Sometimes I hate spankings. I lie over College Guy's lap and squirm as he splatters my bottom with hard fast spanks from either a hair brush or a bath brush, and I think to myself, "What the Sam-hill am I doing???" (okay, minus the Sam-hill part and you may substitute other words at your discretion).  It hurts and it makes me angry. I can't catch my breath, I can't even properly focus myself in order to cry. I  wisely fight the urge to tell him he's spanking me wrong, that he needs to slow down, that if this awfulness lasts any longer someone (and not me) might get hurt....

But he never spanks me that way for long. And it's always a spanking for something I've done. Something mean I've said. An act of direct and blatant disobedience. It's always warranted. So I struggle and whimper and yelp, and he pins my legs with his and wallops away.

But then, after the walloping slows, or stops, this odd thing happens to me. Sometimes, I almost want to cry because of the feeling and how odd it is. The pain fades or changes, and then, I don't want him to stop. I will be red-faced, sore-bottomed, and teary eyed. He will stop. Rub my back, spread some lotion on, kiss my cheek, ask me if I'm okay. And all I want to do is ask for more. I know that if he starts again it will hurt again and I'll want it to stop. But I hate it when he stops. I always hate it. 


Cigarettes and Paddles: 4th of July Fun

"I promise you, Bonnie-jo, if you ever take a single draw from a cigarette, I will blister your bottom."

College Guy had promised me this months ago, and I don't remember how the subject even began. I hate cigarettes and have only tried them once or twice. I've never had the urge to want to like them. I'm never going to like them. I felt it was a useless threat. It would never deter me from anything, and I'd probably never even use it to get a good hard spanking. 

While we were still living apart, I once told College Guy "I almost smoked a cigarette today just so that you would know that I am not a good person and just so that I you could plan a horrible spanking for my future." He understood how I felt, how I needed him to tell me that he didn't expect me to be perfect, how I needed the assurance of hard spankings for the future. But I resisted the temptation to smoke just to spite my good judgment. Just for the thrill of it. 

Fast forward to a 4th of July celebration with friends more than a week ago.. Add a pool table, some low lights, R&B, and about 5 random mixed drinks in each of our systems, just buzzing away. We all laugh, shoot pool, talk, and sip on our 6th random mixed drinks. And alcohol, as usual, makes me feel super excited and super depressed all at once. One of our friends, a dude, tells College Guy and I that we have something he wishes he had, that we are good people, awesome friends. I don't like being put on a pedestal. This and other random emotions swirl around in my head, and  before I know it, I'm reaching for the half-smoked cigarette this friend of ours had propped against the ashtray.

I had forgotten College Guy or his threat. My only thought was that I had drunk too much and I was so sleepy. There was no coffee in sight, so I figured a nicotine high might help. The cigarette was halfway to my mouth when out of nowhere (or so it seemed, for I had forgotten he was sitting right next to me) College Guy appeared, grabbed my arm and plucked the cigarette from my fingers. He stuck it back in the ashtray and bit out these words, "What do you think you are doing? Do we need to go home right now?"

"Huh?" Was my only reaction. And then I realized what I had done.

"I'm sorry...."

"You will be."

We were visiting family so we stayed in a hotel the next night. There was no time for a spanking as we were  with family, chatting and hanging out. The next morning however, College Guy set his alarm so that he could wake up when I came out of the shower. Once again, I must have been taking too long for his stern approval, because he barged into the bathroom and the tub and told me that I had been in there long enough and to get out.

And then followed a not-fun spanking.

"Do you want me to get dressed first?" I asked him meekly after toweling dry from the shower.


"I didn't think you would."

He put me in the corner for a little while, but once again, since we were on a time schedule because we were traveling back home, the corner time didn't last too long.

The hand spanking made me cringe. Hand spankings are usually one of  two things: sexy/hot, or foreboding/predicting. And once in awhile, they just plain hurt in a very unexpected way. This one hurt and was foreboding.

I was  paddled, hair brushed, sorority paddled, and bath brushed. We thankfully had not brought the cane, but College Guy had promised he'd cane me later when we got home. I never cried. It wasn't that kind of spanking. It was over with soon enough, and we had to get going and check out of the hotel. I felt duly punished though. I think my favorite part was really the worst part of the spanking---I believe it was when he was using the sorority paddle. That thing hurt so much, and I kept popping up and wiggling from my stretched out position on the bed. And he kept securing me with his hand on my back. Pushing me back down. Putting me exactly where he wanted me. And then paddling, paddling, paddling.

