Answering to Him (Old-Fashioned Husband)

by McLeod, Dinah

  “No ‘keep it under sixty’, no ‘remember, it’s not a race’, no ‘looks like we won’t be having a very merry Christmas this year’?”

  He chuckled at my attempt to mimic his deep, even voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that last one.”

  “Maybe not,” I admitted.

  “Look.” He grabbed for my hand, and this time I let him take it. “We talked about it last night. As far as I’m concerned, it’s done.”

  “Talked?” I echoed. “You mean you spanked me.”

  He nailed me down with his stern stare. “It’s done.”

  I nodded and allowed myself to be kissed before he headed for the shower. I sank down on the bed, exhausted, but wide awake. He’d certainly given me a lot to think about.

  * * * * *

  I was more than a little bit awed when we walked into Fredricks’. It was the first restaurant he’d ever brought me to, desperate to impress me on our first date. What he hadn’t expected was that after three courses, a bottle of wine and a dessert, our bill would be almost three hundred dollars. Oliver had barely brought seventy, and as an unemployed college student, I didn’t have much to chip in.

  Luckily for us, the owners had taken pity on us, and let us wash dishes in the back. It had been an odd date, but somehow still romantic. We’d stood side by side, our elbows touching as we’d scrubbed plates and silverware. At one point, he’d splashed the water deliberately, sending a spray of water shooting toward me, soap suds and all. When the water hit me, I spluttered, looking down at my dress in disbelief. A big, sudsy bubble was on my dress, but when Oliver grinned at me, all I could do was laugh.

  We’d come a long way from the kids we had been back then. As the fondness of the memory washed over me, I reached for Oliver’s hand and took it in mine, giving it an affectionate squeeze. He turned a tender smile on me and looked like he would say something, but the hostess stepped up and announced that our table was ready. We followed her to our table, and Oliver pulled out my chair and motioned for me to sit down.

  “Guess our usual was taken,” I mused, looking at the window seat that overlooked the bay.

  “Oh, well,” he shrugged.

  I took a look around, surveying all of the small, built for two tables. Every table had a crisp, linen tablecloth and an array of beautiful, expensive fresh flowers that permeated the air. Candelabras lined the wall, their candles flickering and lending a romantic ambiance to the restaurant. This place held a lot of memories for us. We had celebrated a lot of anniversaries here, and we often came for Valentine’s Day or my birthday. Which led me to my next thought— what was the special occasion today?

  “Thank you for bringing me,” I said to my husband.

  He looked up from the menu he’d been studying—I didn’t know why he bothered. He always ordered the Veal Parmesan. “You’re welcome.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I mean, is there a special reason you brought me here today?”

  “Can’t I take out the most beautiful woman in the world?”

  I was taken aback by the flattery, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.” I was surprised by the warmth, the kindness in his smile. How did he forget that he’d had me over his knee, smacking my butt just last night? How could he sit across from me, ordering a bottle of sparkling water like everything was normal? Didn’t he see how different things were now? I didn’t know if we would ever be “normal” again.

  “I mean it. I love you.” He leaned across the table and stared at me meaningfully. I wanted to give in and gaze adoringly back at him, but I just couldn’t.

  “Do you?”

  Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Excuse me?”

  “Do you?” I insisted. “Do you love me?”

  “Of course, Alicia. How could you even ask me that?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged, taking a sip of water. “Maybe because you had me bare-assed over your lap last night right before you spanked me!” I flushed, mortified, when I heard our waiter clear his throat. Damn it, how long had he been standing there, listening?

  “Are you two ready to order?”

  “We’ll need a few more minutes,” Oliver said without taking his eyes off of me.

  I smacked my menu down on the table. “But I knew what I wanted!”

  “Alicia, you throw that menu down again, or anything for that matter, and instead of Italian I will take you home and we can have a repeat performance of last night.”

