Mary and Daphne #188

“Mary, I’m back,” I announced as I dropped my keys on the kitchen table. I don’t usually announce myself but the Royal Herald has Sunday mornings off cuz I’m very benevolent and stuff. And there she was, Summer Sunday Mary, with the shorts and the long legs and the grubby tee shirt and messy hair and I kinda wanna wrestle with her in the grass and let her win all the times. So there’s a new thing I learned about me.

She came right up to me and gave me a kiss (which was nice; I liked it) and said, “Three Sundays outta four, I gotta swat your bottom to get you out of bed for church, but you decide you want a donut and you’re out the door before I’m even out of bed.”

“Yeah, cuz donuts.”

Mary flipped open the box. “Where’s your chocolate twist?”

“They only had one left.”

“Why didn’t you get it? That’s your favorite.”

“I don’t like taking the last one. Someone else might’ve wanted it.”

“You’re someone else.”

“But I don’t like taking the last of stuff.”

“So your favorite donut is a chocolate twist, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“And you didn’t get one?”

“Nope.

“Because it was the last one?”

“If I got it, someone else who wanted it would’ve been sad.” This is so totally logical; I don’t understand why my Mary was confused.

“Of all the ways you’re a silly goose, I love you the most for this one.”

She loves me! She really loves me! I’ma tell everyone Mary loves me!

“A little girl as nice as you,” Mary told me in preparation for telling what she had to tell me next, “deserves a present.”

“I’m not so nice.”

“Yes, you are.” Yes, I am. I just deny compliments out of politeness, anxiety, and a desire to keep expectations manageable.

“If it had been the last peanut butter pumpkin, which are available again at retailers near us by the way, I’da told the next person to fuck the fuck off.”

“I know, sweetie. I remember the time you almost bit me.”

“Didn’t your parents teach you not to get between a sapphic and her food?” I didn’t mean to actually bite her. It was a warning snap, and for once her reaction time was slower than mine. It was a close call is all. But if I had bitten her, I’da let her bite me back … and stuff.

“Hey Mary,” I asked with my I’ma-make-her-say-it grin plastered to my face, “if I’m so nice, does that mean I’m a good girl?”

And Mary said back to me with her nice-try grin, “But you said you weren’t so nice.”

“Only cuz I’m super modest and don’t take compliments well.”

“Yes, it makes you a good girl.” Squee!

“So I’m a good girl?”

“Isn’t that what I just said.”

“Not sure; didn’t hear you.”

“You are a very good girl!” Squeeee!

“So that makes it official and stuff?”

“In every state except Delaware.” Delaware – so easy to incorporate there, so hard to be an official good girl.

Anyhoo, during the pandemic, we really wanted to go back to church in person. We have friends there, and I like singing. I mean, sure, we could sing along at home, but we sound best when at least fifty people are singing around us. It’s not that we’re tone deaf, but yes, we are. It runs in the family. You should hear us sing Happy Birthday; it’s like we’re not even singing the same song despite us practicing together multiple times a year.

But after all the pandemic Sundays of Mary and my immunocompromised body watching zoom church in bed together, it’s become another of our special times. And yeah, sometimes Mary has to spank my butt awake (I think she underestimated it when she said three out of four Sundays; she does that on purpose sometimes cuz she likes being nice to me), and if you don’t pay attention to Pastor Sarah (who is the very embodiment of nonsectarian positivity and gayness), Mary gives you a for-real spanking as soon as zoom church is over. I don’t know how she knows when I’m not paying attention to zoom church; I’m usually sitting between her legs laying back against her while she rests her chin on my shoulder, so I don’t know how can tell (except the couple times I was snoring), but she’s never wrong.

I was raised Catholic and stopped going to church when I still in high school (which was somehow a big deal in my Christmas-and-Easter-only family), then I started going again when I was home from college because it made my Grandma happy to have the whole family at Mass, and then I just stopped. I was pretty skeptical of the whole Unitarian Universalist thing (is it even church if the priest doesn’t think you’re going to hell for being gay?), but Mary and I were dating, and she really wanted me to try it. I can’t remember if I ran out of excuses or decided it was worth it if it’d make her happy. Making Mary happy became goals for me very shortly into dating cuz I wanted to keep her around and was very insecure for a … person who is generally insecure.

So I went with her one Sunday, and I didn’t know anyone else there and it’s not a big congregation and I didn’t understand what was going on, and of course my mind wandered. Mary saw me staring into space, leaned over, and whispered, “Hold my hand.”

