Living with a Spanko

This particular picture reminds me of B'Man and myself.  Me with the surprised, pained, but slightly aroused look on my face, and him with the perpetual grin.  This is what we look like when he's in his playful mood and I'm in my "Hey, take it easy," mode.

B'Man's obsession with my rear end has caused his behavior to blossom into constant grabs, pats and swats on public streets, in the lobby of the theater, in the grocery store... I'm not going to say that I don't love it. I do. We started exploring the concept of spanking because of my sexual sensitivity in that area in the first place. But now my crazy lunatic spanko of a husband has taken it to an HNL ( a hole nutha level).

Living with a spanko is a life dedicated to dodging bullets. B'Man is constantly on the lookout for opportunities to hone his spanking craft, and there's a certain sinister glee in his walk that tends to unnerve a woman committed to protecting her butt from pain. Sometimes I think my man has lost his mind.

There's a long hallway between our door and the lobby of our building, and I like to stand there in the morning as I watch him walk away toward the exit. Too often he will turn around and walk backwards and exclaim loudly enough for someone to hear through their doors, as well as any undetected persons in the lobby, that I am to behave myself or he will come home and "wax that ass." This is his favorite euphemism for spanking, and his favorite way of watching my face twist in mortification. The fact that he has an obsession with my butt is not a secret to the outside world anymore, and he's coming out of the closet at the most interesting times.

In Jamaica, we were in the local marketplace where B'Man picked up a spatula. Nothing hand made or interesting, just a regular metal and plastic spatula made in china. The merchant, knowing that we were tourists at the local resort, was confused by his interest. "Do you plan on cooking while you're in Jamaica?" she asked him.

B'Man replied as he slapped it hard against the palm of his hand, "Yeah. I plan on frying my wife's bacon." 

The merchant tilted her head, glanced at me and smiled knowingly.  I could only roll my eyes while B'Man laughed and jabbed me with his elbow.

We were in Best Buy recently looking to purchase a new MP3 player, when B'Man noticed a sales associate playing with a plastic paddle ball with the Kodak emblem. He announced that he used to be great at that game, and asked her if he could try it. Well, it had been several years since he played with one, and he couldn't seem to nail it even once, and I laughed and teased him about his pathetically spastic attempts to hit that little rubber ball with the paddle until he gave up. it was obviously a cheap promotional toy left behind by a Kodak sales rep, so B'Man asked if he could have it.

"You plan on getting good at that again?" I asked.

"Nah. I plan on using it to wax that ass!" he said whispering loud enough that it seemed that anyone within a 5 foot radius could hear as he slapped the paddle against his hand.

Aside from the obvious public displays of affection for my backside, he is constantly on the lookout for opportunities to put me over his knee. Several times in the last few months I have made a few off the cuff remarks about personal goals that I want to accomplish. One of them was my desire to cut down, and eventually cut sugar out of my diet completely. The first time I mentioned it, B'Man was getting dressed and coincidentally reaching for his belt. He doubled it in his hand and brought it down hard on the bed inches from where I sat. Then he sported that boyish grin of his and said, "I'd be happy to help you with that endeavor, Baby. Just say the word."

Flashbacks of his "help" in my quest to quit smoking caused a physical tremor, and I graciously declined his offer.

"Hey, I can make it so every time you see a candy bar you get the urge to stand up."

"Yeah, I get the basic idea, thank you anyway."

"I'm here for you, Baby," he said, pounding his chest proudly with his fist. "That's my job."

Now I've never been one for maintenance. Many of my friends understand, appreciate and encourage the practice... Frankly it just makes me nervous. While admittedly it may or may not help with stress, it can be as uncomfortable and painful as a punishment, and I'd just as soon avoid it if I can.  B'Man likes the idea of maintenance, and while we thankfully have not set a schedule for it, he manages to sneak one in every so often... I suspect more for his benefit than mine. Out of the blue, for seemingly no reason at all he'll say "You haven't had a good spanking in a while. Go bring me the paddle."

Of course I have to argue about it. "WHY! I haven't done anything!"

"I know, Baby, and we're going to keep it that way."

"No way, Uh-Uh! forget it! This maintenance thing is Bullshit!" I snap as I point at him accusingly.

This is where he'll smile, lean into me and say in a low, threatening voice, "You have 'til the count of three.  One... two..."

The fact that I argue turns it into a punishment.  I am tricked.  Hoisted by my own petard.

30 years form now, B'Man and I will likely be together in some retirement home, wheelchair and walker bound... me losing track of my glasses and teeth, and rolling my eyes at him when he expresses his irritation at my forgetfulness and irresponsibility.  No doubt he will flag down a CNA or an orderly and tip him a few bucks to go outside and cut him a switch so that he can "wax that ass."

Old Habits

As soon as I think I've got it all figured out, I turn around and do something stupid.

I have annoying character flaw, and it's something I've been in the habit of doing since I was a kid. Subconsciously I've always been under the impression that whatever the problem, whatever the challenge or concern, if you ignore it long enough, it will eventually go away. Okay, I've gotten more responsible as I've matured, and these situations have come up less and less in my life, but they do still pop up when I'm in my run-away-and-hide moods.

