Real Discipline--Gum Littering

I fidgeted in my seat as College Guy and I drove home from our Memorial weekend  visiting his family. It had been a fun but stressful weekend as I'd forced myself to spend time with both absolute and semi-strangers. It was the first time I saw College Guy more than buzzed--not the funnest thing for a girl who likes her guy in control.

The first week I spent with College Guy in our apartment had been exciting, new, but sort of mild on the spanking-side of things. A couple of things were going on. We weren't sure about the thickness of our walls or the hoped -for deafness of our neighbors. And I also think College Guy was intentionally not wanting to overwhelm me with anything that first week.

Then the second week, I, with my usual rotten timing, began my period, and that hampered things considerably.

So by the time our Memorial weekend with family and friends arrived, I was wishing things could be different. I was honestly afraid that my memories of discipline would remain memories.  Maybe College Guy didn't even want to spank me really hard anymore. A couple hours before we left his mom's house for the drive back to our apartmentthough, he told me, "When we get home, you're going to get some discipline."
"Why?"
"Because you're overdue. And because you've been intentionally trying to annoy me all weekend, haven't you?"
"Yeah."
"So you're going to be disciplined. Okay, Bonnie-jo?"
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever you feel like doing." What I meant was, Whatever you do will not be enough for me, pure and simple.

Still, I was a little excited and anxious about what would happen. I had to keep reminding myself that I could not get my hopes up. It's not going to be hard. Be prepared for it to be just a medium-ish spanking, I told myself.

But the feeling of restlessness and anger that had been pushing at me all weekend began to rear its head as we drove down the highway.  I said some snotty, unfeeling things. He got that hurt look on his face and became quiet. I apologized, and we talked it all through. But it wasn't enough. I fidgeted in my seat, chewing a stick of gum. And then I did something I've never done before. I rolled down the window.
"I'm throwing my gum outside." I announced.
"No, Bonnie-jo, put it in a wrapper, that's litter--"
"Nope. I'm throwing it." And I did so. (and I still feel slightly guilty..ugh...littering is awful...but, you see, my needs at the time felt more important)
His voice became angry and terse, just how I wanted it. "So you have hundreds of dollars at your disposal that you don't mind wasting on a littering ticket, is that how it is?"
I snap back, wide-eyed, "It's fine! I made sure no car behind us was close enough to see. You just need to calm down a little. Relax!"
"We'll talk about it when we get home."

My heart sank and fluttered. It had been the response I'd wanted. At the same time, the goofy smile on my face fell as I saw his "huffy face" as he calls it. He really was upset. But somehow, the converstation after that exchange lightened up, and we talked and relaxed the rest of the trip.

Within minutes of stepping in the door of the apartment, I was bare-bottomed and standing in the corner by the front door. He began puttering around in the kitchen, putting away everything in the dish drainer. This was oddly unsettling because I know it's not something he'd normally do. He must be super agitated, was the thought that spurred my heart just a bit faster, but I reminded myself again that the spanking would be dissapointing because our walls were so thin.

He came up behind me, and I waited for him to turn me around and lead me somewhere. Instead, he slapped one cheek and then the other so hard and so quickly that I bit back a surprised yelp. It really hadn't hurt, but suddenly I was breathing a lot faster, and my face was flushing. It's not going to be a hard spanking, stop acting like it is, I told myself.

He paces away, turns on his videogame for background noise (spanking for nerds 101....), and comes back to stand near my shoulder.
"What's about to happen, dear?"
"I have no idea." I smirk over my shoulder. In a way, I'm actually being totally honest.
He attacks my bare cheeks again, one hard slap to each side.
"What's about to happen?"
I sigh apologetically, "You're going to spank me because I was trying to annoy you." My voice sounds oddly adult to my ears. I feel so small at the moment.
"And you were doing it all weekend long."
"Yes."

