Mary and Daphne #179

Splish-splash we were taking a … Not a bath. More like trespassing. Yep, that’s the right word. We were trespassing.

We made it a short day, had an early dinner, went to bed super early (thank you, melatonin!), and got up at one of those hours that you could argue was very late night or very early in the morning and sucks to be awake at either way. Why did we do this? So we could go pool hopping … nakedly.

If you’ve never been, pool hopping is when you go to pools you don’t have access to. Like for instance, the neighborhood we were renting in had a pool, and we could go to that one because the hose we were renting is in the neighborhood. And the pool in the next neighborhood over we could also go to but only if we hopped a small fence or otherwise got past the gate. It’s easier in the daytime cuz there are people there and you can just be like, ‘oops, I forgot the code’ and people will let you in cuz they’re all renters this time of year and wouldn’t care even if they didn’t believe you. But daytime with the clothes and the whole ‘no nakeditity’ thing is just so ugh.

So we went to bed early, got up arguably late or arguably early, got on the bikes our rental came with and pedaled in search of pools to hop.

To be clear, we were clothed for the bike ride. We reserve that pleasure for World Naked Bike Ride Day, which is an actual thing and it’s great except I’m too shy so I just spectate (leer). We’re not really naked-in-public kinda people. We didn’t so much plan that part as … planned for the possibility of it. Which is different, somehow.

I was wrapped around my Mary for warmth, keeping my body underwater from the neck down to protect myself from the breeze. “I forgot how cold it can get here at night,” I remarked cuz brrr. Not bad if you’re not all wet, but if you are, brrr.

“I love running my hands through your wet hair. And (kissing) your wet forehead.”

“Cuz you like me.”

“I do. I’ve decided to keep you.”

“You decided that a long time ago.” True story. She even told me so. She said, ‘I’m keeping you,’ and I asked, ‘You are,’ and she said, ‘Mhmm,’ and I exclaimed, ‘Squeee!’

Actually, I got overcome with feels and cried happy tears nestled in her arms, but on the inside behind the me that was crying, there was a me going ‘Squee!’

“Yeah,” Mary said, “but I have to reaffirm the decision every twelve months. It’s the law.”

“Whose law? … Now you’re nibbling on my ear cuz you just made that up and don’t know what to say next.” I know from trying-to-change-the-subject ear nibbles, cuz I do that too sometimes.

“Tell me the story again,” I asked Mary. More of an order, actually, cuz I’m the boss. Really.

“You know the story.”

“But I wanna hear it again.”

“Little girls and their story time … Once upon a time, in a land on the other side of the city from where we live now, a friend convinced me to go to a party I didn’t really wanna go to. She said I’d have fun and that it didn’t matter if it was the end of the week and I was tired, that you sometimes just hafta party.”

“What kind of party was it,” I asked knowing exactly what kinda party.

“A spanking party. That’s where people who like to spank can play with people who like to be spanked, all in the safety of their friends. I didn’t really feel like playing though, so I chatted with people and figured I’d been there long enough to not feel guilty about leaving early …”

“You should never feel guilty about leaving early.” I love leaving things early. My fav is to vaguely wave at people as I walk to the door and say goodbye at a volume only some can hear and off I go, having escaped without the many minutes of fare-thee-wells.

“Can I tell the story?”

“Go on. Who’s stopping you,” I giggled.

“And then I heard that giggle.”

“What giggle?”

“The same one that just came outta you.”

I don’t even do it on purpose. Not vivacious exactly. More of a charming giggle … Sometimes I snorf when I go it. Always gets attention, and some find it charming (or at least funny). “It’s an attention-grabbing giggle.”

“It grabbed mine. I looked around the corner in to the living room, and I saw this petite redhead with a pixie cut across the lap of a woman I’ve known for a long time who goes by Tiny.”

“She is so butch. She has hands like a big rig mechanic.” I well remember that part of the story.

“She is a big rig mechanic, and those hands were playing slap-and-tickle with the redhead’s butt.”

“Hence the giggling.”

“Is this an interactive story, or do I get to tell it?”

“(Silent shrug),” I silently shrugged.

“So I asked the friend who invited me what the redhead’s name was, and she said she didn’t know and that Kristy invited her. And my friend knew from the way I was looking at that bouncy little redhead that I wanted to take her home.”

“Take her home and do what with her?”

“She was so little, I was gonna take her home and put her on a shelf.”

“Marrryyy! She wasn’t that petite.”

“O really?”

“She hadn’t shopped in the junior Miss department for almost a decade … and then she met you.” Now she shops there not often but not never. Hmmph.

“But,” Mary said and tapped my nose. OMG nose taps, amiright? “But I was nervous about approaching her.”

“Fibber.” Mary? Nervous? I don’t believe it. She’s the brachiosaur that stepped on the bull in the china shop when she wants to be.

“Really! She was so cute and sexy and so way out of my league.”

