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.
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.
We have a regular date for spanking each Sunday afternoon at four o'clock. The time rarely varies, even during football season -- imagine that, fans! This arrangement works well for us, because I like being able to mentally prepare in advance. My anticipation builds throughout the day, and I sneak glances at the clock starting around 3:15. By 3:59 I'm both eager and apprehensive, and I shiver when I hear the words "it's time" at four o'clock on the dot.
The funny thing is, the dogs always know when it's time, even before Ron says the words. They will start with a fixed stare. This soon gives way to dancing and spinning, then they scamper to the living room, where they bounce for their biscuits before being crated.
How do they know when it's almost four o'clock? I'm pretty sure they can read minds, so that's possibly the answer. But last week we realized it was much simpler than that. We have a wall clock that plays a different bird song each time the big hand is on the twelve. And that clock is a minute or two fast. They obviously recognize the four o'clock sound and take their cue from that.
Once we figured it out, we started joking about our "four o'clock frolic", both for the way the dogs were behaving and for our own imminent activities. Other choices were "four o'clock follies", "four o'clock friskies", and another one that Ron came up with, which I won't type here but you can probably guess!
Even a routine can be lots of fun!
Oh, and the four o'clock bird?
It's a woodpecker!
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