My strange addiction

I'm going to ramble today. I hope no one minds.

It's Wednesday afternoon. I have many odds and ends of things to do, including work. Just finished one project, though, so I'm rewarding myself with a little break. My concentration is off, anyway.

There is an interesting pattern to my weeks, when they run according to schedule. Mondays are a whirlwind of anticipation, then sensory overload (the good kind), then oblivion. Tuesdays have a strange, other-worldly feel to them. I'm still tender, usually quite sleepy, and although I'm functional, I have a sense of still being in that other realm, the realm of peace and unreality, where my whole world is one room, one other person, and sensation. Little fazes me. Given my preference, I will stay in all day and evening and not venture out.

By Wednesday, I'm definitely back in reality, and that restlessness is rearing its annoying head once again. I'm distracted, once again aware of bills, noisy neighbors, chores, things that need my attention. So I go through the day, tick things off the "to-do" list, do a killer workout and bid any lingering spanking soreness good-bye for another week.

Thursday is tough. Thursday, I'm in full withdrawal mode. I'm craving attention and stimulation, and the smallest irritants make me want to shoot quills like a porcupine. On Tuesday, if I'm out and about and someone cuts me off on the road, I calmly brake and wave them on. Of course you can go ahead of me! Nice car, BTW. Have a super-nice day. But cut me off on Thursday, and I'll want to impale you on your car's tailpipe.

Friday is a turnaround day. I'm looking forward to being with John, to getting away for a couple of days, to his comfortable companionship and love, so my mood lifts for the weekend. And then Monday, the cycle starts over.

Last month, Alex Reynolds wrote a blog she called Be Here, Now, which discussed her tendency to be all over the place mentally, rather than staying in the moment, in the here and now, and how she's learning how to do the latter. This post resonated with me, because this is exactly how I am. My mind is constantly leaping ahead, flitting around from one thing to the next. Because I live alone and have done so for so long, I am deeply internally focused and it's hard for me sometimes to not go inward when I'm with others, and space out about God knows what. John has often gotten annoyed with me because he can tell I'm only half-listening to him, while my mind is on any of 15 different other things. I don't mean to do this and I don't like that I do it, but I can't seem to help it. It's not like ADD, I don't think -- I can sit still, I can focus on work or a book or whatever, but my mind wants to go places.

I've come to realize that one of the few times I'm in the moment is when I'm in a spanking session. When I'm with my top, as I've mentioned before, the world goes away. I'm in a protective bubble -- there are no phones, no bills, no appointments, no responsibilities. Ever since I read Alex's blog, I've had a heightened awareness of this. And whenever I find that I'm with Mr. D and my mind is starting to go elsewhere, I catch it and simply say to myself, "Be here, now," and I come back into the bubble.

In this bubble, I'm not nervous and neurotic and insecure. In this bubble, I am beautiful and sexy and confident. I am a deeply passionate woman, unencumbered by day-to-day trivia that tires me, ages me, wears me down. A former top used to tell me that, right after an intense spanking with the tension drained from my face, I looked like I was about 20.

It's like my father used to say about his drinking. When he drank, he felt like he was taller, funnier, handsomer, a better dancer.

I'm someone else, and yet I'm not. I'm a better and happier me, a more aware me. But it's not reality. I mean, it's really a part of me, but it's too separate and pure to maintain.

It's times like these that I more fully understand what drives addiction. Granted, with drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, etc., there is physical and chemical addiction. But mine is emotional, and in its way, just as powerful. I crave it as fiercely. That bubble, that serenity. That complete hedonistic basking in attention, in pain, in pleasure. That escape.

There, I said it. It's a form of escapism, no different from chemical substances that others seek in order to get away from reality for a little while. Granted, it won't kill me, give me cirrhosis of the liver or lung cancer. My indulgence in it harms no one else. But I still feel the effects of its withdrawal and I have to come to terms with that, each week.

