I Gambled and Lost

I spanked Anne last night. She says she was beaten and that she’s notified her friends and family to be alert in case anything happens to her. I know she did because I saw her typing away last night after the incident.

The previous evening she’d violated the cellphone rule—the one we’d discussed, negotiated and agreed to about turning off her work devices after 7:30 pm. I saw her checking her phone, and I knew she’d seen me see her. In the morning I told her that she’d be spanked that evening. It was hard going off to work after watching her face fall. When we came home in the evening we both had tasks to do that kept us busy until past eight. She made a couple of light references to her impending spanking, so I knew she knew what was going to happen and wasn’t frightened. When the time came, we went over to the couch. I told her I needed her to take off her jeans. She laughed. “You need me to, huh?” It’s one of our peeves about the way people in service industries speak. They’ll tell their customers “I need to you to sign this for me,” or “I need you to wait,” as if we’ve come to meet their needs. But she took off her jeans and arranged herself over my knee.

“Don’t do it too hard,” she said. I told her quite honestly that this was the last thing I wanted to be doing. I said frankly that it was going to hurt, but not nearly so much as if she’d fought or argued with me. She didn’t say anything. I started slapping her lightly over her underwear, and then after a while, a bit harder. I watched her carefully. She wasn’t crying and didn’t even seem very tense. Her bottom was pink, but I removed her underwear and continued.

She shouted for me to stop, and I did not. Although her legs were pinned, she managed to push herself off my leg onto the ground. “That’s enough!” she cried. I told her firmly to get back up, that we were not finished, and I pulled her back into position. After a few more swats she started crying, and she wrestled herself off again. I didn’t let go of her. I told her we were not finished until I decided, and that it would take longer because she fought me. When I got her back into position, I gave her about eight more swats and told her we were done. She pushed herself off before I could comfort her, pulled her clothes together and fled to another room.

When she gathered herself she told me that she didn’t understand me or how I could do what I did. She asked me repeatedly, shouting, how I could be OK with what I’d done. She said she’d seen a new side of me and that she would never be able to trust me again. That she was frightened of me. Where she came from, women didn’t allow themselves to be beaten. That’s when she went upstairs to her computer.

We didn’t speak after that. When I was in another part of the house, she gathered her things and went to the spare bedroom. I took care of her part of the remaining evening chores and went to bed in our own. I was wrung out. When I was almost asleep, she came in and turned on the light. She reiterated her points and said we should split up. She called me a sadist and said she didn’t trust me because I was “into it.” She asked me if I understood that she could go to the police. I only answered her when there was something simple and straightforward to say. Otherwise, I said we could talk about it later when emotions weren’t running so high.

In the morning, I brought her coffee and kissed her awake as usual, but she avoided me. When I was about to leave for work I went to her and told her that there would be no more spanking unless we were on the same page. She just repeated that she didn’t trust me or understand me. She showed me the small purple marks that remained on her bottom. She said she hadn’t decided what to do next, but that she was this close—she held her fingers half an inch apart—to throwing in the towel on us. That was all she had to say. I went to work.

Please don’t tell me my mistakes. It’s abundantly clear that I didn’t lay the proper groundwork for her, that I wasn’t patient enough, and that I spanked too hard. Did I lose control? No, I just used poor judgment.

It’s clear that the only response that could have mollified her this morning was a display of remorse, guilt, and submission. Instead, I went blank. I listened to her, and spoke small responses in a low voice. It’s my mode of behavior when my feelings are exploding and I don’t trust my heart to keep me out of danger. My feelings are still all over the map. I don’t know what’s next for me and Anne, only that things are very bad, maybe worse than we will be able to repair ourselves. Neither of us have much faith in marriage counselors, even if there were many of them available where we live. I don’t know what I’ll say to her when I get home, or what she’ll say to me. She’s not going to get over this quickly.