“No, she wasn’t.” Mary’s the MVP of The International Union of Major Premier League Lesbian Association. I may be ever so slightly biased, but all the voters who are me (and we are all me) agree.

“Yes, she was. She could’ve had her pick of anyone in the room. She could break hearts. You should’ve seen what she was wearing.”

“Something super slutty?”

“Something super innocent. She had on white socks that stopped at her ankles. The cleanest white socks I’d ever seen. And she had on a white cami that left her shoulders all but bare, and such beautiful collar bones on display. I wanted to feed her something.”

“Was she really that skinny?”

“She was slender. And graceful … in an overexcited, wobbly knees sort of way from having so much fun. And why shouldn’t she be having so much fun with all the people there wanting to play with her?”

“But what else was she wearing?” Gimme the details!

“Plain white undies.”

“Like a bikini cut?”

“Nope.”

“A thong?”

“Just regular underpants, just as clean as her socks and making her look so scrumptious and innocent. And the way her cute pink bottom was peeking out from under those undies. I wanted to take a bite.”

“So did you bite or just look, or did you talk to her?”

“I was too nervous to talk to her.”

“Then how did you meet her?”

“Well, it seemed like she was playing with everybody.”

“You’re making her sound like she was

easy.”

“Well, it wasn’t a very big party, and anyway, that’s what spanking parties are for.”

“That’s mostly better.” Better enough, anyway.

“And since everybody was playing with her, I thought, maybe she’ll let me play with her.”

“But you didn’t ask if you could play with her?”

“I took a chance. I figured if so many people were playing with her, and she’d only just met most of them, she might be alright if was a little presumptuous.”

“A lot presumptuous.” Mary is such a presumer sometimes, especially when it comes to petite, gay redheads who like to get spanked. Lucky for her she has good instincts almost all the times.

“I moved on an armless chair a little further into the room, sort of in the circle of people, and I sat down, and as she was walking by, I snatched her right off her feet and put her over my knee.”

“Why over your knee?”

“She’d been over so many knees, I just assumed she really liked it.”

“The old assume-and-snatch. Who spoke first?”

“I did. I said, ‘Hi.’”

“You put your elbow between her shoulders blades, rested your chin on your hand, smiled with all the confidence in the world, and said, ‘Hi.’ You were so smitten.”

“Was not.”

“You were so the smitten kitten!”

“If you know the story so well, what did the redhead say?”

“She said, ‘Hi and made a nervous sound.”

“With a squiggly smile on her face. She was one who was the smitten kitten.”

“She was mostly intimidated by the tall brunette who just grabbed her off her feet. She should’ve gotten up and slapped you silly.”

“Then why didn’t she?”

“Cuz the party was vetted, and she saw her friend across the room looking at her, and her friend didn’t look worried … and also, alcohol and butt endorphins had lowered her inhibitions.” And actually, far from worried, that friend looked jealous. At the time, no one had ever been jealous of this redhead in her whole life. True story. She felt safe, and like maybe she had some enviable going on.

“Any other reason?”

“The brunette was pretty hot.” I’m understating it. She was heccin hot af.

“Even though she came straight from work and looked like a programmer stereotype?”

“Sexy nerd vibes. And then you accused the poor redhead of being naughty.”

“She was getting spanked by so many people, I just figured she must’ve done something naughty to deserve it.”

“She has a very spankable bottom; she doesn’t need to deserve for people to wanna smack it. In fact, she’d been nothing but well behaved in all her life and continues in her behavioral perfect ever since, but you didn’t believe her when she told you she hadn’t been naughty.” True story … Nor fibbing. Really.

“I didn’t.”

“And you guys had just met! So rude. You asked the redhead if she knew what fibbers get, and the redhead practically dared you to show her.”

“She was so spunky.”

“High spirited … And a little tipsy, and then you showed her what fibbers get.”

“How’d did I do that?”

“You spanked the redhead good. So good there was hardly any of her bottom left for the other guests to play with. Again with the rudeness.”

“And then I put my elbow back between her shoulders and rested my chin in hand and looked at her. She wasn’t the least bit upset. In fact, she looked pretty blissed out.”

“She was pretty happy with how the evening was going, despite the rudeness. When she complimented you on your spanking skills, and you just said, ‘I know.’ Arrogant and rude.”

“Little bit.”

“But the redhead just thought how confident you are. You just scooped her off her feet and smacked her butt. Confidence is so sexy.”

“And I had no intention of letting that redhead off my lap.”

“Nope. She asked, and you said no. Again with the bad manners, and you said you wouldn’t let her up cuz you wanted her to hang out with you for the rest of night.”

“I didn’t wanna share her.”

“Again with the bad manners.” The redhead even told her sharing is caring … because the redhead is so heroically terrible at flirting.

“It’s bad manners to point out someone else’s bad manners,” Mary pointed out to me without even noting the irony. I mean, c’mon Mar. Note the irony! Heehee.

