines of, “Uh… I dunno… something fell in my lap.”

He said the cleaner gave him a funny look.

Still laughing.

Have a great weekend, y’all. ♥

Dare I say…

…it’s ABOUT FUCKING TIME???

Yup… eleven days past the actual event, finally got my birthday spanking. 😀

Wednesday I got email from D. He was trying to move some things around at work, and he could come over the next morning — was I available?

Was I available? Is Donald Trump orange?? I mean, yeah, I had work and stuff, but everything was flexible. So I answered, very simply, “Yes, please.” Especially to the part where he mentioned “bare-assed punishment.”

I’ve come to realize something: my views on the word “ass” have definitely changed. Years ago in my book, I wrote that I didn’t care for it, I thought it was crass, and that I preferred “bottom.” But now, it seems that my feelings about the word are dependent upon who is saying it. From a stranger on Alt.com, it’s still kind of overly familiar and icky. But from someone I know and like, in the right context? It’s pretty damned hot.

Anyway — we set it up for 10:30. I got up at 8:00, made some coffee, but declined to eat breakfast for obvious reasons. Once I was ready, I worked until he arrived, looking handsome as always in his suit. This time, he had a backpack with him and had brought a pair of board shorts, so he could change out of the hot and heavy suit. Good idea (although I missed watching him roll up his sleeves). He went into my bathroom to change, and came out wearing the shorts and an undershirt. Fortunately, it was much cooler here than it had been the last time he visited.

Oh, and he came with some chocolate. 🙂 I don’t remember this, but I guess at some point I’d mentioned that I love peanut M&M’s, and he brought me some of those. Happy me! But that was for later. We had other things to attend to.

(I didn’t put out any implements this time. Hey, he didn’t tell me to. Yeah… bad idea, Erica. It’s a hell of a lot easier to just put the damn things out beforehand, than to have to stagger into the bedroom half-dressed mid-scene — TWICE — to retrieve them.)

As before, we made use of nearly every area in my living/dining room area — the couch, the recliner, the dining room chair, my desk. On the latter, I tried to move everything aside, but as we progressed, I could hear things crashing onto the floor — my WiFi modem, a small framed picture, my mouse. Oh well. Wreck the place, I didn’t care at the moment. I’d deal with it later.

Our play gets a little bit better each time, I think. He is more familiar with me, has more confidence in knowing what I like. And I am more relaxed, letting go immediately and feeling the endorphins soar. Every time I feel his fingers snaking up the back of my neck, I know that fist is going to tighten in my hair and mmmmmmmmmpphhhh… He has incredible hands. Way, way back when I wrote my very first spanking ad, I included the question: “Do you have hands that can both caress and chastise?” D definitely does.

I wanted to play hard yesterday. It had been six weeks since I’d seen him, I didn’t know how long it would be until I see him again, and I wanted to make our time count. I felt very connected to him and trusting. When we’d been at it for a while, I noticed he wasn’t ramping it up quite as much as he had before. I waited, hoping he would, but it wasn’t happening. I really hate topping from the bottom — I know it seems like that’s something I do a lot, with bratting, but truth be told, I’d rather not once the scene is to the point where I just want to shut up and feel. But I couldn’t help it; at one point, during a flurry with my wooden paddle, I blurted, “Oh, please, harder!” He obliged readily, and that did it — I felt that push, that challenge, dancing on the line between pleasure and pain, between just enough and too much. “Thank you,” I breathed.

He must have heard the change in my voice, the wavering, the sounds more pained. “Almost done,” he murmured. The last bout was back over my desk with my leather paddle, fast and hard, my back bowed, my hand over my mouth to stifle the reactions. I did not cry this time, but I shook all over. My legs would barely hold me up. He dropped the paddle with a decisive thud and gathered me into his arms, where I trembled and clung. So good. So. Damn. Good.

He hung out a while, gave me a nice massage with lotion, we chatted a bit, but unfortunately, he had a 1:15 conference call waiting for him back at work and had to get going. (sigh) I’m grateful he was able to carve out some time. It sounds like all he’s been doing lately is working, and working some more. I reluctantly said goodbye to him. Thank you, D. ♥

After he left, I thought, oh, damn. We forgot pictures again. Since I still had plenty of color, I once again tried the bathroom mirror selfie thing. My first try was somewhat decent, but not great:

So I tried again. And again. And a few more times. Until I finally got this one and said okay, good enough.