"Come get over my knee."
I drape myself over his lap and he spanks hard and fast with his bare palm. Soon, I'm kicking slightly. I saw him bring the bathbrush to my chair, and suddenly, I don't want a discipline spanking anymore. He pauses, then, "That's all the warm-up you're getting."
"Nooo..." I start.
He brings the bathbrush hard onto one cheek, then the other. "You should have thought about that before you littered when I explicitly told you not to. You did that purely to make me angry, didn't you?" The bathbrush is always a shock to me, but it's usually bearable when he just brings it down on my bottom. That, however, never happens.  He softly tap-tap-tapps my left sit spot, letting me know in all clearity what is about to happen. Then CRACK, it comes down hard and I jerk  my entire body away from him. He is prepared for the struggle though and CRACK! brings the brush down on the right sit spot. I bring both legs up in a kind of fetal position, and he pauses, gently  pushing my legs back down with his hand.
I whimper softly.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it Bonnie-jo?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Sir." I say. And a simultaneous feeling of relief, peace, and fear mix in my chest.
"Does it feel like you remember?"
"Uhmm..I think it feels worse."
But this does not stop that brush. It comes down again and again, and I stifle my yelps for our neighbors' sake.

He orders me back to the corner. There is a bit more of the bathbrush, 20 strokes, which he counts. Then 10 of the cane, which oddly don't hurt that much (I have no idea..and I really shouldn't be admitting such things) which I count. Then I'm over his lap for lotion and aftercare. I lay back on down on my stomach and watch him play his video game. It's all over.

Or is it?

I don't want it to be. I want more and I feel stupid and wrong and unhealthy for it. Sometimes, I'm afraid I'm insatiable.

He looks up from his game. "How are you doing?"
"Fine."
"Fine? Really?"
"Yup." I say and give him a smile that quickly leaves my face and that was only sort of aimed in his direction--one withouth any eye contact. He reaches over to place a comforting hand on my arm. I take his hand in mine and throw it off.

He gives me his quizical look, like he's trying to figure out what phrase I'm trying to mime in a Charades game.

Then, he sighs, "Get up."
"No."
He drags me up and propels me over to the refrigerator. "Put your hands here and here. Do not move them."
He goes and gets the cane, and I can care less. Well, for a moment I can care less. He reaches for my hips and moves them out, then takes aim, and in that moment between the taking aim and the following blow, I wonder why I threw his hand off my arm. There is no going back now.

Our movements become a sort of dance, one that we both attempt to lead. He conducts me with the cane, tapping the front of my pelvis lightly, "Stick out your bottom more. Don't move it."
"I can't help it. " I whine, as I stick it out more.
"Try your best."
SWISH!!!!
And I involuntarily move my bottom towards the refrigerator and away from the cane and in doing so break it's impact.
The cane taps back at the tops of my thighs, and I reluctantly stick my bottom back out. Then he moves it in between my legs and taps at my inner thighs, and I sigh, because that almost feels good. And I spread voluntarily.
SWISH!! It hurts and I'm immediately drawing forward and drawing my legs together. He taps at the places he wants to move again, and I move them for him.

"Do not move your hands from the refrigerator, " he tells me. "If you do I'm adding strokes."
But my hair keeps getting in my eyes, and at one point, I move a hand to push it back. "I said do not move your hands."
"I didn't move them." I protest.
"And now you're lying to me?"
"Uhh..."
"I'm going to cane you for a good long while, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."

And  little later....
"I'm sorry."
He looks at me with kind eyes, "Don't be sorry...unless it's about the lying."
"Yes, it is."
"It's okay." And I understand what he means. He's meaning that it's okay for me to be moody, bratty, and even annoying. He will deal with it. Lying he is not okay with. And neither am I, of course. The interesting detail is that it wasn't an intentional lie. I wasn't paying attention to whether my hands had moved or not. All I meant by claiming they didn't move was a blatant contradiction to whatever he was claiming at the moment. He could have said that 2+2=4 and I would have claimed it did not.

And then he finished the spanking with the tiny wooden hairbrush that usually I can handle very well, but this time it had me sqirming so much that my hands-on-the refrigerator-butt-stuck-out-position wasn't cutting it and he pulled me down into a make-shift-otk, with him kneeling on one knee in front of the refrigerator, me over the one knee. Then I was put back in the corner, and the time seemed much longer than usual.

You know, I still felt insatiable as I stewed in that corner. It isn't a fun feeling. Becaused I didn't really want to be spanked. It was more like I wanted him to erase my feelings. I wanted that oblivion that horrible spankings can bring.

I realized though, after he finally came and got me and said, "How about some ice cream?" and we sat down to cuddle and share a bowl of mint chocolate chip that I realized for another time that spankings don't fix everything, even though I always wish for them to and secretly think they will.

