Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Switch Hitter

Vanilla outings have become just as instrumental in the development of our relationship as our time spent behind closed doors. When first seeking a spanker, I underestimated how important this factor would be, admittedly objectifying the spanker to nothing more than a warm lap with a mechanical arm. Last week we met for coffee and despite the cold air that normally has me hibernating (45 degrees, for the record… I am truly a warm-blooded animal), we decided to be adventurous and set out for a short hike.

We made our way to the trailhead. It seemed inviting, a well-travelled dirt path set in a ravine, homes with large price tags sitting on top of the ridges on either side. Even before making it onto the trail I tripped on a heavy branch, aka the large log. I Charleston’d out my misstep, able to salvage some pride, but not my coffee. After a short trot back to the car to get cleaned up, we finally got started on our walk. We strolled arm in arm admiring the winter hues that painted the trees, breathing in the crisp air. We kept our eyes open for a suitable spot to sit down but the trail was well exposed. We found a small cluster of trees that suited us. One had a long bend in its trunk making it a natural bench. Unfortunately it was just off in height as I was only able to sit on his lap for too short of a time before it was clearly not doing it for either one of us. I casually commented, “Too bad we didn’t think ahead to bring a cane… perhaps I should pick out a switch.” I never thought he would go for it, as he tends to be so shy and reserved about that sort of thing. Instead, his eyes gave me just enough hope for me to return his look with my eyes wide with excitement, matched by the large smile on my face. I jumped off his lap and returned to the trail.

We continued our hike with a new agenda: finding the perfect switch. He picked one up that seemed ambitious, covered in small stumps from broken off branches. Without a pocketknife or sandpaper handy, we kept it as a back up… the length and stiffness seemed otherwise perfect. The trail was empty so we had the freedom to roam and openly discuss the pros and cons to each potential switch: this one was nice, but too flimsy, this one would be perfect, but much too short, etc. I finally found one that seemed perfect… whippy and soft, as if it was made of a stiff piece of leather. We walked some more, waiting for another grove of trees to appear, but instead openness trended. We turned around and headed back to what we now refer to as “Spanker’s Grove”.

We quietly returned behind the curtain of trees, the only thing audible were the branches snapping beneath our shoes. I see him focus on a single point in the distance at nothing in particular. “Nobody’s around, you can relax. We haven’t seen a soul all day,” I assured him. My comment earned me a quick swat on the bottom along with his response, “Well I can’t hear a thing when you’re talking! Now lower your jeans.” I do as I’m told, and the cool breeze against my bare bottom does much to excite me. He takes a moment to examine my bottom and says, “Awww… poor baby… still bruised from when she was punished last week.” I pout. He continues, “And now, she’s going get a switching.” He stands exactly as if he were holding a cane, either unaware or unfazed by the low branches that threaten to poke his eyes. I’m completely aware that I am about to feel a new sensation, never having been struck by a switch before. I take a deep breath before the first stroke lands on my bottom. The stings are gentle and sharp at the same time. The velvety finish of the stick seems to offer some comfort against its sting. He starts with six. He checks in and I give a small nod. Without notice, twelve more hit me with rapid fire. I want more and give the stiffer branch a welcoming nod. He picks it up and strikes me with a single swat. I immediately stand up and rub my bottom, convinced it has left splinters in its wake. Its barbs were, not subtle to the touch. I was about to give my frowny face when I am interrupted by the noise of dogs barking and their owners calling after them. I now understand how an ER nurse can be presented with a man caught in his own zipper, as I have never been in such a rush to pull myself together. I turned around to tell him to hurry, but any English chivalry was lost as he was long gone. I laughed as I met him back on the trail, his explanation for leaving me for the wolves being that he would have explained that he was my lookout as I peed in the woods. We could not stop giggling in amusement, our adventure perfect in its own right.

We spent the rest of the afternoon walking on that perfect trail, basking in the sunlight and the glow of deep affection. Some vanilla outings feed our friendships, others our soul. In many ways this particular get together shined upon the many facets of our relationship… a little love, a little kink, a little adventure…exposing a beautiful spectrum of emotions. I appreciate it is a true gem… a priceless rarity.