Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Becoming Un-stuck

Hi everyone! We are 10 days into 2017 and the only conclusion I have come to is that I really, really hate cold weather.

Other than that, this year is treating me fine. 

Last year was not my best year for writing. Believe it or not I set goals every week. I try to complete projects and get them out there to share with the world. Apparently, 2016 was not my year for that. I had the best intentions. But it was a weird year.

Anyway, having published one book in 2016 makes it kind of easy to at least double if not triple my output this year. I've been doing some reflection in trying to figure out what exactly stunted my creativity.

The conclusion I came to (without going into every minute factor that affected my daily life) is that I don't think my creativity was the problem. I think it came down to motivation, time, and the actual joy I was getting out of writing. 

Just recently I started revising the very first book I wrote and published, Catch a Falling Star. It's funny to read something that I wrote four years ago. It's weird to see how much my writing style has changed, while pretty much staying the same. 

Sure, I cringe at some of the things in there. The way I wrote things, the words I used. Apparently, I really, really loved commas (I don't think that's changed). But I'll tell you what's refreshing about looking back at this book, remembering how it just kind of burst out of me. 

Yeah, I didn't know what I was doing. But I wasn't writing it for anyone. I didn't even think anyone was going to read it. I didn't care. I was just writing. Creating my own world with my own characters, just for me. 

I don't write like that anymore and I am wondering if that is part of the problem. I'm too much in my own head "are people going to buy this?" "what will readers think if I write this?"

When I wrote this first book I didn't think about any of that. I didn't care because it wasn't even a factor.

Somehow writing evolved from, "this thing I love and make time for" to "this thing I try to do." I don't know when it stopped feeling like an outlet and started feeling like work. I think I got into the mindset that if I kept pushing on it would feel right again. 

And I don't even think I realized it happened until I started reading Catch a Falling Star and I found myself smiling. When was the last time that happened? When was the last time I sat down at my laptop and didn't worry about this scene developing the characters, or the dialogue moving the plot along? 

When was the last time I was excited about writing?

Too long. I'll tell you that. 

I'm thinking about not thinking about it too much.

I'm planning on having less of a plan. 

I'm going to stop being in my head and let my heart have a bigger role.

Maybe it will be a disaster. Maybe I'll be sitting here on January 10th 2018 saying, "Guys, that was a really stupid thing I decided to do."

I'm okay with that. 

On that note, I do have a couple of projects in the pipeline. One book that I have been working on for months. I'm getting to the end of it and I think it might actually be pretty good. 

A second book that came out of a dream I had one night. It's still in the thinking out process, but it's been rumbling around in my head for a month or two now. Sometimes I think I write the best when I let the idea ferment for a while. 

It's going to be different than the usual thing from me. We'll see how it turns out. 

I won't know until I try.

Monday, January 2, 2017

New Year, New You? Probably Not.

I will take this moment to wish all of you a Happy and Healthy New Year, because that is what you do at the beginning of the new year, right? But does that mean that I don't care if you're happy and healthy in July? I mean I guess the January wish is supposed to carry through all year long. I'm just saying, just because it's the dawn of the new year doesn't mean anything has changed. 

I want my friends and family to always be healthy and happy.

I'm not a resolution person, mostly for this reason. The same reason why I don't believe in diets or any other kind of "Change your life overnight!" thing. It's crap. 

It is a new year, yes, technically, it is a new beginning. But we're all the same people we were two days ago. Nothing is going to change just because we wish it will. 

I am an optimistic person by nature, I don't want anyone to think I'm being negative here. I guess I'm just being realistic. Yes, I also thought, "Goodbye 2016! You sucked. I'm not sad to see you go. 2017 will be so much better!"

Then today, on January 2nd, I woke up with a crippling headache. I'm not surprised by this, I have been headache prone my entire life. Waking up with a headache is the worst. And mostly my first thought is always, "Shit, what did I drink last night??"

Truthfully, I did have a few beers yesterday and I had a headache all afternoon because once in a while a very hoppy beer will hit me the wrong way (yet, I still drink them, because who doesn't like a little Russian roulette to liven up their life?). 