They just help.

Living Together

I have now been living with College Guy in our own little apartment for more than a week. It's been good--stressful and scary, but good. I've always been the type of person that detests change, that balks at it, that tries to circumvent it. So even though I wanted this change, this move to a completely new state and completely new way of living, it still makes my heart thump a bit harder than it is used to.

My parents hate that we're living together. They believe that cohabitation is morally wrong and will only hurt us. It is hard to know that they are afraid for me and wishing I would make other choices.

I knew spanking would not be the same in an apartment complex with thin walls. With the hotel situations we've had in the past, we always knew we could just leave in the morning; whatever our next-door neighbors had heard that night would be a one-night thing. But in a apartment, you have to think a bit more about who is hearing you. The dreaded cane has now become friendlier, for it is quit.  I do like hard spankings, after all, so deprive me enough of those and even the cane begins to look good.

It's an interesting phenomenon, but I've noticed with myself and other bloggers, that as a blog continues past the one-year birthday, it becomes harder and harder to write. There seems to be blogs that are either super old with experienced bloggers plugging away at them, or there are blogs that are fairly new and have only been recently active. I feel that my issues have become complicated, and they are no longer about the things they used to be.

A blog that was once about my spanking exploration with two men while I went to college has now become a blog about a fairly seasoned spanko living with her boyfriend and working in the "real world" (gag!). It could very easily become a blog about kinky sex....and it could also just become a sort of diary where I complain about living with a dude, share recipes, talk about the dream I had last night, and generally bore my poor readers.

Thus, I think I'm going to need to either terminate it,
or,
I could start telling you about my sexual exploits in more detail and my thoughts on those more erotic themes.

I wanted to keep this blog as something about purely spanking but maybe it's time for it to graduate and become about something more. Maybe. I'll think about it.

Watching another man spank me

College Guy told me long ago, "I'm not interested in watching another man spank you. Ever." We had talked about if he were ever to meet up with my Magician and me. They were sort of in agreement in what they both told me would be acceptable in that scenario. My Magician said he didn't want to spank me in front of College Guy. He would only settle for telling College Guy what to do to me--he would only settle for that top level of command. College Guy, however, told me he wouldn't mind that scenario--that he would be the one benefiting from it because he would be the one getting to give the spanking. He said that were the two to switch, were I to go over my Magician's lap, he wouldn't watch. He said he'd watch my face, talk to me, whisper encouragement maybe, but he wouldn't really watch.

This whole scenario was not appealing to me. I told him that the two would never meet then, because my idea of fun was entirely different than his. I wanted him to watch. I wanted him to watch another man spank me, to tantalize himself with it, and to know that I was his to spank harder. My Magician was right about the chain of command--watching and telling the other man what to do was the better role.

So at the Spanking Party College Guy and I attended a few days ago, I did not believe my eyes when I stepped off into a corner to be spanked by the guy who was running the party. He and  I had picked out a leather flogger, and as I settled down onto a spanking bench, College Guy stood 5 or so feet in front of us, watching. I shot him a nervous smile. "You don't have to watch if you don't want."

"I want to."

The man who ran the party was very nice to me--starting with a flogger always puts you in the "nice" category. I had picked a belt for the next implement, and that made me wiggle and squirm a bit. It must be hard to spank a girl in front of her top. I had played with this man one other time, and I think I sensed that he was a bit worried. As soon as I made any kind of noise or squirmed more than a little, he asked me how I was doing and if I was okay. Perhaps that's just party protocol.

He ended with a hand spanking, and I could have stayed on that spanking bench for the rest of my life and been hand spanked until I died of old age.....It was amazing!!! I have learned that I tend to be a little stupid when a top ends with a hand spanking; I tried it with College Guy that same night. Hand spankings make you think you can take anything. Hand spankings are evil because they make you think you like spanking. College Guy ended one of the spankings with only hand, and it was lovely, of course. So lovely, that I had to pipe in with, "Is that all you've got?" And, he, of course, then grabbed his trusty bath brush and told me without words that he had a whole lot left...Not the best idea...

So this other top hand-spanked me, and I almost fell asleep while he did it. And College Guy watched the whole time.

"Alright, Bonnie-jo," the top told me."Ten more, and then you're done."

