Camera? Check.
Japanese bondage rope? Check.
Blindfold/Sleep Mask? Check.
Three-holed Paddle? Check.
Very cheap Arbor Mist stuff? Check.
Panties of various types? Check.
Cane? Check.
Bathbrush? Check.
Computer? Check.
Sleep? Not yet, still packing...I'm going on a trip. I'm gonna see College Guy. We have stuff to "talk" about. And we have need for a break in the pandimonium of school and life. So I'm going. Leaving in about 7.5 hours. I had better get to bed.
We have some new implements that we bought together in place of "Christmas presents". I think it's a little early for Christmas...but I know when to keep my mouth shut. I'm looking forward to the cane. The paddle can get eaten by a wild boar on the trip over for all I care.
Can't wait. Can't wait.
Can't wait to wish that I could wait. Can't wait to think "Oh %*$*...why did I come?"
Can't wait.
9.30.2010
9.20.2010
The Bet
He said her name in that tone of voice. She peaked her head around the corner of the living room. He was on the couch. In the middle of the couch. He never sat there. Not smack dab in the middle.
She flew back to the bedroom, zipped on her coat, jerked on her hat and gloves, grabbed her car keys.
She scuttled by him, avoiding his gaze. Her hand was on the door, thumb pressed on the top handle, when she felt his arm around her waist, his strong hand wrap gently but firmly around her wrist. "Where do you think you're off to?" The question was almost a whisper, and her breath quickened.
"I'm getting ice cream."
"Like hell."
She squirmed in his half embrace, dreading what was coming, and also...wondering..as always, wondering...would he give up this time?
She giggled. "I didn't realize that kissing me good bye was so important to you. Since when has that been such a big deal?" And she turned in his arms, snuggling in and reaching up for his face in a movement that had been honed with time and practice.
In a smooth move, he stepped backwards and her hands met empty space. So he was airing on the side of caution. Good, she liked a man to be scared of her.
To bad he hadn't thought more into the movement. Right on beat she spun, pulled the door open, and sped out, not bothering to close it. A nervous squeal rose in her throat as she dashed to her car, keys extended. The car beeped at her as the remote engaged, and she opened her door, jumped in, and moved to slam herself into safety, but the door wouldn't budge.
He was holding the handle. "Get out. I will come in there and drag you out. You don't want that."
"I don't want you." Yeah, she knew she didn't play fair. So?
"Get out."
They stared at one another, her brain starting to realize that she wasn't going anywhere.
"Why?" She decided to play dumb. "Why do you always think this will help us? Spanking me doesn't help. I like spanking."
It was dark outside. So she saw the sparks clearly as they flashed in his eyes. "I like spanking too. And I'm going to enjoy this spanking a hell of a lot more than you're going to."
"You wanna bet?"
She flew back to the bedroom, zipped on her coat, jerked on her hat and gloves, grabbed her car keys.
She scuttled by him, avoiding his gaze. Her hand was on the door, thumb pressed on the top handle, when she felt his arm around her waist, his strong hand wrap gently but firmly around her wrist. "Where do you think you're off to?" The question was almost a whisper, and her breath quickened.
"I'm getting ice cream."
"Like hell."
She squirmed in his half embrace, dreading what was coming, and also...wondering..as always, wondering...would he give up this time?
She giggled. "I didn't realize that kissing me good bye was so important to you. Since when has that been such a big deal?" And she turned in his arms, snuggling in and reaching up for his face in a movement that had been honed with time and practice.
In a smooth move, he stepped backwards and her hands met empty space. So he was airing on the side of caution. Good, she liked a man to be scared of her.
To bad he hadn't thought more into the movement. Right on beat she spun, pulled the door open, and sped out, not bothering to close it. A nervous squeal rose in her throat as she dashed to her car, keys extended. The car beeped at her as the remote engaged, and she opened her door, jumped in, and moved to slam herself into safety, but the door wouldn't budge.
He was holding the handle. "Get out. I will come in there and drag you out. You don't want that."