I was headache free when I went to bed last night and then woke up with a beastly one. It's a sinus headache, it's pretty much under control now. There are still hoof beats in the background, but I'm not letting it ruin my day.

My point is—is 2017 off to a kick ass start? No. I spent all day yesterday exhausted because I only slept 5 hours the night before. Today, I have an awful headache. Does that mean my entire year is shot?

Well, let's hope not. But I fear a lot of my friends would think exactly that. At least judging by their ever hopeful facebook posts. 

It's a new year and it's a clean slate, but I'm still the same person. I'm still going to get headaches and not make it to the gym as much as I should. I'm still going to procrastinate. I'm still going to drink hoppy beers and then curse myself for it. 

But I'm also going to remember to enjoy the little things. I'm going to make time to see friends. I'm going to work out, not because I should but because I feel better when I do. I'm going to cook more with my husband because I love him and I love eating (best of both worlds). I'm going to continue setting goals for myself. 

But when I don't meet them I'm not going to beat myself up. I'm going to try harder.

It's not a new me, it's the same me. 

So, my friends, I wish you more good days than bad days. I hope you laugh more than you cry. I hope you discover what makes you happy and you hold onto it. I hope you remember that one day does not define you.

I hope in this new year that you are still the same you.

A Happy and Healthy everything to everyone! 

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Something to Hang by the Fire

It's been a weird year. It feels like it's been an unbelievably long year and in many ways I don't feel like the same person that started it out.

A major change this year is that I finally upgraded to a smartphone. This sounds like a strange thing to single out in this year of emotions and events and lots of very not so good things. But I'm realizing more and more that it has changed my every day life. And it also scares me how much I have come to rely on it and how much it knows about me! Why does it know things about me?? It's scary.

Anyway, aside from never being lost ever again (for the directionally challenged, GPS on my phone is literally the best thing ever), I can now check my email 4,000 times a day.

A fun fact: there is no reason why you should ever need to check your email this much. Another fact: I never get important emails. 

I have about four email addresses that I use frequently. The one linked up to my phone is my main, real name, the one I don't give out to email lists, way to get in touch with me. Currently, I am stuck in a group email with extended family about the best date to get together for Christmas at my grandmother's. I'm mostly staying out of it and pretending I haven't checked my email 4,000 and one times today. I'm going to see how it all shakes out and then plan my illness accordingly. 

It wasn't until the smartphone and the easy accessibility to this email that I realized at one point in time I made an error in judgment and gave Frederick's of Hollywood my main email address. Not really a big deal. I could unsubscribe. 

But I haven't because I am completely enthralled by just how many emails they send in one day. And how many sales they have! So many sales!

I mean, I am a huge supporter of purchasing lingerie. My love of shopping kind of died when I became an adult and had actual bills to pay, I no longer get a thrill out of buying new clothes. Instead, occasionally, I am forced to buy new yoga pants because all of the ones I own have random holes in them and aren't even safe to wear when bringing out the trash.  

But cute underwear? I'll buy that all day long. Especially on sale!

I get an average of three emails a day from Frederick's of Hollywood. I know, right? It should be annoying. I should be forced right into the unsubscribe territory. But instead, it kind of delights me. 

All of them have such urgency. TIME IS RUNNING OUT

Oh, man. Time is running out, what am I missing?


Is it though?

One of my favorites, marketed toward the gentlemen:

Get Her The BIGGEST Gift

Obviously, yeah, you should do that. Of course, my curiosity was piqued so I opened it. Did you know a giftcard is always the right size? Clever.

Anyway, it's become a running joke in my house and part of my everyday. My phone will buzz and blink and make some weird noise (I still have no idea how to set my sounds and tones). 

"Oh my god, babe, I just got a super important email."

My husband looks up from his laptop.

"Cyber Monday is back!"

He's started responding to me with subject lines of Victoria's Secret emails that inundate his inbox. 

So our typical dinner conversation has turned into,

Me: Your 48 hours of savings is almost up. What are you doing right now??

Him: Oh, sorry, I was shopping for gifts for my naughty and nice list!

