It takes a lot for a sight to qualify as strange on the streets of New York City. That’s why the blind man being lead by the elbow didn’t even register as remarkable. The fact that the man doing the leading was finding his way with a white cane, however, gave me pause and a smile.
Contrary to the implication of the common saying, the two seemed to be getting on just fine.
In case I haven’t given the disclaimer often enough, I know next to nothing about spanking or submission from direct experience. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been spanked, and on one finger the number of men who have done so. I’ve been running this blog all but blind, though that hasn’t seemed too much an obstacle.
What I do have, is a metric ton of reading material- assuming metric tons come in virtual versions.
And a lot of thinking. Because when one isn’t being spanked, thinking tends to happen a lot. Particularly thinking about spanking. Some of which turns into writing about spanking, which requires thinking about spanking, but sometimes does lead to actual spanking.
And, of course, I have plenty of love and support from friends who understand- some of whom I’ve been lucky enough to meet in a non-virtual setting. These wise and wonderful people have taught me much- some of which even has nothing to do with spanking.
I was shocked, however, when one of them told me that something that had bumbled its way out of my mouth the previous night had helped her and her partner communicate about this sort of thing- this thing that they do and this thing that I don’t much do. I began to reiterate my standard disclaimer. She laughed, and mercifully changed the subject.
I get terrified when people take what I say on this subject seriously, and even more terrified whenever they seem to think it’s a unique perspective. This is a very narrow genre, and anyone who has ever tried to write on the subject knows that any main points have already been mulled over a million times by more eloquent and experienced authors. It would be an exercise in futility to try to contribute anything else to that mulling.
Except, sometimes, those eloquent, experienced people listen to something I mumble and call it eloquent and wise.
And I smile. But I’m still a bit confused.
Maybe that’s because we’re all just blind in our own way. Or perhaps it’s a case of blindness causing a sharpening of other senses. Or maybe it’s just some sort of insanity that crosses that fine but crucial line.
Or maybe it was just the wine.