Resolution, Part 2

The conversation was civil but it wasn’t pleasant. I started by letting her know how I felt during Tuesday morning’s incident. I tried to explain that it wasn’t about her needs versus my needs on weekday mornings, but about her being aggressive when it wasn’t called for, treating me as the enemy. I pointed out that it was exactly the behavior I wrote about in my letter: a pre-emptive attack in lieu of simply stating her needs. I told her I’d been beating myself up all week over my not stepping up the way I’d promised to in my letter. That I felt as if I’d failed my duty to both of us by lapsing into our established pattern, defending myself instead of letting her know right away how out of line she was.

She told me how she’d been feeling at the time. That she felt I was just riding right over her (uncommunicated) needs, that the “new regime” (her words) meant that I could do whatever I wanted and she had no say in it. My taking charge—although as yet hardly acted upon—made her feel defensive, leading to her aggressiveness. This was good information for me, and I talked with her about it until it was clear to me that she knew her feeling wasn’t based on fact. I repeated that I viewed my leadership as a serious responsibility that meant making an effort to meet her needs whenever they didn’t clash with mine, which I view as equal in importance, not greater. I understood her feelings, but they didn’t excuse her approach.

When I thought we’d understood each other’s positions, I asked her if she remembered what I said I’d do if she disrespected me the way she used to. “No,” she said. “I said I’m going to punish you,” I said, gently.

“So what does that mean?” she asked, her face hardened.

“I’m going to spank you today. I’m not going to punish you hard, because I should have handled this earlier…”

“What do you mean, you’re not going to punish me hard?” Her voice was challenging.

I was confused by the question. “I’m not going to punish you hard,” I repeated.

“What do you mean, not hard?”

“I mean I’m not going to punish you as hard as I might in another circumstance.”

“But what do you mean by hard?” It was her voice that was hard. I felt interrogated, but I didn’t feel threatened. I tried to explain in another way.

“Well, I’m not going to make you cry…”

“You’re telling me that you would actually try to make me cry?” said Anne, shocked and offended.

It’s a story for another time, but I had spanked her once before, almost two years ago. Just three slaps, exceedingly light. All the same, she had sobbed uncontrollably and told me several times in succeeding months how I’d spanked her hard. Because I literally could hardly spank her any more lightly, I had a good indication that tears were likely to be a part of any future spankings.

“Yes,” I said evenly.

To my surprise, she didn’t follow up on that with a lecture on the innate cruelty of my character. She changed the subject, and the next ten minutes ran the gamut of protests and hard questions. What about the humiliation factor? Did I think she was a child and I was her father? Spanking is for kids. Exactly why did I think that spanking could ever be a good thing in an adult marriage? Didn’t I see how arcane, how weird, how off-the-wall it was? Didn’t it turn me on sexually, and wasn’t that icky?

To say I had good answers for all of these questions would be a lie. Many of them were good questions, and Anne was utterly convincing in her outrage. I had two advantages: I was calm, and I was resolved. I listened to everything she had to say, and gave her the respect she deserved.

“If you can look me in the eyes,” I said to Anne, “and tell me that this isn’t fair, I won’t punish you today.” She looked at me, but she didn’t say anything.

When she’d spent her arguments, I told her that being equal and without a plan for the first ten years of our marriage had not worked out for us. And while she had great talents in business and in many other areas, between the two of us, she was not the most qualified to run the relationship. She didn’t read books about marriage and love, as I did, and when I asked her to read them, she had no comment on them. She wasn’t patient or interested with research on effective communication, either: it was just so much pop psychology to her. By contrast (I told her), I spent quite a few hours a day thinking about how to make our marriage better. I couldn’t keep living the way we’d been living, and I wanted—needed—to give this radical change a try.

“So you’re saying it’s this, or…” Anne said. She meant I wasn’t giving her a choice, that it was DD or end the marriage.

I thought. “How do I put this? If we don’t try this, Anne, I don’t know what will happen. We need a change, and I have no Plan B.”

