Was that a Reward or Punishment?

I had done some hard labor on the property in addition to my daily weight lifting. Not being as full of vigor as in my early days, consequently, I was dragging my ass toward the end of the day. MW noticed. She fixed leftovers for dinner, and we made a good meal of them. As usual, I would have begun to pick up the dishes in preparation for washing them. She said, “You will not. I will take care of them.”

Hm… Taking care of “them” is usually my job. The idea of her washing dishes is blasphemous. I tippy-toed out of the dining room and went back to wasting my time on the computer. An hour or so later I ventured into the kitchen and found the dishes in the sink waiting to be washed. Not having much to do for the evening I decided to do just that. Afterward I settled down with a book.

Some time later I was ready to shower, and then watch a movie with MW. As I crossed her path, she said, “Look at your reward on the bed. You may have it before or after your shower.” The only thing on the bed that she had neatly made was a bath brush. I was not in the mindset of expecting a reward, but I sort of guessed the intent of the brush, which was neither a shower nor a bath. I left the bedroom with some feelings of less than anticipation. Some time later when I returned she ordered me to lean on the bed and present my naked ass. I did, and waited for the rest that followed almost immediately.

I am not a pain slut. I do not like pain. Still, under some circumstances, pain is almost like pleasure. You know, you take what you get and don’t argue. Pain I did get. That plastic bath brush has features that accentuate the impact when wielded properly. She did wield it properly, and it hurt my ass something fierce. I don’t know why she stopped after about twenty strikes, since the visual effect was not immediately apparent. She let me go about my business after feeling the welts on my tender butt skin. Soon after that she had stopped me and ordered me to pose so that she could take some pictures of her administration of her rights. The reason for my punishment, or “reward” in her terminology was that I ignored her order of not washing dishes after dinner. After I showered she asked me how my buns felt under the hot water. She really cares.

Problem with Postings

I can post as before, however, I cannot respond to comments. This blog site, it is free so I should not complain, has stopped me from accessing the comments section of the posts. Those of you who left comments please do not think that I am ignoring you. I just cannot get to the place where I can either read or respond to you. In time it may be resolved, or I may find another way.

Wasted Chances

My patriotic friend is hanging in there, but the years have made an impression on him that, I am sure, he does not relish. He has never been verbose, but as the days go by he uses fewer words to express his needs or responses to queries by others about his views. He still writes, and I am amazed at the similarity of style that I have picked up from him. For all anyone knows, I could be writing all that. Except, I am not that good. I assume that I could be in some years. I could use the practice at least. In a small way some thought nags me, saying, “It’s not the years, dummy, it’s the wisdom that he has.” Yeah, right. Wisdom comes with years for some. Maybe for me. We will see.

He was more morose than usual, probably attributed to a recent acknowledgment of his mortality. He had tried to do some work on his truck that required lifting it so that he could slither under it to access the transmission. He decided that lifting the truck was not within his immediate priorities given his other options. After he had related the event to me I laughed, and said, “I did that some years ago, but would not want to do it now. Get a tow truck and have the dealer fix it for you. You have more important and less dangerous things to do.”

His subsequent musing was recorded partly by him in text, partly by me from memory.

I must have been in my forties when I realized that there were things I could not do such as I had done before. Running through the elephant grass as I dodged the bullets sprayed at me by the VC [Viet-cong] I had the feeling of “I’ll get you bastards, as soon as I get back to my truck.” I did get back, I did get my 50 caliber gun pointed, and did return fire. If I had to do it today, I would not be here to write this. I am now many years later although not necessarily wiser. One thing I have learned is that time is getting distorted. Anything that I do takes more time, but there is less time to allocate to it, resulting in less and less opportunity to do anything that needs to be done.

I will give you an example. I had a sweetheart whom I courted for some years. I got nowhere with her as far as sexual intercourse was concerned. It was fun and a challenge, but not blatant. I had plenty of time. Then things got in the way. I was in the Army, I was in Vietnam, gone for three years. During that time she met someone, and then … you know.

I was young enough to start again. I did. I did well. Still, there were things I meant to do, but did not so, for I thought that I still had time to do later. It is now later. Much later, and I have not the time. Even if I had the time, I do not have the means. A moment of pleasure missed yesterday is hours missed later, assuming that I had the means to suffer that pleasure. The opportunities that I had and wasted are gone. They will not come again. The capabilities that I had have diminished to where only wishes remain. Regrets abound. I now must plan a graceful exit from this world.

I was unable to deal with his statement. I could sympathize with his position, but was fearful of my coming to be there in turn not too long from now. I did not know what to say. I have had my own regrets of lost opportunities, and guessed what he felt.

I have lost opportunities over the last three years that I cannot recover. I am getting to be the age where an opportunity lost is lost forever.

Am I morphing into my patriotic friend?

We are inseparable. If he leaves, will he take part of me with him?

When he leaves, will I?

... Been There ...

Maybe I am just a bit too sensitive. Tell me. Have you heard someone say, “’Been there, done that?”


What does that mean?

Does that mean, “Ho hum, you aren’t telling me anything new here?”

Does that mean, “I’m with you, I’ve experienced it like you, but you’re boring me?”

Does that mean, “You schmuck, quit boring me with your drivel as if you ever had an original thought?”

Have you ever said “’Been there, done that?” and did not realize that you were insulting a person because of your repeating a common inane phrase without regard to its veracity or usefulness?

Alone

I wrote this a bit over a year ago.

I am free as far as messing with the little guy is concerned. I can do to him, with him, or he can do to me whatever our fertile imagination provides. Yet, it is not as good as it would be with MW.


MW is off on her annual week’s stay with her friends at a nearby resort. I drove her there and moved all their luggage and stuff into the units that they were to occupy. We had a nice dinner in the main unit, and, as usual, I spoke many words of double meanings and they were understood. They knew that I am a horny bastard ready to be used. With wine and spirits I may have had an excuse for my wise-ass comments. I assumed that MW would punish me for them, but she let me get away with them for now. That is both good and bad. I stayed overnight, and left mid-morning the next day to go home to allow the lovely ladies enjoying a few days of vacation.

I am now at home alone. I can indulge in my right hand gratification as much as I want. If she were to ask about it later, I would tell her. If she did not, it will remain between me and the little guy. I miss her. Her absence reminds me of how much I love to be with her.

Nothing has changed.