I have been shopping for stocking stuffers. It is the one tradition that stands, Mr. McKay gets a stocking full of lingerie. But I don't fall into the trap of thinking my time is limited on this sale. The only thing that is limited is the amount of time you have to purchase that lace trimmed thong in a large in Prism Violet, because they never have a large in the color I want! Okay, sometimes they do, but I'm telling you, don't wait too long. Today it's 50% off, tomorrow it might only be 30% off with a free shipping code (sometimes the better deal if you ask me).


(It really isn't, but it's nice to feel like I have something urgent going on.)

Friday, November 11, 2016

Romance for the Soul #lovewins

Hello, friends! I've been silent longer than I meant to. Not for any particular reason. In fact, I had good intentions of completing a blog post almost daily. I even have a couple of saved drafts of bits of things that flew through my brain that never got fully fleshed out saved in my queue.

But here I am, not to share anything groundbreaking or life changing or breathtaking. Just to say hi and to tell you that I did something today I have not done in a really long time. I got so wrapped up in reading a book I could not put it down and spent three hours laying on my couch, absently stroking the purring kitty in my lap, letting my coffee go cold in its mug while I raced through the pages and read on to completion.

It was not my intention. Today is my day off from the day job that enslaves most of my waking hours. I had a mental list of things to complete. Menial tasks and greater more important things like writing more of the book I am authoring myself (hence the lack of blogging).

It got me to thinking. I started writing a few years ago because of my love of reading. I can tear through books at a clip. I love everything about reading. The escape from reality. Meeting people and visiting places I would not otherwise have the chance to experience. Sure, they're fictional. Or fictionalized versions of real people and real places. I stray toward romance and happy endings. But since I have started writing I have read less and less. And sometimes it takes a lot for me to get into a book, to even have the energy to read until the end of the story.

Sometimes this has nothing at all to do with the books I am reading or how they are written. I just can't shut off my own mind long enough to enjoy something. Above all I have guilt that something I am doing for sheer pleasure is taking up the time I should be using to do something else. Like writing. 

I haven't abandoned reading. I have good intentions. My Kindle is loaded with books that I purchased that I intended to read "one day." Once in a while I scroll through them, trying to figure out which one I will try to read in guilty little snippets while I'm supposed to be doing something else.

This week I dove into this stock pile. I needed something to occupy my mind. I promise, this isn't a post about politics, I've tucked myself into a turtle shell trying to shelter myself from anything political in the last few days. But, I'm also having a hard time writing this and not mentioning politics at all. 

You don't need to know my political views (although, I am sure they are leaking out in what I'm writing in this post) and we don't even need to agree on any issues at all for you to read my blog and this post in particular and take something from it. I'm just merely painting a picture of events of my week.

My spirits have dipped. My otherwise sunny outlook and bright optimism in the face of any situation has been tested. I'm tired of thinking about things. About this world and politics and the future. I hate feeling hopeless and defeated.

So I thought, what should I do? I'm going to go back to that tried and true pastime that I've been ignoring and brushing off as unimportant for too long. I'm going to find myself a book and I'm going to exist on another plane for awhile.

I scrolled through my collection of books that I found worthy enough to download but had not yet been cracked open. I stopped on one. Looking at the cover, reading the author's name, an author I had never read. And trying to remember why I purchased it.

Craving Flight by Tamsen Parker. I read through the blurb again, remembering that one of my friends, who I trust in all matters of book suggestions, told me to read this one. To be honest I thought I was going to begin reading and it wasn't going to hold my interest or meet my expectations or bring me to the appropriate levels of distractedness that I needed. I dove in fully thinking I would end up being too despondent and depressed in my own mind to get fully absorbed. 

And then I timidly dipped my toe in the opening chapter. I met the two main characters. A total of eight lines of dialogue were exchanged between them. It takes place at a deli counter between Elan, the butcher, and Tzipporah, the college professor.  But it didn't, it all played out in my living room as I laid on my couch with my sleeping cat, wrapped in a cozy blanket on a gorgeous autumn morning. 

I was tempted to say I had wasted my morning. I whiled away about 3 and 1/2 hours of time I meant to spend doing other things. I came away feeling refreshed. Even hopeful. How could that be wasted time?

