My friend

The post that I had written for you yesterday was rejected, and with good reason. It was not good enough. My friend was quite right. So, let me try again to express myself, as befits the occasion.

A submissive woman, if I am any guide, has a way of compartmentalizing her life. I got an enormous ‘kick’ out of being required to write the list of ’25 bad things I had done recently’. I could not complain about the assignment. I had, after all, asked what I could do to repay my friend after I improperly excerpted our private discussion on my blog. He had told me what I could do, and I did it.

In a sense, in situations such as this, one only jumps one hurdle at a time. I hadn’t really thought through to the next hurdle yet. I didn’t await the suggestions of readers with any sort of dread or apprehension, as you might expect. I was enjoying myself. There is no surprise there, I don’t think. But, I just hadn’t taken in the seriousness of the situation. In one part of my mind, it was a game, you see.

A few days went by, and a few suggestions were made, on the blog and more privately. I sort of snuffed them off. Another joke, another laugh, but the concern I felt was buried deep. I still hadn’t tapped into it.

A day or more went by, and I thought it might be safe to ask my friend if I could consider my correction complete. On the pretence of something else, a technological achievement, as a matter of fact, I opened the little window again. It did not take long for the conversation to come around to my correction.

He wanted to know how I would be affected by having 25 pages of my little novel published on the blog. I explained the problems with that outcome. He assured me that although the matter remained unresolved, this was not necessarily a bad thing. The list was good, he said. I was focussing in on this new tone. It was lulling me into a sense of false security. He had paid me a compliment, which I hadn’t expected, and I had been put into that dreamy state that submissive women go when a man tells them they did well.

So, when he told me that I had a choice, to await another idea from my readers or to allow him to decide my correction for the list of bad behaviour, I really did not think twice. It took me no more than a split second to advise him that I would like him to choose my correction. I was deep into my own world. The outside world had stopped existing while I waited for him to type in something. I did not know what he would say, but I can tell you that I never expected him to type in

“25 strokes”.

Although I asked “of what” I knew already that it was “the cane”.

It was surreal. Was this a game or was this real?

At some point of the conversation, only the transcript could tell me exactly when, for it is a bit of a haze now, he typed in

“Are you starting to regret your decision to reach out and chat?”

How can I explain to you the feeling I had coursing through my body? It was the dark side I had gone over to, and yet the dark side was so darn irresistible.

“Me?” I asked.

No, I was not missing this opportunity for the world. Take all my possessions, but leave me with this. I live for this.

“You must be joking.”

The terms were laid down and we said our goodbyes.

The next morning I wrote my post for you, readers, but what I didn’t do was admit how much I relished the conversation; how much I enjoyed reading the transcript again later.

He is one in a million. I knew that the moment I read his words, quite some time ago now. It isn’t that he knows how to press a girl’s buttons, a girl like me, although he certainly does know that. It is that he just is. He is darkness and light. He is sadistic and kind, all at the one moment. He’s my gift.

So, I’ll take my 25 strokes of the cane. It is more than I have ever taken before and I live with my heart in my mouth. I am frightened. I am aroused.