She Said/He Said – Speeding
Speed Hurts, She Said
by Princess Anastasia and Devlin O’Neill
I think of my driving speed as a “tree falling in a forest without people to hear” issue. I mean, if no one sees that you’re moving very quickly, are you really going too fast?
I say, “Don’t be silly. Of course not.”
The problem is, he saw.
But that wasn’t strictly my fault. He wasn’t supposed to be standing on the porch, watching for me to come home from the pharmacy with his pain medication. He was supposed to be moaning on the couch after a trip to the dentist.
If I had known he was going to spy on me — his angel of mercy –, I would have turned the Seger CD off, which would have automatically decreased my rpm’s by several spins, and we would both be happy at this point.
But he doesn’t look happy. He looks — anything but.
This is not what I needed on top of the ache in my jaw after a root canal. I just wanted some fresh air and to stretch my back after sitting in the dentist’s chair all morning, which is why I was out on the porch to watch my wife zoom along the boulevard and then into our driveway like Mario Andretti making a quick pit stop. Our street is quiet in the early afternoon, traffic sparse even for a residential neighborhood, but I hardly needed a radar gun to know she made her final approach at least 20 miles an hour above the speed limit. I know she knows better, because I have spoken to her about her lead foot several times.
This is truly, truly bizarre. But I could just almost swear I can see that little muscle toward the back of his jaw sort of doing that little hop, skip and jump thing it does when he’s a little bit irritated at me.
Although I don’t think it’s really possible for it to be so noticeable from a good 15 feet away. It must be the way the sun is sort of skimming over his adorable face up there on the porch.
Or maybe the dentist touched a nerve … because I’m pretty sure I couldn’t see that little signal from this distance — unless he was really, really — well, never mind.
It might be a good idea, though, to give him a minute to sort of mellow out. Maybe he’ll forget that little tiny tire squeal-y thing when I pulled in the driveway.
I’ll just gather up all the little scraps of paper in the console and look for some loose change in the passenger seat and fluff up the nap in the carpet a little and maybe by then …
Or maybe not.
My goodness. His eyes seem a little squinty, too, and that right eyebrow is definitely higher than the left one.
It’s amazing the detail it’s possible to pick out from this distance.
That’s right. Just sit there and pretend you don’t see me glaring daggers at you, sweetheart. The kids aren’t home so you know you’re going to get it as soon as I pull you inside, so why are you stalling? You know it’s only going to be worse if I have to come and get you. All right, let’s see how many steps I have to take before she jumps out of that car.
Getting out of car. Getting out of car. Hurrying before he comes down the steps.
Looking toward the sun, because sunshine is a good thing. Bright sunshine is an excellent thing. It will help me with my plan — for which I need very misty eyes.
This is important, first, though: My handsome beloved thought about being in law enforcement once. He says he didn’t really, but he signed up to do the Citizens Police Academy, so it sort of follows — don’t you think?
Anyway, while he was involved in the academy thing, he got to ride around in an “official” car with an “official” law enforcement person and he saw lots of speeders.
He says I’m faster than the best of them, but I’m sure that’s a slight exaggeration. Maybe than 95 percent of them.
He also says women speeders do the most amazing things to get out of tickets. Some of them flash some cleavage (or some other naughty bits which I am too much a lady to actually spell out for you), and some of them pass over phone numbers, and some of them plead emergencies, and some of them cuss a blue streak — and none of it works. He says.
If you are speeding, you’re going to get caught and you’re going to get punished. End of story.
Which is why I always confess immediately if I am so unfortunate as to be stopped by someone involved in law enforcement.
I take off my sun glasses with fingers that tremble just the slightest little bit, and I look up at the officer and let a tear make its way slowly down my cheek, and I whisper in my best and softest and most sincerely shamed voice, “I am so sorry, Sir. This just breaks my heart that I have caused you such distress. I know you must have been so worried about my safety or you would never have gone to all this trouble to stop me and tell me about it. I just want you to know how grateful I am for your concern and to tell you I will always remember your kindness and I will never, ever, for the rest of my life go above the speed limit again. I’m just so …” (and then I usually sort of bat my eyelashes and let some more of that watery stuff around my blue, blue eyes leak out of the corners, and I smile a shaky little “sorry” smile, and I end it with) “… sorry I’ve been such a bad girl.”