I realized I was ravenously hungry, so I inhaled a bowl of cereal and then attempted to settle down into work, but I was feeling so spacey and blissful, it was hard to concentrate. How many times have I expressed that I wish I could capture that bliss, that euphoria, and keep it a while? I need to remember how it feels. So, putting work aside once again, I attempted to capture my mood in another selfie. I think I did pretty well.

This is pure joy. This is peace. This is a fulfilled and happy woman. When my old buddy depression stomps into the picture again, I can look at this and remember — yes, I can feel good too. No matter how weepy/droppy/utterly blech I get, to the point where I can’t remember feeling any other way, I can look at this.

I suppose some people out there would feel sorry for me, thinking, “Sheesh — she needs pain to feel like this??” Ah, they’ll never understand. It’s not about pain. It’s about the connection. It’s about the trust, the chemistry, the mutual attraction, the endorphins. (Okay, and about the pain, too. But that’s just part of it.)

Later in the afternoon, I felt peckish again and was going to have a protein drink. But then I looked at the package of peanut M&M’s. I noticed the calorie count was the same as a bottle of Boost. And hey, there is protein in peanuts, so… Yeah, don’t judge me. They were delicious. 🙂 And besides, D told me later that he had indulged in a chocolate whoopie pie and even sent me a picture of it. So there.

(And you’ll all be glad to know that despite the distractions, I got all my work done.)

Today, I am tired and sore and still feeling the afterglow. Taking my good mood into the weekend, and looking forward to celebrating John’s birthday (tomorrow!). I have presents and treats for my sweetheart and will take him to dinner tomorrow night.

Oh, and speaking of birthdays, here’s a Flashback Friday for ya: Today is my beloved Danny Chrighton’s birthday! Those of you who have been with me since my MySpace blog days, remember this little incident we had with his birthday cake? 😀

Ah, memories.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 9/20

Yup, I’m still getting this crap, kids. I guess some things never change. And I suppose, in a perverse way, I should be grateful. After all, there will more than likely come a day when I’m bawling, “Why isn’t anyone perving me anymoooooore??” (eye roll)

MMMMMMM you like black cock you like to get your pussy pound deep and hard and fuck hard….. you like taboo

MMMMMMM… I like my butt spank. Bye now.

hi you looking to meet and get knotted let me know if your interested i have a trained pet

WTAF is getting knotted? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Buzz off, Junior. (Did I mention this one is 25?)

This one is in response to my never-ending lament about how I hate the “compliment” of someone saying I look good “for my age.”

I think your ass looks very nice for any age,,,,, I do think it would look nicer with a good spanking and a dick shoved up in it tight

(looking around) I’m sorry. I’m trying to discover who asked you what you think. Tight? You wish, honey. I get the feeling your tiny little member wouldn’t be tight in a thimble.

And finally, while we’re on the “of a certain age” BS…

Ready to start your cougar training?
ever thought about you being a live in full time?

You ready for me to claw your fucking face off?? And to answer your question… well, let’s review. I love my boyfriend of twenty-three years, and I still have no desire to live with him. So why in nonexistent deity’s name would I think about living with the likes of you?

I will say this for the twenty millionth time: Calling a woman a cougar is not a compliment. Knock. It. OFF.

Moving on, but speaking of age, I have another birthday this Sunday. Christ, didn’t I just have one? 😛 This week, feeling droppy after my intense experience with B last week and also feeling the birthday blues, I was so hoping I could play with D. Alas, it was not meant to be. He’s still around… but inaccessible. Working insane hours all week, and the only free time he has is on weekends… and I’m not around then. (sigh) Color me frustrated. (What color is frustration, anyway?)

Yesterday afternoon, speak of the devil, D texts me out of nowhere from work. He’s never done that before; he always emails. For about a split second, I wondered if maybe he was going to say, “Hey, if I take the afternoon off, you wanna play?” but I knew that was ridiculous. Responsible adults don’t do stuff like that. No, he was just saying hi. And then he segued into how he’s been “reminiscing” about our last scene. (Five weeks ago already!! Where the hell does time go??)

Oh, yeah?

Then he typed out a few of those memories. Nothing graphic, just… well. Yeah, I remembered them too.

And then he had to go on a conference call. Bye bye.

Well, hell. In a lather, I texted Jay and asked how the hell I’m supposed to work now after getting texts like those. She wrote back that I should tell him to stop reminiscing and start reenacting.

