Friday FAIL

The fine art of dating in the 19th century.

Friday FAIL

Continuing with the theme of advice columns, here's a plea for guidance from someone who has a kinky preference that appears less often in the daily papers than spanking does.

Normal? Possibly. Who am I to judge?

The Sound of Wings

My dear husband likes routines, and thinks long and hard before altering any of the usual patterns in his day to day life. Change doesn't come easily for him. I know this and am quite comfortable with it, and try not to surprise him too often with spontaneous suggestions.

That's why I couldn't believe my ears when Ron told me one Friday evening recently that he had decided to switch our regular date from Sunday to Saturday. (I don't recall seeing any pigs fluttering past our window.) Sunday had been our special time, reserved for intimacy of some sort, for more years than I can remember. What had prompted this change?

I asked him, and he reminded me that Sundays didn't seem to be working out too well lately. That was true. What with special activities related to the holiday season, our seasonal colds and flu, and too much snow shoveling, we had often had to reschedule or even cancel our regular play. Then of course there's Sunday football, and I had always wondered why Ron was so willing to interrupt his enjoyment of the game for a totally different but equally (I hope) enjoyable activity.

So there you have it. Saturday it is, and so far it seems to be working out quite well. For some reason we both aren't as tired on that day as we usually are by Sunday afternoon, so we have plenty of energy for spanking and whatever else Ron has in mind. He can enjoy football the next day without watching the clock, and I have a comfortable, peaceful feeling that a spanking always produces, that lasts through the remainder of the weekend. As much as I enjoy being spanked, there is always a certain amount of apprehension and anxiety that occurs as the time draws closer, and with that feeling out of the way sooner, I can enjoy the afterglow (or afterburn) the following day, while I'm doing pleasant things at home, instead of forgetting the pleasure in the busyness of a new week at work.

This was definitely a change for the better. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go get ready.

Chopping and Changing

As many of you know, our regular date for spanking (and whatever might follow) is Sunday. But a couple of weeks ago, Ron announced a few minutes before the fun was scheduled to begin that he had had a busy weekend and was really too tired. In fact, he went on to say that while weekends were busy, Sundays in particular were busier than Saturdays, and he decided that all future spankings would take place on Saturdays.

I was somewhat startled by this, because Ron is comfortable with routine and usually resists change. Was he really so exhausted all of a sudden? Might the real reason be that football season had begun and the first regular game was being televised that afternoon?

I was in the right mindset for a nice, long, hard spanking. I could picture the position, I could see the implement (or maybe implements), I could hear the crack, and I could feel the sting. It wasn't easy to shift mental gears; nevertheless, I agreed. When I heard him use the word "postpone" I assumed he would reschedule for the following evening.

Never assume. Ron had other intentions, although I only realized it later. He was going to wait until the new official date night arrived before administering a spanking. But he definitely made the intervening week interesting.

On Monday, a hug included a series of gentle pats on my bottom. On Tuesday, Ron followed me up the stairs as I carried a basket of laundry, and when I reached the top step and paused, he spanked me briefly but hard on my denim-covered bottom. On Wednesday, I got a similar hand spanking when I got up from the couch where I had been sitting beside him. And I've already told you what happened Thursday. I was late getting home Friday so I don't recall any activities related to my posterior.

So finally it was Saturday, and once again I was counting the hours until it was time. Mentally I was rehearsing getting into position and deciding whether I would prefer the belt or the paddle -- or both. Then, after lunch, Ron surprised me again by saying that he didn't feel right about spanking on Saturday. "We've always done it on Sunday. There's no need to switch now."

My first impulse was to check the TV listings for a football game later that day. He was messing with my mind! But Ron assured me it would definitely happen the next day, so I curbed my impatience once more, although I silently called him a few choice names.

I was well-rewarded for my patience, as you may already have read here. But I wouldn't care to ride that rollercoaster of uncertainty again. Ron really kept me guessing.

The View From Here - How Often?

The Fantasy - every morning would be fun. A short bottom-warming to provide a nice stinginess to help me get through the day, as well as a promise of more good things to come at the end of the day. In the evening, a nice, slow spanking to help me relax and unwind.

The Reality - every weekend we have a regular date for a spanking and some very enjoyable aftercare. I love this arrangement. I have the pleasure of anticipating it all week, and then the dread that creeps in on the day itself. The day, and even the time, are never changed except for illness, dinner guests, football playoffs, or extreme exhaustion from excessive snow-shovelling.

One day, out of the blue, Ron asked,

"Would you like me to spank you more often than once a week?"

"Oh, yes. I'd love it!"

"Well, I won't do it. I don't want to hurt you."

"But hurting me is the whole point. Spankings hurt. I need you to hurt me!"

Silence.

Sigh.

I think what he was probably trying to say was that he didn't want to cause me any harm. There's a difference between hurt and harm. The Hippocratic oath that physicians take cautions them first to do no harm. Yet many medical procedures hurt. I want to feel the pain of a spanking, it has to hurt, but I don't want to be harmed or my body to be damaged.

The best way for me to ensure that I don't get what I want is by arguing, whining or pleading. So I said no more, but bided my time. You'll be happy to know he got past that obstacle somehow, and spanking was reinstated into our spontaneous, unscheduled bedroom activities. Not every time, but often enough, and I always enjoy surprises and the unexpected. I never know what might happen, and usually quite a lot does!