Mary and Daphne #183

I knocked on Nana’s door and waited for her, and I don’t know why I even wanted to go over there. I wasn’t mad at Mary. I was just … disgruntled. Which is very unusual for me as I tend to be quite gruntled, even overly gruntled sometimes. It’s not like I was fishing for sympathy (but I was totally fishing for sympathy).

“Hi Daffy,” Nana greeted me. She had a whole garden grandma thing going, or maybe a countryside vibe. Sleeveless blouse, high-waisted shorts, a working-outside tan. I half expect her sometimes to welcome me in with a ‘O honey, did you walk all this way down Rural Route 4? Does your momma know where you are?’

“Hi. Can I come in?”

“Of course. How’s Suzy doing?”

Wtf? Is everyone more enamored with the dog than they are with me? Cuz I’m pretty awesome.

“Happy to have us home. You miss her?”

“Yeah. We bonded.”

“You want me to go get her?”

“No. No need for … Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Be right back.” I went out her backdoor and through the fence. Suzy is an awesome dog, one of the all-time greats, very much as I myself am among humans. She heard the fence open and was at the backdoor yapping her happy yap in an instant, most assuredly because she could tell it was me coming as opposed to any other person whose company she enjoys and who tends to come through the fence.

She zipped out right past me, ran in eight circles around the yard, dove face first into the grass, and proceeded to roll and flop every which way. I gotta try that sometime. Looks fun, but exhausting.

“Suzy.” That was all I had to say to get her to upright herself, shake the dust and grass loose, and wag her way over to me. Mary has commented that when I want attention I have a similar habit of swinging my ass at her, to which I say, yeah, what’s your point? To which she said, I’ll show you my point. To which I said, yes please and thank you because I’m polite like that.

I scooped my puppy up, and remarked, “You’re getting heavy, girly.” She’s still at the age when that’s taken as a compliment to be proud of whereas if someone said it to me, I’d just cry. “You wanna go see Nana?”

Heck yeah she did. As soon as I said the name, I could barely keep her in my arms. I let her go the moment the gate was open, and she propelled herself off me and straight to Nana, who was setting up a tray of iced tea and cookies on her patio. How does she always have cookies in the house and ready to go? I think it’s because she doesn’t live with Mary, because if I didn’t live with Mary (and perish the thought! Kill it with fire!) I’d always have cookies in the house. TBD on my willingness to share them.

“How do you always have cookies,” I asked while Suzy jumped at her legs. “Suzy, behave.”

“They give you a lifetime supply when you become a grandma,” she chuckled.

“Suzy, no.” Mary says now I know what it’s like when she’s trying to get my attention, to which I say, Hmmph!

“Down,” Nana said, and I felt very self-conscious and almost sat my butt down. I’m very good at following instructions. Really.

“That’s her word,” Nana explained. “’Down.’ We worked on it while you two were away. Have a drink; you look warm.” She sat down next to me and patted the space between us, which was quickly filled by hot, panting dog.

“It’s hot today,” was my reply when I reached for a glass of her tea. I’ve British people drink it hot year-round; this confused me until I went to Britain and learned what their summers are like.

“You’ve been spoiled by air conditioning.”

“I guess I’ve always like to be pampered like a princess.” Did I just … “With air conditioning! That’s the … indulgence … comfort.” She’s giving you that look you used to call weird and now it’s kinda normal.

“We didn’t have air conditioning in our house growing up. Even when we insisted and had it installed in my parents’ house when they were older, they still wouldn’t use it.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“It was hot but not like this and not so often. We kept a lot of fans on and the windows and doors open. If it was really hot, we’d sleep on the porch.”

Mary sometimes jokes she’s gonna make me sleep on the porch cuz I’m (allegedly) out of control, running barefoot with the dogs all hours of the night, but that’s just not true because I turn into a pumpkin at 11:00 most nights. Mary also sometimes jokes she’s gonna bake me into a pie and gobble me up, and I tell her to skip the pie part.

“Daffy?”

“Hmm? Yeah?” Whuh, people near me talking words?

“You were daydreaming.” Heh. Heck yeah I was.

“Sorry. Got lost in my own thoughts for a second.”

“Something on your mind?”

I assumed it would make her uncomfortable if I were to tell her I’d been thinking about sweaty lesbian sex, so I told her the other thing that was on my mind, the thing that ought to make her uncomfortable but that she is oddly fine with because – and I know because I asked her once – Mary and I explained our relationship once upon a time. Nana has seen me ever since in much the same way Mary does because that’s who we told her I am. Which is super kind and open minded, but also maybe more the way Mary sees me than the way I see me. I’d complain, but Mary is in charge. Besides, I like that I can talk to Nana about this stuff. When I talk to our kink friends, they’re sympathetic, but they’re also secretly (and sometimes openly) rooting for me to be treated like a little girl. Nana doesn’t have a dog in that fight.

“I got in trouble for failing my summer reading test.”

