It's been five days since my last spanking and I think I'm starting to forget what the Englishman looks like.
Perhaps it's the constant reliving of romanticized versions of our experience or the fantasies that swirl inside my head as my mind drifts off, but without being connected to him in any sort of real way I find the real him fading. I only see him for 3.5 hours a week, and half of that time is staring at his leather shoes. I haven't heard from him since Saturday, but even that seems like an eternity. Since when has not hearing back from a boy completely reduced me to a school girl waiting by the phone? I sit here and molest my refresh button hoping for new email, hating myself for becoming so crazy about one person. My routine consists of refreshing my browser a couple times, telling myself this is stupid and if I just waited a day to bother checking I wouldn't become so obsessed and then abruptly closing out my window only to do it all over again in 10 minutes. It makes it no better to be so connected via smart phone... oh, I think I'll check before I head into the grocery store... might as well check when I get back! Ugh... I've become a slave and I need to be freed.
My natural urge is to find another plaything, keep my body and mind busy. The urge is especially strong over the weekend when I receive the least amount of attention from him, and when I need it the most. I resist those urges as I know that will be the sure nail that drives him away... I'm certain he can forgive and overlook many of my flaws, but seeing the marks of another man on my bottom won't earn me the spanking I crave, only the maddening silence of an empty inbox.
I know that I'll have to hear from him today, as we're planning on going cane shopping tomorrow. Plans must be made, and I refuse to inquire about them before I hear back from him first. Until then, I will keep my mind as busy as I can, wondering what does a girl wear cane shopping? I assume there will be a degree of public product testing... I'm leaning towards jeans of some sort, as cane-on-skin contact seems... unhygenic, to say the least.