Oh, I liked that. I liked that so much, I emailed it to him later. I told him he had distracted me from work, that I’d been so flustered that I had to stop and do a workout. That he really should stop that. No, really. Stop it some more.

He wrote back, laughing. “Sorry about that.” Oh, sure. Sorry, my unspanked ass. Then he added that as soon as this work crush eased, “reenacting” was a top priority for him.

Of course, I have no idea when that might be. It could be next week. Or next month. Or next year.

Sigh again. So no birthday spanking session for this girl. Sucks.

But I will be with John my whole birthday weekend, and I’m sure he’s got something or another up his sleeve. So I’m going to head over there later and immerse myself in birthday attention. ♥ Fun stuff.

Have a great weekend, y’all. (I would say “happy start of fall,” but here in Southern CA, we don’t have fall, just extended summer!)

Sweet relief

It had been a while, but last Thursday, I got to have a delicious fix. You know, that special cocktail of pain and pleasure and endorphins and firing synapses and all that hot sweetness that we spankos understand. And damn, did I need it.

I hadn’t seen D since our first play time a month ago, and I wanted to very much, but I’m not the one with two jobs and crappy commutes. I knew I had to wait and be patient. In the meantime, things have been crazy stressful this month. John was dealing with a hearing at work concerning his ongoing issues with them (yes, the saga continues), and I think the stress of it weakened him and he got sick with some sort of intestinal bug. All he wanted to do was sleep, and he’d stopped eating. The last time that happened, he ended up in the hospital with a strep infection that nearly killed him, so of course I was in a state of near-panic for days, until he went to the doctor. Sure enough, he’d contracted a secondary bacterial infection and they put him on antibiotics, which helped right away. But between worrying about him, trying to focus on my work, dealing with my feelings about skipping Shadow Lane and why, and the ongoing bad news every freaking day, I was in a state. And working out only goes so far, you know?

Soooooo… on Thursday morning when I heard from D, asking if I was available later that afternoon, I considered it — for about three and a half seconds. You guys know me; I’m all about plans and schedules and spontaneity makes me break out in hives. But damned if I was going to say no to this! I wanted to see him. I wanted to play. I wanted to forget about everything for a couple of hours.

He said he’d know for sure if he could make it by 2:30. So I swung into action, doing two loads of laundry, working, getting a workout in, showering, done with everything by 2:30. I figured if he could make it, I’d cleared away the immediate responsibilities. And if he couldn’t, then I’d just be freed up to do some more work. Win-win. But of course, it was so much better that he confirmed yes. 🙂

He was at my door by 4:15, looking sharp as ever in his business suit. It was nearly 100 degrees outside, and I had the A/C and ceiling fan going full blast, but I knew he’d still be uncomfortably warm so encouraged him to take off his jacket and tie. He’d requested that I put out the “attitude adjustment tools” again; this time, I very sweetly laid them out on the bar instead of putting them in the trash can. I did say that there’s nothing wrong with my attitude, however. We sat on the couch, and he started unbuttoning his cuffs. This time, I had the presence of mind to stop him and take a picture. Because, really, isn’t this one of the hottest fucking sights there is for us bottoms?

While he was rolling up his sleeves, he was calmly regaling me with some story about why men’s shirts have two buttons side by side on the cuffs. Mind you, normally I enjoy trivia like this, but considering I was glazing over watching those forearms make an appearance, I honestly couldn’t care less at the moment if his cuffs had one button or two, snaps, or freaking safety pins. So I murmured, “Wow, that’s… fascinating.”

“Oooh, condescending! Ohhhkay,” he grinned. I tried to backpedal a bit, saying, “Well, it is interesting… I didn’t know that.” (Pause.) And then I added, “Nor did I care.”

(Just had a memory of Danny from long ago — one of his favorite scold-y phrases. “Oh, Erica. When will you learn??” To which I always answered, “How about never? Does never work for you?” Clearly, I still haven’t learned.)

Our scene was a long one, with multiple parts. We started with me OTK on my couch, with his hand. Moved to me bending over my desk, with his hand and (I think) my leather paddle. Break for a hug with him sitting in my recliner and me on my knees before him, and then he lifted me up and over the arm of the recliner and continued spanking. And finally, just like our first time, he brought me over to the dining room chair and put me back OTK there, picking up my heart-shaped paddle.

