J is for Journey

 

Dear diary,

When one uses the word transgression, ordinary things come to mind. Like forgetting your phone at home or even leaving it there on purpose, just to spend a couple of hours unaccounted for. Or like on that day, wearing a dress too short and coming back from the walk after dark. Mouthing off with an attitude. Raising my voice. Staring back. Undressing too slow. I left all that behind, the man and his controlling pettiness. I will not go down this rabbit hole today, thinking of him. That's not why I'm here, in Uncle Ar's room. I pressed my forehead against the wall and drew a deep slow breath. 

Uncle Ar sensed my hesitation. “You don't have to recite the whole list, my dear.”

“I do, at least the big ones,” I sighed. “I quit, I failed myself too many times. I could've had another surgery to fix the damned foot and go back to dancing, but I didn't. I chose Aldous.” I realized that Uncle Ar was not aware of my life story, but at that point it didn't bother me, I just clarified. “I made a lot of wrong choices. Aldous was bad news. It took me too long to come to terms with it. You don't hand over the control to someone like him. You just don't. Does it make any sense? Any of it?”

“Of course, you're blaming yourself for not leaving that man earlier, but you shouldn't. You did what you could, when you could.” I could hear him pacing the room behind my back.

“I betrayed myself, I failed myself. Over and over.“ I turned around to face him with a burning face. Quite a confession booth, with my shorts down and the dress barely covering my crotch. 

“And me bending you over my lap will make it right?” he chuckled, as he settled on the bed and laid the paddles within an arm's reach.

“You know how it works. It will make me feel better.” I was determined to go through with it, with a total stranger. If I did hook up with total strangers, why couldn't I have one talk some sense into me with the help of his hand and other things. By the way, that was another major transgression I didn't mention. In my attempt to get over Aldous, I let too many into my bed. Hanging out with the Eurotrash crowd, turn you into one very quickly. I needed to become more choosy of whom to let into my life, even for a short stay, especially for a short stay. 

“Who am I to disagree?” Inadvertently Uncle Ar quoted an old song, as he tapped on his knee. “ Let's get on with it, young lady.”

I would've preferred for him to start over the shorts, but it was a bit too late for that. Laying across his lap, with my head and torso comfortably on the bed and my legs locked in between his, I didn't have to wait long. Arlen delivered that first hesitant smack to gauge the reaction and rested his hand on my butt. It's been a while since anyone spanked me. We are all adults here, I can use the damn word, it's just a word. The weight of a man's hand on my ass, there is nothing in the world to compare to this simple act. Of my surrender, and him taking over the control. I wanted it more than anything. I needed it.

There was nothing sexual about it for neither of us. A silent understanding, what has to be done, be done and no more. It could be that riled up later, back in my room, I would reach for the vibe and let it rip. Right now, there was only one purpose, one goal, to take me to a place where I will be at peace with myself, even by means of a painful journey.

While not being spanked by a man, I did use my own hairbrush on myself. Not as effective, it did the job and kept my pain tolerance level high. So his first dozen swats did no damage and elicited no reaction from me whatsoever. He adjusted the impact and the next few forced my feet off the floor and to kick, for which he quickly reprimanded me with the customary attack on my thighs. 

Coming from Uncle Ar, it all made sense. There was no anger, no foul temper, no revenge, only the quiet strength to lead me on the journey from point A to point B. Point A being desperate and miserable. Point B, a safe haven with no regrets.

Uncle Ar clearly had a few decades of experience under the belt, or better say, with his belt. He read me like an open book, picking up the intensity when it felt right and slowing down when he decided to give me a rest. He rubbed my butt before switching to the paddle and pressed it against my already sore flesh to show that he was ready to continue. He leaned over me to whisper into my ear words of comfort and effectively locked me with his body, like a full body hug, holding me tight, except his right hand, like a clock, would rise and fall, each time taking me further on that journey.