A few weeks back I went shopping - on the 'net - for lingerie. There's no "girly shit" like lingerie is there? Not the risque stuff. But the modest, feminine, demure, "girly shit" stuff. I bought four different outfits - two white, two black. "Baby Dolls" they're called. The "baby doll" thing works for my SugarAnne. It's feminine. It's woman. It's "girly shit". Therefore, it works for me too. So I tuck one of those "babys" deep in the back of my SugarAnne's closet - waiting for the weekend.
Weekend: I'm waiting for the right moment - the right moment to lead my SugarAnne to my little secret in her closet.
We're having a particularly good day that Sunday. I guess the Lord was on my side because that morning church went like clockwork. His Grace continued in the afternoon because ballro
om dance class was a load of fun. We were encouraged and excited about how quickly we picked up the steps we'd learned last year. After a short drive in search of a restaurant and a long walk through a street fair (and some silent - and excitement inducing - "girly shit" window shopping by the BabyMan), we settled for lunch at a fine Mexican establishment in the high-rent district of town.
Maybe I think my SugarAnne is a babydoll, I don't know. But I was mentally dressing and undressing and dressing her again in some of those outfits and ensembles, and dresses and skirts I had "shopped" for. And by the time we sat down for lunch I was "mad" excited about all the "girly shit" stuff I wanted to add to the other "girly shit" stuff she already had in her closetory inventory. Well, the subject came up over lunch (that's where I officially coined and defined the up till then only in my mind phrase "girly shit"). My SugarAnne could see and hear - probably for the first time - how excited I am about her - especially when she wears "girly shit". My mind kept slipping back to the stash in my SugarAnne's closet. Get this. So she says (and quite sincerely), "I'll wear anything you want". I'm thinking: "Gadzooks! I've hit the mother lode!" My mind flashes to the little "babydoll" surprise I had planted in my SugarAnne's closet a few days before.
So, I ever so coooooool-y take a sip of margarita. And with a recipe comprised of a cup of Denzel smooth, a ladle of McConnaghay tenderness and a tablespoon of Terrence Howard seriousness, I lean over. On the way to their destination my eyes sweep the table: past my own enchiladas, beyond the pre-lunch chips and salsa and up the effervescence of Corona in her glass. Beyond the lip of the glass instinct demanded my eyes take an imperceptible rest to momentarily immerse themselves in the fullness of my SugarAnne's most feminine feature. Maybe there was a slight chill in the air (if you know what I mean).
The BabyMan looked straight into her eyes - right through to her heart - and this is what cooked up:
"I bought you something."
"You did?!"
"Yep. Four things really."
"When?!"
"Last week. I ordered it online. Lingerie. Baby doll. "Girly shit".
"I can't wait to see!".
"Ohhhh! Me either!"
You could see the steam rising. I mean, the moment was Providential poetry. Here: a not so quick "flashback" to explain what I mean by steam. Then I'll close out the story.
In a lot of respects I am a traditionalist. And so is my SugarAnne. We have both had our internal struggles regarding the roles of men and women in society and marriage. And our struggles – due to societal pressures – have caused us quite a bit of trouble.
That part of the BabyMan which desires to be distinctly male, manly and masculine has always been met with society’s pressure to be soft and gentle and tender. I can be all of those things – and have been – and even enjoy being them. The problem is that the assertive, aggressive problem-solving part of me, that is, the real and true me – has no place to express itself when problems arise in our marriage. It seems that I couldn’t get my SugarAnne to comply with my requests – no matter how many times, or how gently, or how sweetly, or how lovingly I made a particular request - until I raised my voice!
My SugarAnne would then feel bad for forgetting and the BabyMan would then feel bad for yelling. We would both hibernate until we could effectively and emotionally sweep the unsolved issue under the rug. Sometimes we would be "gone" for a day or more. This facilitated low-level and growing resentment. She was an expert at walking over the lumps in the rug – seemingly without feeling a thing. And my emotional feet were sensitive. I couldn’t take a single step without feeling the slightest discomfort from unsolved pebbles.
The part of my SugarAnne which desires to be distinctly female, womanly and feminine has been met with the same kind of pressure for independence and aggressiveness (as opposed to assertiveness: which I consider an excellent trait). The societal imposition can cause confusion and loss of self-esteem. And too many a time my SugarAnne wondered out loud quite seriously, “Why do you love me?” And the BabyMan wondered equally (though silently), "How do I love you?"