We packed up all our stuff and rushed out the door to meet more family for a quick breakfast before more traveling. As we carried our suitcases down the outdoor steps to the ground level, we passed a cleaning lady and man with their cart of supplies.

We were opening the doors to College Guy's car when we heard a shout from behind. We spun around and lo-and-behold, the guy who had gone into our room to clean it was waving our maple, circular paddle from the top of the stairs.


"Oh, hey, thanks," I shout out to the man. Then I run towards the balcony of the stairs as the man begins to crouch down and try to hand the paddle through the metal rungs to me. I vaguely hear College Guy muttering something about "Just dropping it" behind me.

I reach as quickly as possible up while the man reaches down, and within seconds, I have our paddle. Cheeks aflame, I say, "Thank you so much."

"At least it will make a good blog post." College Guy consoles. Yeah, I suppose it might.


Magic Man

"...it seemed
We'd seen each other in a dream
Seemed like he knew me...he looked right through me...yeah

'Come on home girl,' he said with a smile
'You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile,'
'But try to understand, try to understand,
Try, try, try to understand...He's a magic man'" (Magic Man, by Heart)

I heard this song on the radio the other day, and of course, it made me think of My Magician. That may or may not be a compliment, but it's true. And I miss him. College Guy says he doesn't mind if I find someone else who is older to see every now and then. But I guess I'm still missing what I had.

Life living with College Guy is interesting. I believe I have some sort of writers' block, and I apologize to you all. You probably wonder sometimes if I'm going to stop writing completely. Life gets hard to write about when it gets complicated. I miss long and almost-brutal spankings in hotel rooms where no one could here me cry out. I miss freaking out every single day about if my butt looked good for the week leading up to seeing College Guy. I even miss the long car rides to and from meeting up with him.

In exchange for all that, though, I love having someone to talk to, to hang with, to work with, to eat our dinners on top of the roof in the fading sun with, etc. It is good to have  a real live person to live with, rather than to wait for a telephone conversation at the end of the day.

College Guy and I got into a heated discussion the other day, and he said something that hurt a bit, something I've heard before, something that he apologized for later. It's not like at the moment I hadn't been doing things that I apologized for too....Anyway, what he said in a moment of true frustration was, "You don't want a real live human being do you? I guess you don't know what you want..." It was a low moment for both of us, and at the moment, I felt like he was completely right.

I'm still not sure if he is or not.

Of course I want a real person. But I know a lot of times my expectations for how much of a struggle a dom can take from me and still "win" is too high to expect of anyone. I wonder if this is more normal ( I hope, lol) than some people may think. Does not everyone have some kind of fantasy of what they want out of a significant other that is way too difficult for a real person to fulfill? Isn't compromise a major struggle in relationships? Conversation explaining what one would like, conversation about what one knows is impossible, conversation about what one will be working on, these are the conversations that strengthen a couple against the battering ram of time.

My Magician was a real person too, but the fantasy, magic-ness, or unrealness of how I saw him was a direct result of how little I saw him, the kind of contact I had with him, and more than anything, how I was determined to make him like me whenever we saw one another in person. I tried to be perfect in his presence. 

There is something about being able to show someone your worst and have them say, "It's okay. I still accept you." We'll work this out.

My Magician did that a lot. Said, it's okay, I still accept you, We'll work this out. And I showed him my worst sometimes.  But this was all via email or phone conversations. Don't get me wrong. It was still important.  It was still tons important. But it wasn't as real as it could have been.

There comes a time, though, when one must let their fantasy, their unreal-man stay in their head and accept the real man, men, or people in their lives. Not that the real people don't have room for improvement and growth. Because they do.

And furthermore, there comes a time when I must accept myself, my own realness, and let the little perfect rebel-girl  stay in my head. This 24-year old woman typing these words is who I really am. There comes a time when one must give up the remorse that they cannot be a 12 year old child. The adult that I am is a gift and one that I must take hold of and accept.  Not that there isn't room for improvement. And not that I can't be both rebel-girl and mature-woman when the time is right. Because I can.