by Swan, Tarn
As soon as I walked into the bedroom carrying the rice paddle he began to gabble about Lulu being able to claim money back for the goods by putting them on his insurance inventory. Unfortunately he didn’t have the receipts because they'd been in the bags with the items, but he would have the store statement when it came.
I pointed out that the statement would have his name and address on it and I doubted Lulu's insurance company would accept it as valid proof, especially if they looked into our history and saw all the claims made last year. They’d think we were working some kind of scam. Besides the issue wasn't so much about the loss of money, bad though that was. It was about him going behind my back and doing something I'd forbidden him to do. It didn’t matter that he'd had no intention of keeping any of the items. It didn’t matter that he was going to return them all and then cut up the card afterwards.
I declined to accept his intention to return the goods and destroy the card as mitigation for his actions in this case. What he had intended didn't matter. It was what he had actually done that concerned me. He should never have opened a new account in the first place. It was a calculated flouting of my authority in order to score a clandestine point, cock a snook and generally satisfy his bad temper with me. The fact he never expected to be discovered didn't make it any less wrong. He seemed to have fallen into a habit of concealing things from me to suit his own purposes, such as his debt problems and again with the blood tests and it simply was not acceptable. To my mind his behaviour indicated I'd been altogether too lax with him of late. He needed a stern reminder of the consequences of disobedience.
Seating myself on the bed I pulled down his pyjama bottoms and guided him over my thighs, arranging him so the mattress supported his weight and his left arm. I grasped his right hand and held it against his back to stop him flailing it about and then I began to methodically spank his bottom, first one buttock and then the other. When I reached a point where my palm was almost as hot and sore as his backside I progressed to the paddle, briskly navigating it over territory already well travelled by my hand, ignoring his yells and pleas for me to stop. When to stop was my call, not his. He deserved a good spanking and I was going to give him one.
When it was over I helped him back into bed, climbing in with him. He turned into my arms sobbing tears, snot and regrets into my shirtfront.
I considered he'd coped with more than enough for one day and left it until the following morning to conclude the matter by telling him his actions seemed to indicate certain boundaries had become blurred between us and required some sharp clarification. He was completely restricted from that moment on. He would do exactly what I told him to do when I told him or there would be repercussions. I alone would decide how long the period of restriction was to last and I alone would let him know when it was over. He was not to press me on the subject. He was grounded and every evening once dinner was over and cleared away he was to go straight to bed without me having to tell him. If I did have to tell him or he argued and griped I would punish him. He obviously wasn't happy, but he nodded a tearful acceptance of the situation.
My company is being called for, a royal command no less. He's got a bottle of wine open, some snacks set out and we're going to watch some DVD'S we got for Christmas and haven't yet viewed. Yes, that means his bedtime restrictions have now been lifted.
8th February 2006: Reality Bites
For a good few days after being disciplined for his illicit and ill-fated shopping spree Twinkles did as told, going off to bed without comment, complaint or prompting as soon as dinner was over. Then came a testing moment.
We'd both taken the afternoon off work in order for him to attend the fracture clinic. His arm was X-rayed once again and again there was no sign of bone union. The orthopaedic consultant who examined the X-rays decided the reason for the delay in healing was probably due to his bath time antics when he’d cracked and soaked the original cast, necessitating its removal at such an early stage. In his opinion the replacement cast had been badly applied and hadn't immobilised the break sufficiently thus preventing the broken parts of the bone from fusing.
To Twinkles utter joy the he ordered immediate removal of the long arm cast and prescribed a shorter one. At last he could straighten his elbow and move his arm better. He was thrilled. His blood test had revealed a slightly lowered red blood count, but the consultant didn’t think it was a contributory factor. He advised Twinks to increase the amount of iron rich foods in his diet and sent him away for another week. To celebrate his smaller bright yellow cast we went to a nice coffee shop and had coffee and cakes and then we went to visit mum. It was all very enjoyable.