I could see her think. She had no more questions to ask, no more charges to level, and I was still resolved. Her face changed. It was not a happy face, but she’d made a decision. “All right,” she said. “I have no Plan B, either.” And she was done talking.

I stepped away a few feet and pulled a straight-backed chair from the dining room. She went over my lap on her own. I don’t know how it felt to her, but for me, it was a strangely comfortable feeling, as if she’d always been intended to be there. She was wearing elastic cotton tights over panties. I ran my hand over her bottom and slapped her very lightly, on the left and on the right.

She wasn’t sobbing, but she was weeping softly. She didn’t struggle. I gave her ten, about two seconds apart. I increased the force slightly. The last slap was still short of the force I use when applauding at a concert. “Okay,” I murmured. “We’re done.”

She stood up and buried her face in her hands, crying. I put my arms around her and told her I was proud of her, that she was a strong, adult woman. I held her for a little while, but she didn’t relax into me. I let her go and watched her. I put my hand on her back. “I can stay here with you. Would you rather I go away?” She nodded, still turned away from me, not speaking. “Okay. I’ll be here if you need me.” I went into the kitchen and started doing dishes.

In about ten minutes she came in and silently started working beside me, setting out the ingredients for the meal she’d planned—chicken breasts stuffed with feta cheese and kalamata olives. A few minutes after that, she started conversation, just as naturally as ever. Dinner included not only the chicken, but a great salad with homemade chili-lime vinaigrette, something we hadn’t had before. It was delicious and I made sure she knew it. She seemed happy and easy. We had a normal evening. As we went to sleep, she took my hand. “Good night, sweetie.” Content.

Resolution, Part 1

Continued from last post.

The rest of the week was unremarkable. Our weekdays are busy and our weekday evenings rather short, so the fact that on Wednesday night we were merely companionable instead of affectionate was not out of the ordinary. On Thursday we watched sitcoms on TV. She was over the events of Tuesday, and I was thinking too hard about the situation to have a viewpoint with which to talk about it with her.

The situation was not closed for me. I’d been treated terribly, and I had to decide whether to punish Anne for it. It would be the first time. But the situation was ambiguous. If I’d drawn up a pro and con list, it would have looked like this.

Reasons Not to Punish

• Appropriate time to punish has past. “Statute of limitation” applies.
• Anne didn’t use words that explicitly insulted me, mocked me, or denigrated me—behavior she knows will have consequences. It was all a matter of aggression, tone and attitude.
• I told her in my Tuesday morning e-mail that she hadn’t crossed a line. Although it quickly became clear to me that the line was drawn in the wrong place, I did tell her it hadn’t been crossed.
• It could ruin her day, and by extension, mine. (Not a very worthy consideration, but it did occur to me as a factor.)

Reasons to Punish

• Her behavior was objectively disrespectful. I’d told her in December that disrespect would be punished.
• If I didn’t punish, she would have doubt in her mind about whether I ever would.
• If I didn’t punish, I would have doubt in my own mind about whether I could bring myself to do it.
• I still felt resentment toward Anne, and I also felt shame for my failure to step up. Both those emotions would likely go away if I spanked her.

I thought about this all day Friday. (It’s amazing I got any work done.) By Friday afternoon I’d decided to spank. Probably in the morning, after she’d finished her coffee. On Friday nights, Anne visibly lets go of the work-related tension she carried all week, and I didn’t want to spoil that.

Deciding to spank didn’t set me at ease. In fact, at times I felt almost sick with anxiety. I’d never done anything to deliberately cause Anne pain that I could recall.

On Friday night we watched a movie, with whiskey and wine.

In bed, scenarios ran through my head. What she might say. What I would say. How hard. Her reactions. I got out of bed at 2:30 and stayed up until almost 5:00 before returning to bed until 8:00.