  My eyes widened. Geez, he sounded so serious. What was going on with him? When had he become so sure of himself, so certain that I would obey him? Why did I find it so damn sexy? The way his eyes pinned me down right now had my pulse beating so hard I thought it might break the skin.

  And the real question was, if I found it so sexy, why was I acting like such a bitch? Why couldn’t I just admit that I liked it when he was in charge? I liked it all; I liked the way it transformed him, I liked how it made me feel safe. I wasn’t sure why it did, but it did. Hearing that authority in his voice soothed me as much as it aroused me. So why couldn’t I tell him? Why couldn’t I, at the very least, admit it to myself and behave?

  But no, something inside of me, some frightened, unsure part of me kept thinking that if I gave in, if I let him think it was OK to boss me around that he would go from being my loving husband to a dictator. It was almost comical; I’d been so afraid of telling him I liked sexy spankings, and when I’d finally come clean I’d ended up with so much more than I bargained for.

  “Alicia? Did you hear me?” His voice held a warning, and I snapped out of my jumbled thoughts.

  “Yes, I heard you,” I replied softly. At his arched eyebrow, I felt a giggle escape me, even though I didn’t find it funny. “Yes, sir,” I corrected.

  With a snap of his fingers, Oliver summoned our waiter, who was standing at a discreet yard away. He surprised me by ordering for us both—lasagna for him, and shrimp Alfredo for me. Before it could even occur to me to mind, he turned those warm chocolate eyes of his on me. “Is that OK?”

  Mutely, I nodded, handing my menu over to the waiter. To my surprise, when I thought about it I found that it was. I’d never understood why women fought for the right to open their own door or pull their own chair out. I’d always found those things romantic and chivalrous, and I thought him ordering for me was sweet, though surprising since he’d never done it before.

  But I didn’t say any of those things. What I said was, “You didn’t get the veal parmesan.”

  “I like yours better.”

  He was being quite the charmer today, wasn’t he? Happiness bubbled inside me at the compliment.

  “Besides…I have to admit it’s exciting, trying new things.”

  I reached across the table for his hand. I heard what he was saying, loud and clear. “I find it scary sometimes,” I admitted.

  “Don’t be scared, your shrimp will be cooked and covered in Alfredo. They can’t bite.”

  I stared at him, agape, before throwing my head back and laughing. It wasn’t long before his hearty chuckle joined my giggles.

  “I love the sound of your laugh,” he said when we’d settled down.

  “You know what I love?” I asked, my voice as sweet as honey.

  “What’s that?”

  I paused dramatically, batting my eyelashes at him. “Shrimp Alfredo.”

  “Tsk, tsk,” Oliver clucked his tongue, slapping my hand lightly. “Such a tease.”

  We fell into easy conversation after that, talking and laughing together until our meals arrived. I’d finally started to relax—it helped that I’d pushed the spanking incident to the back of my mind.

  The same could not be said for my husband, however. I’d just taken my first bite when he said, “Is that how you really feel, Alicia? That I don’t love you?”

  I set my fork down and chewed slowly, giving myself some time to think before I answered, since all I seemed to be doing lately w
as putting my foot in my mouth every time I opened it. “I’m not sure.”

  “Come on,” he scoffed. “You either know or you don’t.”

  “I always thought you did,” I offered. “I mean, I do. It’s just…last night really confused me.”

  “In what way?”

  “You really made me mad,” I admitted, forcing a laugh.

  “I got that memo,” Oliver said wryly. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, honey. I just didn’t know what else to do. When it comes to your speeding, I have tried everything. We’ve talked it out, we’ve agreed that you’d be more careful, and you’re not. I’ve yelled at you, I’ve given you the silent treatment, neither of which I liked.”

  “So you liked—” I glanced around and lowered my voice to be sure no one heard me this time around, “you liked spanking me?”

  He grinned at my apparent embarrassment. “No, I didn’t like it. Well, not like that,” he specified. “But you brought it up, after all, and if it works…”

  His casual air about the whole thing made me want to go get a speeding ticket, just to prove that he couldn’t tell me what to do. After taking another bite of my pasta, I said as much.