"I don't want you." Yeah, she knew she didn't play fair. So?
"Get out."
They stared at one another, her brain starting to realize that she wasn't going anywhere.
"Why?" She decided to play dumb. "Why do you always think this will help us? Spanking me doesn't help. I like spanking."
It was dark outside. So she saw the sparks clearly as they flashed in his eyes. "I like spanking too. And I'm going to enjoy this spanking a hell of a lot more than you're going to."
"You wanna bet?"
9.15.2010
Holes
My favorite pair of jeans has 4 holes down the left thigh. And during class, my fingers will sneak down and a probing finger or two will sneak into one of the holes, smoothing the skin underneath. And then I'll just leave them there, trapped against my skin It happens unintentionally, but most times, when I realize I've been doing it for awhile, I jerk my fingers out, wondering if classmates had noticed my self-soothing movement.
Freud would say that the actions was symbolic of another action, another self-soothing habit that he was all too interested in. Doesn't he wish?
But I don't think that's why I do it. The feeling of my fingers on the previously untouched skin is good. But, after repeating the motion in my horribly long night class yesterday, I realized why I like it, why do it unconsciously. I like trapping my finger.
I know it's just one finger, and I'm in control of the trapping part. I really don't know why I like it or have fixated on this tiny part of my life as a subject for my post.
But it makes me think. It makes me think of holding hands. It makes me think of someone holding my wrist, my arm bent behind my back, as I writhe across his lap. It makes me think of a hand on my face, forefinger and thumb pressing just below my cheekbones. "Look at me. Look. At. Me." It makes me think of that place I always want to get to, that place where I can no longer fight and but more than that, I no longer want to.
Freud would say that the actions was symbolic of another action, another self-soothing habit that he was all too interested in. Doesn't he wish?
But I don't think that's why I do it. The feeling of my fingers on the previously untouched skin is good. But, after repeating the motion in my horribly long night class yesterday, I realized why I like it, why do it unconsciously. I like trapping my finger.
I know it's just one finger, and I'm in control of the trapping part. I really don't know why I like it or have fixated on this tiny part of my life as a subject for my post.
But it makes me think. It makes me think of holding hands. It makes me think of someone holding my wrist, my arm bent behind my back, as I writhe across his lap. It makes me think of a hand on my face, forefinger and thumb pressing just below my cheekbones. "Look at me. Look. At. Me." It makes me think of that place I always want to get to, that place where I can no longer fight and but more than that, I no longer want to.
9.08.2010
My Toppy-side
"Why are you following me?" I ask this guy at college that is always running into me. For all of last semester and now this one, he's been "the stalker" in the movie that is my life. We were even in a class this semester, but thankfully, I ended up dropping it. Now I'm trying to find Henry James' "The Turn of the Screw". And this guy is dogging my every step.
"What?" He asks innocently.
I sigh. "Heel!" I command, and keep walking. He follows. I laugh. But it's not funny. I'm mocking.
I only do it because I hate it.
My first boyfriend ever is lying on his back in the parked vehicle. Vulnerable...controlled by his need. I see it as weak...and I laugh. I'm mocking.
"Say it again. Say it like you mean it." I purr.
"You're so good at blow jobs. You're like in the top 2%...." He breaks off in a gasp, and I allow the feeling to soar, then abruptly break off contact.
"I don't think I like the sound of 2%. I want to hear 1%." My voice is matter-of-fact, but teasing.
He chuckles. But I remain motionless.
"Alright, alright, you're in the top 1%.."
I laugh. Hilarious. Horribly hilarious.
I like to think that this is my "toppy-side". That it comes out when I don't like a guy. When I wish I could like a guy.
So I test him. And when he fails, I laugh. But I'm mocking.
This isn't fair of me. Some guys want to be controlled by women. Some guys are like me. It's what they long for.
"The stalker" in the library, when I told him to "heel" , responded with, "Oh, no, Missy, oh no. Don't even think about it."
I giggled. 'Well, you're still following me."
