CALLING ALL GENTLEMEN

I was stuck in horrendous Los Angeles traffic the other night. I mean, the freeway simply wasn't moving. I was in the carpool lane, and of course that was at a stand-still, too. Now, I normally ride out the traffic here with good-natured complaining, and sometimes the complaining isn't so good-natured. I grew up here, and learned to drive on L.A. freeways, so I know traffic. But on this night I was over it--I mean, really over it. When I saw that the carpool lane was not going to be my savior, I turned my signal on after seeing the carpool lane exit ahead. A car in the fast lane next to me sped up as I tried to ease into the lane. Now, keep in mind we're all in sub-10 MPH traffic. As I try to ease in, he speeds up, and suddenly we're almost scraping our sides together. I said, "Really?" and of course, he yells at me, and then punctuates it all with the raised middle finger. How nice.

My young son was in the car with me, and looked over with concern that this man would do such a thing to his mother when we were only trying to exit a carpool lane. The man's whomever--wife, mistress, sister, mother--was in the passenger seat of his car. I wondered what she was thinking.

This is not the first time I have been flipped off by an angry driver, frustrated by the same things I'm frustrated by: too many people, too many cars, too much going on in lives already too full. I've been the flipper-offer a time or two, and I'm not proud of it. But, I admit, I'm a little old-school, and I was hurt that the man chose to communicate in that way with me. I had a child in the car. And I'm a woman.

There. I said it. I'm a woman. Yes, I believe in equality. Yes, I am partnered with a man who sees me as a complete equal in all aspects of life, and perhaps submissive enough for both our likings in the bedroom. But, dammit, I like doors opened for me, chairs pulled out, someone to come home to who gives half a damn where I've been, and who actually gets peeved if I over-do, am careless with my safety or health, and who otherwise recognizes me as a woman, and not as a roommate with tits. I also don't appreciate being flipped off by some pissed-off dude because he wanted to go first! Why? Well, first, I'm a human being, and I wasn't rude to him in any way. Second, I'm a woman, and he was no gentleman.

SO SUE ME!!!!!

The man hurt my feelings...yeah, yeah, I know. WHAAAAAA! Jade got her feelings hurt. WHAAAAAA! I didn't deserve it, and I wanted better from him--from all men. I want better. C'mon, guys. Yes, I'm asking a lot, and as you see here, I'm not taking the BEEOTCHES to task at all. That's for a different post. We are what we are, and the worst way to handle us is to behave in kind. I'm asking a lot. Yes.

GET OVER IT!!!!!

I think that the reason I dive into romances as a reader, and why I decided to write romances, especially ones with a spanking bent, is my deep desire to see men as MEN. Heroes. Guys a gal can count on, to be better, bigger, stronger than us, yet appreciate all that we bring to the table--in fact, appreciate it so much, that to not have us in their lives would kill them. Yes. Kill them.

I AM ASKING A LOT.

I know. I'm sorry, guys. Rise to the occasion, so to speak. Please. I beg of you.

Val Rios, in The Point of it All, is such a man. He shows Diana time and time again, what he will and won't tolerate, and as much as Diana fights him, she knows he's right, and God help her, she loves him for it.

He crooked his finger at her. His look was still reproachful.
“I don’t like how you’re sitting,” she said.
“You will become less fond of my position if I have to come get you,” he said finally.
She took her time walking the eight-and-a-half feet to him. He pulled her sideways between his knees, placed his left hand on her right hip, and his other hand on her bottom. She was now perfectly positioned for a tumble across his knee if he so chose.

“You’ve had quite an evening so far. You managed to rouse my ire on more than one occasion by your flippant disregard of my instruction to steer clear of my cousin.”

“Val, that’s ridic...”

He raised a finger to silence her, and then had the nerve to rub her right bottom cheek as well. “Then you raised your hand to me, on the dance floor, with people looking.” He patted her bottom.

“You raised yours right back, and oh, by the way, you’ve struck me more than once in front of others.”

His large palm made large circles over her entire bottom. Her knees felt weak. “I have never hit your face, and I won’t—ever. As a doctor, you’ll agree it’s a dangerous place to strike anyone. As a woman, you’ll agree that it’s incredibly humiliating.”

And a bare-bottom spanking is not? she was dying to say, but held her tongue, even as guilt kicked in. He was right. Nevertheless, she took a different tact.

“So, if I’m unhappy with something you’ve said, like tonight, I can slap your ass instead of your cheek?”

“No.” He patted some more. “You may not hit me, ever.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
Rub. “It is, querida, and you will have to trust me on that.” His hand moved vertically along her right bottom cheek. “Then, your choice of words on the way here, and once we got inside, was less than lady-like, wasn’t it?”

“You made me so m—”

“That kind of language is beneath you, and it is unacceptable to me. If I want a saloon maid or a fishwife on my arm, I will seek one out.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. He cupped her bottom firmly, and continued.

“Then you threw your shoes at me, and various other things, taking aim for certain parts of my anatomy.” His grip tightened on her backside. “You slapped me, and your temper tantrum was more befitting a child than a lady. What do you think I should do about all this?”

“Well, you’re not going to get any suggestions out of me.”

“I told you once that I would gladly, and with unflinching resolve, tame that temper of yours...”

“You also said you’d work hard to earn the right.”

He nodded, remembering his words exactly as she had. He pierced her with cerulean eyes. “Have I done that, querida?”

Her eyes filled anew, and a dry swallow caught in her throat. A deep, satisfying warmth flowed through her body. She knew it, felt it. Words were unnecessary. It was beginning. He was the tower, standing before her—the center of her city. She was being drawn in to a new world, a world she couldn’t even allow herself to imagine, so foreign was it to her and her independent sensibilities. Yet, here she was. One did not have to have experience in something to know what was coming. She felt the whole of her body open wide to receive him.

“I haven’t walked away yet, have I?” she said hoarsely.

The gift she was giving him was great, and he knew it. “Your trust humbles me, querida.”

Her lip started to quiver, no matter how hard she tried to be brave. “What,” he asked again, “Should I do about this?”

“Love me,” she whispered.

“Always, love. Always.” And then he took Diana over his knee.

I have found very few Val Rios's in real life over the years. This is why I write.

I was shocked by how the road-rager's behavior the other night affected me. I was. I was confused by my reaction. It forced me to think of all the times I got impatient, or misunderstood someone's intentions while behind the wheel, which caused me to behave in a less-than-dignified manner. I strive to be better every day, and the way that idiot made me feel gave me pause. I want to try to be more patient with people. I want to try to live amongst the washed and unwashed masses with some style and grace, be the one to brighten someone's day with a smile instead of a raised finger. I don't want to be that person in the black SUV who flips off a harried mom trying to get to her older kid's baseball game, in front of her young child.

I want to be better.

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