Written on December 13, 2023
Context – More than a year ago, Pablo (Paul) and I found ourselves further apart than I’ve ever imagined we could be. Last December 2023 he took a break and went to Las Vegas for a week to work in a hotel room rather then at home. At first I was sad and upset (angry?) at his leaving.
It was rough. Our phone calls were uncomfortable. I was emotional, kind of a mix between anger and despair – he was tired and sounded annoyed. I had a minor car accident. Someone who was beyond intoxicated walked up our driveway at 2:00 AM and knocked loudly on the door. I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to ask him to come home. But I also didn’t want to ask — he’d decided to leave, I hadn’t asked him to. And, besides, what if he said no?
While Vegas is a 4+ hour drive from here, it’s barely a one hour flight. Still, I never considered flying there, until I did. The last flight out of LAX arrived just before midnight. Returning, I could fly to LAX before 7AM, arrive at 8:15AM and be at work earlier than usual. Since I had a lot of miles, making the ticket essentially free, I booked it, briefly planning to just show up as a surprise before I messaged him asking if I could come and sleep with him, leaving first thing in the morning. Though he protested he’d be back in only a couple more days he said yes and insisted he’d meet me at the airport.
Okay then.
I wrote this entry that evening, though this is the first time (I think) that anyone’s read it. Probably even me.
o0o
December 13, 2:00 AM
Should I bring my/our ebony hairbrush?
It’s right there on your nightstand. (BTW, It was right there when my dad and Pamela came in to see the stained glass.)
Staring through half-closed eyes at the stars across the room, imagining seeing you tonight. Will you spank me? Will you spank me hard? Will you want to?
You don’t have to.
I’ve gotten used to our Sunday ritual — missing it has been worse each week. The ritual, routine, some sort of connection and check. Without it, I drift, seemingly without trying or realizing, not daring to look at the growing pile of unkept promises and undone things until they rebel, wash over, and threaten to drown me.
It feels like so long since I was across your knee. I feel that urgently. It’s been long enough that I want to be spanked hard enough to feel the next day… and the day after as though to make up for (*years* of) spankings missed. Surface sting and deep pain. Hard enough to bruise.
I’m scaring myself. Knowing how much a spanking like that would need to hurt terrifies me so much more than it would have when people knew me as Mija.
It’s a need today, not a want.
A spanking. A child’s spanking in the sense of being bared over someone’s knee. Physically controlled yet by the same actions, held and embraced. Few words needed… none? Nothing misunderstood. No one hurt except by the kind of hurt that, in this my waking dreams, heals. I still dream healing is possible.
The dream/desire is me traveling to you in my uniform, this one. My coming alone to your room and knocking on the door, hairbrush burning through my bag (or in my hand?).
Then what? I don’t know. Your hand on my collar, my neck? Do you smack me immediately? Do we talk first? Do I give you my crazy list of things to see? In my mind I get spanked and spanked and spanked again. Over and over. Over your knee. My hands tucked under your thigh, feeling your weight until… until… what?
Until everything bad is washed away. All the pain and unkindness. Until I can’t cry anymore. Until I can finally sleep again. Until [never] forever.
I keep starting and restarting a story based on the phrase “do you need a spanking?” In the story it’s said by someone like you to someone like me when she [I] am at her [my] worst.
Or, sometimes, by someone like me to someone like you?
No one has asked. Not want a spanking. Need one that’s more than I want. More than I can bear.
Do I need a spanking?
Yes.
I do. Maybe/probably/certainly more intensely than ever.