"Okay," I murmured sleepily, wishing I could protest and get some more out of him.

"Make her count them." College Guy said.

He wasn't meaning to be rude, and the top thankfully was abnormally low-key for a top and didn't mind. He had me count them, and I took the opportunity to mess up the count repeatedly..I even counted in Spanish. They both ended up confused about what number I'd said and what it meant, and in the end, I had to translate the numbers I'd skipped over into English. I've always been the type to tell on myself.

But I thought later about what College Guy had done. He had watched another man spank me. And he had told the man one thing to do...Perhaps he's wouldn't have been okay with My Magician telling him how to spank me after all.

One more week

One more week and I will be living with College Guy. For now, I must make due with family visiting for my grad (so I'm deleting all the history on my computer, just finished cleaning up my photo albums, and will conclude with posting on here as I won't be able to do it for at least a week).

And then, I move to live with College Guy.

I've been thinking about my last post, and there is a lot that I left out of the whole story. That last spanking I wrote about was the last real spanking he gave me--definitely not the first of the trip. And every other spanking during the trip had hurt. After every other spanking, I'd picked myself off of his lap and been glad that he stopped when he did.

We had actually attended a spanking party a bit earlier in the trip, and the last spanking at the party had hurt almost too much. Later he told me, "I think you're much more pain sensitive around other people"--to which I soundly protested, "I am not!" But he had a point. I'm still not sure what one is supposed to do when they are being spanked around other people and the spanking starts hurting a lot. Normally, I whimper and wail--it's like my mouth is a channel for the pain or something. At partys though, I start off giggling. Then when it starts hurting and the giggles turn to whimpers, I try to quiet down. I'm just so afraid I'll start yelling and really scare someone else, or make College Guy look like he's being mean or dangerous.

I knew he wanted my last spanking at the party to be his--like Michael Buble's "Save the Last Dance for Me". And he warned me he wasn't going to be nice during it. I"ll have to blog about the fun at the party some other time, but this last spanking is important because, once again, I almost freaked out because of how hard it was. I was over his lap on some kind of hard leather mattress thing that worked great for OTK. He'd warmed me up sort of long with his hand (I will never say "long" because can hand spankings ever be long enough?), and had switched to a new hardwood, circle paddle one of the partiers had just given us. I knew some people were watching, so kept trying to smile and giggle, but that tactic became increasingly difficult. So I turned my head away from the people and hid, trying to keep my whimpers quiet. But the freak out began...What if I couldn't keep quiet? What if I cried in public?
I kicked my legs up, trying to let him know this was not fun. "Settle down." He told me sternly, running the paddle's cool wood along my calves. "Keep your legs out of the way, do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
Darn it, at least the people are far enough away to not hear me talk. "Yes, Sir." --Very softly.

And he kept spanking with that darn paddle. I began to breath hard. To wiggle hard. At one point I told him, "I think I'm done.." He'd warned me that I would get the spanking he wanted to give me that night, and I had been glad and happy that he was going to control it, to do what he wanted. But at that moment, I wished I could take it all back. "College Guy.."
"What?"
"I'm done now."
His response was only, "You're done when I say you're done."
I sighed and lay back down, somehow more at peace with it. But that peace lasted only seconds.
"I'm going to do 20 with this paddle and then you're all done. You're going to count them out loud. Do you understand?"
I was almost burst into tears right there and then. I tried to breathe through the feeling, deeply slowly.
"Bonnie-jo...Bonnie-jo, I asked you a question."
I sat up to look at him, "I really don't know if I can do 20..I'm scared of what I might do with all these people..."
"I"ll take it down to 10. Lay back down."

That was scary. Somehow I made it through. But during counts 3-8, I was one frightened woman.

So how did I go from that--from being scared of 10 swats--to challenging College Guy to basically cane me until his arm gave out? I have no idea...but the feelings during those opposing moments were so different, so alien from one another. Throughout both, I was still a spanko. But both were so extreme.

Where, I ask, is the middle and how do I get there? :(

I'm sure I'll find it. Still the extremes are kind of fun too. This way I get to experience the raw fear discipline can bring, and I also get to ride the high of that "He can kill me with his bare hands and I won't feel a thing. I am woman! Hear me roar!"

