Monthly Archives: September 2005

Spelling Redux

My previous account hints at an earlier spanking for poor spelling.  Here’s the actual account, finally.

Once upon a time, many many moons ago, in 1997 when Pablo and I first started falling in love via email and posts to ASS, he wrote a story for me called  "Spelling" which was based, in part, on spelling mistakes I’d made in posts and emails to him.

For Christmas the following year he gave me a dictionary.  Though life, mine anyway, sometimes imitates art, the dictionary wasn’t used in the following real life story.

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Unexpectedly Upturned

As Pablo and I were getting ready to leave today, him for work and me for a day of studying with a friend in her new office at a nearby university, I started searching for a book.  Not just any book but Methodology of the Oppressed by Chela Sandoval.  It had been recommended as vital to my research by two different people last year.  So naturally I’d ordered it from Amazon and then put it out of my mind.  But today I knew I needed to start outlining it. 

It was missing.  I looked and looked for at least 10 minutes before finally and frantically telling Pablo that my book wasn’t anywhere.  So he started looking too.  We don’t have a very big apartment, but there are many places a book can hide.  Of course when we moved 18 months ago, Pablo spent a long afternoon helping me organize my academic books by a combination of subject and author (I have a LOT of books) so exactly this sort of situation would be avoided.

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A Naughty, Punished Wife… or whatever you call it

Two weeks ago I got what was easily the most embarrassing punishment of my life. Mind you, it's no use going "oooooh", and starting to scroll down in search of all the mortifying things that a man can do to a woman's body (and I'm sure we can all imagine plenty of those). The embarrassing thing about my punishment was its cause: it was a stereotypical thing that a stereotypical wife does in your dull, stereotypical spanking story; the sort, you know, that you never read to the end. How would you like to be a walking, bending over, squealing stereotype?

And what did I do that was so terribly stereotypical, you ask?

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