We got home just as Lulu was leaving a message on the answer phone enquiring whether we fancied a run up to Newcastle that night for a change (it was Friday) to explore the gay club scene there. Kev had managed to arrange a good deal on a taxi bus. Big Mary, Gloria and Rick were all up for it. Twinks' face lit up, but before he could open his mouth I told him that if he even asked the question there would be trouble. Leaving me to call Lulu and decline the invite he headed upstairs telling me not to bother with any dinner for him, as he wasn't hungry and might as well just go straight to bed. The bedroom door slammed hard.
I called Lulu, made an excuse about Twinks being tired, enquired after Emily, wished him a happy evening and then took a deep breath and went upstairs. Twinkles was hanging his suit trousers up when I walked into the bedroom. I told him to put on a t-shirt and jeans or a robe and come downstairs to help me make dinner. He forcefully closed the wardrobe door and began to unbutton his shirt saying he'd already told me he wasn't hungry. I said the issue was not about whether he was hungry or not, it was about him doing as he was told and he'd been told to come down and help with dinner. He glared at me, snapping, ‘of course I'd forgotten, we're still in the midst of one of your teaching Jonathan his place exercises. You command, I obey. Well,’ he stabbed an angry finger at me. ‘How about you do as I command for a change. Fuck off and leave me alone!’
It wasn't the attitude I was looking for. He let out a cry as I took hold of him, bent him over, secured him under my left arm and sharply slapped the back of each thigh, reminding him we were engaged in a serious discipline situation and he would treat it and me with due respect. There was very little respect inherent in his reply of ‘bastard pig!’ I immediately flipped up his shirttail, inserted my fingers into the waistband of his briefs and yanked them down. I smacked his bottom hard and fast staining the cheeks a hot dark red. It was nowhere near as severe a spanking as the one he’d received the previous Monday, but by the end of it he was sobbing wildly. His tears were nothing to do with how sore his backside was. They were purely to do with frustration over the balance of power between us.
Most of the time the power element in a power exchange relationship, at least in ours, isn't overt. It's concealed, humming away in the background quietly charging the relationship. I don't stride around telling him what to think, to wear, to eat and do every second of every day. Most of the time we're like any other couple. We share things, have disagreements and bicker. We hold certain things in common, but also have different tastes, thoughts and opinions and we operate independently of each other should we so desire. What makes us different is that when it comes to any given situation I have the power of veto should I choose to use it, meaning I have the final say. When I do choose to use it, for whatever reason, he has no autonomy other than what I allow him to have. It sounds harsh, but it isn't. It's no less than he expects, wants and accepts and it's a major dynamic of our relationship.
He knows I love and respect him and will always take his best interests into consideration and that includes removing part or even all his autonomy in order to serve those best interests, such as when I removed control of his finances and told him he had no choice with regard to his blood tests. This isn't a state of affairs that's been imposed on him by my will alone. The base line is this: strange as it may sound, he exercises and gives full ex
pression to his personal autonomy by freely relinquishing control of it to me. However the cold, grim reality of it may still cause him deep frustration, resentment and anger, as when my use of my authority prevents him doing something he really wants to do, like piling in a taxi to go clubbing in Newcastle. Reality bites.
He put on a robe. He came downstairs and helped make dinner, which we ate in relative silence and after we'd cleared up he went to bed without murmur, just as he'd done all week. He was still awake when I went up to bed much later and we had sex. At times like this our sex life is very intense and highly charged. We both have an increased need for sex. Perhaps it's a way of affirming our relationship roles…mine to dominate and his to submit. We don't kiss or cuddle or speak. There’s no gentle finesse and soft words. We simply engage in very potent almost brutal fucking sessions. He has no control over the action. I determine position, method, speed and whether or not he can climax. Afterwards I'll clean myself and clean him and then we turn our backs on each other and go to sleep and though we're not in communication we're actually very strongly connected at a deep emotional level. Morning will usually find us in a reconciliatory tangle of arms and legs.