"You may be cute," he said, "But you're not that cute."
Which probably means that his "oh no" reaction was only reserved for those that were "that cute" and that everyone else couldn't boss him around. But some one "that cute" could definitely be the boss.
And I never want that. I'm not saying that I never want to have my own ideas. I do. I want to be able to tell a guy what I think he should do. I want him to tell me what he suggests I'd do. And then I want to figure out what I think is best.
However, I want him to know that when he wants it to be so...when we can push everyday life aside...I want him to control me. But only if he takes pleasure in it too.
I never want him to see being a top as mocking me. I am mocking when I play at it. It scares me every time I do it.
8.29.2010
Fantasy While Procrastinating on My Homework
I stand in front College Guy's seated form. I'm close, vulnerable, but unrepentant. It's going to take a good deal this time. I don't realize that he already knows this fact.
He says little. In a few firm sentences which I barely hear or understand, he lets me know why I am standing before him, what necessitated his action.
He asks me if I have anything to say.
I have nothing. I have removed myself from the situation. I'm anything but resigned. I'm uncaring.
"Step back three steps." This is not the usual beginning. "Turn around." I obey. It's not yet time to resist. "Take off your jeans and your panties." I do so. And I stand there. I could stand there for years, and it wouldn't faze me.
Nothing matters.
In a dreamy part of my mind, I hear him moving behind my back, then silence.
"Stay still, Bonnie-jo. Do not move until I tell you too."
I wait for a long time. Or maybe it's a short time. I do not care.
Then he is behind me. He slaps one cheek then the other, just hard enough to stir my desire for this, just hard enough to make me wish that I will be overthrown. His hand rests between my cheeks, moves a bit lower, and causes me to squirm slightly as he says, "I'm putting the blindfold on you now." I want to turn and see his face, but I hold still as he ties the silk cloth around my composed face.
His hands are on my shoulders, turning me around to face him, and he smooths back a strand of hair momentarily. Then he places his fingers on my mouth, and they linger there.
"This is going to be the most important part of you for the next hour or two, Bonnie-jo. Yeah, it may not feel like the most important part...but this is what is going to get you into the most trouble during this spanking if you don't play your cards right. And this is what could potentially make a memorable but shorter spanking if you do play your cards right. Do you understand?"
I don't respond.
He always reacts the same.
With complete silence. There is no wheedling or threatening, no anger, not even a "I thought as much". Just action.
I'm unceremoniously led to the bed. He places my hand on it. "Lay down. I want you in a spread eagle position. Now."
We've never done this before.
He ties each wrist to the headboard posts, and each ankle to the foot board posts.
I attempt to wriggle. I can hardly move a muscle.
And the fear comes creeping into my brain, like tiny ants under a door frame. No, please, no.
"I know you're a little scared right now, so I'm going to help you out." His hand is now resting on my bottom. He slaps it hard.
"I wouldn't normally do this because I've spanked you for homework issues before. So technically, you shouldn't be getting a warm up, especially because your mouth seems to have a problem answering me in a proper way. But I'm going to give you one anyway."
I moan inside as the slaps come down hard. They hurt in the best way possible. And I don't want them to. Sometimes, kindness hurts more than brutality, and the thought that he cares about my fear, that he cares enough to administer the warm-up, this thought I cannot stand.
A small moan catches in my throat, and I quickly draw a breath and let it out. His hand stops.
"Are you enjoying this, my dear?"
Silence.
"I need an answer on that, I'm afraid, because if you are, then I'm not doing my job right."
Silence.
"Uh, huh. Consider that all the warm up you're getting."
I find my voice and speak for the first time since this started. "You suck."
Silence. Then, his words hard, but slow and measured. "You are entitled to your opinion, but now is not the time to say that. Your mouth will open only when I'm asking you a question. Do you understand?"
Silence.
He sighs, the first sign of frustration since we started. "You know, you are not doing yourself any favors today, Young Lady."