“You failed a test?” I take satisfaction knowing that surprised her.

“I didn’t read the book.”

“Ah. That’ll do it.”

“I just didn’t want to. I was busy … doing stuff. I think it’s the first homework in my whole life that I didn’t do.”

“I thought you were excited to read those books. You said so right on this porch when Mary told you she was assigning you the books.”

“I get excited about a lot of stuff until I actually hafta do it … which assumes I even remember.” Call it 60% pandemic and 40% not remembering how I used to remember things before I started working and put everything on a calendar. Just don’t say it’s any percent getting older cuz shut up! But it’s really just that I didn’t want to. Had I wanted to, I would’ve remembered. Stupid brain.

“Maybe you need a tutor. I used to be a teacher, ya know,” Nana joked with what I hope was a very dry sense of humor and not an ounce of sincerity.

“You’re gonna tutor me on Pippi Longstocking,” I asked with a smile on my lips and io my cheeks and shining out my eyes, hoping to communicate what a silly idea it was without calling it a silly idea just in case she was sincere.

“Mine loves that book, even my son.”

‘Mine’ as in her what? Nana never had one of me. She really isn’t kidding when she says she sees me the way Mary does. Not entirely the way Mary does, but call it 60% the same. She’ll stop if I tell her to, but I haven’t and not for any particular reasons that others may mistakenly assign to my motives. Really! So shut up.

I changed the subject. “I have to report to ‘detention’ at 3:30.” I used finger quotes and rolled my eyes because I’m very mature. Really. And shut up!

“What happens in detention?”

“I’m gonna get a spanking … Which I don’t even deserve.”

Nana, when I ventured to look up at her – not that I was looking down to avoid her eyes like I was embarrassed or anything – looked puzzled.

“I … I don’t understand.“

“Well, technically I also fibbed to her when I told her I read the book.” ‘Technically’ is such a weird word. Was does it technically even mean? Don’t look it up. Just accept that I have a valid point. Really.

“I mean, you like it. When she’s strict and when she spanks your bottom. Right?”

I let out the world’s biggest ever sigh and collected my puppy from Nana’s lap and deposited her into my own. That thing about dogs picking up on your mood, does that come with age? Cuz Suzy was ready to bounce off my lap and play chase (she always wins). I wasn’t feeling bouncy or playful at all.

“It’s,” I sighed again, “complicated. I don’t like being punished.”

“Daffy, that’s what makes it a punishment.”

“I know.” Like, I know! “But I don’t like even though I do. I like getting pretend punished.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I don’t feel guilty when I’m being pretend punished. Actually being punished … it’s not fun at all.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“It’s fun later.” Nana’s now-you’ve-lost-me face. “It’s not fun at all during, but it’s fun after.”

I once read a blog by a hiker who broke fun into two categories: Type 1 Fun is fun while you’re doing it; Type 2 Fun sucks while you’re doing it and is only fun when it’s over.

Being punished is decidedly Type 2 Fun. I hate when I disappoint Mary or break a rule without meaning to. At least I have my reasons when I mean to, but when I do it carelessly, even when it’s silly like, o, say, not reading a children’s book she told me to read, I hate it. Whether it’s a serious rule or something silly, or if I break the rule or purpose or not, Mary takes the punishment seriously either way, but I get much more disappointed with myself when I just plain forget or break a rule on accident.

I was catching the worst of both worlds now because while I forgot to read the book (also known as disobeying since she told me), I kinda sorta maybe possibly probably definitely did fib about it on purpose (which is a euphemism for ‘lie.’ I lied. Big deal.).

“I don’t wanna spanking. Hmmph.”

“Might make you feel better.”

“After. The during part stinks when I’m actually in trouble.”

“Does Mary spank harder when you’re in trouble?”

“Not any harder than a pretend punishment.” I opted to leave other categories of spanking out of the conversation.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Daffy, except that if you don’t like getting punished…”

“Follow the rules,” we both said simultaneously but only one of us rolled her eyes (it was me, btw, and the eye rolling was directed at myself, not her).

“I know,” I said. “Wish she’d have done it already.”

“The waiting is hard, isn’t it? I remember that from when I was … half your age.”

“And if she’d done it already, I’d be feeling better and enjoying it by now.”

“Enjoying what by now,” Miss Mary Sneaks-A-Lot asked as she strolled into Nana’s yard so quietly even Suzy didn’t hear her. She’s a ninja! She’s a freakin’ ninja and it’s NOT FAIR!

“It’s not 3:30,” I was quick to say even if I had just been complaining about having to wait and wishing it was over with by now because reasons. Complicated reasons. If they weren’t complicated though, I guess none of this would be fun at all.

“My meeting got canceled.”

“Detention still isn’t until 3:30.” I got the strange feeling that Nana was looking at the back of my head thinking, ‘Wow. She’s making it worse, the little sass mouth.’ Probably just a feeling though, not an actual thing. And I’m not little.

