I am very, very excited.

Today I am going to  watch Insidious 2. It is a film about ghosties and things that go bump in the night and is supposed to be (drum roll please) “very scary indeed.”
DJ is not entirely approving. He thinks that just because I spend a few weeks after watching every horror film being nervous of my own shadow and not able to go into certain rooms “in case the laughing lady is in there” (one of the bathrooms and The Shining in case you were confused) is a reason not to see horror films.

But I love to be driven half blind with fear. My heart beats a tattoo inside my chest, I hold onto his hand (when I am with him, alas not the case right now, but soon!) and hide behind his arm.

I almost crashed recently. There was ice and I hadn’t a clue, my car slid sideways into the opposing lane and into the hedge and then slid sideways the other way and into the grass verge at the side. There were no cars coming and I managed not to break but instead to (all together now) “steer into the skid”. So it was all fine in the end but I did have to put my hazards on and sit quietly at the side of the road for a bit to regain my composure before I drove on. I was scared for a few moments. I was really scared, I felt alone, I had no control and I thought I was going to hurt someone else or myself. That kind of fear is no fun. I don’t get a thrill from being close to danger. I like being happy and safe.

I think there is good fear and bad fear.

Some people scare me. Some people are mean, violent and horrid. They don’t care what they do to others. I am lucky that although I have known some people like that (I think we all have them pass through our life from time to time), I have no one like that in my life now. The man I love is teaching me to spot them and let them pass by me. He is better at that than I am. I am learning from him but it may take a while before I can do it on my own.

The thing is, and I hope I write this well enough, the man that I love scares me sometimes. When he tells me that I am in trouble my stomach drops into the floor and I my chin glues itself to my chest. It may look as though I am pouting but I am not. I just don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to wriggle back into his arms. I don’t know how to wriggle out of trouble.

I can’t look at him at all when he tells me off. The very highest I can get with my eyes is his chest and that is only because that is where I want to bury my face. I bite my lip and I find it hard to talk. I can only whisper and all the funny things that pop out from me dry up and wither in my throat. When I know he is going to (squeezing eyes shut when I type it) spank me I feel shaky and a bit sick.

When I know I have done something wrong I get scared before he spanks me. When I am playing and being silly it never occurs to me that he could possibly spank me so I don’t get scared. I giggle and tweak him and even when he laughs and firmly takes my arm and propels me over his lap I still cannot believe that he will spank me. I stay being funny and happy as he lifts up my skirt and I make a joke as he curls his fingers around the top of my knickers and reveals my bottom.  I jiggle it to show him that I don’t care; still convinced that he is going to laugh and turn me over before kissing me deeply, passionately and with full intent. (I cannot tell you of what intent, I am a good girl.)

When he starts to spank me, the first crack of experienced, hard, flat hand on my round, innocent bottom I am outraged. I tell him so and pull myself forward and twist and turn and squeal at him how utterly horrid and confused he is.  I would like to tell you that he hears what I say and gasps. He stops his hand in mid air and looks at it as though it were a stranger to him. He looks forlorn as he realises his mistake and then he turns me to face him and kisses me until I forget any pain I feel then or have ever felt.

He does kiss me like that sometimes but not quite at that moment.