Goodbye, Old Friend

We parted ways last weekend with one of our first spanking implements after more than forty years. My old sorority paddle had served faithfully to heat my bottom through every season and for every purpose. And now it's gone. Here’s what happened.

I needed to help an unlucky friend on Friday after work. By the time I returned home, it was too late for our regular Friday night spanking celebration. We played a little in bed before drifting off to sleep, but we both recognized this was just an appetizer.

I woke first on Saturday, showered, and dressed for the day. I started with a lacy white thong and bra set (not that Randy would notice they match). I then added a big comfy gray sweater and a pair of form-fitting salmon-colored leggings. Like the proverbial red flag in front of a bull, I chose this outfit to draw his attention.

Sure enough, an hour later, I found myself bent over with elbows on the bed. “Pink?” he asked. “You want to be pink? I can help with that.” His voice was gruff, but his words were playful. He swung my sorority paddle with his strong right arm. It exploded against the upturned seat of my lycra leggings with a surprisingly loud pow. “Ow!” I exclaimed. Paddlings always hurt and this one was no different. I wisely resisted the temptation to cover my target as the next painful dispatch arrived soon after. A third stinging swat soon followed as Randy began to perfect his stroke. He likes to spank harder when my bottom is covered in order to compensate for the additional protection, even when such protection is of negligible benefit. This, I thought, could be a serious spanking.

Then it happened. The fourth whack sounded and felt odd, but I didn’t realize what had happened until Randy uttered a curse word. He walked around the side of the bed to show me the source of his frustration. He held the paddle’s handle in one hand and the blade in the other. My first reaction was to giggle. I have seen (felt) paddles that split down the middle, but never one that lost its handle. I vanquished another spanking implement. Yea me!

“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?” Needless to say, my loving partner finished the job with another wooden paddle. I just couldn’t stop laughing and my bottom paid the price.

Only later, as I struggled to sit comfortably, did I fully appreciate what had happened. My beloved sorority paddle had paddled its last. Losing it made me feel sad. Let me tell you about my old friend.

My sorority paddle was approximately thirty inches long, four inches wide and about half an inch thick. It was hardwood and was originally painted a cream color. This paint is faded on the front and mostly worn off of the back. The front featured the sorority crest near the handle, three Greek letters in black down the blade, and my name across the bottom. The back once displayed the name of the college we attended. Those letters are no longer discernible due to frequent use over the decades.

This paddle has been with me at every stop since the mid-1970s, even before Randy. He applied it to my bottom hundreds of times. It was our first paddle and always a favorite. Even in its broken state, or maybe especially so, it stands as a spanko monument. I want to memorialize the two pieces, but I haven’t decided how best to do it.

Randy wants to buy a replacement. “Maybe thicker next time so it won’t break...” This man has a one track mind. We have plenty of sturdy wooden paddles, believe me. This led to a discussion of responsibility for the calamity. He believes that repeated impact with my bottom caused the paddle to break. I think he was swinging it, so it’s his fault. The argument had no definitive winner, but I took the spanking.

So there you have it. The paddlings won’t stop, but the nostalgia just slowed a bit.