His personal freedom is still restricted to a certain extent and financially it will be for some time to come, but he's queen of his own bedtime once again, within reason of course.
22nd February 2006: Anyone For Hockey?
We’ve been away on a short holiday, or helladay as Twinks called it. I decided we needed some time alone together, no distractions and no stresses, just the two of us and some serious peace and quiet. We got back home on Monday and have been catching up on a few things. We didn’t initially plan to go away. We both had a week off and the only thing on the agenda was clearing out the junk in the attic. It’s a job we’ve been meaning to do for years in order to turn the space into a wardrobe room for Twinkles, or studio, as he prefers to call it. It didn't quite pan out and the attic is still full of junk.
On the Sunday before Valentine’s Day we ventured out to do some grocery shopping. Twinkles decided he was bored with prowling the aisles of Tesco and suggested we sally forth to Sainsbury's for a change. So we sallied and he happily floated around looking for the best special offers i.e. the ones involving things like booze and confectionary of the buy one get one free variety, while I filled the trolley with more mundane necessities such as food and things like loo paper and washing powder.
I was perusing the fresh meat cabinet trying to decide whether we should have steak or lamb for Sunday lunch when someone greeted me. I glanced up and smiled as I recognised who it was, reaching out to shake the hand he offered.
Before Christmas someone pranged my car damaging the bumper and taillight. The pranger was most apologetic and offered to make good the damage claiming it was my ‘lucky’ day, as he was in the garage business. I decided to take him up on his offer and duly turned up at the address he gave me, a cynical part of me expecting to find a deserted lockup. It was genuine. Stuart Cramer, as the owner turned out to be called, said he was glad I'd dropped in, he'd been hoping I would.
He kept his word and made the jobs on my car a priority, undertaking them himself. He also made me a coffee and we chatted as he worked. He apologised again for the accident and said he was glad it was my rear he'd run into and not the rear end of a copper's chariot. He was pleasant and amusing and I was enjoying talking to him when something suddenly clicked about his manner. He was giving me the come on, chatting me up. It was evident in the way he was making eye contact and smiling. My suspicion was confirmed when he asked if I'd like to go out for a drink, maybe even a meal with him, nodding towards the small pride sticker displayed in my car rear window. He’d noticed it when we were exchanging details after the accident.
I explained I was very happily partnered and he said he knew a few men who were happily partnered, but that didn't stop them having casual affairs from time to time. I firmly stated my monogamous stance. He sighed and said it was just his luck to crash into a gay guy's car and have him turn out to be married and faithful and he hoped he hadn't offended me by asking. I said not at all, after all he wasn't to know I had a partner. I was flattered. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. It's nice to know we still have the power to attract, but I wasn't interested.
He finished the job, we shook hands and I went on my way. I told Twinkles about it and he, always willing to deflate my ego, scathingly remarked that I was far too conceited and was always imagining that people fancied me, which was a bit rich coming from Sir Vanity.
Anyway, that's who it was at the meat counter, the garage owner, Stuart Cramer. He seemed inclined to chat and asked what sort of Christmas and New Year I'd had. He then told me all about his and how he'd taken part in a charity hockey match on New Years Day while so hung over he could barely tell one end of the stick from the other. I used to play hockey at school and university, so the subject caught my interest. He was a natural raconteur and I couldn't help but be entertained by his description of match events. We then moved onto more general chat and he commented that he hadn't seen me in the store before. I explained that we usually shopped at Tesco or Asda, but my partner had fancied a change.
Twinkles chose that moment to make an appearance. He was carrying several packs of expensive ladies tights, which he dropped into the trolley. He was wearing a pair of conventional blue jeans and a conventional long sleeved t-shirt along with a pair of unconventional blue satin stiletto heeled shoes adorned with a face portrait of Marilyn Monroe picked out in pink rhinestones. He was also wearing eye makeup and beautifully painted false nails. He stared at Stuart. Stuart stared at Twinkles' shoes, then at the rest of him and then at me. I made introductions. I always introduce Twinkles by his birth name, figuring it's up to him to decide whom he invites to use his pet name. Being an open natured kind of man Twinks usually invites most people immediately, but he didn't with Stuart. He said an unsmiling hello and briefly shook his hand, but that was it. Stuart's cell phone sounded and he fished it out of his pocket and looked at the message saying he'd have to go and it had been a pleasure meeting us.
