Ok, on some level I was flattered. I admit it. I have a great ass. And a pretty smackable one at that. *wink* But I don’t let strangers touch my ass. Actually, I’ve let relative strangers fondle my breasts. Hell, I’ve fucked relative strangers. But nobody touches my ass or smacks it without permission. What a weird possessiveness, or perhaps protectiveness?? about one specific part of my body and not others.
I cold cocked a stranger in a nightclub when I thought he pinched me (turns out it was his girlfriend). I was 20.
I came very close to slapping my husband upside the head for smacking my ass in public on our 10th anniversary. Shit, I remember feeling like a whore (don’t laugh). How dare he disrespect me like that. I was 45.
One afternoon, my husband asked me to tell him one of my fantasies. I blurted out, I want to be taken. Tell me what a dirty slut I am, turn me over your knee, spank my ass, push me down on my knees, make me suck your cock, bend me over the kitchen table, fuck my pussy, drag me off to the bedroom and then fuck my ass. Shocked I imagine as it was more than a few minutes for him to come out of complete silence. He did. Albeit hesitantly. I enjoyed it. We never spoke of it. We never did it again. I was 47.
Where the fuck did that come from??
I handed him my leather belt on our 2nd date. I’m not even sure why. Seemed like a good idea at the time. It was. *smile* Nothing extreme, but over those next 6 months he had the occasion to spank and smack my smackable ass. And I spent those 6 months liking it. I even presented my ass to him in public once when I dropped him off at the airport. *giggles* One look and I knew what he wanted. I did. He did. He owned it and he knew it. He read me well. He still does. I was 49.
Oddly enough, at the same time I was dealing with Eric and my ass. I was incredibly indignant about it all. It wasn’t the fact that he smacked me on the ass in public. Or that he did it after we met for the first time. Despite the flirting and the occasional bawdiness of our exchanges, we were not lovers (although I did fuck him once some months later). What bothered me most of all was that he did it with incredible finesse. His hand to my ass was always absolutely perfectly placed, always with a powerful sting, and always a complete surprise. It set me on edge and pissed me off.
That same year of 49 I took another lover. We talked more than I ever had before with anyone about sex and kink. We set out experimenting some. He was a bit stunned at my high tolerance to pain. I was always stunned at what it did to me and of how much I could take….how the first few smacks hurt more than the ones that followed despite increasing the frequency and intensity. His hand gave way to a ping pong paddle *laughs*. And then one night in the park, a willow switch. Another night, a maple switch. I still have the maple switch. I liked the willow switch. And not just on my ass, but on my pussy, and my clit, and my nipples…
In the midst of it all I finally pinpointed what pissed me off. I had this friend who told me anger was always a secondary emotion and I had to look at what was fueling the anger. It took me the whole year to figure it out.
He knew I liked it and he didn’t even know me. He knew something I didn’t really know about myself at the time. Or something I was unwilling to admit. And that scared the hell out of me. It scared me to think I was so transparent…to have a stranger instantly know what I desired, what I needed, what I enjoyed on a sexual level without saying a word. I was 50.
Wow. What the hell is going on here?
Now I’m 51 and I know a bit more about myself thanks to Eric. Now I hope he smacks my ass in July when I visit. *evil grin* Because there won’t be any pretense about enjoying it.
Oh, and I still wear that leather belt nearly every day. One day it will come off again…in the right hands.
And I’m left wondering where all this goes.