But I don't care what is about to happen. Please, please, please, spank me until I'm sobbing, begging you to stop. Spank me until I can't resist you any longer. Spank me until I'm promising you I'll be better, and not because you want me to be better, but because I want me to be better.
Spank me until I feel powerless, weak, open, so that I can feel like supergirl once again.
Don't listen to my rude comments, my jibes, my protests, my explanations. Expect better of me. Spank me. Please, please spank me.
He says little. In a few firm sentences which I barely hear or understand, he lets me know why I am standing before him, what necessitated his action.
He asks me if I have anything to say.
I have nothing. I have removed myself from the situation. I'm anything but resigned. I'm uncaring.
"Step back three steps." This is not the usual beginning. "Turn around." I obey. It's not yet time to resist. "Take off your jeans and your panties." I do so. And I stand there. I could stand there for years, and it wouldn't faze me.
Nothing matters.
In a dreamy part of my mind, I hear him moving behind my back, then silence.
"Stay still, Bonnie-jo. Do not move until I tell you too."
I wait for a long time. Or maybe it's a short time. I do not care.
Then he is behind me. He slaps one cheek then the other, just hard enough to stir my desire for this, just hard enough to make me wish that I will be overthrown. His hand rests between my cheeks, moves a bit lower, and causes me to squirm slightly as he says, "I'm putting the blindfold on you now." I want to turn and see his face, but I hold still as he ties the silk cloth around my composed face.
His hands are on my shoulders, turning me around to face him, and he smooths back a strand of hair momentarily. Then he places his fingers on my mouth, and they linger there.
"This is going to be the most important part of you for the next hour or two, Bonnie-jo. Yeah, it may not feel like the most important part...but this is what is going to get you into the most trouble during this spanking if you don't play your cards right. And this is what could potentially make a memorable but shorter spanking if you do play your cards right. Do you understand?"
I don't respond.
He always reacts the same.
With complete silence. There is no wheedling or threatening, no anger, not even a "I thought as much". Just action.
I'm unceremoniously led to the bed. He places my hand on it. "Lay down. I want you in a spread eagle position. Now."
We've never done this before.
He ties each wrist to the headboard posts, and each ankle to the foot board posts.
I attempt to wriggle. I can hardly move a muscle.
And the fear comes creeping into my brain, like tiny ants under a door frame. No, please, no.
"I know you're a little scared right now, so I'm going to help you out." His hand is now resting on my bottom. He slaps it hard.
"I wouldn't normally do this because I've spanked you for homework issues before. So technically, you shouldn't be getting a warm up, especially because your mouth seems to have a problem answering me in a proper way. But I'm going to give you one anyway."
I moan inside as the slaps come down hard. They hurt in the best way possible. And I don't want them to. Sometimes, kindness hurts more than brutality, and the thought that he cares about my fear, that he cares enough to administer the warm-up, this thought I cannot stand.
A small moan catches in my throat, and I quickly draw a breath and let it out. His hand stops.
"Are you enjoying this, my dear?"
Silence.
"I need an answer on that, I'm afraid, because if you are, then I'm not doing my job right."
Silence.
"Uh, huh. Consider that all the warm up you're getting."
I find my voice and speak for the first time since this started. "You suck."
Silence. Then, his words hard, but slow and measured. "You are entitled to your opinion, but now is not the time to say that. Your mouth will open only when I'm asking you a question. Do you understand?"
Silence.
He sighs, the first sign of frustration since we started. "You know, you are not doing yourself any favors today, Young Lady."
But I don't care what is about to happen. Please, please, please, spank me until I'm sobbing, begging you to stop. Spank me until I can't resist you any longer. Spank me until I'm promising you I'll be better, and not because you want me to be better, but because I want me to be better.
Spank me until I feel powerless, weak, open, so that I can feel like supergirl once again.
Don't listen to my rude comments, my jibes, my protests, my explanations. Expect better of me. Spank me. Please, please spank me.