He was toppier this time, I noticed. “Come on, stick that butt out. Arch your back, up on those toes.” I may or may not have called him a “fucking taskmaster” at some point. However, whenever I got into the right position, he’d croon, “Just like that. Good girl.” (What is it about the phrases “good girl” and “bad girl” that push so damn many buttons in equal measure?)

Oh, and while we’re on the subject of hot buttons — along with the aforementioned sleeve rolling, is there anything more delicious than a hand that wanders up the back of your neck, fingers slowly crawling, caressing, then swiftly tightening at the base of your skull? Never pulling, just a firm grip that lets you know you’re going nowhere. D has that down as well.

While I was over my desk, he stopped for a moment, saying he wanted to take a picture so that I could see how I was already marking. I appreciated how conscientious he was. He quickly snapped the shot, showed me, and I said, “It’s fine.” “You sure?” “Yes, D. Please don’t stop.” “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not done,” he assured me. Thank goodness.

(Sorry, kids, this picture’s a little rude, even though I’ve doctored it a bit):

The final scene in the dining room chair was what broke through all the crap. I had felt myself softening and transitioning as we moved through each step, feeling like a knot inside was being gently and persistently worked open. As the pain and intensity escalated and I reached my threshold, I remember thinking, “I need this so much. Thank you. Thank you.” There are few things more sublime than when you reach that pinnacle of vulnerability and you feel like you can just fall and strong hands will catch you. Toward the end, my feet were twisting and flying, my groans were coming right up from my gut, and I was out of my head, off the hamster wheel. My voice broke and the tears began. There wasn’t one bit of tension left in my body.

He took me to the couch and held me, soothing me, and I buried my face and wept. As I started to calm, the usual bit of self-consciousness slipped back. Some women look very pretty when they cry. I’m not one of them. And I can’t help remember what Amber “Pixie” Wells used to say about the dilemma of crying after a scene: “Tears are hot, but snot is not.” Oh, and my mascara wasn’t waterproof. So sexy. But, oh well. He didn’t seem to mind.

After I’d recovered a bit, he gave me another wonderful massage with lotion. I could really get used to this, y’all. Then we chatted for a while, heart rates calming, skin cooling, returning to normal. And well, of course, I couldn’t stay well behaved for very long, could I? I swear, I really never do learn. Sooner or later, I’m always going to revert back to mischief and sass. It usually doesn’t take very long, even after the most intense of scenes. Still, I don’t think D is quite used to me, because he was incredulous.

“You’re being naughty!” he exclaimed. “Yup,” I agreed. And just like that, he went from zero to Top in a heartbeat. His body language, voice, everything changed instantly. “Get over my knee, now,” he commanded.

Uh… what? But… we already had aftercare and everything. But… I’m all lotioned and stuff! But… Yeah. Miss Usually Articulate, all I could do was sputter, “But… but…”

“Don’t ‘but’ me,” he said firmly, pulling me into position. The spanking wasn’t super hard or long, but after all that had gone down earlier, it stung fiercely. When he sat me back up, I sulked, “Well… that was mean!”

(No, it really wasn’t. It was fucking hot. But we don’t have to tell him that, right?) 😀

Shortly thereafter, he had to leave. I was kind of sub-spacey, goofy, and I went to get his suit jacket. Of course, when I handed it to him, I managed to hold it upside down, dumping his wallet and keys and everything else out of his pockets. Ugh. Poetry in motion, that’s me. Finally managed to get the coat back on him, and then I sat down and watched with no doubt what was a dorky, dreamy face while he put his tie and his shoes back on. And then he was off.

I forgot to ask him for more pictures after we were done. So a couple of hours later, I took a picture myself. As you can see, I had faded substantially by then.

Interestingly, even though we played much harder this time, I wasn’t marked as when we played the first time. By Friday, there was little more than a mild blush on my skin. I was sore, though. Happily so.

The endorphin cocktail remained fizzing in my system the rest of the evening and all the next day. Funny how all the BS goes away for a while. Or maybe it’s still there and I just don’t care.

Thank you, D. Come around and see me again soon, won’t you?

 

 

Good things DO come to those who wait

And thank you to a dear friend who just told me that and gave me my blog title. ♥

The waiting ended up delivering; I heard from both B and D on Tuesday morning. First, I am in possession of a flight reservation up north next Wednesday to see B. Now that all the travel unknowns are knowns (yeah, I know that’s not a word, too bad), I know I will still have butterflies, but more of the good kind, as opposed to the “how many different ways can I eff this up” kind.