I went to the gym on Wednesday even though I had gotten a total of four hours of sleep the night before and had worked a full day. Why? Because I mentally needed it. Yes, exercise is good for the body. But it helped my soul. It was a terrible workout, but I felt better when it was done. 

Reading is important too. Getting lost in a good book, even when we're neglecting our to-do lists and life obligations. I'm going to stop thinking of reading as something I should not be doing. A guilty pleasure that achieves nothing. I should be reading. We should all be reading. We should all be taking care of our minds and our souls.

So I'm starting a new to-do list. I'm going to be kind. I'm going to be thoughtful. I'm not going to lose the hopefulness that was always ever-present inside of me. 

Because love will always win and I don't think anyone's politics can change that. 

I'd be grateful for some book suggestions. Have you read a book lately that might help me escape for a bit?

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Crying~It's Not for the Faint of Heart

I'm an emotional person. I don't know if I cry more than the average person, but I think I tend to cry at inopportune moments. 

This past week one of these inopportune moments occurred at my job. My day job has been stressful and frustrating lately. There have been staff changes, schedule changes—pretty much every day I go in I am faced with a long day of chaos. At the end of one of these particularly long days I ended up getting into a spirited discussion with my new boss. 

Feelings of frustration, exasperation that I wasn't being heard, and anger at the patronizing tone and bullshit excuses that were being thrown my way all accumulated. I had a brief vision of telling my boss exactly where he could stick his job and giving my fellow co-workers a one-fingered salute as I dashed for the exit. The daydream was satisfying.

The reality is I like having health insurance coverage.

So I pushed the anger down and plunged back into reality to have a very uncomfortable confrontation in a workplace environment. Except, the feelings were all still there. I had crunched them all down, but they were dying to get out. So my eyes started to water. I felt it and ignored it.

Blink. Blink.

And then my bottom lip did this quivering thing. 

I bit on it and trapped it between my teeth. 

But not before my boss saw it. 

He gave me a horrified look—oh no, crying female. "Don't get upset."

This comment heaped on top of the patronizing tone only made things worse. "I'm not upset," I forced out in a measured and even voice. I took a deep breath and a second to center myself. I wished I could have explained to him that I literally had rage leaking out of my eyeballs. That, no, he didn't make me cry. I made myself cry by deciding not to fly off the handle. I wouldn't let the anger out, so it converted itself into something else and tried to slip out some other way.

Of course, I didn't explain this, but I did take the opportunity of him being thrown off balance by the "almost tears" for a few moments to speak my piece. 

Upon reflection, I thought of all of the other inappropriate moments where I shed a few tears during the course of my life. Because that's what I do, when something in my life happens I get a recurring slide show of every other little thing in my life that went wrong or embarrassed me. 

My reflection on these situations made me realize that crying gets a bad rap. It's looked on as a weakness and mostly a very feminine thing. If you're crying about something you obviously can't handle it. You're a basket case and no one wants to listen to you.

Thankfully, I married a man who doesn't discount me when I'm being emotional about something. If I'm worked up and crying, I think he listens more carefully. He won't write me off, he'll ask me what's going on. It wasn't always like that. I think I did have to prove to him that I can have a rational conversation about something while I'm crying, sometimes I just can't control it. And if I can't be myself with my one true love then what is the point of anything?

Some moments that I have shed a few tears that maybe were not ideal:

The night I lost my virginity.

Technically it wasn't even at night. It was midafternoon. And it happened to be with my now husband. I'm not sure why I cried. It didn't hurt, although I think I scared the shit out of him and he thought he mortally wounded me. There was so much build up to this one moment in time. And then it happened. I loved this man so much. I still do and I did even before we had sex. But something about it just wrenched my emotions out of me and I wound up crying as I laid in his bed.

I couldn't explain all of that at the moment. And I am sure I'm romanticizing a lot of it. But there was so much love and emotion welled up inside of me that I wept openly. Probably not what any guy wants to experience, but it was an honest reaction.

Our wedding night.

Again, not really the usual reaction that a girl has to marriage. It wasn't like a replay of the night I lost my virginity because we didn't even have sex that night. It had been a whirlwind of a week. Emotions ran high. Lots of money was shelled out. We made it to the finish line. I was a little drunk, my ribs were bruised (perhaps broken) from the torture device I wore under my gown. I was exhausted. I was happy. I was overwhelmed. 

