Bare bottom …
We had an amazing adventure yesterday. On Monday, it rained a little, not much more than a drizzle, but combined with the winds we’ve had, it cleared out all the haze and gunk and left bright blue skies with puffy white clouds, and temps around 70. Just before Steve was due, he called and said, “I’d like you to go get your crop, one of your small wooden paddles, and a toy of your choice. I’ll call you when I’m out front; I’m taking you on a little field trip today.”
Field trip? This should be interesting, I thought. I put the required implements in a bag and put on some shoes and sunscreen. (Oh, and the toy of my choice was my Cane-iac OTK strap. I love that thing.)
He picked me up in his behemoth SUV (he needs it for his work, although it is anathema to the environmentalists, cough cough John cough), and I noticed that he’d blocked off everything behind the front seats with sun shades. “Wait until you see what I did back there,” he grinned. We drove through Topanga Canyon until it ended at Pacific Coast Highway, and there it was — the beach. Normally, I’m not a beach person. I can’t stand all the sand and the trash and the crowds and the screaming kids. But today, in January, it was deserted, save for a couple of surfers. The sand was pristine, the water sparkled in the sun. It was gorgeous.
We parked by the railing, right off the highway. When we got out, Steve told me to walk around the sides and back and look in the windows. Did I see anything? Nada. The windows were tinted, and no one could see in. Perfect. He told me to hang out a bit while he prepared the back, so I watched the sea and the birds.
Seagulls are fearless, just like pigeons. Or maybe they’re just oblivious and stupid. These guys couldn’t care less that I walked right up and stood next to them.
Anyway, enough of the nature show. Steve called me over and opened up the back. WOW. He’d folded down the rear seats, put in a thin mattress and covered it with a sheet, and piled up the area with pillows. We had our own little spanking haven, right there on the beach.
Eagerly we climbed in, got situated, and the play commenced. It was remarkably comfortable (well, as comfortable as it could be, considering he was hitting me with several objects), and it was such a kick, knowing we could see out, but no one could have a clue what was going on within. Unfortunately, it did get very warm and stuffy back there in short order, so Steve cracked the hatchback window a couple of inches, propping it open with a water bottle. Still not enough for anyone to see in, but just enough to let the cool sea air slip in.
We could hear the traffic rushing by on PCH, and it was such a high, knowing we were playing publicly and yet completely invisible. OK, so maybe we made a bit (!) of noise, but there weren’t people around the vehicle, just birds.
Steve took a lot of photos, playing with the sunlight and the angles.
And of course, because I got warm and sweaty and we were in risqué mode anyway, my clothes had to come off.
You have to understand, I’ve led a sheltered life. I didn’t fool around or play or spank or anything else in the back of vans when I was young. When John and I first met and he had his Jeep, he spanked me on the bench seat up front. But I’d never been treated to an elaborate vehicle setup like this. I felt like I was back in the high school experience that never was. It was exhilarating, and so damn much fun.
So after the spanking and copious photo snapping were finished, I scrambled back into my clothes and we headed back, snickering and beaming like a couple of kids.
This was just what I needed — a fun adventure, something different, a couple of hours away from everything. I was on top of the world when he dropped me back home around 2:30. It did take a while to settle down and do some work, because I was so keyed up, but eventually I did.
Thank you, Your Toppiness! 😀 No, I’m never going to become an outdoors person. You’re not going to get me on any of your camping/hiking trips. But hey, sunlight touched me and didn’t turn my sorry indoor ass to dust. Miracles do happen.
(And yes, I know it’s thoroughly obnoxious of me to flaunt our SoCal weather when a whole lot of the rest of the country is buried in snow. You know what? Suck it up. Most of the time, it’s a pain in the butt here — no seasons, excessive heat, fires, earthquakes, crowds, traffic, high prices. There has to be some balance on occasion.) 😉 …
Last week while in session with Steve, I found myself once or twice struggling to catch my breath, because I was feeling things so intensely. As I consciously regulated my breathing, my head was suddenly filled with the voice of Jerry Lee Lewis, hissing “Brrreathlesssssssss….ahhh.” Of course, a parody was conceived at that moment.
You know, I think I get why my song parodies don’t usually get much reaction. My songs are too damned old! With at least half the stuff I parody, people haven’t heard of the freaking originals! (sigh) I mean, I personally think that one of my more brilliant efforts was “Tops Without Pity,” but really, who else remembers Gene Pitney’s “Town Without Pity” from 1961? Or Elvis Presley’s “Kiss Me Quick,” from which I got “Spank Me Quick”? What can I say, I’m an oldie and I love oldies!
I know, I know… I should try doing parodies of something more current. But nothing quite strikes me. Oh, I’ll get the inspiration for a line or two. For example, Meghan Trainor’s oh-so-overplayed “All About the Bass” got me thinking of writing a ditty about a person who doesn’t like heavy scenes. I got as far as:
I’m all about the red,
‘Bout the red,
I’m all about the marks,
‘Bout the marks,
But after that, I ran dry.
I suppose Pharrell Williams’s “Happy” cries out for a parody called “Slappy.” But I can’t come up with that either. My brain doesn’t seem to want to work with newer material. Oh well.
So anyway… here is Jerry Lee Lewis’s 1958 original version of “Breathless.” If nothing else, it’s a cool little piece of vintage rock and roll, and you can enjoy The Killer pounding the bejesus out of the piano. And then following is my rendition.