It Takes a Village to Raise a Spanko

Being a woman in the computer age has afforded me relationships and alliances that I could only dream of as a veritable loner in my teens and 20's. In closing down my blog, I realize how very blessed I have been to find like minded people all over the world who not only understand me, but have been so generous in their advice and support.  I know that when I jump off this ledge by clicking publish, I'll have so much to say that I'll desperately want to come back. This blog has been such a huge part of my life in the past year.

I came into blogging as a young fresh faced newbie... a bit selfish, thoughtless, certainly not the sharpest knife in this drawer. And now, look at me.  A year later, I'm all grown up, and B'Man and I have settled into a comfort zone that will be a part of our lives forever. And all of you who commented, and chatted, and befriended me were a part of that growth, and I just want you to know that I appreciate you.

Sara, the voice of reason and wisdom;

Janet, my first and most treasured phone buddy and confidant;

Kady, the hand I reach for during hormonal storms, and Christian conviction;

Kay Lynn, the wordsmith who can paint a picture in a paragraph;

PK, who created Cassie, a woman I identify with to the marrow of my bones;

Mick, another admirable and respected source of the HoH experience;

Jenn and RW, a couple of sweet kids I consider my little sisters;

Galway Giirl, a woman who's personal stories inspired my posts more than she knows;

Katia and Emilie, The rebels of the neighborhood who had the courage to break with tradition to find their way;

Ronnie and Daisychain, a couple of adorable Brits with the classic humor I've come to look forward to each week;

Tammy, who sought me out for advice but wound up teaching me a few things;

Ally, My source for Homeopathy and holistic self examination.

Arianna, the poet and visual artist.

The wit, wisdom and invaluable advice of the new girls on the block... Monica, Audra, Surrendering Slowly, Alexandra, Serenity, Stormy, DaisyChristian, Misty, Lynn, and Judy.

And to the person with whom I parted ways over a disagreement, (you know who you are) you were the first person to reach out to me last year, and I will always appreciate that.

All the guys and gals from Joannie and Friends Forum who have come in to lend support and love.

And, of course Bonnie, The Grand Dame of the spanko community and whose posts B'Man would read to me when he considered proposing this relationship.

This is the village where I grew up. And even though I'll no longer be a contributing blogger, I hope you will allow me to be a part of your lives as we continue to do This Thing We Do.

Love Always

SugarAnne

Warning! Warning!

Every once in a while I'll reflect on the subtle differences in communication that have taken place in the last year as a result of ttwd, or tweed, as my phrase turning husband might say. He has a distinct look on his face when he's warning me that I'm coming dangerously close to a spanking if I don't back off, or lower my voice, or calm down, or rephrase my request... There's a look that he gets that begins with his simply getting very quiet, and his head will ever so slowly turn toward me until his eyes lock with mine. His facial expression is not menacing or hard, and half the time there is no frown or wrinkling of the forehead. it's just a look. facial muscles relaxed, but the silence is deafening.

Lately he's taken to shifting his eyes to look toward the leather paddle that's been sitting in the den since a previous incident. A while ago, on my way to bed, I stopped in the den during my evening ritual to kiss him goodnight. He inquired about the light in the living room (I have a bit of a habit of leaving it on when I'm the last one to leave the area). I was immediately irritated. I hadn't finished my evening ritual, and was going to be in and out before the final exit. And again, I have to blame the hormones for my reaction.

"Why are you sweatin' me? I'll get to the lights when I get to it. Do you mind?"

It wasn't a nasty, venomous snap, just a little sarcasm that may have crossed the line, and my tone may have gone over to the dark side.

B'Man reached for the remote and muted the television as though he wanted to make sure he was hearing correctly.

"What's your problem?" I ask, still in battle mode.

Suddenly I recognized that slow turn of the head, and his eyes made contact.  It reminded me of Linda Blair when she made that slow 360 degree turn of her head in The Exorcist, revealing the demon within.  There's a slight lift of the eyebrow that indicates that he's a bit surprised that I chose to challenge him, and a touch of humor at my sudden stupid bravery. His eyes shift to the other side of the couch, and I follow his gaze to the arm of the couch where there rests the leather paddle that was used to bring me back to earth on Christmas day. I bite my bottom lip and try to smile sheepishly as he cuts his eyes back to me. There are no words that come from his mouth. It's not necessary. I got the message. I leave the room as quickly as possible with my dignity in tact.

B'Man's warnings have have been quite clear and unmistakable of late. Usually in the morning when he gives me a particular task for me to complete during the day, he'll write it down and hand it to me. There have been misunderstandings and miscommunications in the past that have warranted a written record of his request. When he hands it to me, he'll say, "There, it's written on paper. Don't make me come home and have to write it on your ass." or, my personal favorite: "I'll be back here with a white glove... and a black belt."

