“But I wasn’t being bad…” She said peering intently outside where absolutely nothing was happening on the decrepit tennis courts…
“I know that honey” I said gently.
“Just come over here please…” I said from my seat at the bottom of the bed. My voice wasn’t menacing-certainly not threatening-it was soft, as I recall. Cajoling…
After a moment she turned reluctantly from the window and walked toward me. Backlit as she was, I couldn’t see her face but could clearly-or all I remember now- as she approached were her legs-long, strong and smooth.
It was our six month wedding anniversary and would be her first spanking.
Not long ago we were driving the back way to one of our favorite hiking spots in the mountains when we passed the Mountain Top Inn. It was freshly painted and the roof was new, but it looked about the same as it did those many years ago. It wouldn’t be at the top of anyone’s “go-to” lists but for a young couple with not much, it was 5-Star.
We talked about the walks we had taken that weekend, the antiques and some of the fall flowers we had picked and preserved. We were into that then. And of course we talked about the…
She said what she often said when reminded of the first time: “I thought it was a phase you would grow out of…” It would have been easier to grow out of being right-handed. It would have been easier for me to grow out of my stocky, swarthy body type into a sleeker Nordic model better suited to my taste in clothes. It would have been easier to…..you get the idea.
For me, the question always was-why had it taken so long for me to invite my beloved vanilla over my lap? We had been together four months-then married six. Ten months? Hell, my prom date ended up over my lap in the backseat of my buddy’s Catalina while everyone-including my date-laughed like hell. (God, how I wanted to lift her dress and pull her panties down. Wanted it so badly I think my hands were shaking. It might have eased the memory of never really having gotten past first base with her. Damn cheerleaders! Dick-teases all of them!…But I digress).
I blame our whirlwind courtship fraught with nasty family drama coming at us from all sides. Our rush to be married just two short months after deciding that we would, consumed us. We had a short time to get to know each other-plan some kind of wedding-juggle what seemed to be a tribe of supportive friends and, times being what they were, there was a seemingly endless parade of parties, drinking and general revelry. And the sex was what you would hope it to be in your twenties: fresh, new, mysterious and continuous. Maybe her first spanking had to wait for a routine to develop; for the first hint of “sameness” to poke its gray head into what we were doing.
For that first one we hadn’t yet instituted the practice of kissing when heads passed on the way over the lap so she settled herself hesitantly and cautiously on her belly. She thought I was going to swat her a few times on her panties and waited nervously. Instead I slipped my fingers into the elastic of her waistband and slipped them slowly and oh so s-l-o-w-l-y down: the first bottom reveal of our marriage. She lifted up to allow them to come down but said…”Oh man…” sort of breathlessly.
Me, as I recall, made that hissing sound that Hannibal Lecter made when he first smelled Clarice Starling. Can’t swear to it, but with the first swat I laid on her bare bottom, I’m sure my eyes rolled back in my head like a great white chomping a seal.
The spanking didn’t last too long. Probably no more than fifteen or sixteen smacks-mostly soft with ample cupping and rubbing and a lot of-no that is not a banana in my pants I am indeed happy to see you. Her bum was a sweet cotton-candy pink when I helped her back onto her feet and I wondered about the look in her eyes. Until she pushed me back on the bed with her panties still binding her at mid-thigh.
The chest thumping, sweat flying sex we had after the spanking left us so spent we dispensed with the planned afternoon hike and lounged instead in the green pool. Seriously. It was green. Come on, I said, it will be like swimming in a pond.
It took us a while to work out the complete ground rules of what we were doing when we realized this wasn’t going to be a once in a while type thing. A few weeks later we were playing racket ball and she missed a shot. Fierce competitor that she is, she slammed the ball off four walls sending me ducking then, to further impress anyone watching with how pissed off she really was, threw her racket.
I waited for her to regain composure before picking up the ball to serve. She picked up her racket, took a couple of breaths then popped me lightly in the chest with it. “See”, she said. “This is when you should spank me. When I deserve it, not just because.” Duly noted. But let the record show, I didn’t discard the “just because” option entirely.
Now as we were driving off into the mountains reflecting on a marriage of decades and literally countless spankings: birthday-spankings, punishment spankings, maintenance spankings, foreplay spankings (line blurs on that one) she, the converted vanilla, allows that it was probably spanking that saved our marriage. Or at least kept it from getting to a place where it would have needed saving.
Through up times, down times, jobs, no jobs, big money, no money, strong sex drive; no sex drive we have this thing, this one through-line to our marriage that grounds us as it binds us. Like a weird religion that we practice in private. No matter how distant we become from one another, which happens now and again, how often one of us might slip into that window staring ennui, we have something that will pull us back together.
As she explained to one of her vanilla friends who just didn’t get it “No matter how much we don’t like each other at times-there’s always this thing that we know we are going to do with each other that will break the ice and bring us close again. Plus it ends up with him rubbing lotion on my bare butt.”
And what could be wrong with that?