Snippets

Maybe everyone who writes like this, on some sort of regular basis, has had the experience of having a pile of disconnected bits and pieces of thoughts sort of pile up in your brain. For me, it is like a laundry basket with a growing collection of mate-less socks. After awhile, I feel like I NEED to do something with all those "snippets" of ideas. It just doesn't matter that they refuse to develop into anything substantive, or that there is really nothing in the way of a common theme or thread that I could use to "tie them altogether." I just get worn out having them all banging around inside my head.

So...

A collection of "snippets" with no particular rhyme or reason --

Something I forgot to mention (because I forgot) -- I'm a couple days out from the session over the weekend. As I read my accounting of it in the last post, I realize that it suffers from the general "dippiness" that sometimes settles in over my brain after playing at levels higher than our usual, routine sort of spanking.

Now that my head is a little clearer, I do remember one moment in the midst of it all that turned out to be sort of funny -- although it probably didn't have to be that way.

He was swinging away on my poor, tender backside with (one of) His favorite paddle(s) -- the evil hairbrush paddle -- when my mind went over the edge and tipped into full-blown rage. Suddenly, I was not happy or comfortable. Suddenly I was in full-throated roar, "I'm going to throw that fucking thing in the fire!"

It is, often, my fondest fantasy in the midst of a paddling -- the vision of seeing the paddle flickering at the heart of a raging inferno. Still, I think it but don't really ever say it. Good grief!

So, I was still vibrating with the realization of my own words when He grabbed me by the hair, and speaking directly into my face, said, "Was that 'I'm going to throw that fucking thing into the fire, Sir'?" I immediately appended the requisite "Sir" -- and we went merrily on.

Imagine that -- and I sometimes maintain that we don't do much in terms of ritual and protocol.

We're Soooooo... Old! -- Monday afternoon. I got home from school, and for a change, was feeling halfway decent (I often have a migraine on Monday afternoon). We had a snack together and went in to lie down for a bit before I started to work on dinner.

He was feeling frisky, and suggested a spanking. I did what I often do at that suggestion -- I snuggled into His chest and began the mental process of getting my head into the place I need it to be to go through a spanking...

And promptly, fell sound asleep.

Apparently, so did He.

The very next thing I knew, the alarm was going off, signaling that it was time for me to get up and start the dinner preparations.

How quintessentially evocative of an "old, established" M/s pair... Master suggests a spanking, and the slave goes right to sleep. And, so does Master.

Flambe -- T cooks. T is passionate about cooking. She watches all sorts of cooking shows. She reads cookbooks from cover to cover.

I cook pretty well, too. I'm no slouch.

Between the two of us, we keep Him pretty well fed.

He grills out. Sometimes He makes toast. Occasionally, He warms up a cup of tea in the microwave if He is home alone. Got the picture?

So, a couple weeks ago, sitting at dinner, we were making plans to visit our favorite liquor emporium to replenish our wine stash and restock His supply of brandy and whiskeys of assorted nationalities -- Irish, Canadian, Kentucky (not really a nation, unless you live here across the border, and then you would understand). For whatever reason, and I forget how the conversation got started, He mentioned that we ought to buy a bottle of "Flambe."

T and I told Him, gently, that "flambe" is a cooking method that involves setting foods afire using a flammable liquor -- usually brandy. We tried to explain to Him that there isn't any "beverage" that is called flambe. "Really, Sir -- flambe is something you do; not something you drink."

He was adamant. It is a dance we do sometimes. Master is right, even when He is clearly "wrong." We giggled, but eventually let it go.

The next day, T looked it up on the Internet, and forwarded the results of her research to He and I both. Yup. No such thing as "flambe in a bottle."

It has provided an interesting and workable new "vocabulary" for expressing that Master might be "spouting Masterful nonsense." Turns out that all we need to do nowadays when that sort of situation occurs, is to suggest that whatever it is we are talking about just needs us to pour some "flambe" on it.

So, there you go, assorted silliness from our little clan.

swan