And I drive away at a nice safe speed with a warning. Only.
My handsome beloved, who is not looking his most loving at the moment and is — oh, my gosh — headed for the steps, has no idea how well this works, because he has no idea how often I have to use it.
If he did, I would probably not have to work very hard at all at tears in my eyes and a sorry speech. And the reason why is, he is almost never moved by the tears I come up with to avoid punishment, but he dearly loves moving me to tears when he is handing out the punishment.
This never stops me from trying, however, because it’s worth any effort to keep him from creating tears all by himself.
So, I’m sort of staring hard at that bright old sun as I get out of the car in a hurry, and I’m sort of moving contritely up the side walk, and I’m sort of climbing the front porch steps very humbly, and I’m sort of giving him a trembly, teary little smile and …
Oh for pity’s sake, she’s going to try it. I shouldn’t be surprised I guess, but it’s almost funny, the way she always thinks that welling up before I even say anything will make me all soft and squishy or something. Still, it does tell me she knows she’s got it coming, and that’s a plus. And I really don’t feel like talking even though the tooth hurts less than I thought it would. I’ll let my hand do most of the communicating today. She seems to understand that sort of language better anyhow, that and my glares. I’ll just keep mum and allow her to scold herself for the most part, and prompt her if need be. She knows what she did wrong, and I’ll bet she will tell herself off if I just give her the chance. That’s right, honey, take my hand with both of yours – no, don’t pull back. We’re going right inside where it’s quiet, and you can tell me all about it while I pull your little panties down.
If I just sort of snuggle up a little — no, well, he’s not very snuggly at the moment, I guess.
So maybe I’ll coax him out in the sunshine and we’ll just walk around the yard — it’s so pretty out today — and we’ll talk about this little problem so calmly for a minute, and he’ll see it’s no big deal since I’m all safe and sound and nothing was damaged and nobody was hurt …
No, well, he’s not moving with me either, even though I’m sort of tugging with both hands.
So I need some tears to start trickling a little, and if I just sort of hold his hand up to my cheek and let a tear sort of slide along his finger …
No, no, wait –
I don’t want to go inside.
“Okay, honey, listen …oh, shoot –!”
But I didn’t say the awful word, even though he’s looking at me like I just made a bad situation a whole lot worse, and somehow he’s holding my hand instead of me holding his hand, and he’s got the door open, and he’s pulling me inside, and he’s not talking at all.
This isn’t a good sign.
He’s going right through the living room and the dining room, and he’s headed for the stairs, and that means he’s headed for the bedroom, and that’s so not good.
I’m trying hard to keep up with him, ’cause I don’t want him one bit madder than he already is, but these darn high heels …
“Listen, honey, I know I was going a little bit fast a minute ago, and I know you don’t like that at all, and I know you’ve told me that before, and I promise it won’t ever happen again. I just wanted to get home with your medicine as quick as I could so you wouldn’t be in pain …”
Darn it, no, that probably wasn’t the right thing to say. I can tell because he sort of breathed really heavy when we hit that last stair step, and he did that thing he does when he tilts his head down and narrows his left eye and the left side of his lip goes up just a little, and he looks so, so out of sorts with me.
And besides, he’s let go of my hand, and he’s just pointing toward the bedroom.
And I’m feeling really, really sorry I ever drove one single bit over the speed limit — ever in my whole life — and it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t had the Seger CD on.
Wait, that’s it.
I’m still walking down the hall, but I’m sort of doing it backwards now because even as scary as he looks, I need him to see how really, really bad I feel and how much it’s going to hurt me to say this. So, here goes …
“Honey, I got just a little carried away, but there’s a reason why I didn’t realize I was going too fast. See, I had my favorite CD on. And I know now that just sort of makes me forget to watch my speed. So, even though it will break my heart, I know I need to give that silly old CD up. I’ll just run back down to the car and get it, and I’ll give it to you, and you can just smash it to pieces so I’ll never speed –”
Oh, shoot! Not working, not working.