Well, just as I was about to become resigned to the fact that this was the way it was going to be for the rest of my life (I convinced myself that most if not all marriages are probably this way), when the BabyMan remembered something. My SugarAnne had asked me to slap her bottom about a year ago (y'know during one of them there private marital moments y'see). It excited her. But when I did it, it ran hard against the grain of everything that I had been taught at home and in society. I was pretty uncomfortable with it. I love my SugarAnne and I didn’t want her to lose herself under some heavy handed stuff like spanking - cuz that's what it wuz: spanking.
Result: the spanking thing was more nerve wracking than exciting for me. It seemed to me that it would be emotionally injurious to her. Yet...it was quite intriguing. Particularly the masculine/feminine dynamic of it.
Fast forward a few months.
So one day, as it were, out of the clear blue sky, we're sitting in the den.
"Stand right here" (the BabyMan's command voice). Shocked at the tone she stood next to me as I sat on the sofa.
"Take you pants down to here" (point above the knee, the purpose almost clear).
Firmly: "Take them panties down too" (pointing to her thighs).
Gently: "Come here. Lay across my lap" (a gentle two hand pat on my thighs to show her where). There was compliance through excitement.
Could the BabyMan love, cherish, respect and lead my SugarAnne (the male, manly, masculine charge I needed) and yet still give her the female, womanly, feminine charge she needed through a barehand over the knee spanking? We found the answer to be YES!; the paradox to be amazing; the result abounding in relational resolution and marital fire (uh...I mean...it was HOT!)
But it wasn’t just her behind that was exposed. It was also her heart wasn't it? I mean, there is an incredible amount of trust flowing in this situation isn't there? The BabyMan is honored with the degree of trust my SugarAnne has in me. And I consider it the greatest gift that a woman could give to her man and a worthy endeavor for a man to earn of a woman. And that’s exactly what I told my SugarAnne.
And as I gently caressed her exposed ‘heart’ I let her know how much I love her. I let her know how much I cherish her. I let her know how much having her heart in this way was a privilege. I let her know that I would protect this deep exposure of her inner being with my life, for my life. I told my SugarAnne that it has brought out the man in the BabyMan. And that my desire is to protect the woman in her. And I meant it. And I still mean it - every word of it.
After warming her up with a few soft taps, I proceeded to assert authority as leader and lover: head of our household. My SugarAnne was “under new management”. To my surprise she said, “'Under new management'? I like that!” When I was done she turned to face me and gave me the biggest, warmest, most connecting hug we had shared in a long, long time. And when we kissed? FIRE! The rest of that night is history a blind man can see!
That day I began to adore and cherish and respect my SugarAnne's femininity all the more. I fell in love with my SugarAnne in a new and different way. And she - as well as myself - began to appreciate the BabyMan's own masculinity. Prior to having this outlet for my natural masculine assertiveness, I would have been ticked off about every little thing. The pebbles that went under the rug prior to this aren’t really pebbles anymore! They just don’t seem as big as they used to. They are not even spank-worthy! The BabyMan cherishes and values my SugarAnne's freedom. And my SugarAnne respects and submits to the BabyMan's authority.
End of aside.
So as I was saying:
That's the kind of steam that was rising in me in this moment of Providential poetry.
After lunch we sauntered back to the car window shopping along the way. We stopped at a store or two to look at "girly shit". We confirmed "girly shit" of some of the girly-girls we passed along the way. For me every step was steaming with anticipation. The BabyMan had plans for my SugarAnne when we got home.
"Lock the door”, I said with a firm gentleness (my command voice). That done, my SugarAnne made a jet stream to the closet and put on the babydoll "girly shit". With equivalent speed the BabyMan hit the showers. We knew: today masculinity would firmly meet femininity. The Babyman was gonna apply his loving hand to my SugarAnne's exposed "heart".
We would enjoy a solid afternoon of dynamic masculine/feminine connection. An afternoon buzzing with steamy marital excitement. And we would tap into the deep well of love to which the Hand of Providence has guided us. Problems? What Problems? Cuz when we kissed...oooooooo-wooo...FIRE!
Signed: the BabyMan