One last thought, College Guy told me that if I got in the same kind of mood I was in on Sunday too often, he knew exactly how he'd deal with it. He said he'd not spank me at all. He'd wait an hour, a day, or however long it took for me to leave the mood, and then he's spank me very hard....when I wasn't feeling brave anymore. :) I like that a lot.

Scary Spanking Mojo

I scared myself yesterday...because my spanking mojo came back with a vengeance. I have struggled a bit for the past semester with the thought that I  might not really be a spanko. It seemed as if whenever College Guy and I were able to meet up at a hotel for the night (only twice in the whole semester..way too little time!), I would go through initial excitement over him spanking me and then quickly spiral down down down into a freak-out because the spankings hurt and I didn't like the pain part of it. He would always lighten them up (only a bit if it were a punishment one) and we'd proceed as though things were normal.

It's interesting to try to figure it all out. The best explanation we have come up with is that my spanking pain level changes based on a lot of things, but particularly on how tired I am and the mood I'm in.

Usually, College Guy has spanked an exhausted Bonnie-jo. This last semester has been slightly horrendous in how busy it has constantly made me.

Yesterday, however, I was not tired. Not mentally and not physically. College Guy had been visiting me for the weekend, and we'd done a ton of fun, relaxing things. It was our last day together. I'd made us noodles with chicken and alfredo sauce .We drank a bottle of wine and snuggled on the couch.

We had been doing spanko and sexual things all weekend. I felt like I should be giving him a break, and I knew I had tired him out a bit as we lay on the couch together. But wine does funny things to me, and the more I tried to concentrate on the movie we were watching on Comedy Central (good channel, btw), the more I wanted to....hmm...do something...

I wanted a spanking, I wanted to have sex. I wanted something. But for some reason, my request came out oddly, "So when do I get to give you your birthday spanking you promised me I could give you?" I purred into his ear. I know, I know, folks...you're shocked. The truth is, College Guy told me that even though he is the top and I'm the bottom, I can give him the number of birthday swats around his birthday if I want to. I had not done so, because honestly, I never wanted to. But in the heat of the moment, I felt like if I couldn't have my naked bottom over his knee, at least maybe he'd let me have his. Weird logic, I know...and it was only 2 glasses of wine....

He crawled over my lap good-naturedly, and I took my time. It was kind of fun..and at one point, when my hand came away, I actually saw a pink mark underneath it. I can see the draw just a little bit. Still, as I neared the end, I began to worry a bit. Number one, how can he claim that he's "neutral" about me giving him a playful birthday spanking? And two, what was he going to do to me afterwards? Or would he do anything?

I finished and he promptly got up and told me that I knew he would have to pay the favor back. I was glad. But my mood was worse. Part of me was freaked that I had just spanked him and almost enjoyed it. And part of me was more freaked at how far I would go to get any kind of reaction out of him--to do anything kinky--I was hungry for it. So hungry. Like a vegetarian ready to eat a steak.

He told me to get over his lap and I did something I do when I decide to be entirely selfish and try to get what I want exactly how I want it. I fought him; I stiffened up. He tried to flip me over and I tried hard to stay on my back.

The rest is hard to remember. He started "Bonnie-jo-ing" me, sternly, warningly. I didn't answer. He counted, telling me it would be Gepetto and not just his hand if he got to count number 3. I missed the number. And the whole time I was watching his reactions hungrily, loving them, telling myself inside, "See he really can take control. Just because it's not always this way doesn't mean it's not there, ready to come out for later. It's going to be okay. He can do it."

He motioned me over his lap as he sat on the couch we'd just been watching tv on. I gave him my most seductive look and sat on his lap, "Please don't spank me" I said, making my eyes wide, kissing him. Yes, playing dirty and lying--that's what I was doing. But I was over his knee in no time and being bath brushed, and I wiggled and whimpered my way through it. But really I just wanted more. And I hated myself for it. Not because it's wrong to want more spankings!!! Please don't get me wrong folks. I just felt so guilty for the way I felt I'd dragged this spanking out of him. I'd played dirty. I hadn't asked him for it. I hadn't waited for it, for a time when he actually wanted to spank me too. He'd already spanked me just that morning. I'd forced him to punish me. I'd given him little choice.

He realized the spanking wasn't getting through. "Get up for a second."  He stalked off to my bedroom. Then I heard. "Bonnie-jo, where's your cane?"

