I'm not experienced at Dd, but I am experienced at marriage. You would think by now that I knew how to deal with the occasional hiccup. That I would be calm and compliant; understanding what is expected of me and responding accordingly.
I know. I have been told. You don't submit because you are afraid of stepping out of line. You don't submit because find it easier than stating your opinion. And you certainly don't submit because you fear the consequences.
You submit out of love.
And it's hard. It's far more difficult than I ever realised it would be. It's difficult because all of a sudden, out of nowhere it seems, all these emotions appear. I seem to be drowning in them at the moment.
I seemed to get separated from Starman this week, and set off walking at a tangent. I needed to get back in the right direction. Things were going from bad to worse. And instead of putting a damper on those wretched emotions, I was simply fanning the flames.
Our second 'discussion' passed without a hitch. We discussed our week and whether we had made any headway. We had a practice spanking session which wasn't long and didn't hurt. It was more about getting to know each other and becoming more comfortable in the spanking position. Starman was much more confident and delivered a flurry of spanks, varying his speed and impact. And when he considered I was on the pink side, he stopped. He made the decision, and refused to be encouraged to proceed any further. He put his finger to my lips when I started to protest, and told me in no uncertain words that what he did and how he did it was entirely up to him.
So I sailed into my week almost on a high. And then Tuesday reared its ugly head.
I'd worked all day. That was fine. I was busy with school and end of term stuff, and in the late afternoon I joined most of the staff for afternoon tea in town. (Yes, this is England, and yes, we had smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches, scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream and Victoria sandwich cake together with a pot of Earl Grey). It was a lovely way to celebrate the coming end of term and the approach of Christmas.
I was the first to leave. I needed to get back to the car park by 4 pm or risk getting a ticket. Although it was very icy I made it and was soon on my way out of town moving towards the dual carriageway and home.
I saw break lights come on up ahead and thought it was just the usual rush of folk wanting to get home early on such a frosty evening. But I soon found I was in a total snarl-up. You know, we call them moving car parks over here! It took me an hour to even reach the main road and merge into the traffic stream. I chanced an illegal call on my mobile to let Starman know I was going to be later than expected. He has a tendency to worry otherwise. Then I was in the traffic jam for a further hour and a half. I was exhausted. It should have been a twenty minute journey!
Now I don't know about you but I hate sitting in 'barely moving' traffic. My temperament just won't take it. I quickly traverse the bored stage, move on through the angry stage, and into the "For ***k's sake! stage." I know it isn't good. It isn't ladylike. But I'm telling it how it is.
So I arrive home exhausted and snarky, with all thoughts of my lovely tea long since vanished into the ether. And poor Starman was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
In this order, I got down out of the car, I burst into tears, Starman said some helpful words, I
said some less than helpful words back, cried some more, marched into the house muttering to myself and anyone else who would listen, slammed my books down, filled the kettle and slammed it down, slammed my feet down on the stairs as I ran up them, and finally I slammed the bedroom door.
Now where did all that come from?! Oh dear!
Sensibly, or not, Starman left me to cool down. He's learned over the years that you don't stoke the flames. He knows I will always apologise. He just has to keep calm.
But this time my bad mood continued on into the evening, over night, and on into the next morning. I just couldn't shake it off. I know I get like this towards the end of term. I know I let myself down every time. What I don't know is why, after all this time, I can't recognise how impossible I get.
So, the next morning we had to visit a large hardware store on the outskirts of town. We both like wandering the aisles of such places; Starman buys interesting things like door hinges, screws and PVA glue whilst I visit the gardening section. So far so good.
We managed to get round without a single disagreement. Well, I was mostly silent anyway. But when we got outside to the car park we had a flat tyre. Four wheel drives are usually large and heavy vehicles. Mine is, anyway.
Now I would have instantly recognised this as a problem and called the company out that we belong to, you know the ones, those who assist in emergencies like flat tyres. But oh no, not Starman. He was going to fix that tyre himself. You should have seen the look of determination on his face.
They put wheel nuts on these days with machines. The machines are determine to put those nuts on so tight that He-Man himself couldn't get them unscrewed.
I know these things. I accept them.
Starman gave it his all. He ended up using his foot to turn the thingy that undoes those wheel nuts. And it worked fine as far as the flat was concerned. But then he turned his attention to the spare wheel kept on the back door of the car. Now that was another matter entirely. You can't lift your foot in the air in order to turn the lever and loosen the nuts.
We were there over an hour while he tried. I sat in the car in the end. My helpful comments were not required. And I was cold. So was Starman. But he thrives on challenge.
Eventually he returned to the warm inside of the vehicle. Eventually he capitulated. He called the car rescue company.
We waited a further hour. They came out. They used a special gadget to unscrew the wheel nuts. They changed the tyre in record time. We were on our way home.
Next morning it's Thursday again. Remember? Thursday is our discussion morning. Yes, I know what you are all thinking. But we are only three weeks in. We've only had two practices so far. So Starman talked. He talked and talked. I felt worse and worse. Eventually even I couldn't stand it. I went downstairs and made a cup of tea and returned with it to bed. I had coffee. I figured I needed the caffeine.
I had a lot of apologising to do. But what you don't know dear friend, is that whilst down in the kitchen I gave my wooden kitchen utensils a great deal of scrutiny. I know you use wooden spoons. I've read that far. I know you use paddles. I've read about those too.
Well we have a wooden utensil that looks like a small paddle. It's like a cross between a paddle and a spatula. It doesn't weigh much and it doesn't look very strong. I took it from the drawer and holding it quietly by my side I took that upstairs with the tea as well. I had it hidden under my pillow.
Starman continued to talk when I gave him his tea and got back into bed. He paused and looked at me to make sure I was listening. A pause was all I needed. I got really nervous and went into apology overdrive. Even Starman was impressed.
Then I reached under the pillow and retrieving the wooden utensil I put it into Starman's right hand. He looked first at it, and then at me, in amazement. "What the hell am I meant to do with this?" he asked me. He was looking nervous now. I haltingly explained that I felt I deserved it for being such a bitch if nothing else, then I wriggled into position over his lap. He sat there leaning back against the headboard and stroked my rear. "Can't I use my hand like last week?" he asked plaintively. I assured him he could if he wanted. Who was I to argue? But I said I felt that he might hurt his hand too much.
Starman continued to rub my rear. Then he gave me a flurry of sharp spanks with his hand on both cheeks. They stung, and made a nice loud slapping sound. But that was about all. Then something attacked my sit spot like a hornet. I yowled loudly. Starman panicked. "It's okay, it's okay, you're only stinging me. It's not going to break anything except itself," I assured him.
He continued to rain down flurries of stingy swats. But the moment was lost. He found it too overwhelming. Just as I thought I might actually start to sniffle this time, he stopped. "You're far too red" he said. "That's enough for today." He lifted me up and decided we had better things we could be doing. It makes me blush to say that yes, it turns us on. Whether it will always do so is a matter for conjecture. But it certainly does at the moment.
Buts here's the thing. Should I have given him the wooden thingy? Was I pushing him too much? Everyone says go slow, but just how slow. I needed to apologise and give him the chance to adjust my attitude. And I don't feel like he adjusted it enough.
We are thankfully back on the same track once again. I let him decide, and he let me off lightly. On reflection, I don't think I could have taken a really severe implement - that little device (which has gone into a drawer up in our room and not been returned to the kitchen) could have been extremely painful if Starman had chosen to wield it more forcefully.
So we walk on into next week. I hope I can remember to be more submissive. I hope I can remember that by doing so I am telling Starman I love him. To forever and beyond.