"Put your face straight and be quick about it," were my husbands last words to me before exiting the guest bedroom to put his cane away.
I suppose I'd deserved it but I didn't feel as if I'd deserved it at the time, it was unreasonable as far as I was concerned and I made sufficient protest as to leave P in no doubt that I was not best pleased, not that it made any difference. We'd been sidling up to one another only half an hour before it happened, too, and that made it even worse.
Linda and Roger came to visit last weekend, you see, and because it's a 180 mile trip and we hadn't met for ages except briefly at a funeral, they stopped over on Saturday night. No problem there then, they didn't bring their kids they wanted to talk without the kids around, Roger's recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer and I think they wanted to get it out in the open, we go back a long while. Roger used to be a DJ in fact he was the first one to work for P when we were in a different business. We'd decided to eat out on Saturday evening and they were going into town in the afternoon because Roger wanted a bulb for his car and Linda needed something she didn't tell me what (turned out to be flowers for me), they said they wouldn't be long.
I went into their room to put a couple of fresh towels in and happened to notice Roger's bag open on the bed, some clothes alongside it and a letter from an NHS Trust on the floor, I presumed in connection with Roger's condition, no doubt they would be showing it to us later, I picked it up, couldn't see any harm in reading what is said. (as mentioned we go back a long way) P must have seen the door open and came to close it and preserve heat. He found me reading Roger's letter. He thought I'd taken it from his bag, which wasn't the case at all and I told him so but it didn't make any difference.
"What on earth is going on, Ronnie?" He was angry.
I told him what had happened, that it had been on the floor, whether he believed me or not he said I shouldn't read other peoples' mail anyway and he went into our bedroom and brought his cane back. He made me bend over with my hands on the dresser, then he undid and lowered my jeans, no dilly dallying, and caned me. I went to get up after the first stroke, it hurt and it was ridiculous and unjust but he pushed me back down and kept his hand on my back telling me to stay there if I knew what was good for me. he told me it was bad manners and breach of trust and friendship and just plain wrong and I should be ashamed of myself. He caned me quite a few times more than ten strokes I think although I wasn't counting. They were hard and in quick succession and I yelped and at the end when he let me up I said "For fucks sake that was stupid it wasn't how you thought. Fuck that hurts!" and I stomped my foot. I was somewhere between indignant outrage and tears.
P said to make sure to leave the room how I'd found it and they'd be back soon. That was when he told me to put my face straight and left the room.
I was furious with him but ten minutes later our guests were back and I was in hostess mode, I still wasn't happy with P though and I didn't care who noticed. When we went out to dinner he told me I better buck up or I'd get another dose tomorrow. I bucked up, I already had some welts adorning my backside I didn't want more, not in the circumstances.
The stupid thing was, Roger did show the letter to us later and it really had been on the floor. Anyway hearing him talk about his prostate cancer overshadowed my paltry gripes. It was lovely to see them both again, we resolved to do it more often.
What a week. Thank goodness the weekend is here. Have a fun one.