"Nooo, don't cane me. " I tossed back.

He came around the corner of my bedroom door and shot me a look, hands on hips. "You will tell me where it is, or I will paddle you with the huge paddle. Choose which one you want."

It was a hard choice. But I found the cane (it took a bit of searching).

I handed it to him and he walked over to the couch. "Kneel on the couch." I winced through the caning, but I wasn't even feeling that. Not really.

It was his words that hurt more. His kind, loving words. "Why are you doing this? What's going on? Talk to me. We don't have to be doing this. If you can tell me what's going one we can talk this out."

I refused to talk though. And shot him dirty looks whenever he mentioned talking. He said something about needing to "break me a little bit", that he felt that was what I was asking for. I responded with some kind of throaty moan.....yes, it was true. That's what I wanted.

At one point he asked me a question. I didn't respond. "You can't even say 'Yes, Sir' right now, can you?" I just stared ahead, out the window in front of the couch I was kneeling on. Shook my head the tiniest bit. Glared out the window.

And then he stopped caning me like in a normal caning. You know, the kind-top, Swish!!!  then 8 seconds of a break, then Swish!! then 8 seconds of a break. This was consecutive cane strokes, one after the other after the other. Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! That got through to me fairly fast, but in a way, I still didn't want him to stop.

But he did. And I knew why. I had been struggling because of how fast the strokes had become and he had pulled me over the arm of the sofa, my head angled toward the ground. "Watch your head near the end table, dear. " He threw out in the middle of the flurry of cane strokes. "I will!" I assured between sobs. (Yes, a nice sign we are true spankos. It's kind of like having two totally different conversations at the same time.)But then he broke off mid-stroke, paused, and touched my bottom gingerly. I started sobbing...not because I was hurt or in pain, but because I knew he was going to stop now. Of course, just  my luck, I was bleeding a tiny bit. I felt guilty. I knew he doesn't like it when that happens and that it has to be a very important punishment for him to think of continuing and working around the spot. I felt wrong enough making him spank me--no way would I try to act out and make him continue now.

My weeping picked up in intensity. I just didn't want it to be over.  "Are you okay, dear?" He asked, and I gasped and caught my breath, trying to stop crying. "Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"Keep both hands on that floor, do you understand? I'll be right back."

"Yes, Sir." I breathed.

He stepped into the bathroom and brought back a tissue to apply to the tiny spot on my bottom.

I got back up into the kneeling position I'd started out in. "Look at me, Bonnie-jo." He said in a compassionate, kind voice. I was so upset and I felt so ugly. I couldn't' look at him when I felt so despicable...I was afraid he'd see how I felt all over my face and think I really was horribly ugly. "No..." I sobbed into the couch corner, hiding. I knew I had to get it together though. Sooner or later, he'd move my hair back and pull my face to look at his. So I breathed slowly, deeply, cleared my throat, sniffled. Moved my hair from my face. And looked at him.

"I'm sorry." I said.

"It's okay. But what just happened?"

"I don't know..I ...I got scared. I was afraid I was too much for you...."

"Alright. I want you to go stand in that corner for 5 minutes. I think it's important you have some time to think and calm down. Leave your jeans and panties down."

I waddled over and stood in the corner. "It's okay, girl, you're okay. You're going to be fine. You can do this. You're not crazy to have wanted that. " I whispered this to myself, quietly. "Get it together for him. Stop. Stop, now. Breathe. It's over now. It's okay. It's okay."

It helped a bit. And when I came back to him, we talked it all out. Many times during that talking-it-out conversation, I almost reverted back to where I'd been, ("Watch your step, missy, I will cane you again, you're not out of the woods yet"--was his threat) but no matter how much I still wanted him to cane me, I knew it was an emotional  slippery slope at the moment. I needed to get out of the funk. The only way to do that was to talk and to stop freaking out.

I'm still kind of scared though. I'm still not quite sure what happened. It was like nothing that he did would be enough. Nothing. I scared myself into believing it.

It's going to be an interesting ride. In very little time, I will no longer be a college student. I"ll walk down the aisle, receive my diploma, and move to College Guy's state.

He'll still be College Guy, but I'll no longer be a "College Spanko". Exciting times, scary times. I want to do justice to these moments. I hope I will.

It's going to be an interesting ride.