  “After sixteen years of marriage, don’t you think I know that I can’t tell you what to do?” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

  “Then what’s this about?”

  “I’m not trying to tell what to do, Alicia. I’m showing you what will happen when you get a speeding ticket. And I will say this—”

  “Shh!” I hissed, seeing our waiter approaching out of the corner of my eye. Oliver smirked at me, but dutifully fell silent.

  “How is everything?” he asked pleasantly, avoiding eye contact with me.

  “Fine, thank you,” I replied stiffly. He refilled our water glasses before making a hasty exit. “We might have to stop coming here,” I said with a sigh.

  “Oh, come on,” he laughed. “You just made this place more exciting.”

  I rolled my eyes and tried to go back to my food, hoping that he’d let the matter drop.

  “What I was telling you, honey, is that I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I went too easy on you last night.”

  I promptly dropped my fork. It clattered on the table, and landed in my lap, smearing Alfredo sauce on my skirt. “Fuck!” I swore under my breath.

  “Alicia!”

  The sharp tone in his voice made my heart leap into my throat; yet, I could still feel butterflies in my tummy. “It’s an expensive skirt,” I said by way of apology.

  “Like I was saying,” he repeated, an edge to his voice. “If we’re going to do this, I think we need to set expectations.”

  I eyed him balefully before saying, “You mean you will set expectations?”

  “We will agree on them.”

  I shook my head at him before pushing my plate away from me. I didn’t think I could eat another bite. After his last comment, my appetite had fled. “I don’t know if I want to do ‘this’, Oliver.”

  I could feel his eyes on me even though I bowed my head to avoid looking at him. After a few minutes in silence, he signaled to our waiter and asked for the check.

  * * * * *

  It was a few hours after our lunch date, and I found myself replaying the conversation in my head as I folded laundry. I could tell Oliver hadn’t been happy with my response, but he hadn’t forced the issue. I was grateful for that. Still, I hated to disappoint him.

  If I could just tell him why I didn’t like the idea… if I knew myself, it would make things so much easier. For a moment, I wished I could go back in time; if I could, I would forget all about revealing my spanking fetish. It had been fun, for a little while, but it had caused more trouble than it was worth. I’d rather go back to our plain vanilla life, with sporadic, missionary sex than have him disappointed in me. I’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant I wouldn’t feel so confused.

  When Oliver came home that night, I was waiting. I’d chilled a bottle of wine, reheated our leftovers from lunch, and slid into a slinky black dress that hugged my curves in just the right way and brought out the green in my eyes.

  “You look nice,” he greeted me with a kiss. He broke away, but I pulled him back in for another, a long, lingering smooch this time. “Very nice.”

  “Come eat,” I said, taking him by the hand.

  “Where’s Jonah?”

  “Eating with a friend.”

  “Hmm. Which friend is this?”

  “Rachel somebody, I think? Or was it Heather?”

  “Ah, Heather,” he said knowingly.

  “What?” I asked, turning toward him. “Who’s Heather?”

  “Some girl he likes.”

  I arched an eyebrow, waiting for more, but shrugged when nothing seemed forth coming. “Wish I’d known that before I said he could go. He said they were going to study.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’ll find something to study,” Oliver teased with the ease of a father talking about his son. I, however, was not reassured.

  “Maybe I should call him.”

  “Alicia, leave him be.”

  “But—”

  “Can you ever listen to me, woman?”

  I inhaled sharply at the remark, setting my wine glass on the table with a loud thud. “What?”

  Oliver ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. “This is unacceptable. You can’t want me to take an interest, you can’t tell me to handle these things, and then disregard what I say.”

  “I’m not!” I protested.

  “You are,” he replied in a voice that didn’t brook disagreement. “You are. Like last night—you want me to spend more time with him, but when I do, you get upset. You want me to talk to him about what kind of relationship he should have with girls at his age, but you don’t trust me to handle it.”

