Square Wheels And Other Twists Of Logic

May 10, 1896
Charles Birchwood

Another week gone and another week closer to assuming my new post at Primrose College. I can hardly contain my excitement at the prospect of an entire college full of young women to sculpt into musicians. Indeed it seems even disciplinary matters will be left well within my hands.

The latter I am somewhat unaccustomed to but in recent weeks I have been strengthening my résumé. Caroline, I am certain, is quite ready for me to have my hands too full of other young ladies so that her own buttocks might be spared. Of course I have no intention of allowing her the free reign she once enjoyed.

It seems only logical that once a woman has shown an inability to make good choices without the looming threat of strict discipline, the threat should not be removed. Naturally, our reinvigorated intimate relations Has no bearing on my decisions in this regard.

I must write to my father-in-law and thank him for the sound advice. I had no idea how well Caroline would respond to a firm hand. I had always thought a woman desired respect and kindness. I must remember to remain aloof, cruel, and always ready to raise my hand.

I wonder if all women share in this contradictory manner of asking for what they really want? For example let us digress to yesterday evening as I returned home from a hard day of meaningless music instruction.

Caroline greeted me at the door with a warm smile and a gentle kiss, I think not. Indeed had she done so I would have swept her off her feet and carried her straight away up the stairs to our private chambers. No, quite the contrary she was occupied in the kitchen and took only annoyed notice of my entry.

“Where have you been? Dinner has been ready for nearly ten minutes.” She bellowed from the depths of her cooking.

“I was delayed with Father Mc Gregory.” I replied paying no mind to her disrespectful tone.

Truthfully at the end of a burdensome day all I desire is the comfort of my loving family and perhaps some peaceful silence in which to relax. I can even understand Caroline’s distress at having a dinner meal prepared and forced to keep it warm while waiting for my tardy arrival. Of course this was my first mistake.

The children had all ready set the dinner table and were washed up and seated. They gave half-hearted smiles to me but neither spoke nor moved. I correctly surmised they had crossed their mother. Not that Caroline or they revealed the truth to me for sometime, but I am not so dense as I may seem.

I took a moment to wash my hands and face before taking my place at the dinner table. Caroline remained still in the kitchen making an awful racket. I was tempted to offer assistance but exhaustion won the battle and I remained patiently waiting.

Well it was patiently for at least ten minutes at which point patience was exchanged for impatience.

“Caroline, I thought you said dinner was ready?” I called out from the table.

“If you had been home on time it would have been.” She replied.

This logic must remain solely in the realm of women. For no man would dare argue his work would have been finished on time if the boss had only shown up at exactly the moment it was due and no later. If the work was done on time then whether ten minutes, two hours or three days have passed since the completion, the work will remain completed.

However I will advise you not to bother arguing this logic with the ladies in your life. The circular twist of logic which will be spouted back at you will likely leave you wondering why wheels are not square. No, indeed if you have such an occasion as to need to explain the failure of women’s logic, you must do it calmly whilst she is laying naked over your knee. Only then will she comprehend the infallible logic of a deed once done is done.

Rather than argue her illogic, I chose to ignore it and focus on the immediate issue at hand. My stomach growled as I tried not to.

“When will it be ready now, dear?” If my tone was a touch condescending it was intentional.

“Is now good for you?” She replied in an equally condescending tone.

She entered the dining room with serving tray in hand. She stopped beside me and dropped a piece of charcoal on my plate. By the look on her face, I should have been grateful.

“What is this?” I demanded.

“Your dinner.” She said and proceeded to drop charcoal on our children’s plates as well.

When she made it to her own plate she laid out a juicy piece of meat, cooked rare, just the way I like it.

Were her eyes challenging me to protest? I suspect they were although her body language certainly insinuated a confidence in the appropriateness of her actions. Albeit her body was wrong but I believe this is precisely the phenomenon in question.

Is it arrogance to presume she desires to be taken in hand? If she does not then why such blatant provocation? See notes above on twisted logic to follow my reasoning.

I stood up, walked to her place with my plate in hand. I swapped our plates and returned to my seat to enjoy the meal.

Caroline stared at me in silence. She conveyed quite well the idea she was angry. The children crunched through their burnt meal while Caroline sat quiet observing me. I ignored her and savored every bite.

I swallowed the last delicious morsel. I was absolutely certain she had prepared it for me despite her strange way of delivering it. Caroline did not touch her plate at all.

“Were you not hungry?” I asked.

She sat mute.

I excused the children to their rooms.

“Do you need a spanking?”

“No.” She replied quickly.

I cannot fathom why she responded in the negative when every fiber in her body was screaming yes.

“I think you do.” I said.

“Obviously, you do not know as much as you think.”

I smiled.

She frowned.

“Strip.” I ordered.

“No.” She replied.

I stood and crossed the space between us in two paces. My open palm slapped her open mouth.

She whimpered.

“Strip.” I ordered.

She glared at me.

I raised my hand.

She undressed. She did it slowly as though she was shy and embarrassed. Her hands taking care to cover her intimates as though I had never gazed upon them before. What a wonderful game she plays. My heart beat an agitato in my chest.

In all her loveliness she stood blushing before me in our dining room. In the back of my mind I realized this was her gift to me, her way of welcoming me home and harboring in a restful and happy weekend, but would it not have been simpler to have greeted me with this love at the door?

In the end though, it is the game we play and there always remains the air of uncertainty. The question of what she really desires will likely baffle me all my life. I have resigned myself to taking what pleasure I want and hoping it is enough to sustain us both.

I took her none too gently over my lap at the dining table. I slowly turned her white cheeks into luscious cherries with my hand. I let the weeks tension slip away as she kicked her legs and falsely protested my attentions.

My arm tired before I stopped. I lifted her in my arms and kissed her tears away. She smiled softly at me and returned the kiss with a passion for which I am once again becoming accustomed.

“Eat your dinner and clean up the dishes.” I ordered after a shared moment of tenderness.

“Yes, Charles.”

“I will wait for you upstairs.”

“Yes, Charles.”