But that will be a story for next week. Yesterday, I played with D for the first time.

He emailed me on Tuesday morning and asked if I could play Thursday at around five. I had some things planned, but I was able to shift stuff around and I told him yes. We exchanged some more emails — he said maybe you can pick out some implements you like and put them out on the side for me to use after I warm you up. I replied that I could, but maybe I could just leave them where they are and if he wanted them, he could get them himself. 😛 Testing the waters, you know. I still wasn’t quite sure how he feels about playful bratting; I thought perhaps he liked it, but you never know until you actually do play. He also mentioned that he’d seen some of my video pictures where I was wearing garters and stocking, and if I was comfortable doing so, would I wear some for him. That was an easy enough request, one I was happy to do. My final note to him on Tuesday evening was “*sigh* Is it Thursday yet?”

The next day (Wednesday) I was climbing the freaking walls. I had set aside the whole day to just stay home and get stuff done; laundry, some cleaning, and lots of work. But the whole damn time I was squirming in my computer chair, with this endless litany in my head… Why isn’t it Thursday. Why isn’t it Thursday. And in the midst of this, an email popped in from him, one line:

Don’t worry, Thursday is approaching fast. I shall see you soon.

OMFG. What timing. How did he know??

Yesterday arrived. I got up early, had breakfast and did a couple of hours of work. Or I tried to, at least. He was torturing me, sending me a picture of a ruler from his desk. He said that rules — and wills — are meant to be broken. I sent back that so are ruleRs, and I was notorious for breaking things, sending a pic of me with a snapped cane.

Around noon, I gave up on work and took a break to do a workout, which I would have done anyway, but I really needed it now. By the time I was done with that and had showered, it was 2:00, so I still had time to do some work before I got ready.

My friend J was texting me to tease me a bit; at 4:00, I get “Only one hour to go!” I texted back: “Do you know how hard it is to put on makeup when your hands are shaking??” It’s true. I thought I was going to put my damn eye out.

By 4:30, I was nearly ready, and I was too wound up to work, so I went to catch up with Words With Friends. When I pulled up my move, I saw my letters were E B E T H R A. I don’t believe in messages, but if I did, this surely was one. My mind instantly rearranged the letters, and I got this:

A good reminder, no? (I was able to play the word, too, tacking the second E onto the T in TALE.)

And speaking of shaking hands, I had forgotten how incredibly difficult it is to hook garters onto stockings. It occurred to me I never do this by myself — I don’t wear garters unless I’m on a shoot or all dressed up at a party, and in those cases, there’s always John or someone else around to hook them for me. So I wrestled and fumbled and cussed mightily, but finally got the damn things situated in ten minutes. Just in time, too. Once again, he was on time, texting me. My apartment is security and rather than have him fussing with the intercom, I told him I’d come down and let him in.

He brought me chocolate. Two kinds. Both milk, my favorite. I don’t know how he knew; I hadn’t told him which kind, only that I loved chocolate. ♥ I know a lot of bottoms get gifts from tops, but I never expect them, and I’m always so tickled when I get a surprise like that, much like when B showed up with that espresso pot for me.

He was still in a coat and tie from work, so I took his jacket and went to hang it up, but he stopped me for a second, and then pulled that same ruler out of the pocket. Uh oh. By the way, I had kinda sorta done what he requested. I did select four implements — but I didn’t lay them out on a table. I put them where they belonged — in the trash can by my desk. 🙂

We didn’t spend too much time with preliminaries. He stood up, taking off his tie, and proceeded to unbutton his cuffs and roll up his sleeves. Slowly. Deliberately. I damn near died right there. “I hear you’re having a problem focusing,” he said. He sat down, and over his lap I went.

First times are always a little strange, in that we don’t know each other, he doesn’t know how much I can take, I don’t know what will spur him, he doesn’t know my body language and my various “tells,” etc. As one would expect, he started out very lightly. I have no issue with that; erring on the side of caution is better than jumping right in and tearing someone’s ass apart from the get-go. He picked up the ruler after a while with his hand — and after a few swats, the thing broke. No lie. The metal guide thingie running along the edge flew out, he said. “I told you I break stuff!” I cried, laughing hysterically. Time to get serious here.

