I groaned as I answered the phone. I'd only been asleep for 4 hours. I'd been up most the night, way too excited about leaving the next morning to meet a new spanker and too many things to do like making cookies, packing, painting my toenails, and loading the car... no time and no inclination to sleep. Since I didn't have the money to buy a few nice 'thank you' gifts, I'd decided to make a big bowl of chicken salad, potato salad and home made cookies, his favorite – peanut butter. And I'd tried to gather some energy foods like apples and oranges, crackers and cheese, things that took little preparation and nourished yet weren't heavy so we could eat when hungry without having to leave the cottage and so he'd not have to spend an arm and a leg on meals AND so we'd have the extra time to mix in play and talk and work with all the spanking he had planned. I'd even made a wedge shaped pillow to help me hold position during long heated sessions. Around 4 o'clock AM I'd stumbled to bed freshly showered, every joint in my body screaming in agony from the long hours of preparation, but satisfied that I was ready to leave as soon as I could dress, slap on some makeup and head out. I'd drifted off as the Advil liquigels kicked in and the aches began to diminish with thoughts of spending three and a half days at the beach with this new spanker in languid ecstasy... a great deal of the time with bottom presented. We'd been planning this trip for months and it was finally going to happen.
"Wake up, baby. I need you to be awake," came his hoarse throaty voice.
I groggily whispered, "I'm awake".
"I have to cancel the whole damned weekend. My elderly aunt fell and broke her hip and there's no one else to take care of her," he'd rushed through the words to get them out.
As hard as I tried not to, I began to cry. My first thought was that I was really very sorry his aunt was injured by a fall and then all I had done to prepare for this meeting began to flash through my mind. He didn't know the hours and hours I'd spent to ready myself to spend the long weekend with him. He had no idea of the weeks of preparation just to psyche myself up to come to him. I'm really shy by nature and extremely modest, so getting my 'head' ready to submit to all the things he had planned for me was not easy. I think all people play 'what if' games; what if I won the lottery, what if this or that happened and my life changed over night? And I think many play games with no intention of ever fulfilling their desires. But this wasn't a game or a dream... and I'd worked hard to prepare to 'do' things I'd never done before, to submit in ways I'd never submitted. All of these things can be a bit frightening the first time and it all becomes much different when your fantasies start to become your reality. It takes a toll on you... it's WORK to prepare. I'd been diligently readying myself... now all for naught. All the plans, the imaginings dissolved in my mind as if someone had sent a pouring rain to splash and run in rivulets down carefully painted water colors, the colors fading instantly, blending and becoming nothing as they flowed down the canvas, all in one instant.
I managed to sob out, "I understand."
"Baby, don't do this to me," he pleaded and then, I guess in irritation with my reaction he'd said he'd talk to me later and hung up leaving me all alone to deal with the disappointment. Men and women think and process information differently. So in his masculine way he'd quickly accepted the circumstances and changed his thoughts to that of taking care of his aunt. He'd done the hard part of telling me about canceling our trip, that behind him it was time in 'manly' fashion to move on and take care of things at home. And I guess he never really thought about having family and friends, his work and his aunt to take care of and redirect his thoughts, while I, in a completely different place emotionally, was alone with nothing to think about but the pain of utter disappointment.
The tears flowed for hours. I cried so hard I'd given myself dry heaves. I was a wreck. And the worst part was fighting the belief that I'd gotten exactly what I deserved... nothing. Strange how one can be so hurt they get wrapped up in the emotional pain and begin to crave a physical pain that is stronger... to take their weary, overwhelmed mind off the negative and detrimental thoughts that plague them.
As the realization of dashed hopes settled in I decided 'fine! I'm all ready for new experiences, I'm prepared to submit, and by damn since you don't want me I'll find someone who does'. Oh, I knew he was disappointed too, and that there was no fault or blame... an accident and 'family'... but all the rationalization in the world didn't lessen the hurt.
After crying all day I made a decision to go find a distraction. I showered; put on my makeup with extra care deepening all the colors I am usually careful to keep light and natural. Tonight I wanted to look like a slut. I wanted to be completely different than who I am. I wanted to be shockingly outrageous and anyone besides plain old mostly prim and proper 'me'. I didn't even want to think about morals or right and wrong or any of the rules to which I held myself. Tonight I wanted to be BAD. I pulled my hair up and back on the left side and pinned it in place with a small clip topped with a black grosgrain ribbon bow.
I dressed with care too. After hooking myself into the black lace bra I slipped into the black lace garter belt I'd never had the guts to wear. I inched the black silk seamed hose up my legs and fastened them in the garters thinking there was something very contrary and sexy about the tiny pink rose bud above each fastener and at mid-waist. I shivered hoping someone would be pulling 'down' the black silky panties I was wriggling into place over the garter belt and hose ~ ummm... so much easier to take down or off leaving the black belt and garters to frame the upturned bottom. I liked the effect of the black bra showing through the semi-transparent fine white cotton blouse. Stepping into and pulling up the pleated navy, red, white and black plaid skirt I decided the image I was trying to create was coming together even better than I'd hoped.
As I tied the black string tie into a bow above the hollow at my throat and slipped into the navy blazer I began to feel a bit as if I truly was dressing for class at some prestigious prep school for girls. After scanning the shoes in the rack in my closet, I decided to wear the soft black leather Mary Jane's. I slipped a few necessities, and most important my invitation, into a small prim black shoulder bag and literally skipped to the car. I was determined to be young and carefree if it killed me. Determination to feel differently about my life and to pretend that everything was just fine began to shove down the disappointment enveloping me. I just wanted to be someone I am not and honestly have no desire to be... but for one night. A night of "pretend everything is okay and that I am a slut".
Driving toward the club I was really glad I'd not eaten when my stomach began to do that crazy 'roller coaster' flutter. The little angel on my shoulder chattered incessantly that I should turn around and go home. I refused to listen. Soon I was pulling into the parking lot of the newly established BDSM club that had opened on the edge of town. I couldn't help but notice that the parking lot was filled with upscale model cars. And I couldn't help but notice the nicely leathered butt of some guy as he sauntered through the door either. My hands began to tremble and my breath came in quick gasps. I gripped the steering wheel and admonished myself that I wasn't some naïve child that I was on a woman with a mission. And as I grabbed my purse, opened the door, and slid out of my seat I said softly but out loud, "you CAN do this!" through gritted teeth and forced myself to walk to the door.
I smiled politely at the doorman as I handed him my invitation. His well fitting tuxedo hinted that the club was sparing no expense in this very private very exclusive new club catering to those with a fascination and desire for a bit kinkier lifestyle. I felt like an imbecile standing there in my 'school girl outfit', mortified to my core. The doorman was tall broad shouldered, clean-shaven with an immaculate haircut and nicely manicured nails. He had strong handsome features, and I guessed his age to be around forty-five. The doorman's voice was rich and smooth like velvet as he welcomed me and discreetly accessed my 'costume' and body. It was all I could do not to giggle when I saw the appreciative smile as his eyes traveled back to mine. He cleared his throat and leaned closer to ask if I would be meeting someone. I looked into his Hershey brown eyes, smiled, tilted my head shaking it ever so gently and answered, "no".