I was crying next to my husband of ten hours in a hotel room bed at 3am. 

This was a huge milestone in my life. One I planned for and dreamed of for a long time. And it was over. Now what?

"Now we're married," the ever practical Mr. McKay replied in the dark to his weeping wife beside him.

"But, it's over, what do we do now?"

"Go to sleep."

He was right. I slept and life went on. Sometimes I think I get so overwhelmed by the next step and just life in general that I don't know how to process it.

Playing roller derby.

I know what you're thinking, "Of course you cried during roller derby, you broke your ankle in three places last year." I didn't cry when I broke my ankle. It didn't even hurt until the next day. I did cry when they told me it was broken and I realized I was going to miss most of the season, but I don't think that's a very unusual thing, plenty of people would cry about that.

This season I am back and I've hit a good stride. I went from inexperienced newbie, never getting rostered for any games, to someone who is playing in all of the games. A team, B team, I've played in a lot of games this season and enjoyed the hell out of every single one of them. 

My first A team game was in August. We drove five hours to get there. We left our husbands and wives behind, our kids and our jobs, and we took a crazy road trip. We were playing a team that outranked us. We were tired, but we were using everything we've been working on this season. When the whistle blew at the end of the first half I followed my teammates into the locker room and I was swamped with emotion. 

At this time last year, I was broken. At this time last year, my team was not playing like this. We'd all worked really hard in one year to get where we were and I was so proud. My eyes misted over as we filed into the locker room.

"Are you crying?" a concerned teammate asked me.

"No," I lied, as a tear escaped and ran down my cheek. "I just love you guys so much. I love playing with you."

"Oh, man, she's crying!"

"I'm not!" I was.

"Now I'm crying," more than one person echoed.

There were lots of sweaty group hugs. And we played even harder the second half, we barely lost and we over-played everyone's expectations—even our own.

Other things that make me cry: kittens, really good endings to books, sports documentaries I watch with my husband...

The list could go on. But the thing is I laugh a lot too. I smile a lot. It's really easy to be my friend, just be nice to me and we're good. I don't want to paint the picture that I am some kind of sobbing lunatic all the time. 

My emotions are always bubbling at the surface and I have a hard time hiding them. But my point is, crying gets a bad wrap. Not every person who cries is weak. Sometimes people are just trying to control themselves from hip checking you into the wall. 

The next time you cry, don't apologize for it. And the next time someone cries in front of you, ask them why they're crying. Their answer might surprise you. 

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Collared by Rayanna Jamison~ A Naughty Sub Put in Her Place

I'm sharing a hot scene from Rayanna Jamison's new book Collared. If you haven't purchased it yet, then why wait any longer?

Here's a taste of what to expect:

“You need to remember your place,” he scolded, punctuating each word with a hard swat to her denim clad cheeks. “And, I am going to help you with that.”
With that settled, he let go of her arm. “Stay in position.” Reaching around her, with both hands, he found the button of her shorts, and released it, deftly sliding the shorts down to her ankles, and her panties with them.
She whimpered, softly, a guttural groan in the back of her throat. She knew that whatever came next would not be good, but she stayed in position. 
“Put your feet apart, and grab your ankles.”
Pax stood back, watching as she followed his instructions, bringing her bits into full view. She had been waxed last week, and the results were something he would never tire of seeing.
She peered at him, glaring up from the space between her legs. Her expression seemed to challenge him. “What now?” she seemed to be saying.
“Patience, my little sub,” he purred, moving closer to her, so that she was back within arm’s reach, watching her face soften at his expression. Calling a sub, “sub” always seemed to hit that button, and he enjoyed watching them melt right before he claimed them.
He slapped her ass, watching with satisfaction as the skin bounced and reddened under the impact of his hand. 
“Who’s in charge here, little sub?” he growled, nearly panting through his controlled arousal. He would play with her, and teach her a lesson, but there would be no sexual release for either of them. They were at her father’s house for God’s sake.
“You are, Sir” she squealed, as he pressed against her tightly puckered opening. Her face was flushed and she was biting her lip, as she tried to give up control, fighting her instinct to move away from his prodding fingers. He smiled to himself, recognizing the signs. She had never been touched here before. 
“My little sub seems to be an anal virgin,” he teased, growing hard himself as he pushed his index finger past her tight virgin barrier.  
“Yes, sir!” she squeaked out. “And I was hoping to keep it that way!”
Shaking his head, he chuckled deeply at her hesitancy. “That’s not going to happen, pet. I own all of you, and I will punish all of you. There is no quicker way to remind a naughty sub of her place than by claiming her naughty bottom hole.”
He pumped his finger in and out slowly, watching as she struggled to hold position against this new violation. She was uncomfortable, sure, and sorry for her misstep, which was kind of the point, but her glistening pussy told the story the rest of her would never tell. She was horny as fuck. She didn’t want to be turned on with a finger in her ass—they never did, but she was.