8.28.2010
Taught to the Tune of a Hickory Stick
Well, college has begun again. I'm taking 18 credits, working part time, talking to College Guy long into the night hours so that I that I get small amounts of sleep (nudge, nudge), and thus, it's been a week since I've posted. I am committed to this blog, however, so although the length of posts may shorten (hmm..that might not ever happen), I will try to keep posting at least once a week, and I will continue to read others' blogs. I don't know if I could stand not to.
The first week back to school has been overwhelming, but I've managed to keep college in its proper realm and focus on what is important in life.
For example, my Logic prof was lecturing on premises, conclusions, and how to distinguish non-arguments from arguments.
(Slight pause while Bonnie-jo digs out her lecture notes and tries to find the spot that she wants to talk about. ) Okay, so it was only day two in Logic, and I probably don't have this completely understood. Basically, we talked about arguments in which the conclusion is implied but not stated.
Our Logic prof gave this example: "If your mom walks into your room and says 'This room is going to be cleaned by one of us, and I'm telling you now, I'm not going to clean this room!' , what is the implied conclusion?" Most of the class obediently answered, "I'm going to clean the room," while a few rebels muttered, "No way, no way..."
I, however, was trying to think up my own, more creative examples. I came up with two:
*College Guy has somehow cajoled me over his thigh as he sits against the bed's headboard, Gepetto (the bath brush) in hand. "You can tell me what's going on in your head, Bonnie-jo. Or I can continue this all night long. We've got about 11 hours until checkout."
* "I know you probably feel horrible about what you did. We'll talk about this. "---My Magician
Then in the auditoreum for my Astronomy class, I couldn't help but notice how sliding past people's knees to get to my seat makes me imagine what would happen if someone slid his legs out a bit, and I happened to trip...and whoopsie...a spanking in astronomy class....Sigh...yeah, I know that was a stretch.
Then, in my British Lit. class, we were studying an abolitionist text, in which the horrors and brutalities of various whippings were described. I'm not discrediting the absolute evil of what happened to these people. At least, I do not mean to. Still, I found it oddly embarrassing to participate in my groups discussion. And, in all actuality, this entire experience makes me angry at myself.
I'm not saying that spankings don't hurt, but I want them. I want the pain. These people had no choice. And, mostly, I hate that the thought of the horror they experienced is a springboard for my own, more comforting thoughts. These are the moments when I do feel a bit sicko-ish.
When I read or hear about people who have been abused and tortured, my mind will quickly flit to my own experiences with "torture". But I know this is simply a coping mechanism. Since I was about 10 years old and heard about "martyrs for Christ" and about how you "can't deny Jesus", I've worried and feared torture.
And in a way, although my attraction to it runs so much deeper on many different levels, spanking is a way for me to deal with my fear of pain. After a spanking, I feel like I can handle anything life throws at me. Particularly after a hard spanking dealt by My Magician, I feel like I've conquered something weighty, and anything else I come up against in life will be small potatoes.
But a spanking offers no more than psychological protection. There is (usually) no real blood. There is definitely no chance of death, or rape, or even broken bones. I have no idea what real abuse is like.
So...before I continue on that ponderous trail, I will close by assuring you I'm paying attention in class for the most part...just remembering what's important in life too. :)
The first week back to school has been overwhelming, but I've managed to keep college in its proper realm and focus on what is important in life.
For example, my Logic prof was lecturing on premises, conclusions, and how to distinguish non-arguments from arguments.
(Slight pause while Bonnie-jo digs out her lecture notes and tries to find the spot that she wants to talk about. ) Okay, so it was only day two in Logic, and I probably don't have this completely understood. Basically, we talked about arguments in which the conclusion is implied but not stated.
Our Logic prof gave this example: "If your mom walks into your room and says 'This room is going to be cleaned by one of us, and I'm telling you now, I'm not going to clean this room!' , what is the implied conclusion?" Most of the class obediently answered, "I'm going to clean the room," while a few rebels muttered, "No way, no way..."