“Not my panties! Please, please, I won’t ever …”
I knew it, and there she goes. Oh my gods, not the ‘I did it for you’ defense. Okay, okay, try not to smile, she’s getting there, the panic is just setting in, and I haven’t had to say a word, just the look so far. She has got so good at scolding herself now I might never have to do it again. Well, that isn’t true, I like to, I like to see that look on her face when she’s staring down, trying to not meet my eyes until I make her look at me, and … what’s that? The Seger CD? Seger made you speed? You’re killing me, little girl, you really are, and it’s just a good thing my jaw does hurt a bit or I’d be grinning right now.
All right, over you go, missy, and with a lot less wriggling and back yanking than usual, so you do know you’ve got this coming, don’t you? And you want me to what?
Oh, honey, that’s just too precious, smash up your CD, like you couldn’t burn another one off the iTunes files in about ninety seconds. Still, the offer warrants a firm headshake and a grumbled ‘no,’ which might mean anything but hopefully you’ll take it as meaning I’m not buying the Seger defense either, or at least that I don’t intend to take out my righteous indignation on an undeserving artifact.
Oh I remember these panties, and I think you were wearing them the last time I spanked you, unless you have more than one pair with little pink stars all over them. Very cute, but speaking of stars it’s time for you to start seeing some, young lady, so first these go down, and there it is, all white and clenched and ready. Or not. Waist grabbed, arm up, deep breath, and make it red so she remembers.
No-o-oh, wait! I want a do-over.
How long between cool air and hot hand? Not long enough.
Don’t clench. He likes jiggle, or it won’t count.
But I can’t help it.
Oh! — My!! — Gosh!!!
That’s right, little girl, you just squeal all you want to, and I have scarcely begun. I really should scold or she’ll think something’s wrong but I really like just listening to the claps and her shrieks. Still …
“How many times do I have to tell you to ease up on that gas pedal, missy, hm? A dozen? Twenty? A hundred? If I do have to I will, and every time you’ll get a spanking just like this one, young lady, one you’ll remember at least until I have to give you another one. Is that what you want, darling? Is it? Do you want to have to drive for the rest of your life sitting on a sore bottom? Because if that’s what it takes to make you slow down, I have absolutely no problem blistering your rear end every single time you speed. Is that what you need, young lady, hm?”
“I didn’t think so, but you deserve every single spank you’re getting now, and I guarantee you’ll feel it for quite a while, the next few hours at least!”
Okay, slow down, final volley, and rub. Whew, I really did scorch it, didn’t I? Well, she deserved it. Still, this is the hardest one in a long time so hopefully I won’t have to repeat it for a while. Right, up you get, little hot cheeks, and sit on my lap.
I c-can’t sit anywhere!
And I need a tissue. And my bottom stings so bad — I just want to rub and rub and cry and cry.
I just need him to hold me, ’cause I’m so sorry I’ve been a bad girl, but I can’t tell him that, ’cause I still can’t even breathe very good, and my voice will come out all funny, and I feel embarrassed enough already.
At least he didn’t use anything but his hand. No, m-m-m-mh, don’t want to think about how hard it was.
Wait, he is through, isnt’ he? He’s not gonna fuss at me and then take off his belt or send me to get the hairbrush, is he?
I didn’t go that fast. Really, I didn’t.
And I don’t need any corners, either, please, Sir. I just want you to rub my bottom for me, not look at it. I just want you to hug me and tell me — you know — you still love me, not tell me I deserve a whole lot worse.
Even if I do.
I need some mercy. Pl-pl-please. Sir.
Oh good, it took. I hate seeing her cry but sometimes it’s the only way, and that isn’t even really her tell. It’s when her whole body gives up to me, then I know.
Okay, wiggle back so your bottom isn’t sitting right on my thighs, atta girl, and can I reach the Kleenex and the lotion? Yep.
“Here, honey, it’s all right now, dry your eyes. You were bad and you got spanked and now you’re sorry, so I forgive you. We’re finished, and no corner this time, but if it happens again there will be, and I’ll use my belt. Just nod if you understand. Good girl. I love you, honey.”
Right, now big smile and a kiss.
Huh. My jaw doesn’t hurt at all.