If she's crabby and you know it...

... spank her a$%.

I was in a mood and a half yesterday. The reasons why aren't really pertinent; it wasn't just one thing, but a culmination of a bunch of little things, stresses, disappointments, etc. (setbacks with John's ongoing health saga, for one), and there it was: a really blue and irritable mood.

Steve was due at 11:00. The night before, he called and said he had a work issue and it would be noon. Then that morning, he called and told me the work issue was pushing things back and it would have to be 1:00. 

Not a big deal, right? It's not like he was cancelling; it was just two hours. But that put the finishing touches on my mood. 

After he arrived, we talked, and I got teary-eyed almost right away. Ugh. Hate it when I do that. But, bless his heart, he likes it. Not the fact that I'm sad, but that I am comfortable enough to show him my real self and where I am in the moment.

Gawd, did I show him. I was wanting his presence, yet feeling edgy and impatient with him at the same time. When he reached up a finger to wipe a tear from under my eye, I flinched away and asked him not to do that; his finger felt too close to my eye. He kept stroking my hair back away from my face and behind my ear; I shrugged my hair forward to cover it again. My mean-girl voices were in full cry. Don't look at my ears. They're huge. They're ugly. My hair is over them for a reason. Leave it alone.

In an attempt to suss out what I needed, he said, "We don't have to play today if you don't want to." "NOO!" I cried. 

He asked me what I needed. That stubborn, contrary part of me seized up, not wanting to say it. I wanted him to just know, dammit. Fortunately, reason overruled that stubbornness. He's not a mind reader. So, looking away, I mumbled, "I need you to take charge. I don't want to make any decisions today."

Take the control away from me. Please. Push me until the dam breaks.

He did. Our hand-spanking session was long and it hurt. I wanted it to hurt. I struggled and squirmed and kicked and angrily groaned into the cushions. "Go ahead, kick all you want to," he said. A few lighter slaps to the backs of my legs took that want away. 

When my body stilled and my protests morphed into sobs of release, he slowed and then stopped. I wept in his arms, feeling the heat radiate from my bottom outward.

He didn't ask me what implements I wanted or whether I wanted the ottoman or the bed. He just said, "I need you over some pillows, now." 

Yes.

He kept it simple; small leather paddle, small wooden paddle. My fight was gone, and I did not sass. He said certain things that would usually call forth a smart-ass remark from me, but that urge had gone away. I was in my different place now -- softer, accepting. 

When he was done, I asked him if he would please rub some lotion on me. He went one better than that -- gently, he removed my clothes, stretched me out and gave me a shoulder-to-foot massage. The last vestiges of my tension melted away. (Faded already -- sheesh!)

I need to keep this calm for a while, make it last. Next week, he'll be gone Sunday through Wednesday, on a camping/hiking trip with his son. (sigh) At least I know in advance. I can plan to fill my day, my week with other things, and patiently (ha!!) wait until I see him in two weeks. If the Work Gods are kind to me, I will have lots of it to keep my mind occupied.

But for the moment, I feel peaceful. ♥