Knowing Your Limits

I debated whether or not I was
going to post this, I warn you, it doesn't paint the best picture of me. But I am striving for honesty in this safe haven of mine, so you may as well know, I am not perfect. There, I said it, it's out there. I know you thought I was. I am sorry to have to be the one to break it to you.

This occurred last weekend. We were celebrating Mr. McKay's birthday.

We had a plan: drinks in the day at home, dinner out at night with friends. I bought a french maid outfit for the occasion. 

We plan on getting kinky! I decide to make his birthday cake in my french maid outfit (because I would rather bake than clean).

He was very amused that I was walking around the house in a french maid outfit in the middle of the afternoon. I quickly realized that the whole french maid thing was MY fantasy, not necessarily his. I began to second guess my choice, was I just forcing my own fantasies on him? Did he even think this was hot? Suddenly it all felt very silly. So I made myself a drink, calm the nerves. I made him a drink as well (I wasn't drinking alone!).

Let me segue here to mention that I am horrible at math, but over the years I have become very skilled in certain applied maths. Such as shopping math and drinking math. I can calculate a cart full of items including discounts, taxes, and coupons in my head within a few cents. With drinking, I can take many variables, how much I have eaten today, the kind of alcohol being consumed, and the day of my cycle (yes, it effects tolerance level) to calculate how much water I should drink alongside the alcohol, what types of snacks I should eat, and how much liquor I should dare to consume. I perfected it in college, it was lots of trial and error, I should have applied for grant money.

But on this day, I regretfully forget to use my complex math equation, and I slam down my first Jack and Coke like a champ! I begin going drink for drink with my husband (rookie mistake). I remember about midway through drink three that I should get myself some water and maybe slow down (mostly because Mr. McKay told me so).

The cake is done, but the icing still needs to be made. I make the best decision ever and tell him I will finish it tomorrow. He no longer cares about cake, he's been watching me prance around in a short little frilly skirt with my ass peeking out for the last 2 hours. My last rational thought is something to the effect of, I want to make sure he has a good time before this last drink hits me, I am aware the wheels are coming off the bus.

I offer him a blow job right there in the middle of the living room. He is a little surprised that I am jumping right to this, as this is not our normal protocol, but I say something about it being his birthday and all. And I am thinking, why won't the room stop spinning? Please just let me get through this!

I start to sink seductively to my knees, I end up flat on my back. He's leaning over me, he looks angry. He's saying I almost hit my head on the tv stand. Nah, I'm fine, I'm fine, just slipped a little. I got this!

The details are fuzzy, but I was giving it my all, and apparently was not hiding my drunkeness quite as much as I thought. I guess your wife, lying on the floor, drunk, attempting to give you a blow job is not the hottest thing one can imagine. He called it off and helped me upstairs and got me in the shower. We had to get to dinner in an hour. The whole time I am jabbering “I'm fine!” and “I'm so sorry!” “I ruined everything!” Pretty much a broken record.

I step out of the shower and he is holding my towel open for me. He smiles at me. I am flooded with love. I ruined our night and his birthday celebration, but he is still trying to take care of me, he still loves me and isn't mad. I am out of the shower, I need to take one step towards him- and I wobble backwards, falling over the side of the tub, into the shower. I pull the curtain and the rod down on top of me and my head bounces off the ceramic soap dish sticking out of the wall.

I start laughing hysterically. Because I fell and it's hilarious to me. He pulls me to my feet, asks me if I'm okay. I tell him yes, I'm fine. Then he wants to know why I am laughing, this isn't funny!

It's not?

No! You could have killed yourself.

This is when I first realize how mad he is. Really mad. I immediately start bawling. Because what's more fun than a falling down drunk wife? A crying, falling down drunk wife! Happy Birthday!

So now I am crying, ugly crying, like, hiccuping sobs with snot running down my face (hot, right?). And I just keep repeating “I'm sorry, I'm sorry” over and over again.

He's talking to me, trying to calm me down, and I am hearing nothing he is saying. I can't focus over my own crying and apologizing. I think I hear him say the word 'spank' and my attention is caught, I'm like Pavlov's dog.

Me: What?

Mr. McK: I said, stop saying you're sorry or I'm going to spank you.

Me: But I AM sorry.

Mr. McK: Yes, you've said. It's a well established fact. Please stop saying it.

Me: I'm sorry.

Mr. McK: That's one.

Me: One what?

Mr. McK: Get dressed.

I am stunned out of my crying, did he really just say he was going to spank me? This doesn't happen in real life. Actually he normally threatens NOT to spank me if I am really annoying him.

He just changed the game on me. I am distracted (which I think was his goal) and not quite sure if he's serious.

By the time we get to the restaurant I am up to six (hey, you try to find ways to apologize without using the word 'sorry').

Me: Six what??

Mr. McK: Six times you said something I asked you not to say.

Me: So??

Mr. McK: So. I'm going to spank you, 10 for each time you said it.

I can tell by his tone he is trying very hard to be serious. I am trying really hard not to smile (this is serious business!). I also can't help but think, what the hell did I do to my husband?

We go in to meet our friends. I pick at my food and sip my water. I play the part of the adult who knows her limits and did not get herself insanely wasted in the middle of the afternoon. I make conversation but all the while I am replaying the events of the night. I am thinking about his promise to spank me. Was he kidding? Will he follow through? Do I want him to?

Even if I hadn't been feeling sick from drinking I think I would have been sick with nerves. My stomach was doing flips. I had terrible, terrible guilt over the way I acted and ruined our day. Maybe this is what I needed, maybe this would make it better.

I worried the whole car ride home. Unsure of whether this is what I wanted or not. I couldn't tell how much he was joking and how much he was serious. He didn't bring it up the rest of the night. We watched tv and went to bed early.

The next morning I was up early for work (bonus to afternoon drinking, no morning hangover). I knew he wouldn't be up for a few hours so I sent him a quick email before I left. I told him I wanted a Do-Over of the day before. I would come home from work, put on something sexy, make some icing and we could soberly get to all the kinky plans we had. I also said I was sorry, one last time, you know, just in case he didn't remember.

A few hours later he texted me at work, You're up to 70 now...

So he didn't forget. Again, not sure if I am happy or scared by this new development. A little of both?

He also told me to make some extra icing because I might be wearing it before the night was over. Ah, now we were back on familiar ground.

The work day dragged by. I was so anxious, I had icing to make and a spanking to get to.

To Be Continued...