Here was not a situation where I should have been overwhelmed with indecision or fear. This was just one of those days where I simply did not want to deal my own discomfort, irritation and inconvenience.

My arthritis medication had begun to fail me and my doctor gave me a trial of something stronger to test for a week. As I adjusted to the new chemical in my body, I dealt with some lethargy and muscle weakness and cut 3 days out of my exercise routine. At the end of the trial I was to call my doctor to let him know that he could call in the prescription. Unfortunately I couldn't reach him over the weekend (I foolishly forgot to call on Friday), and I suffered through two days of the onset of pain, as well as a slightly depression and moodiness, partly from withdrawal, and partly hormonal.

B'Man had watched me spiral downward this weekend, and had mercifully left me alone to work out the imbalance going on in my body and mind... and then finally had enough. He sat down on the bed Monday morning and gently explained that I needed to move my body, that I had been hanging out in bed way too much, and I needed to get some cardio under my belt. Of course I knew he was right. The longer I hung out in bed, the worse I became. I smiled and agreed with him until he uttered that word that I dread so much.

"Task," he said.

"Task?"

"Task. Take a couple of over the counter pain meds, take your vitamins, have a good breakfast, and get to the gym. You don't have to do your full routine. Even if it's just for a lousy 15 minutes, you need to get out of this house, move your muscles and get your heart pumping. If there's some reason you can't or won't make it to the gym, I want you to contact me and let me know."

I agreed, kissed him, and saw him off to work.

Well, as you can imagine, I didn't make it. I just didn't have the energy of the inclination. And this is where I stumbled in my rationale. I knew that if I called him and told him I wouldn't make it, he was going to encourage me to go, and even insist. I know him. He wanted me to contact him so that he'd have the opportunity to give me a pep talk and explain that he is not giving me a choice. If I just ignore the fact that I needed to communicate with him, he would be forced to drop the subject and try again at a later date.

I spent an hour or so on the computer late that afternoon checking up on my favorite blogs, and surfing around a bit when the Windows IM box opened up. He had seen that I had signed on, and wanted to check in. We chatted for a few minutes, he asked how I was.

I admitted I still hadn't moved. It was a good thing we were on Instant Messenger, I wouldn’t have been able to look him in the eye.

"Did you at least take your vitamins?"

"No."

"Why don't you go do that."

I took my vitamins, informed him that the deed had been done, quickly extracated myself from the conversation and changed my messenger availability to "appear offline."  After all... if I ignore it, it will go away.

That evening when he came home, we had a comfortable evening together. Everything seemed fine. He didn't bring up the fact that I had disobeyed him about my workout and contacting him, and I certainly had no intention of bringing it up. But he did bring up something else I had dropped the ball on.

"Did you call the doctor?"

"Yes," I said immediately without hesitation. "I left a message with his secretary. He's going to call me back." I lied. There's no need to completely bury myself. I can take care of that little detail on Tuesday. He didn't have to know.

Tuesday morning as I lay in the bed, I heard him call me from the living room just before he was about to leave. When I walked in he asked me to sit on the coffee table and face him. I cinched my robe around my collar, and sat nervously biting my lower lip. I recognized the signs, I knew what was coming.

"I know you're having a hard time. That doesn't escape me. But I told you to communicate with me if you weren't going to make it to the gym, and you decided not to. You purposely avoided me, and if I hadn't contacted you, we wouldn't have spoken at all."

I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. Of course he was right, and I had actually thought that I had gotten away with it. I thought he was going to let it slide. After all, I was so pathetic. I felt myself begin to form my puppydog face.

"You can't avoid me whenever you feel like it. It's my job to take care of you, and I can't do that if you won't connect with me when I tell you to."

A tear spilled onto my cheek. Dammit! I hate it when that happens. I wanted to appear strong, stoic, unmoved.

"Let's take care of this right now," he said.

With that he walked around to the kitchen, and I watched as he picked a heavy wooden spoon from the crock on the counter. He came back, picked up a throw pillow and placed it on the arm of the couch and instructed me to place myself over it.  He handed me another pillow for my face and I draped myself across the arm of the couch and waited while he moved my robe out of the way. I felt the sting of the spoon on my sit spot as I fought hard to remain as still and quiet as possible. The smacks were loud and sharp, and I felt myself beginning to breathe hard as I tried to control my cries, but the pain was too much. My sobs came pouring out of me and into the pillow. Those wooden spoons up to this point had been reserved for those little annoying pet peeve swats here and there, but now they were part of the punishment arsenal, and they created a new level of pain that I hadn't expected. It felt as though it went on forever, while in reality it was only about a minute.

When he let me up he wrapped his arms around me and I cried quietly into his clean shirt. "You cannot ignore me," he said. "When I tell you you have to communicate, I need to hear from you. We have to keep in touch about your condition. No more hiding. Understood?"

Okay, I get it.  If I had contacted him I could have made my argument, held my ground and convinced him that I needed more rest. He's not an unreasonable man. But I didn't even give him the chance to let him hear me and discuss it with me. I took that away from him.