He moved off a little way, then turned round and addressed me. He told me to get in touch if I fancied taking up hockey again. He’d introduce me to the team and the club he played for. I said thanks, but no thanks. He said I knew where to find him if I changed my mind.
As soon as he was out of earshot I leaned into the trolley and plucked out the packs of tights telling Twinkles to put them back. He had enough hosiery at home to set up a stall and he didn't need anymore. He snatched them out of my hands, snapping, ‘I bet you wouldn't say that if they were hockey socks or whatever you macho men wear when you're knocking a poor little ball around with a bent stick.’ He walked off and I decided we would have lamb for Sunday lunch.
The rest of the shopping trip went like this:
Twinks tossed six packs of assorted flavour Kit Kat biscuits into the trolley, “so that was him was it?”
“Who?” I returned three of the packs to the shelf.
“Your fancy garage man, Mr hockey cocky...those biscuits are buy two get one free so if we buy six we get two free, it's more of a saving...from the way he was looking at you he'd like nothing better than to get under your hood and flick his tongue around your sparkplugs.”
“Three will suffice. The more we buy the more you eat and I get the grief when you put weight on.” I briefly took my left hand off the trolley handle to touch his shoulder, “and you weren't a tiny bit bothered when I told you about him coming onto me, so why decide to be bothered now?”
“You didn't mention he was good looking.” He put two bottles of red wine in the trolley as we meandered down the drink aisle.
“What are you saying, that it's okay for people to fancy me as long as they're ugly?” I put one bottle of wine back.
“Yes and preferably old and bald too.” He put a bottle of sparkling white wine in the cart. “I didn't imagine he looked like that. The people who fancy you d
on't usually look like that. They usually look like Big Mary or Bear Daddy. Do you think he's good looking?”
“I suppose so.” I removed the sparkling wine. We already had two bottles at home leftover from Christmas.
“Meaning?” He put a bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin in the trolley. He thinks it sounds more glamorous than Gordon's gin and he likes the blue bottle.
“Meaning I suppose he is good looking.” I put the gin back on the shelf we didn't need it. We had a plain green bottle of Gordon's at home.
“Better looking than me?”
“No, you're beautiful.” I smiled sincerely and then fished for a compliment. “Do you think he's better looking than me?”
“Yes,” he glared at me. “Much better looking and taller. He topped you by at least two inches and he didn't have a paunch.”
“Neither do I, not since I started using that abs crunch machine.” I glared back at him. “You bitchy little regent.”
“Thank you. I do try.” He savagely hurled a pack of wine glass charms into the trolley followed by a huge bag of peanuts, which split. “I didn't like him. He looked down his nose at me and if I ever catch him playing hockey with you I'll hacksaw the curve right off both your sticks.”
“You'd be entitled.” I thumped the charms back onto the store shelf, looked around to make sure we were unobserved and sharply swatted his bum for damaging the peanuts which conscience, my conscience at least, demanded we now buy.
He tended on the quiet side all that afternoon, which was balm to my ears as he'd been on the hyper side for a few days on account of planning his costume and practising his turn for Tuesday night at the PP. He was aiming to win the Queen Of Hearts Title at the Valentines Ball. He couldn't make up his mind whether he was going to perform to Ricky Martin's La Vide Loca or Leo Sayer's Thunder In My Heart, so consequently the rafters had been ringing with both songs played at full blast as he tried to come to a decision. If I said I liked the routine to one, he immediately demanded to know what was so rotten about the other. It was a no win thing and I began to dread him turning the CD player on. A bit of quiet was most welcome.