“I’m just telling the story, adding a little commentary to make it more interesting.” I am a raconteuse, after all.

“But I did let her up.”

“After she promised to hang out with you more.”

“Was it a hardship for her?”

“Not so much.”

“I didn’t think so. She was flirting with me pretty hard,” Mary said. Maybe she was right. Sometimes the most heroically terrible flirting is also the most obvious and endearing flirting.

“You had her trapped! Of course she was flirting with you, trying get your guard down and make her escape,” I pointed out to Mary.

“But she kept flirting even after I let her up. She didn’t try to get away even a little. I flipped her over in one motion and sat her on my lap. She was so teeny!”

“Not so teeny! You’re just so tall and strong.”

“We talked for a long time.”

“But you didn’t ask her back to your place?”

“Nope.”

“Why not,” I asked. Always been curious about that.

“Cuz that’s not what I wanted from her.”

“So what did you want?”

“I just wanted her to like me and like being with me. Do you think the redhead would’ve said yes if I asked her to go home with me?”

“Honestly? No, but she’d have been tempted. Her childhood priest warned her about temptation, but that’s not why she would’ve said no.” Childhood priest had a whole lot to say about temptation, and the redhead ignored almost all of it plus ignored the rest.

“Then why wouldn’t she have come home with me?”

“One thing to go over a stranger’s knee at a spanking party, and a whole other thing to go between a stranger’s knees after. She wanted you to have a good opinion of her.”

“I would’ve either way, but why would she care what I thought?”

“Because she wanted you to like her too. She wanted to get to know you. She’d never met someone who could be so charming and presumptuous and nice at the same time.”

Though it’s not like this anonymous redhead had some proclivity for tall, strong dominants who just, ya know, presume. I mean, Mary wasn’t exactly being rude or taking liberties. That redhead had been over just about every set of knees in the apartment. So not exactly off base for Mary to assume this redhead was just passing her butt around … which we’re going to agree to agree she wasn’t even though she so was (so was!). Really. She wasn’t just playing hard to get when she when she sassed Mary; that was real sass. Really.

Though one could maybe also accurately but we’ll call it speculatively say she wasn’t playing hard to get from the moment she walked in the door. But she for sure wasn’t giving off I-wish-someone-would-just-put-me-over-their-knee-already vibes to every top in the room. Um … really … Did I mention already she was a little tipsy?

“I did ask her out,” Mary said.

“And she accepted.”

“I was so relieved. I was still so nervous.”

“She never would’ve believed that. She would’ve guessed that you’d never been nervous in your whole life.” I think I read somewhere that psychopaths never feel nervous. Anyhoo …

And Mary continued telling the story, “And when I went home that night, I was so excited that I’d get to see her again. What do you think she did when she got home?”

“She texted her friend Kristy, the one who’d invited her to the party, back and forth like giddy high schoolers until Kristy must’ve fallen asleep.”

“I’ve never been so glad someone changed my mind about going to a party before.”

Okay. Big reveal coming.

“Mary, can I tell you a secret? That redhead? That was me.”

“Ha! I’ma (kiss) kiss you for that (kiss).”

“Can I tell you something else? When I played with people before you, they never sat me in their lap afterwards.”

“Never?”

“Mmm-mmm. I didn’t even know I wanted to sit in someone’s lap until I sat in yours, and …” I did that thing where I blush and shake my head and I’m not doing either of those things on purpose (cuz sometimes I do that on purpose but wasn’t that time).

“What,” Mary asked. She really wanted to know. I could tell because Mary was making her please-tell-me face. I pick up on these things. I’ve very empathic.

“It’s embarrassing,” I demurred.

“Please tell me. It’s okay.” See? I know my Mary so well in all the ways.

“Uh, when I was sitting in your lap, and we talking for, like, almost two hours, you kept your arm around my waist the whole time.”

“I did?”

“Mhmm. And if you took that arm away, you put the other one around me.”

“How do you remember that?”

“Cuz I thought how sweet it was. You were worried about me slipping off. You were protecting me without even knowing you were doing it.”

“(Mary making that sound you make when you catch a sob in your throat).”

“I liked that. I liked that a lot. That’s why I said yes to a date with you. It was so sweet, like you looking out for me and you’d only just met me. Just saying.” You know me, just saying. But true story. I’ma go cry now … and I’m back (sniffle. snorffle! sniff.).

“And you sat on my lap and and went from shy to sassy to talking so excitedly about everything, and it made you seem so fun. That’s why I wanted to take you on a date and not just back to my place, because I wanted to keep getting to know you and having fun with you.”

“Do you still have fun with me?”

“Daffy, it’s 4:30 in the morning, and we are trespassing naked.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry I’m so boring.”

“Such a smartalecky little girl I have.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

“Maybe not, but I’m gonna dry you off, get your swimsuit back on you, and then we’re gonna go sit on the beach and watch the sunrise.”

“Mary? Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

“You’re my little girl.”

“You’re my Mary.”