Slap Happy

Sam not only likes to spank now, he likes to swat my behind at least 10 times a day lately.  He is totally unrecognizable from the Sam of just a few years ago who looked at me perplexed when I asked him for a ttwd relationship.  That man who maintained that

he was brought up to never hit a girl, no matter what.  Gone is the guy who gave a weak, pitiful spanking because he didn't really want it to hurt.  Picture instead, a confident, in-charge sort of fellow that walks through the house with just a bit of a swagger.  Who can give me the "look" without hesitation.  A man who has graduated from HOH Academy magna cum laude.
 

Most of these slaps to my behind are given in the privacy of our own home.  On my way out of the room.  Reaching over Sam to put away a coffee mug.  The ever popular bending over to load the dishwasher.  Searching for an item in the vegetable bins in the fridge.  Pulling clean clothes from the dryer.  Setting down bowls of kibble for the dogs.  Most of these are good natured spanks, a way to say hello, a way to say "I love you."



I just smile as I catch Sam out of the corner of my eye.  Oh, I love this man.  I love his touch on my bottom.  

"Love taps," he says.

Sometimes I even say, "Thank you, mister."

But my guy has also learned to deliver his swats with an element of surprise.  Totally loves it if he catches me off guard.  He practically chortles to hear me squeak or protest with an, "Oh, you!"

"Gotcha," he will laugh and head out to the garage.  Completely reinventing the concept of a "hit and run."  Whether he is cooking inside or out on the grill, I am suspicious of spatulas and big wooden spoons in his hand.  Beware the Spanky Chef.

But there are times when Sam goes over to the Dark Side.  

Suddenly the slaps aren't so happy.  Like several weeks ago when I

decided to take over preparing Sunday dinner.  The eyebrows went together and bam!  A swat to remind me that he can cook pasta as well as I can.  It actually caught me off guard, and I quickly scanned the family sitting at the table to see if they had noticed.


 
It also seems that lately these meetings of Sam's hand and my ass can happen not only at home but out and about and on our travels.  Always a surprise.  

"Sam, what are you doing!?  Someone might see!"

He shrugs, smiles, and takes my hand as we head into the hardware store.  Just a touch at the movie theater.  Just a little tap in a parking lot.  A brush of his palm while we wait for a table at a restaurant.  See what I mean?  A very slap happy man lives here!

But I will honestly confess that the little sense of danger becomes a bit titillating when it comes to company over for a visit.  Sam has become a master at seizing the moment when family or friends are over.  Instead of "carpe diem," it has become more like "carpe derriere."  He can be chatting away with a visitor about the pros and cons of the newest version of Turbo Tax, and his hand will find its way to my caboose without anyone the wiser.  I smile as if Turbo Tax is the most fascinating topic ever.  

I smile again and think to myself, "I can't wait for everyone to go home."

And he knows I am thinking that, and it makes him so happy.

And then there are always those good night taps on my cheeks as we spoon.  These are accompanied by whispers in my ear and kisses on my neck.  I answer in whispers, too, and maybe a tiny giggle.

                           "I love your hand on my bottom, Sam."

                                   "I love my hand on your bottom, too, Ella."