Can You Hear Me?

I've had animal-people share my world for most of my life -- cats and dogs of various kinds and assorted temperaments have been part of almost every household I've ever lived in for as long as I can remember. There have been golden retrievers and cocker spaniels and miniature schnauzers and wire-haired fox terriers and the wonderful and amazing coyote, along with an array of feline creatures that have run the gamut from sweet and shy to downright devilish. Almost always, I have come to the point with each of them that I have had occasion to wish that they had some sort of speaker that would broadcast what it was they were thinking so that I could hear it. There is just that divide, no matter how closely I come to be aligned with the critters that share my path, where I cannot fathom how they think.

I suspect that there is a similar phenomenon that occurs with Himself and I. I absolutely know that He loves me, and I love Him with my whole self. We've come to understand one another with a great deal of clarity in these almost seven years -- there is much to be said for time spent and miles traveled together. Still, I am convinced that there are times when He finds my thinking and my emotional state to be a complete mystery.

Last Saturday morning was one of those. What started out fairly simply ended up with us crosswise with each other. Not a very big sort of crosswise really; just one of those places where He ended up puzzled, and I ended up feeling "bummed out." It happened so quickly that there was really no way to even pinpoint the place where we fell off the rails exactly, and the results weren't so catastrophically bad that it needed us to "debrief." It just left us feeling like it was not satisfactory. And, since then, we've avoided it... a tender spot between us.

How much easier, if there had been a "speaker" that would have played this little script:

Early morning, dreamy and sleepy. He's still sleeping. It is Saturday and we have no place we have to be today. A luxury. I am feeling soft and warm and (sexy for a change). I hope that, when He wakes up, we can talk and tease and play together... take the time that will make it good for us both.
Snuggle and anticipate and imagine and hope and fantasize for a long, dreamy, happy while... and then He wakes up and wanders off to the bathroom (to take care of late middle-age hygenic stuff that those of you who are not there yet probably do not want to know about). At this point, we haven't even said anything to one another yet.
By the time He comes back, I'm rubbing my ass, and He asks why. I tell Him it itches (some of the scar tissue does that often), and before I can even blink or think or move, He smacks it sharply with a leather strap! My dreamy, sexy, warm mood evaporates in a flash, and tears come to my eyes. I react instantly, flipping away, hurt and upset.
Whatever I was hoping for, it is obviously not on His agenda. He tells me that I'm going to roll over and get spanked. Swallowing my disappointment, I do as I'm told, grab the far side of the bed, and hang on. He counts His way through whatever set of implements He has in mind, while I intone to myself in my head, "roll over and get spanked...roll over and get spanked...roll over and get spanked...roll over and get spanked...roll over and get spanked..."
When it was done, I made love to Him, and endured the look of disappointment in His eyes when I failed (again) to reach orgasm. Another failure.

All week long, I've been catching comments/queries snuck in here and there about how I didn't like it on Saturday. And He has avoided touching me except for the most vanilla of snuggling. Finally, this morning, I asked Him if He might (maybe) spank me. He did agree, and I did pretty well I think. He says He's not angry with me. That helps me. There is so much that we are trying to handle right now. All of us. Especially Him.
It all used to be simpler.