Anne got up an hour later and circumstances didn’t cooperate. There was coffee, and then there was breakfast. Without a pause, she was making her to-do list. We’re trying to sell an old house that requires constant maintenance, and as she cataloged the various minor repairs she became anxious over whether anyone would ever buy such an obviously challenging home in this market. I soothed her. She started soothing herself by dusting and neatening. I started my own chores. She was in get-it-done mode, and she wouldn’t have the headspace discipline requires until she felt ready to take a break.

It was the afternoon before it happened. I got back from shopping and she was curled up in a chair, watching a video on her laptop. By the time I had things put away she was looking at spreadsheets from work.

I asked how long she thought she’d be working. “Why?” she said. I told her I wanted to have a talk with her about Tuesday morning. “Okay,” she said. She shut down her computer and turned to me to listen.

To be continued.

A Better Life Ahead

Read The Path Thus Far for some necessary background to this post.

I was in a three-way bind. I couldn’t live in a constant power struggle and still be myself. I couldn’t ask Anne for permission to take charge without risking another furious rejection and further damage to our marriage. And I couldn’t impose discipline on Anne without her consent.

Anne told me she wasn’t on board with the moves toward dominance that I’d already made (although she softened the blow by telling me that I was “brave”). It set me back and filled me with more doubt. My wrestling with my conscience continued. A correspondence with Elysia helped me work through my thoughts and feelings.

I never completely unraveled the knot, but I did learn my own mind. And as the new year approached, I decided on a plan. I’d tell Anne that I intended to take charge of our marriage in 2012. I wouldn’t ask for permission. But I’d closely monitor her reactions over the next couple of days, and I’d allow her a pre-emptive veto.

I didn’t know what would happen to us if she exercised that veto. But I found that I had a new interior sense of rightness. I prepared myself to stay detached from Anne’s reaction, whether it be fury or hurt or resignation. I would let her say “absolutely not” as many times as she needed to. I would stay patient and answer any questions she had for as long as it took her to come to grips. She would have her veto, but she would have to use it deliberately by using an unnatural phrase: the word “veto,” repeated three times. In a sense, this would be her safeword.

Yesterday morning we woke in a hotel. We’d gone to the city to see a concert and had a great time. In the morning we made love. We hadn’t had our usual Sunday summit because each of us had been under the weather.

We basked in the afterglow and Anne started putting her clothes on. I called her name so she knew I had something important to say. And I told her that my plan for 2012 was to take charge and have the kind of relationship that I’ve talked about with her.

She tightened up a bit. I said that in 2012 I would be the head of our little household. That I would be the leader and that my directions would be respected. “But what exactly does that mean?” she asked.

I looked down and paused a bit, gathering my thoughts and will. Then I looked her in the eye and said, “It means that I will be in control. Our way of dealing with conflict will change. If you disrespect me in the ways that you have in the past, I won’t lose my temper. I won’t yell, and I won’t hold a grudge. You will be punished, and we will move on.”

I watched her take this in. She had a worried face. She knows what I think an appropriate punishment is; I didn’t have to spell it out. “You can understand why this is scary to me,” she said. I agreed. I reassured her that I would be watching very closely to make sure that this was working for us. That I would never let this descend into abuse. That I would not lead her into harm, and that if it looked as if this way of life was harming her somehow, I would stop it.

“Okay,” she said.

I don’t remember what I said. I probably added some more assurances and safeguards.

“Okay,” she said again, more firmly, and with less worry in her face. It’s as if she wanted me to know I really had her assent.

She didn’t ask any further questions. I didn’t have to offer her any veto.

And the tension broke. She sighed. “In 2012, the world is going to end anyway,” she joked.

“It’s true,” I said. “The Mayan gods are going to come and spank the whole world.”

“They’re going to come with their giant paddles,” said Anne.

How could we be joking about this, which has been such an issue for so long?

The love flowed heavy between us all the rest of the day and this morning.

We’re on the verge of something big and wonderful, I know.