I like holding hands, and because I was still learning Mary’s tones and faces and body language, I thought, ‘How sweet; she wants to hold my hand during church.’ And then she stood and started walking toward the back with me in tow. Not a big congregation, like I said, so everybody knows everybody and I’m so obviously the outsider and the person I learned is Pastor Sarah was still preaching and was our department conspicuous much? Yes, it was.

Did Mary think she was wrong and I didn’t like it and we were leaving? Had I embarrassed her? Was she disappointed? Not that I was already insecure about our relationship and my chances of holding on to a Mary (the original and only!), but ugh. The exit was a long walk for not a big building.

Except we didn’t exit out the exit. Mary made a right in the narthex (turns out Unitarian Universalists just call it “the lobby”) and down a set of stairs. She took me past a multipurpose room (they really can be anything; that one was where brunch was gonna be; Mary didn’t tell me about the brunch part) and to another multipurpose room for the purpose of scolding me (see? they can be anything).

She closed the door first, thank goodness, and said to me, “I know you aren’t enthusiastic about being here, but it’s still a worship service, and not paying attention is very bad manners.”

This wasn’t like being scolded for leaving dishes in the sink. Had I offended her? She obviously took church much more seriously than I had understood, and I was freaking out inside that this was going to be the end of our relationship, which Mary couldn’t foresee cuz she didn’t yet know the entire extent of my approval-hunger and relationship insecurity. Even setting that aside though, relationships do end over religious differences.

“I’m going to spank your bottom. Do you understand it’s for your manners and not because you don’t like church? … Daphne?”

“Y-yes.”

I was too busy catastrophizing in my head to appreciate what was happening. She sat down in a chair, drew me across her lap, and delivered ten hard (hard!) swats to the back my dress and set me on my feet again. If I had been logical about it (and I’m the queen of logic, as you all know; no nonsense from me ever), I would’ve realized that no one spanks their partner just before breaking up with them. Instead, I just stood there quietly, unable to even look at Mary, and rubbed my butt.

“When you’re in a house of worship, doesn’t matter what faith, you need to be respectful, which means paying attention. Understood?”

“Mhmm.”

And then she hugged me. My being stiff as a board and not really hugging her back tipped her off that I was not okay. I think that set off her own alarm bells. We were past the point of negotiating scenes and I encouraged her to give me consequences whenever she thought I needed them (but had yet to fully hand over the disciplinary reins; that came much later), but her voice suddenly had this o-crap-did-I-go-too-far tone when she asked me, “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Mhmm.”

“What’s wrong?”

I sniffled first cuz I’m pathetic and stuff. Then I asked, “Are you mad at me?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’ve never been mad at you.”

“So … we’re okay?”

And that’s when Mary figured it out. She put her hands on my shoulders, bent her knees to look me right in the eyes, and said, “Look at me. We’re okay. We’re better than okay.” And then came the impact hug, so named because we both went for it at the same time and oof! My Mary is very solid, and did I ever mention I’m smaller than she is? Those inches make so much difference.

I sniffled a snotty sniffle and felt relieved enough to let my guard down and expose just how insecure I was. “So you’re not breaking up with me?”

“No. I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t mean for that.” I’m sure she was thinking to herself what a basket case I was. She hadn’t seen that part of me yet. I’m better now (what with the therapy, medication, and the teachings or Mary to guide me), and I’m not sure if Mary, with her caregiver instinct, was thinking, ‘What a basket case; I’ma gonna have to think about this relationship’ or ‘What a basket case; I wanna hold her and take care of her forever.’

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

We let each other go, and I said, “We should go back upstairs,” even though what I really wanted to do was literally anything that didn’t involve walking back to our seats past all those people.

“We don’t have to. We can leave, or we can just stay in here for a while.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We can go, or we can stay for brunch. The service is almost over. I’d like to introduce you to some of my friends here, but we don’t have to. Just tell me what you want.”

Real answer: I wanted to make her happy. “Even though I embarrassed you?”

“Who said you embarrassed me? Are you embarrassed?”

“Yeah.” Um, of course.

“But maybe also a little nervous because I’m gonna introduce you to people and you feel like you have to make a good impression?” I nodded, feeling silly. I was a grown woman, and as embarrassed as I was by everything that had happened in the last seven minutes, I wasn’t any more nervous than I would’ve been in any other circumstance meeting new people. I don’t like being the center of attention, and I know nine times out of ten when you think you’re the center of attention you’re really not, but getting introduced to your girlfriend’s friends even one-on-one is more attention-central than I like being. I’m better at being attention-adjacent.

