Paddles

My husband very sweetly suggested this Saturday morning that we do something fun together today. We weighed up the options and decided to head for a country town where I know there are lots of good restaurants and fun galleries to wander through.

I love these little sojourns where we can be on our own. Over lunch the conversation got around to kinky sorts of subjects. I had just received a parcel with an object called The Ass Master and we chatted about the possibilities of that amongst other naughty topics. There was lots of giggling on my part and lots of insinuations on his part as to what could be my fate.

From there, we visited a lovely, rather chic gift and home store. I spotted two lovely living chairs that I'd love but my husband wasn't interested in paying the exorbitant price on the tags. Fair enough. Wandering further around the store I saw a pair of butter paddles. The thick set of wooden paddles were in immaculate order and call me nuts but I pointed them out to him, not the other way around.

"Look at these paddles. Aren't they interesting!"

"They were used to make butter balls."

"Oh, I made butter balls for my Gran when I was just a little girl."

I wait for the penny to drop...

"But, you know, cindi, they could have another purpose."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, I think we'll get these."

So, mission accomplished, my husband took them to the counter to pay for them. In attendance were two women, slightly older than us, full of chat and as it turns out, innuendo.

"Ah, so you've chosen the butter paddles. That's interesting you want those. You know we have people coming into the store telling us horrendous stories about these butter paddles from their childhood."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, it seems they hurt like hell. You know, we sell a lot of wooden spoons..."

"Do you?"

My husband felt it best to distract them with talk of corsets, another of the objects they sold and how he used to lace up his grandmother as a young boy."

"Oh yes. I think the women back then made the young children do that, in a perverted way."

It was getting weird. No matter what we did the conversation returned to them calling us for who (what) we were. I bowed out, choosing to wander around the store and pretend I was unaware of their game.

So, all paid, one of the women passed the bag to my husband.

"Well, it's off to the dairy with you and enjoy your instrument of discipline."

 Cheeky.