I, however, was trying to think up my own, more creative examples. I came up with two:
*College Guy has somehow cajoled me over his thigh as he sits against the bed's headboard, Gepetto (the bath brush) in hand. "You can tell me what's going on in your head, Bonnie-jo. Or I can continue this all night long. We've got about 11 hours until checkout."
* "I know you probably feel horrible about what you did. We'll talk about this. "---My Magician
Then in the auditoreum for my Astronomy class, I couldn't help but notice how sliding past people's knees to get to my seat makes me imagine what would happen if someone slid his legs out a bit, and I happened to trip...and whoopsie...a spanking in astronomy class....Sigh...yeah, I know that was a stretch.
Then, in my British Lit. class, we were studying an abolitionist text, in which the horrors and brutalities of various whippings were described. I'm not discrediting the absolute evil of what happened to these people. At least, I do not mean to. Still, I found it oddly embarrassing to participate in my groups discussion. And, in all actuality, this entire experience makes me angry at myself.
I'm not saying that spankings don't hurt, but I want them. I want the pain. These people had no choice. And, mostly, I hate that the thought of the horror they experienced is a springboard for my own, more comforting thoughts. These are the moments when I do feel a bit sicko-ish.
When I read or hear about people who have been abused and tortured, my mind will quickly flit to my own experiences with "torture". But I know this is simply a coping mechanism. Since I was about 10 years old and heard about "martyrs for Christ" and about how you "can't deny Jesus", I've worried and feared torture.
And in a way, although my attraction to it runs so much deeper on many different levels, spanking is a way for me to deal with my fear of pain. After a spanking, I feel like I can handle anything life throws at me. Particularly after a hard spanking dealt by My Magician, I feel like I've conquered something weighty, and anything else I come up against in life will be small potatoes.
But a spanking offers no more than psychological protection. There is (usually) no real blood. There is definitely no chance of death, or rape, or even broken bones. I have no idea what real abuse is like.
So...before I continue on that ponderous trail, I will close by assuring you I'm paying attention in class for the most part...just remembering what's important in life too. :)
8.18.2010
Cracklin' Rosie Get on Board
"Oh I love my Rosie child,
She got the way to make me happy---"
(Neil Diamond)
I heard this song on the radio while jogging this morning. You better believe that it made my steps quicken. A huge smile broke onto my sweaty face, and I had to try not to giggle out loud. Do you guys do this.....make random/totally stretching connections with completely non-spanko-there-is-no-possible-way-to-make-this-a-that's-what-the-spanko-said-joke or song? Well, to explain my crazy mind, it was the "CRACKLIN'" part that got me going....and then the "ROSIE" part. Anything that is "cracklin'" on something "rosie" is quite alright with me, and it is "the way to make me happy---" I don't think I'm that crazy, do you?
This is going to be a Bonnie-jo makes 2 wierd connections at work blog.
I work at a clothing store, and about the second or third day of my first week, I was called into the security room--you know, the one with all the cameras--to do a quick orientation with the security guard working at our store. I sat at a small table, freaking out inside that I was in a dark, closed-in room, all alone, with a police officer. How lucky can a girl get? On the outside, though, I was the professional employee.
He shook my hand, and right away I knew he had that anti-social cop, awkward thing going on.
"You're not in trouble," he warned me. "The last girl I had in here got really scared. She thought she was in trouble or something."
"Ahhh..." I smiled. "No, of course not. I know I'm not."
"I've been working at this company for the last 5 years," He beamed. "See, it says so on that certificate by the door."
I craned my head to look.
"Just underneath the handcuffs." He directed.
"Oh. Yes. I see them...I mean, I see it, yeah, cool."
Suffice it to say, my day was made. It was a real pair of handcuffs....I resisted the urge to ask to touch them....
And item number two:
A couple of days ago, one of the managers/leads at my job called me over. I have liked this girl from the moment I saw her. Tall, slender, short black hair, and dark eyes...she had an edginess that I always admire. I learned later in the breakroom that I admire her personality too. She reminded me of the type of girl I've imagined My Magician's former spankee is like--my only contact being her blog....