Mr. D told me that, if I ever get into a bad place again like I was over Christmas, I am to call him. But this neediness isn't like that bad, sad wreck of a place. It's a cranky internal demand for attention, a rebellion against real life. I wouldn't call him over this. I may feel like a whiny brat, but I'm not going to act like one. I will acknowledge the existence of that side of me and deal with it.

I really don't know who will relate to this. Those who live in DD relationships, who get spanked all the time in a consenting partnership of one sort or another, may not comprehend the sense of withdrawal and the clamorous need. Those who are spanked infrequently and never know when the next time will be, might be thinking, "What is she bitching about? She only has to wait a week in between!" This isn't bitching, even though it may seem as such. It's pondering. It's coming to terms with my patterns, my needs, and yes, my emotional addiction of sorts.

Anyway. I told you I was going to ramble. Reality came back last night with a rude thump, when I spoke with John on the phone. From his first hello, I could hear in his voice that something was off. John carries a lot of cash with him, which has always made me a little nervous. He keeps it in his pants pocket in a small binder clip. He's never lost that clip before... until yesterday. One little slip, one moment of unawareness or distraction, and poof! $500 gone.

He didn't even sound angry or frustrated, just sad and tired, and my heart ached for him. I hate when bad things happen to him. I want to fix them and I can't. And then, selfishly, I wanted to go back into my bubble, where I'm unaware of bad things. Where I no longer feel the toothache that's been nagging at me for months. Where I don't miss people. Where I don't worry.

Meh. Enough already. I'm going to get ready for the gym now. I'll even end on a funny note. He may kill me for this, but I'll chance it!

Mr. D is a very busy man with his business, and constantly on the road, on the phone, etc., multi-tasking and working long hours. So if we have any communications during the week, it's usually just a quick line or two via email or text, or a brief call. And sometimes with his messages, I can tell he's distracted.

Yesterday after I blogged, he sent me this: "Absolutely loved your blob."

I laughed myself silly over that one. Even called him and said, "Reread what you just wrote to me." He did, while I howled hysterically. God, I'm obnoxious. :-D

How does one withdraw from spanking/endorphin addiction, anyway? (And don't say cold turkey sandwiches, Danny, or I'll fly to CO and kick you.)

Come and get me

Apologies for the delay. I was so sleepy and out of it last night, I couldn't have formed a coherent post. Still feeling kind of out of it today, actually. The sign of a good session. :-)

We chatted it up for a long time before any play started. When I sensed that things were about to transition, I excused myself to use the restroom, and as I walked back into the living room, Mr. D grinned at me and patted his lap. However, I didn't take my place there. I crossed the room and sat at the dining room table. "You want me?" I taunted. "Come and get me."

He looked amused. Didn't move at first. "I think I'll have some chocolate first," he said, helping himself to the bag of Hershey's Nuggets I'd put on the coffee table. In response, I put my booted legs up onto the table and picked up a magazine.

Yes, he came and got me. Scooped me up bodily and carried me to the couch. And then made me wait. "You're so ready, aren't you?" he teased. I believe I said something along the lines of "Are you ever going to fucking get on with it already?" That did it.

Mr. D likes to say he's spanking me with love. He's also fond of laying on the hardest strikes and saying, "Feel that? That's love," or "Are you feeling the love?" Which, of course, is a setup. Because at the moment, it feels like anything but love, and I'll be damned if I'm going to answer "yes." But if I don't say anything, he'll say, "I don't hear your answer." If I say "no, dammit, I'm not feeling any @#$%ing love!", then he'll say, "Oh well, I guess I just have to keep going until you do." Arrrrrggghhh. 

But you know how tops are. They drive you to the brink, and then they turn around and do something gentle and sweet, and you're reeled back just a bit. Just enough to keep going.

Payback for defiance resulted in a night of wood. (Implements, people. Don't be filthy.) Except for a little taste of riding crop in the beginning, the entire second half of the session was wooden paddles. I don't remember when I broke down and wept, but all I do remember is that familiar inner struggle. "I can't take this yes you can no I can't yes you can no I can't yes you know you can and you will. Because you want to."