I wiped my face and walked him to the door. Before he left, he turned to me and said "Oh, and make sure you talk to your doctor today. Don't lie about it like you did last night."

My mouth flew open. I was about to yell, "I DIDN"T LIE!" but suddenly thought better of it when I saw his face give me the warning look.

How does he know these things?

Rambling Writer's Block

B'Man recently remarked that I hadn't posted in quite a while. I could only shrug and reply, I have nothing to post about."

He generously offered to help me out. "You go bring me my belt, and I'll be glad to give you some inspiration," he smiled.

I thanked him for his very kind offer, but declined.

Having nothing to post about is a mixed blessing. On the one hand it puts an indefinite hold on this strange hobby of blogging that I've become so attached to, leaving me to search for other outlets for my creativity... and on the other hand, my lack of subject matter proves that I am reaching that pinnacle in my relationship that I have been looking forward to since we started dd a year ago.

So, triumphantly I sit in front of a blank computer screen with a severe case of writer's block 15 days after my last post, reflecting over the events of the last 3 weeks. There's a certain amount of pride in knowing that I've managed to avoid punishment for that long. I've kept our home in a certain degree of order, the remotes remain in their rightful place, the closet doors and cabinets are no longer an obstical course,  and I'm completing important tasks in a timely manner.

And here I sit, the very picture of perfection with a grin on my face and nothing to write about. Okay... not quite perfect. A couple of times the wooden spoon has found it's way out of the crock on the counter for the purpose of what B'Man likes to call "a pet peeve stinger." And every once in a while the warnings come hurling at me sometimes so fast that I can hear them whistle like bullets as they blow by my ear. "You do that again you'll find yourself across my knee". What were those warnings about? Who knows? They come and go so quickly that they've become background noise, a part of the sound track of my life along with music from the seventies and the sound of the L train in the distance. I subconsciously take note of the infraction, resolve to not repeat it, and move on with my life.

Yesterday, B'Man picked me up right after work so that we could go to an optometrist and pick out a pair of frames for my new glasses. I wasn't in the best of moods, as I had been struggling with headaches from poor eyesight and chronic dry eye. We parked and went in and I tried on frames and we spoke to the salesman about our insurance and discounts for about 30 minutes. When we came out, we found a parking ticket sitting on the windshield. This only made me feel worse. Not only did I feel like a burden because we would have to drop a few hundred dollars on my new glasses, but the excursion to find them was going to cost another $50.00. I wanted to burst into tears. B'Man adamantly shook his head when he understood my misplaced guilt. "Baby, this is in no way your fault. This is all mine. I'm the one who decided not to put the quarter in the meter. I easily could have. A quarter! I lose that much in the cushions of the couch, and I was too cheap to pay for the parking space thinking I could get away with it." Then he frowned and cocked his head to the side as though a thought just occurred to him. "Hey, maybe I should spank you so I learn to never do that again!"

Sometimes I worry about that man.

Along with my seemingly perfect conduct, the truth also is that B'Man has been letting me off the hook more readily lately. There's a compassionate understanding that he's developed over these past few months when I tend to drag him down with me into hormone hell. A few times recently I've snapped and snarled and bared my teeth in response to what I perceived as an insensitive remark or question, only to be met with a gentle touch on my back and a comforting rub between my shoulder blades.

Sitting in front of a blank screen with writer's block has also given me time to reflect on our most important accomplishment in the last year. As a new blogger, Rebekah, has just revealed her husband's intentions to help her stop smoking, I can't help but let out a sigh of relief that this is, for the most part, all over for me. There is no doubt in my mind that my loving husband saved my life by forcing me to choose between the pain of withdrawal and the pain of severe spankings. My only contribution to the process was that I eventually chose wisely. In discussing the plight of my fellow bloggers going through the same struggle, B'Man revealed to me that he was prepared to "go the distance" had I broken down and had that one last cigarette that I was constantly on the verge of seeking. When I asked him what he meant by that he replied, "spanking isn't enough for something this serious. I'd have to whip you."

I think my jaw unhinged as I had to pick it up off the floor. I didn't have to ask if he was serious. There was no humor behind those eyes. I knew something like that wouldn't be easy for him. My spankings have ranged from slightly stingy to horrendously painful, but they were always just spankings. A whipping is something I simply can't wrap my mind around, but I realized that he saw this issue as a matter of life or death. Mine. I've always considered this an open issue in that I was still unsure about my ability to forego the opportunity to smoke in a weak moment. After that conversation, there is now no more doubt in my mind. The issue is now forever closed. I am a non smoker, and there's no way I could have done it without him.

My marriage floats inside a comfort zone where this thing we do is systematically dissolving the arguments, frustration, anger, nagging, yelling, and all the other crap that created resentment. I find myself relaxed and content. I'm thinking maybe I can become one of those wise women in the community that rarely get punished, and always has a thought provoking essay to impart (like Sara maybe?).

Or maybe I'll do something stupid and thoughtless and get my butt whooped tomorrow.

Only time will tell.