"I'm a smart-ass..." This manager grinned at me. "I try to keep a lid on it, but I think people should just be brutally honest. I always say, why lie when the truth is so much more fun?" And later as she told me about her mom with cancer and her grandma that is still alive, "We always tell people that God's not ready for that much onery-ness in heaven yet. He doesn't want to have to deal with them. Not quite yet. Too onery."
Anyway, so this girl-crush of mine walked up to me the other day, and cautioned me on a couple of things I needed to focus on for work that day. That isn't the important part. The important part is that she had a long 6 by 14 or so flat piece of plastic in her hands as she told me about my duties for the day. Distracting.....At one point she looked down to see what she was holding...Actually, I didn't notice that she was holding a paddle-like object until she herself looked down and explained, "The only reason I'm holding this is because I tripped on the thing."
"Oh." I smiled. May be it was my fault you tripped...maybe you should do something about this....
But she didn't read my mind and walked away. I watched her walk, however, and my effort was rewarded, for she slapped her palm once with the offending object. I saw it with my own eyes!
She got the way to make me happy---"
(Neil Diamond)
I heard this song on the radio while jogging this morning. You better believe that it made my steps quicken. A huge smile broke onto my sweaty face, and I had to try not to giggle out loud. Do you guys do this.....make random/totally stretching connections with completely non-spanko-there-is-no-possible-way-to-make-this-a-that's-what-the-spanko-said-joke or song? Well, to explain my crazy mind, it was the "CRACKLIN'" part that got me going....and then the "ROSIE" part. Anything that is "cracklin'" on something "rosie" is quite alright with me, and it is "the way to make me happy---" I don't think I'm that crazy, do you?
This is going to be a Bonnie-jo makes 2 wierd connections at work blog.
I work at a clothing store, and about the second or third day of my first week, I was called into the security room--you know, the one with all the cameras--to do a quick orientation with the security guard working at our store. I sat at a small table, freaking out inside that I was in a dark, closed-in room, all alone, with a police officer. How lucky can a girl get? On the outside, though, I was the professional employee.
He shook my hand, and right away I knew he had that anti-social cop, awkward thing going on.
"You're not in trouble," he warned me. "The last girl I had in here got really scared. She thought she was in trouble or something."
"Ahhh..." I smiled. "No, of course not. I know I'm not."
"I've been working at this company for the last 5 years," He beamed. "See, it says so on that certificate by the door."
I craned my head to look.
"Just underneath the handcuffs." He directed.
"Oh. Yes. I see them...I mean, I see it, yeah, cool."
Suffice it to say, my day was made. It was a real pair of handcuffs....I resisted the urge to ask to touch them....
And item number two:
A couple of days ago, one of the managers/leads at my job called me over. I have liked this girl from the moment I saw her. Tall, slender, short black hair, and dark eyes...she had an edginess that I always admire. I learned later in the breakroom that I admire her personality too. She reminded me of the type of girl I've imagined My Magician's former spankee is like--my only contact being her blog....
"I'm a smart-ass..." This manager grinned at me. "I try to keep a lid on it, but I think people should just be brutally honest. I always say, why lie when the truth is so much more fun?" And later as she told me about her mom with cancer and her grandma that is still alive, "We always tell people that God's not ready for that much onery-ness in heaven yet. He doesn't want to have to deal with them. Not quite yet. Too onery."
Anyway, so this girl-crush of mine walked up to me the other day, and cautioned me on a couple of things I needed to focus on for work that day. That isn't the important part. The important part is that she had a long 6 by 14 or so flat piece of plastic in her hands as she told me about my duties for the day. Distracting.....At one point she looked down to see what she was holding...Actually, I didn't notice that she was holding a paddle-like object until she herself looked down and explained, "The only reason I'm holding this is because I tripped on the thing."
"Oh." I smiled. May be it was my fault you tripped...maybe you should do something about this....
But she didn't read my mind and walked away. I watched her walk, however, and my effort was rewarded, for she slapped her palm once with the offending object. I saw it with my own eyes!
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