A few days ago, I was being spanked--I *guess* I deserved it (kidding, I knew I did. Breaking grounding is never really an acceptable way to go. Still...I've been grounded for FOREVER...it gets tough). Anyway, he let me off relatively easy. I wasn't finished being mad, I wasn't finished sulking, and I didn't feel any real guilt over what I'd done. BUT. Here's what I know: shutting down(which I'm SOOO good at) and/or still being pissy afterwards WILL get me spanked again. And, I was plenty sore enough. So...I faked it.
Three days later, I was still feeling it. The invincible-ha!-I-won attitude. He knew I was on edge, but couldn't quite pin down why. Everything came to a head on Valentine's Day night. I didn't feel connected, and it bothered me. I wasn't quite sulking, but I didn't want to be touched or hugged or loved on. I just wanted to be left alone.
It didn't help that we had something of a rocky start to V-Day anyway--I felt he didn't want to do anything, and I'm a holiday addict. The day before I pitched a huge, hurt-feelings-and-all fit, claiming I didn't "want to do a damn thing for Valentine's Day!" I yelled. I cussed. He tried to remain patient, but he had to go to work and didn't have time to deal with me properly. So, I got promised a spanking, I got cap cream, and I got a paper.
Here's the thing, though--even though I was mad, I still wanted him to REALLY know I loved him. So, I decorated the house with colorful post-its, each with something I loved about him, or how much I loved him, or what I admired, or all the time how I loved him...plus there was something chocolate and presents out. So, when he came home, a little after 2 am--the spanking didn't happen. He felt appreciated and that the situation in my own self had clearly been dealt with and didn't need his hand.
He was wrong. So...fast forward again, V-Day night. I'm tense, separate. He's confused, pleading with me to just be open, just be honest with him about what was going on with me. He'd help, whatever it was.
I was standoffish, cold,...and determined to head to my favorite hide-out with a bottle of soft scrub: the shower. He was equally determined for us to have that conversation, and for me not to bail.
I turned around and started to walk out of the room. He grabbed my arm, which I promptly yanked away, and stormed right back into the bathroom and started stripping. He slammed in and turned the water off. For a moment, it was like a game of tug of war with the water faucet.
Then, he was gone...I stepped back beneath the water, proud of myself for "winning"....
Right up until he returned. With the spoon.
I quickly regretted walking away from him, but, when the spanking was over, I didn't turn to him. I still felt the distance. I still wanted to be left alone. I was feeling horribly independent--and hating myself for it. It left me with a depressed, almost numb feel.
So, we took a little trip to the bedroom, where I went back over the bed for a repeat session. This time alternating with the brush and the spoon.
When I gave in at that point, there was nothing independent about it. Everything about me felt submissive, sore, and totally cared for. I couldn't get close enough, I couldn't be kissed enough, I couldn't tell him enough how much I loved him.
And, even though it was small mercy to let me off the first time--it was a bigger mercy to not go easy on me the last.