“Naughty subs get their bottoms punished often, pet. Anal punishments are a powerful tool in my arsenal, as you will soon learn. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle, and will train your naughty little hole to take more and more each time, and someday, you will take my cock here, and you will scream as I fuck your naughty little ass. It will happen, my pet. There’s no avoiding it. That day will come.”

Diamond Barrett has spent the last four years hiding in plain sight, working as a show girl in Las Vegas, trying to forget the painful memories of her mother's untimely death. When the details of the gruesome accident finally surface on the morning of her 25th birthday, Diamond's pain leads her to a series of bad choices that result in the loss of her job. 
Now what?
Paxton Donovan's very presence exudes dominance and captures the attention of everyone around him. He has spent years creating his brand as a business owner and professional dominant. There is no time for anything that interferes with the order with which he runs his business and life. Structure, order, rules, discipline. Business without pleasure. No distractions.

But nothing could have prepared Pax for Diamond as their two worlds collide and both of their perfectly ordered and quiet lives combust. Will their undeniable attraction and intense passion be worth the risk of pain and heartache as they shatter their safe lives?

Get it today:
Amazon UK

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Shame Gardening and a "Punishment" Spanking

Mr. McKay and I live in a townhouse (he likes to say- "This is our Tiny House," when I watch Tiny House Nation on HGTV), our neighbors are close because we share walls with them.

We try our best to be friendly. I don't need to be friends with all of them, but it's nice to say hi to the people you share a porch with. Or to know that someone will let you borrow their snow shovel to dig your car out if yours happens to break during a blizzard.

A new neighbor moved in next door to us in the beginning of the summer. She has been dubbed "the weird dog lady." I know we shouldn't talk. We can easily be the weird cat people. But, she's weird. 

She's nice enough, and we have worked up to getting her to say hi. Before she would act like she didn't see us and then dart back into her house. Or wait in her car until we passed by before she got out to walk to her door. Maybe she was sizing us up. Now, she does say hello to us, but it always has a theme. She either mentions our cats, which she sees in our big front picture window, or she says something about the landscaping crew that comes once a week.

She likes to garden. Now mind you, we live in townhouses, each of us has a tiny little 2'x4' patch of dirt in front of the front window that has shrubs in it. Our community has a housing association and they send out a landscaping crew. We still aren't clear—after 7 years of living here—if it is our responsibility to weed this little plot of land, or their's.

Some people plant a few flowers in there, the lawn crew seems to leave them all alone. The most we ever do is Mr. McKay will buy new mulch every spring to throw under the shrubs and cover up the weeds that are growing there. We also have some flowers growing in a tiny sliver of dirt beside our back deck. 

I am not a gardener. I don't enjoy any part of it. Dirt. Bugs. Sweat. It's not my cup of tea. We never had neighbors that did much to the outside of their house. And now this lady moves in and she's making our half-assed mulching look sad compared to her vast garden.

I don't really care if people look and judge. I have been making myself nervous that she is going to report us to the housing association for out of control weeds or dead flowers. You do not want the housing association on your back. They leave letters in your door and threaten to fine you. We have had notices about our back porch light (the globe around the bulb was cracked), ivy growing on the front of our house, and an old picnic table that our landlords left here that the association thought looked "rickety." Well, it was rickety, but it also wasn't ours. 