“My meeting got canceled,” Mary continued cuz she loves to continue, “and I saw the gate was open and decided to join my favorite and second favorite girls. How are you, Mae.”

I negotiated that terminology, by the way. I made it very clear to Mary that if she kept referring to us collectively as ‘her favorite girls’ that we would have words because I’m not on the same level as a foofball puppy dog. Mary responded by saying she was concerned that would hurt Suzy’s feelings, and I responded to her response by saying, ‘She doesn’t speak the damn language and it’s not funny and I’m not being silly and too sensitive and jealous or silly!’ Mary stopped calling Suzy that, and for reasons probably unrelated, she started patting me on the head more. I like it because reasons no one is allowed to scrutinize or draw conclusions from.

“I’m good. We’re just having one of our talks, setting the world to rights. Cookie?”

“I take it from Daphne exclaiming detentions start at 3:30 that she told you about it.” Nana nodded and Mary munched a cookie. “Isn’t she a good exclaimer?”

I. Did. Not. Blush.

“Good news for you, Daff,” Mary announced. “I’ve decided to offer a make-up test. If you can pass a new test Monday morning, no detention. I spoil her, Mae.” Looking so darn delighted with herself with that gleam in her eyes so deep I could get lost in them for three days, and unrelatedly Mary said I’m not allowed to take Ambien ever again cuz it makes me weird for, like, three days of staring at her a lot (it was cuz I like her).

“So no spanking today?” Not gonna lie – kinda hate that it’s gotten normal to discuss this stuff in front of Nana.

“No, sweetheart, no spanking today.”

What the heck, Mary? Just making unilateral decisions about what you will and won’t do to me like I once upon asked you to do and just deciding I don’t get a spanking today. Screw that!

“But … But Mary, I broke rules.”

“And you’re getting a chance to make a better choice.”

“But what about … Consistency is key to discipline. And … And giving a consequence as soon after the offense as possible.”

“I know those things, sweetie, but it’s also important to give little girls like you some slack.”

Says who!?! They don’t get to take away my Type 2 fun!

“But … I don’t think you should give me any slack … ever.”

“Why not?”

I looked behind me and saw Nana watching these whole goings on intently (like an anthropologist studying a tribe of strange people with strange ways) and wanted to at least keep this part private. I whispered into Mary’s ear. She sat back and looked at me.

“You didn’t an hour ago.”

“I know, but … ya know?”

“So you do want a spanking.”

Which is when our semi-private discussion was interrupted by an older woman going, “Ha!” like a swan honk and laughing in a manner one (who is me) would describe as trying and failing to be polite.

“What,” Mary asked, bemused and feeling self-conscious the way you do when you’re left out of a joke that may or may not be at your expense. But it wasn’t at Mary’s expense; it was at mine, and I just blushed cuz that’s most of what I do these days.

“Nothing,” Nana said through her nose cuz she was trying to stifle herself. Hmmph. “You’re right, Daffy. It is complicated.”

I. DID. NOT. BLUSH. If only cuz I was already blushing.

Trying to talk Mary into a punishment has a track record only slightly better than talking her out of one. It could make a person think this power exchange thing is really about power and who gets to decide things, which would be weird.

Anyhoo, fast forwarding to later that same day.

“Are you ready for your good girl spanking,” my Mary asked me.

“But I wasn’t good.”

“You’re always good, Daphne Ann. It’s only your choices that are sometimes naughty.”

Aw geez!“Stop saying that!”

“Because it makes you feel so loved and wonderful?”

“Awww geeeeez!” Yes! Yes it does!

“Who decides when your choices have been naughty?”

“You.”

“And who decides what consequences you get when you make a naughty choice?”

“You.” I never know what to do with my hands during these conversations or where to look or how to keep my feet still cuz I bottle up all the anxiety and I just wanna ugh! Get it over with already and skip to the good part.

“And who does the spanking in those house?”

“You.”

“And who gets her little bottom spanked?”

“Me.”

“So if I decide you’re not getting a punishment spanking, I guess you’re just stuck with that.”

“Yeah.”

“And if I decide you’re getting a good girl spanking, that’s what you’re gonna get, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”

“So come here.”

I did, as in shuffled across the ten inches separating me and Mary.

“I get to decide,” she intoned like she was trying to create atmosphere which she was doing a pretty heccin good job of. “I get to decide to whether you’re allowed to take your own shorts down for a spanking, and I’ve decided you’re not allowed because your too little.”

It’s so sexy the way she can just flick her thumb and open the button on my shorts. Like The Fonz could do with that juice box, Mary and her thumb to … so, so many things of mine.

“I decide what you wear under your shorts, and I decided today that you are wearing a pull-up. Is it still dry?”

She also decides whether to check my (her! It’s hers!) pull-up by discreetly putting a finger in the leg gather or pawing the front of it like she’s searching passengers for contraband at the airport. Mary’s not so big on being discreet behind closed doors.