Somewhere in the turmoil, his calm voice floated in. "Just a little more. You know you need this. You know this is good for you." Yes, I do. I stop struggling and my body melts into the bed, acquiescing. That's when he knows I'm truly done.

No, he didn't stick the camera in my face. He's very respectful and kind afterward, deferring to my privacy. I'm the one who suggested it. I'm learning, slowly, to embrace my vulnerability and show it. Because even a hard-ass like me breaks down.

Later, both ravenous, we went to dinner. We both had a cup of soup (mind you, at Jerry's Deli, a cup is the size of a bowl, and the bowl is a size in which you could almost bathe a small child) and shared a wonderful salad with grilled chicken. Not at all eager to go back out in the cold, we lingered and talked some more.

On January 25, it will be six months since we met. Six months already?? He asked me how I felt now about ST, if I missed him, etc. I thought carefully about my answer. ST will always have his place, after all we shared; nearly two years produced a cache of treasured memories. I admit, my pride still hurts at how easily dispensable I was. But miss him? Not now. I'm blissfully happy with the top I have now, who has become very dear indeed.

Anyway. I must collect myself and do some work. I love squirming at my computer chair, feeling tingly and dreamy, but it's reality time. When my spanker is here, the world goes away for a few hours; there is no work to do, no bills to pay, no phones to answer. Onward with the week, and I will look forward to that sweet, painful, pleasurable oblivion once again.

OT: Yet more odds and ends -- The Cottage Cheese Trauma

I think I may have aroused some curiosity over the years with some of you, regarding my obsessive aversion to the evil substance known as cottage cheese. It's one thing to dislike a food; there are several foods I don't like. Beets, bell peppers, radishes, oatmeal, cheese (unless it's melted), avocados, pretty much all Indian food. But a special revulsion is reserved for cottage cheese, and it dates back to one of my earliest memories.

I was in nursery school (what they now call pre-school), so, what was I, about four years old? It was a sunny day and we were served our lunch outside. I don't remember what else was on my plate, but I remember that big blob of cottage cheese, paste-white and lumpy.

My parents didn't believe in making kids eat things they don't like, but they did have one rule. I couldn't just look at something and say, "I don't like that"; I had to taste it first. So I took a small bit on my fork, put it to my tongue, and immediately after I sensed the sour flavor and the coagulated texture, my throat closed. I put my fork down and looked at the teacher. "Do I have to eat this?" I asked. She nodded, her mouth full of her own nasty blob. She wouldn't let me leave the table until I'd eaten mine.

The other kids finished and went to play, and I sat there alone. I'd eaten everything else and now it was simply a showdown between me and this disgusting curdled stuff. I took a forkful and crammed it into my mouth... and then gagged so powerfully, I had to spit it back out or I would have lost the rest of my lunch. Then I started crying. There was no way I was going to be able to eat this.

Soooo... I used my four-year-old logic. If I couldn't make it disappear one way, I'd make it disappear another. Checking first to make sure no one was watching, I scraped the cottage cheese into my lap, hiding it in the folds of my skirt. Of course, that only worked until I stood up. Then the teacher saw the godawful mess I'd made, yelled at me and called my mother to come get me.

I didn't get in trouble for that with my mom. As I recall, I never went back to that nursery school and was shortly thereafter in a much nicer one.

To this day, I cannot stand the sight or even the sound of cottage cheese. I used to work for a boss who ate that crap every day for lunch, and my cubicle was near the kitchenette area. Just hearing his spoon go shhhlorrp into the cottage-cheese tub made my gorge rise. When cottage cheese commercials come on, I look away.

I don't care what you put in it. You can add bananas, pineapple chunks or peaches. You can add Reese's Peanut-Butter Cups for all I care. It's still revolting. Yes, I know it's good low-fat protein and it's a dieter's perfect food. I don't give a damn. If it were the last diet food on the planet, I'd simply say screw it, I'd been thin long enough, I'm tired of being freezing cold every winter anyway.

There you have it. Why I remember stuff like this in such excruciating detail, I don't know. I don't know anyone else who has a food trauma, either. Lucky me, huh?