Mary told me, “We’ll stay side by side the whole time. You can even be shy and barely say anything.” O good; I’m good at that.

Countless times in my life I’ve wondered why I couldn’t be normal when it comes to socializing and not need forty hours with a person until I feel comfortable with them, but I learned something: having Mary means I don’t have to be normal. She’s not normal either (like, not even close) but you wouldn’t know it to watch her vanilla socializing.

Her friends were very nice, and Pastor Sarah was so disarming that I actually talked to her. I – and I’d never had this happen in a church before – had fun. When Pastor Sarah asked if she’d see me again, and I told her next week, I could feel Mary internally squeeing, and she’s not much of a squee-er.

Only years later, about ten minutes before our appointment with Pastor Sarah for some pre-marriage counseling and to talk about our wedding ceremony, did Mary tell me Pastor Sarah knew I’d been spanked that day, and I only had a small stroke when, twelve minutes after that, Pastor Sarah told me how proud she is of my attentiveness and active participation on Sundays. It’s kinda a shame that Mary won’t ask if she’ll play with us. I mean, we know she’s kinky, but Mary has overruled my suggestion and says if I wanna get spanked by a kinky lesbian clergywoman I’ll just have to find another. Easier said than done.

It’s amazing how church and brunch on a Sunday cuts through a morning. After brunch, we found ourselves back at Mary’s apartment, and I had Sunday chores to do. Mary wanted to do some more apologizing for freaking me out, so I did some more apologizing for not being respectful in services, and Mary told me to stop apologizing and I apologized for that, and then she told me some more about how proud she was to show me off and how everyone liked me. Even though being praised by Mary is literally my favorite thing, I really did need to go run some errands.

Maybe it was the panic I was experiencing in that multipurpose room, but it wasn’t until my hand was on Mary’s doorknob that I realized, “O my god. You spanked me in public. In a church! For not paying attention to the sermon!” In public! Not play party public, but actual public. Not a discreet swat either, but over her knee!

“Yeah,” Mary said nervously like she was having her o-shit moment again.

I’m very modest and easily embarrassed, and I couldn’t make myself say it except I did. “Take me to bed. Right now. Please.” Remember how you felt the first time you scratched a kinky itch you’d been waiting to scratch your whole life? I had a need, and it was urgent.

And all these years later, I’m still going to church with Mary almost every Sunday, doing my best to pay attention. It’s not about respect anymore, Mary says when I get in trouble for not paying attention, but that church, just like the spanking she is about to give me/is giving me/just gave me, is about helping me make good choices. All part of growing up, she says (hmmph!).

After church, which I managed to pay attention to even though I was thinking I should’ve just gotten the last chocolate twist, I said to Mary, “For my present for being a good girl, we should get an emu.” I’d been thinking on how to bring that up.

“You wanna live on a farm like that woman on Twitter and have emu friends?”

“She’s gay, ya know. Her girlfriend films her videos.”

“We can sell the house and buy a farm. I can work from anywhere.”

“Ya know, you think you’re the grounded one, but all I have to do is bat my eyelashes and you promise me my every whim.”

“Can’t help it. I’m in love with you.”

“So in love with me.”

“You’re kinda like her emu.”

“How the heck am I like the emu? I’m the cute gay girl in overalls and a sun hat.”

“You choose violence sometimes, Daffy, like Emmanuel.”

“Um, projecting much, woman who’s so quick to spank?”

“So maybe we don’t sell the house and buy a farm, but we can buy you some cute overalls and a new hat.”

“Kay … Do we know anybody with a barn and a video camera?”

She scoffed at me. “You wanna make Twitter videos now?”

“I wanna be a naughty farm hand who gets her comeuppance at the stern hands of her employer … And maybe it’s an all-lesbian farm and the other hands just keeping doing their work and don’t even take notice cuz they’re so used to seeing me get spanked for slacking off that it’s not even out of the ordinary.”

“How is it you haven’t been fired if you’re always slacking off?”

“I’m the boss’s favorite.”

“How did you get to be her favorite.”

“We’re sleeping together. The other girls are very resentful. I used to sneak outta the bunk house, but the farmer and me don’t even hide that we’re fucking anymore.”

“Does the farmer tolerate that kind of language?”

“Only during moments of passion … Or when the tractor falls on you.”

Mary sighed; I felt her breath on my neck. “Of all the ways you’re a silly goose …”

“‘There goes Daphne,’ the other hands say, ‘getting trapped under the tractor and cussing up a storm.’”