  “I trust you!”

  “Then listen to me. You are not going to call him, Alicia. When he comes home, I will talk to him, and you’re going to let me handle it my way.”

  “So we’re back to this,” I said, clenching my jaw and plopping into my chair.

  Oliver followed suit, sitting beside me. “Look, I did a lot of thinking when I went back to work…”

  I stilled, holding my breath and hoping against hope that he’d say he’d changed his mind. Hoping that he would say everything could go back to normal. Even as I thought it, something in me rebelled at the thought. I squelched that part down quickly, though.

  “I think we need to get away for a little while.”

  “What?” I asked, sure I hadn’t heard him right.

  “When’s the last time we’ve had a vacation?”

  “When was the last time you took a day off work?” I quipped.

  “My point exactly. I think we should.”

  “When?” I asked, surprised.

  “This weekend. I think I’ll take Friday off, and we’ll have a three day weekend.”

  “Can you really afford to do that?” I asked, biting my lip.

  “There are some advantages to being senior staff.”

  “What about Jonah?”

  “He could stay with my parents,” he offered. “Or… he is thirteen, and it’s just a weekend. Maybe…” He gave me a sidelong glance. I shook my head, and he surprised me by nodding acquiescence. “I’ll give them a call.”

  “Where should we go?” I asked, getting excited.

  “I was thinking we would go camping.”

  I laughed at him—only a man would call camping a vacation. Still, it would be nice to get away. We hadn’t been anywhere just the two of us since Jonah was born. “I don’t know if I still know how,” I teased.

  “You’ll remember. It’s like riding a bike. And anyway, if you’re too delicate for dirt and sweat, we could always get a hotel room.”

  I winked at him. “I happen to like sweat very much, thank you… a certain kind of sweat, anyway.”

  “Oh, I bet I know just the kind,” he intoned, his voice smooth as silk.

  Chap
ter 5

  We were packed and ready to go first thing Friday morning. It had been so long since we’d had a reason to pack, I’d nearly forgotten how organized Oliver was when it came to vacations—almost to the point of being dictatorial, an opinion I voiced often, if not to his face.

  We were going closer to the mountains to camp, and the drive was surprisingly pleasant. I’d begun the trip with a knot in my belly, afraid that he was going to bring up the elephant in the room. Instead, we talked about Jonah, about work, and how quickly the time had been flying by. We remembered the earlier days of our marriage, laughing at things that had seemed so important at the time, but were now nothing more than a distant memory. Before long, I felt myself relax and found that I was enjoying myself.

  Oliver pulled over and we ate a quick meal. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been to Ihop?” he asked when his pancakes arrived.

  “Too long?” I guessed as he drowned them in heavy syrup.

  “Too long,” he concurred.

  When we got back on the road, it was already getting dark. I could see the grim set of Oliver’s mouth and knew that he wasn’t happy about it.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have had dessert,” I commented, with a quirk of my lips. We’d shared a hot fudge sundae and gotten into a spirited debate about whether or not Jonah knew that Santa was not real. It had ended with both of us laughing, because we were agreed that the myth had ended for him long ago, and that he was stringing us along just to get a lot of gifts.

  Oliver didn’t answer, but kept his eyes straight ahead, the furrow in his brow growing more pronounced the darker it became. I knew that he hated having to set up in the dark.

  Sure enough, by the time we checked in and got directions to our campsite, the sky was pitch dark. What little light there was from the moon was blocked by the forest of pine trees around our site. Some looked big enough to touch the sky itself. I knew that most women didn’t enjoy the great outdoors, but I loved getting away from the business of our everyday life. I loved how bright the stars twinkled, how crisp and fresh the mountain air was.

  I didn’t have long to muse over the campsite, because Oliver was quickly getting annoyed. He didn’t say anything, but I could hear it in his grunts, and the way he kept throwing the poles down dramatically. “Need some help?” I asked with forced brightness.