So we have these flowers out back. And they all died. My mother in law mentioned that if we cut the heads off they would re-bloom. They also kind of spread and started growing in the cracks of our deck and I kept saying we should do something about that. (Really hoping Mr. McKay was going to take the hint because he likes doing garden-y things more than me.)

The flowers before they died. Picture this mess but dead and brown.

I built up the paranoia in my mind and was convinced that weird dog lady was going to report our lazy gardening skills to the housing association. This weekend the weather was beautiful, it was mild and sunny. So I ventured out back. Ten minutes into my foray in gardening I had tiny cuts in my hands, I kept screeching when a bug flew in my face, and despite the cool breeze I was sweating. But I was barely halfway through and couldn't abandon the project because then it would look really obvious I had started to make an effort and decided against it. 

Forty-five minutes later all of the dead flowers had been removed. Weeds had been pulled up and things looked tidier. Whether or not the flowers would re-bloom was yet to be determined, but I had dirt under my nails and grass in my flip flops so I was done.

Meanwhile, the night before we had a late dinner. When it comes to dinner we have unspoken roles that we've never discussed. Mr. McKay normally cooks (he likes to, I hate it) and then I will pack up leftovers and clean up. I am not a night person and we ended up eating so late that I was almost immediately falling asleep on the couch. 

Dinner never got packed away.

At 8am I discovered the leftovers still out in the kitchen. I packed them up, wondering if I was going to kill us both with food poisoning in doing so—it was chicken. After stowing them in the fridge I left for work and had second thoughts about saving the leftovers, even though it kills me to throw food away.

So I texted Mr. McKay, he works from home and usually has whatever we had for dinner the night before for lunch. I warned him that the leftovers were probably no good and we should toss them. His reply? "I'll deal with you later."

Yum! Yes, please! (Am I not supposed to be that eager?)

I nearly forgot about this threat (or promise, really). 

Until I was back inside the house after my foray in gardening. I took a shower to wash the outside off of me and I came out of the bathroom in a puff of steam, my wet hair dripping down my back. Mr. McKay trailed behind me, following me into our bedroom. As I slipped on fresh panties and rifled through the laundry basket for a shirt, he snagged me by the waist. 

"Gardening makes you grumpy," he observed as he kissed me.

I agreed. 

"I can fix that."

Before I asked him how he intended to fix my mood, he stood up and pulled my panties down. He pushed me forward until my thighs hit the bed and I was forced to bend over. Now I am all about an impromptu spanking, but I wasn't exactly in the right mood. For one, I WAS grumpy, I was also tired. I kind of felt like napping, not like getting my freak on.

But I am sure I am not the only person in the world who has a partner whose kinks don't exactly line up with mine. I feel like it took a long time for me to convince him that spanking me whenever was fine. He didn't have to ask. We didn't have to talk about it. He didn't have to wait for me to request it. So I wasn't about to undo all of this progress by complaining I was tired and putting a halt to everything.

So I went with it. And it hurt at first. A lot. He was only using his hand, but I wriggled around and said 'ow' a lot and wondered why I liked this to begin this. Do I like this? 

Then I took a few deep breaths and settled into it and stopped thinking so much. And he didn't stop. But a flip switched somewhere and instead of it hurting and instead of being tired, I was arching my back and opening my legs. He'd smack and then caress and reach down between my thighs. Now things were on the right track.

Next he picked up the Magic Wand. He turned it on and placed it under me so it was sandwiched between my clit and the bed. Then he got the flogger. Much lighter than his hand, but enough to reignite the sting that was already there.

It all got to be too much, I started arching off the bed so I could move away from the vibrations. But every time I did, Mr. McKay put a firm hand on my lower back and pushed me back down.

The flogger, the control, the vibrator. It was all too much. I was either going to die or come until my brain exploded. Well, my brain didn't exactly explode. But things got fuzzy.

He pulled me up onto the bed and kissed and caressed until I regained use of my limbs. Things progressed and we made an afternoon of it, until we finally had to come up for air because our growling stomachs could no longer be ignored.

As I staggered from the bed to again find my underwear and some clean clothes, Mr. McKay pulled me close and whispered, "That'll teach you."