Goofy threats

Mr. D is fond of them. Whenever I express dislike or distaste for something or another, he likes to say, "I ought to tie you up and make you"...whatever. Couple of examples?

"I ought to tie you up and make you watch "The Hangover." (Because he knows, with rare exceptions, that I detest lowbrow humor and I wish I'd never heard of Judd Apatow or the Farrelly brothers.)

"I ought to tie you up and make you watch Fox News." (Because, well, I don't need to explain that one.)

Really, if one wants to punish me, there are so many ways. Another couple could be:

"I ought to tie you up and make you eat cottage cheese." (Unless you have a vomit fetish, I would strongly advise against that.)

"I ought to tie you up and make you watch a Three Stooges marathon." (Oh, please, please, anything but that. Seriously. They make me sick. I can't stand the sight or the sound of them.)

What would be a goofy but utterly effective threat for you? (In Pixie's case, I know that would be "I ought to tie you up and make you eat green beans.")

Speaking of silly threats (and yes, I'm about to shamelessly name-drop) -- years ago at a Shadow Lane party, completely flabbergasted at my insatiability even on the Sunday night of a three-day spankfest, Keith Jones blustered, "I'm going to spank you until you can't sit down for a minute!"

Yeah, that's about right. :-)

C'mon, reader participation time!

Spank Me Quick!

To honor Elvis's birthday this week (he would have been 78 on January 8), I decided to write a spanking parody of one of his songs. You'd think I would have chosen one of his more well-known songs, right? ("Spank Me Tender," anyone?) But nooooo. I had to pick an obscure little tune that no one will know, except maybe his die-hard fans or oldies aficionados.

Still, you have to give me this: What do you spankos think of first, when you hear the title "Kiss Me Quick"? Yup, I did too. :-D

Here is the song (and the real lyrics are pasted below the parody, so you can compare):




So without any further ado, I present Spank Me Quick.

Spank me quick, while I’m still being naughty,

Hold me down and tell me that I’m bad

‘Cause tomorrow I’ll act up for certain,

So spank me till I’m red and hurtin’

Spank me quick, because I’m such a brat

Spank me quick, I know I drive you crazy

Grab my hair and whisper what’s in store

Tell me that tonight I’ll learn a lesson,

And all your buttons I’ll stop pressin’,

Spank me quick, because I’ll be so sore.

Let the brush keep landing

Blows that I’m withstanding

While you’re commanding,

“Don’t you sass your top!”

Spank me quick, I just can’t stand this corner,

‘Cause your hand can set me all aglow

Oh, your scolding has me wanting more

So be my top forevermore, and

Spank me quick because I need it so.

Let the belt keep flaying

While you are saying,

“Better start your praying,

That this pain will stop!”

Spank me quick, I just can’t stand this corner,

‘Cause your hand can set me all aglow

Oh, your scolding has me wanting more

So be my top forevermore, and

Spank me quick because I need it so.

Spank me quick because I need it so.

Spank me quick because I need you so.

(real lyrics for comparison)

Kiss me quick while we still have this feeling,
Hold me close and never let me go,
'Cause tomorrows can be so uncertain,
Love can fly and leave just hurting,
Kiss me quick because I love you so.

Kiss me quick and make my heart go crazy,
Sigh that sigh and whisper oh so low,
Tell me that tonight will last forever,
Say that you will leave me never,
Kiss me quick because I love you so.

Let the band keep playing while we are swaying,
Let's keep on praying that we'll never stop.

Kiss me quick, I just can't stand this waiting
'Cause your lips are lips I long to know.
For that kiss will open heaven's door
And we'll stay there forevermore,
So kiss me quick because I love you so.

Let the band keep playing while we are swaying,
Let's keep on praying that we'll never stop.

Kiss me quick, I just can't stand this waiting
'Cause your lips are lips I long to know.
For that kiss will open heaven's door
And we'll stay there forevermore,
So kiss me quick because I love you so.

Kiss me quick because I love you so.
Kiss me quick because I love you so.