We were in a meeting, barely knew each other, and I'd walked in with a freshly concocted beet juice. It was terrible. I made a face and the man at the end of the table gave me a look.
"You made it," he warned, gesturing to the glass mason jar in my hand, "You better drink the whole thing."
"Who does he think he is?!" I thought, confused by the warm tingling feelings I had as I sucked down the rest of the juice under his watchful eye.
Months later, we had lunch at a restaurant with two other men far above my pay grade. I picked at my plate while the conversation droned on and on about topics that meant nothing to me. The man at the end of the table sent me a text.
"You better finish everything on that plate, young lady."
Once again, "Who the hell does he think he is?!" I thought and blushed but said yes to a first date when he walked me to the car.
Little hints. Little signs. He spoke them, gestured, had that presence about him but never knew what his actions were doing to me. I kept my secrets buried. We married. He never knew.
Fast forward to the library. He went with me and hung out while I worked with a study group. I got there early, was reading on my phone, when he came up behind me.
"Who is Matt Anglin?" he inquired.
I shared the spanking stories I'd been reading for years. He spent his time in the library researching and we left full of interesting conversation, enticed by others, and admitting our own inner desires.
The blog was born. We experimented. I thrived. He did too.
Makes me wonder... how did you first figure out that spankin' thing?