morning and night

Real life has a tendency to not live up to fantasy. Health problems, work, domestic matters and mundane crises often stand in the way of enacting the kink of my imaginings. Even pleasant distractions such as creative projects or seeing friends and family take time and energy away from spanking.

When I was in two long-term relationships, I used to daydream of the fun we'd have when I moved to London and could see my partners during the week. But now I'm here, this year I've been surprised by how little we've played. Even with desire and opportunity, finding time for play can be unexpectedly difficult. I know I've been working hard, I know you can't argue with someone's health. But there was one hurdle I didn't seem coming.

I've never lived with a partner: time with my men has always been snatched in evenings and weekends, and I'm constantly struggling to feel I have enough time for boyfriends, girlfriends, myself and everything else. My holiday with Tom the other week was the longest we'd ever spent alone together, and it was incredibly lovely. But I didn't quite anticipate how dramatic the difference is between our diurnal cycles.

Tom is in the habit of waking early. Like me, he suffers from insomnia (a cruel irony when combined with his chronic fatigue), but for him it takes the form of dawn waking - he has been in the habit of waking with the sun since childhood, and once awake, finds it very hard to get back to sleep. I, on the other hand, take hours to drop off and wake frequently throughout the night, but can usually doze off again.

On holiday, we both hoped to catch up on our sleep, and promised each other a series of lazy days. I slept until late morning or noon every day: it was wonderful to finally allow my body some extended rest. Tom, however, woke hours before me, and because he's lovely, rather than wake me he crept downstairs to read and drink tea without disturbing me. (Apparently I often drowsily asked for cups of tea, which he kindly made and left by the bed, where they invariably went cold as I drifted off again.) By the time I woke up, he would have been awake for hours. So he'd be awake while I was waking up, but by the time I was fully alert, he'd be ready for his siesta - another product of his childhood, and his favourite way of recovering from an interrupted night. He'd then nap through my most active period of the day, which would enable him to feel refreshed for the evening ... but he'd often feel playful late at night when I was falling over with exhaustion. (With the exception of the very hot scene we played the first evening, which I will tell you about another time.)



Our differing sleep patterns don't affect our companionship, but (not surprisingly) they do affect our sex drives. We both feel a bit shit when we first wake up, but horny soon afterwards. Tom's libido fades after an hour or so, but I stay interested throughout the afternoon; when he prefers to nap - and normally, of course, when we are both at work. He seems to feel most amorous late at night, when my physical energy is at a low ebb and I just want to curl up and snuggle.

So we're patient with each other, and we talk about it, and we work to fit in with the other person's energy curve as much as possible. I have a tendency to fret about it, though. I'm at my happiest when I'm getting regular sex and regular spankings, and am more demanding in that respect than either of my boyfriends (even including how tired I've been this year!) If I know one of them is planning something nefarious, I can watch my own energy curve and make sure I'm ready, willing and able when the time comes. It's weird: when they say they're tired or unwell, I'm all understanding and sympathy; but when I'm the one crying off, I beat myself up over it for not being a Perfect Sub.

All this is leading up to a spanking, I promise. Bear with me :)

We spent Saturday night with some friends, including someone I don't see often. Tom went to bed earlier than me; by the time I staggered upstairs I was wiped out and feeling a bit over-peopled, having been working all day and being sociable all evening. I just wanted to curl up with my book. I thought Tom would have been asleep already, but when I got into bed it turned out he was in the mood to play. I explained, sleepily and with regret, that I just wanted to crash, and he was lovely about it. We worked out we had time to get up and perhaps play in the morning before he went to work.

After this conversation I lay there, not-quite awake, heart thudding with anxiety from turning him down - normally I'm the one that's desperate for play and he's the one that's too tired, what's wrong with me? Surely I could muster the energy? I closed my eyes and watched, with wry amusement, as my brain played out a spanking fantasy in the darkness. I fell half-asleep, dreaming of his knee pressing into my tummy, my legs dangling, a leather paddle painting my upturned bottom shades of red and purple. When he shifted position I woke up, heart pounding - from desire now, not unnecessary guilt. I whispered to him that I had had a dream of being spanked by him. Despite the languor in my limbs and slowness of my head, I felt a hot wetness between my legs. I wanted him to take me in hand, kiss me into the pillow, tumble me over his lap.

But since I'd said no, he'd been schooling himself for sleep. He didn't want to push me. He told me to go to sleep, that we'd have the morning.

I fell asleep wondering if the morning would happen as he hoped, or if one of us would wake first, or with a headache, or if his illness would interrupt things. It was impossible to tell. This wasn't the first time we'd postponed a scene until we felt more up to it, and it wouldn't be the first time our plans had fallen through.

So it was with surprise and delight that I woke to discover my desire still in place, curled tight within me, and opened my eyes to see his sleep-crumbled, beloved face looking back at me, a promise in his eyes. My body was, as usual, slower to wake than my head, but a spanking is the best way of sorting that out. "Be nice," I whispered, suddenly terrified, as he scooped me up and helped me get comfortable over his knee. The morning air was cold and bright, and the sound of the smacks seemed to echo through the house. Worried about waking his housemates, I gripped the duvet in my fists and tried to restrain my yelps. He was gentle with me: partly because I'd asked him to be (although by the time he stopped I could have taken much, much more) and partly because he feels worse in the mornings than I do. But I was so glad it had happened at all, that we'd managed to snatch a half-hour where we were in sync.

I wish we didn't so often work different shifts; I wish he wasn't ill; I wish finding time to play was as easy as I imagined it would be when I was a student. But when time, opportunity, energy and good health so rarely converge, it's all the more precious when they finally do.