That will inspire a bit of caustic, yet nervous laughter from me.

And yet, every so often the lioness will come out in me. A hormonal symptom? Possibly. But mostly I simply feel like exerting my power (what little there is of it). B'Man will allow me to go so far. He clearly recognizes a need in me to push my limit, but when it's reached, I am reigned back in, gently but firmly.

I may rant and rave, point fingers, make empty threats, become a little snide or sarcastic, and then finally...

"Obviously I didn't spank you hard enough last time," or... "Apparently you don't get your ass spanked enough around here."

That tends to change my mood pretty fast.

Then of course there's the silent but deadly removing of his belt, folding it in his hand and menacingly slapping a piece of furniture to elicit a nervous reaction from me. I'll jump from the sound and catch that humorous twinkle in his eye as he shakes the belt at me and says, "You get where I'm coming from?"

I'll raise my hands in surrender. "I'm sure the whole neighborhood gets where you're coming from, BabyMan."

As he saunters out of the room, sporting that Simon Barr Sinister laugh of his, I'll mumble "Jerk," under my breath.

"I heard that!"

Weight to His Words

"You need to give weight to my words" (WHAP!)

This is what he said to me over and over again as he spanked me Wednesday evening after he came home and discovered that I completely ignored his instructions to me.

Okay, I figured out about 3 months into our tweed journey that obedience is the key word here. If B'Man gives me something that he wants me to do, no matter how trivial or insignificant, what he's really looking for is an understanding between us that I give weight to his words.

I don't like admitting certain things in this blog because he reads it, and I'm no longer able to effectively feign ignorance.

But I suppose he knows it...
I know that he knows it...
and he knows that I know that he knows it.

"You've been getting away with murder lately," he's said to me on several occasions.

Murder is such a strong term. But I imagine that if I look at it from his perspective, I've been systematically killing his authority by tiny itty bitty degrees, that if he were not paying close attention, he would never have noticed.

Tasks during the day are the little projects that he may give me on top of my normal cleaning and errand and shopping routine. It's usually something that he's noticed has been neglected and needs attention. For instance, a few weeks ago he told me to clean the window sill in the den. That means to give it my full attention and put some real effort into removing the clutter, and polishing it so that it looks freshly painted. It's a ten minute job on the outside, certainly nothing to agonize over or go out of my way to avoid.

I waited until the very last minute, I got a shoe box, dumped all the junk in it and plopped it on the floor. Then I took a damp rag and made a cursory swipe of the dust and smeared it around seconds before he walked through the door. He noticed that I was just finishing up as though the task was an annoying afterthought... and he noticed how lousy the job was.

"You know I should spank you for that," was his comment at the time.

I innocently replied, "Well you weren't really specific about what you wanted. How am I supposed to know what you're looking for if you don't tell me?"

I think it was my reprieve from that spanking that began the domino effect of a long line of half assed jobs.

Now, don't get me wrong, this doesn't happen all the time. When he wants something done. I usually give a sufficient amount of weight to his words and go out of my way to please him and go above and beyond the call of duty. But lately I've only been batting about a 500.

I know it...
He knows that I know it...
And I know that he knows that I know it...

So Wednesday the task was to clean out the science projects in the refrigerator.

Honestly, I think I had gotten to the point where I have gotten away with so many half assed jobs that if I ignored this one completely it wouldn't be such a big deal. This was not a conscious rationalization on my part. I just somehow didn't see the urgency in it any more.

When he got home we had a short discussion about it in the bedroom as he changed out of his work clothes. I was genuinely surprised when he told me to bent over my dresser and drop my jeans. I actually asked him if he were kidding.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

My jaw dropped.

"I want you at the dresser so you can watch your face in the mirror."

When he lifted the paddle off the hook on the wall, I wanted to be angry. But I couldn't. I didn't have a leg to stand on.

I turned around, pulled down my pants and panties, and placed my elbows on the dresser and placed my face in the palms of my hands as I stared at my own face. My eyes were already red and I had this pathetic guilt ridden look on my face.

"You need to give weight to my words," he said several times as the paddle came into contact with my sit spot.  My knees buckled as I tried to remain still and started to cry.  After about five stinging swats he had me count off the final ten. And of course... if I miscount, he starts over. I hate counting! Who can concentrate? number 7 feels like number 349! Who's brilliant idea was having the spankee count?

But I digress.

I know that publishing this post is in effect telling him that I admit to taking advantage of his good nature, and it's going to cause him to be more vigilant in holding me accountable. But I suppose this was going to happen eventually anyway.

I know it...
He knows that I know it...
and I know that he knows that I know it.