Next, he had me lean over my desk so he’d have more swinging range, and explored the trash can’s implement contents. At first he was light with them, but then I put my hand on my mouse like I was going to open something and said, “Do you mind if I do some work while you’re busy back there?” Yeahhh… I think that did it.

He moved me around a bit, had me on all fours on my couch, kneeling at his feet while he sat in my recliner — and then he settled into a dining room chair, picked up my heart-shaped wooden paddle, the one that had been made for me years ago, and said, “Come over my knee.” The remainder of the scene took place there, and things ramped up exponentially.

You guys know when I am really starting to feel it, I can’t keep my feet still. Both my shoes flew off. He was a little concerned with how red I was turning. We took a brief time-out and he asked if I was sure I shouldn’t go look at it. No, I said. I’m okay. I get really red, and then it fades. I appreciated that he cared, and I took a chance then. I know some would say this is topping from the bottom (I hate that expression), but I thought it was more like giving someone new to me a bit of guidance. So I quietly said, “You can go harder and faster if you want to.”

He did.

His hand wandered up my neck and his fingers went into my hair… and then his fist tightened. The paddle was coming down faster. And then it slipped out of his hand and landed on the floor out of his reach, but within mine. “Would you hand that to me, please?” he asked.

Taking the chance to catch my breath, I gasped out, “Give me one good reason why I should do that.” He laughed, and answered, “So I can continue your spanking.” In reply to that, I picked up the paddle… and tossed it a few feet away.

Again, I was taking a chance. Some tops don’t like that kind of playfulness. But he responded well, powering down again with his hand. Next break, he said, “I guess I’m going to have to go get that paddle.” I was already in transition, so I murmured, “I’ll get it for you.” And I did.

We were nearing the end. My legs were trembling, my feet were twisting together, I had my hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my reactions. I suddenly reached a point of breaking, and I blurted, “Oh my God, D, please, please, PLEASE!”

He stopped. Right in time. More would have been too much. He went exactly where I needed him to go.

I slumped to the floor, and he gathered me up into his arms, where I clung to him and trembled all over until he pulled me up and guided me to the couch. There, he soothed me, caressed me, whispered to me. “You let go of all the bad stuff, didn’t you,” he murmured. Oh, yes.

After I’d calmed down a bit, he asked for some lotion, and had me stretch out on the couch so he could massage my butt and lower back. I felt very comfortable stripping off my dress, and that massage was heaven, so comforting.

“Would you like some pictures, so people can see how red your butt is?” he asked. My first thought was, “It’ll be faded by now,” but I said sure. Yeahhhhh… turns out I was quite mistaken.

I was really surprised. And very pleased. “Remember — you asked for it!” he reminded me. I assured him I most certainly did, and I don’t regret a single swat of it. I needed that. I needed that so, so badly.

I put my dress back on, and we relaxed for a bit, eating some of the chocolate he’d brought, talking, and then he had to go. It was 7:15. I sent him off with warm hugs and thank you’s, texted John to let him know I was okay, straightened up the living room and took a shower. The rest of the night was floaty, spacey, in that surreal place. I did a little more work, answered email, and crashed in front of the TV. I was ravenously hungry and food tasted so good. And more chocolate.

This morning, I woke up to find a very sweet follow-up email, checking in on me, sharing his thoughts about our scene. I especially liked the sentence, “I thought this was a nice start.” The word “start” implies that there is going to be more, yes?

I don’t know what will happen and how we’ll work it. He lives close, but works far. He works two jobs. And I’m unavailable on weekends. So it might be challenging. But I am hoping he wants to play more as much as I do.

In a strange place today, emotionally. Still kind of floaty, but more focused. Very, very sore, but happily so. And feeling a bit of disbelief and unfamiliarity with the sense of well-being. I feel like I’ve been waiting for it for so long. What with the issues from last year, plus my shoulder and my back giving me trouble, I didn’t think I could ever feel really happy, really blissful again. I thought the two times with B were a fluke. Even yesterday, there was a niggling little part of my brain telling me that D might cancel. There’s always going to be that glass-half-empty side to my psyche, I’m afraid. I get something good and then wonder when it will go away, and how.  Enough of that for now, dammit. At this moment in time, I feel good. Some doors have closed, but finally, it seems windows are opening. John always says, “Stay in the day.” Hard to do sometimes, but he’s right. This day is all we have.

Have a great weekend, y’all.