Planes and Butterflies

College Guy visited me more than a week ago, and I think that we both had a lovely time. On the last day he was here, we went for a drive and attempted to find a trail or park.. It was a cold, dreary day, but as we hopped out of the car to explore the trails, I breathed the fresh air in and something in me relaxed. I really need to do more hiking and exploring the outdoors. I miss that.

As the cold air blew on us from all sides, and as I felt my toes begin to freeze, College Guy remained cheerful.

"Keep your eyes open for a good looking switch," he told me.

My walk turned into a skip. "What?" I laughed, spinning around to face him, then spinning around again. "What?"

"I'm serious, Bonnie-jo, I'm going to switch you at some point. This is half the reason why you didn't have to drag me out here."

I pick up a random stick and throw it away, declaring it too dry and old. He picks up a huge one--probably about 4 feet long.

"Uhh..." I eye it. "That's kinda big." I take it from him and start to attack the ground with it. "Besides," I say as I smack it repeatedly on the ground, "It's breaking, see."

Before we left for the hike, we had been watching tv on the sofa. One of my roommates was in her room, so I was sitting demurely cuddled by his side. At one point, my trip to see my family for Christmas came up.

"My plane is probably going to crash, and I'm going to die." I tease. He hates this. I know it's not superstition, and I realize that it's mean of me. But still, it gets nice reactions. Sometimes.

His hands are suddenly around my chest and he pulls me down onto the couch, sort of back into him. It's too much PDA for my prudish public habits, and I hiss, "Let me up!! Hey, stop. Let me up!"

"Say you're sorry for what you said."

"Okay, I'm sorry that I said I'm going to die on a plane crash." He lets go.

I sit up, laughingly. "Guess, what? I'm going to die in a plane crash." I never learn. He grabs me again, but this time, I manage to evade his grasp. He lets it go.

Now, on the trail, College Guy has found a stick. We reach a bend in road, and there is a random post, right in the middle of the bend.

"Put your hands there, I'm spanking you here."

"Put my hands where? How? Show me." I stall.

I was hoping he might model the pose for me. No such luck. He unceremoniously grabs my arm and moves me towards the post as he brings the switch down hard, right on my jeans. "Oww!" I say.

"Keep still." The switch comes down again. It's more like a thick stick. And it's not breaking. Just hurting.

"I want you to understand that you are not getting away with saying depressing things like dying on plane crashes just to be depressing. Do you understand?" He brings the switch down again and again, and I wiggle my butt away away, trying to control the spots he keeps focussing on. My jeans are on, something that never really happens, but this hurts a lot. "Owww, yes, I understand!"

"Good girl."

He throws the stick down and we walk off down the trail, hand in hand.

Half a minute later, I peruse my trail map. "The Butterfly Trail," I say. "We could try that one. But all the butterflies are probably dead." He gives me a stern look. I smile cheekily.

"You haven't had enough, have you?" He says.

"No, I have too," I lie. "I"m just wondering, like how long do they live?"

He searches for another stick.

"No, wait, hey, I mean, do they live through the winter or do they all die and if they do, how do more exist?" (I guess I missed that part of elementary school science...)

But he didn't believe my curiosity and spanked me anyway. I'm not complaining.