I was feeling a little off yesterday. It could have been because of the dreary weather we've had lately. It could have been that I was hormonal from a certain aspect of womanhood. It may have even been some lingering tension from the weekend. Maybe it was a combination of the three. Whatever it was, I wasn't myself. I knew it, and it wasn't long until Steve knew it.
It all came to a head when I was fixing supper. I'm not going to say exactly what upset me because honestly I'm a bit embarrassed over it. In hindsight, it was a silly thing for me to get mad at him over. Steve noticed immediately that I was upset and asked me what was wrong. Being a nice guy, he wanted to fix it if he could.
But I was already starting to distance. So despite him asking several times and eventually threatening to get to the bottom of things with a paddle, I was stubborn and refused to tell him. And while I didn't totally shut down and refuse to talk to him, there was a definite terseness to my responses when he would ask me something.
Later when we went to bed, he gave me even more opportunities to open up and talk to him. I don't know why, but I just wrapped myself up in my anger and withdrew even more. When he said it was time for role affirmation (which had been postponed from the night before), I did something I very rarely do. I refused to cooperate.
At first it seemed I had won because he turned away. But a few minutes later, he turned back and it was clear from his expression that he was fully in HoH mode. After another refusal from me to tell him what was going on or get into position, I found myself flipped over unceremoniously. It took me by surprise. While we've discussed it and I've told him it's okay to do if I'm uncooperative, it's not something Steve routinely does. He usually waits me out, preferring that I submit myself.
I started struggling to get away at the first swat. He just slid down a little in the bed and wrapped his legs around mine to pin them and kept going. When I threw my hand back, something I hardly ever do as it got smacked accidentally once before, he shifted position again and pulled me into his chest so I had no choice but to wrap my arms around him.
A couple swats later and I dissolved into a puddle of tears. It surprised both of us because it's rare I cry that quickly with a spanking and also because I haven't cried like that in months. It wasn't just a few sniffles or a couple stray tears, but deep, soul-wrenching sobs. As soon as he realized it, he dropped the paddle and just held me while I cried. Finally the tears slowed enough I could tell him what I was upset about, which I had already realized was silly before the first swat even landed.
He didn't make me feel bad about getting upset over something so silly. He just apologized for his part in it. Then we talked about how it could have been handled differently.
From start to finish, the spanking lasted no more than a minute. I doubt more than fifteen swats were given. They must not have been that bad because I don't really even remember them hurting. I also don't remember him lecturing, although he assured me he had.
But in those 60 seconds, I went from a cranky, hormonal, stubborn, crazy lady to goo.
Something else happened during those 60 seconds, but it didn't really hit me until this morning. Over the years, I've erected a lot of barriers to my heart. I let people in, but only to a certain point. Even Steve has had to contend with some barriers. Whenever I feel those layers of protection start slipping away, I start to panic and immediately go to reinforcing them.
But over these past few months, he's managed to peel away some of those layers. And last night, without me even realizing it, he peeled back that final layer, leaving me completely open and vulnerable to him. Surprisingly, instead of feeling panic, I feel at peace.