Never Too Old 1...

[BossySon21]

Never Too Old Part 1...

You're never too old for a good spanking!

Yeah, we've all heard that, if not said to us directly than we've just about all heard it said to somebody else, even if only as a joke. But let me tell you that for some of us, it's no joke!

Let me tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Gail Rollins, I'm 54 years old, with auburn hair (it's still mostly auburn, anyway, and if I use a little help to cover some gray that's my concern!) that I used to wear in a short office-appropriate style befitting my age and status. I'm 5'9", I like to think my figure isn't bad for my age, and I'm married mother of three and grandmother of one. I am the co-owner of a successful small business with my partner and best friend Melissa.

My husband Keith is 55, 5'11", and (I personally think) devilishly handsome, he's still got a thick head of hair with a lot of silver amid the brown. It's not fair, you know, silver hair makes men, or at least my man, sexier, but I have to cover mine up! But anyway, Keith and I stay in shape, we've got money and we have gym memberships that we don't let gather dust, I appreciate my hubby wanting to look good for me and I try to return the favor. Keith and I met in college, got married when we were 23, and haven't looked back!

We have three adult kids, our oldest daughter Trish, who is 29, lives across town from us, and has a 13 year old daughter, our son Ryan, who is 27 years old and is an officer in the U.S. Army, and our daughter Dani, who is our baby at 25 and works across the country as an accountant.

Now, I told you all that to make it clear that in most ways my dear hubby and I are perfectly typical successful upper-middle-class people. We do pretty much all the same stuff others in our age and social class do, we're active in our community, etc. But starting about five years ago, things changed, and our lives have been unusual since.

Remember I told you about my business partner, Melissa Graves? Well, she's my age, we've been friends since college and we started out business together when we were 30. Melissa is a widow, her husband died in a car crash about ten years ago, after he decided it wasn't a bad idea to drink and drive. He wasn't a stupid man, but he did something stupid and paid the price and not only him but his wife and daughter paid too! For that matter Keith and I paid a much lighter price then, he was a good friend and we lost him because he just had to have that last beer and then try to drive.

Melissa's daughter Amy was 13 when her father died, and it hit her hard. She was pretty angry about the whole thing because she and her father were always close, and it took her a long time to get over it. I thought she had done just that, though, by the time she was nineteen, about five years ago when all this started. As it happens, I was only half right.

This whole thing started at New Year's of 2002/3, like I said about five years ago, when Keith and I were attending the big New Year's Eve party that some friends of ours throw every year. It's a local tradition, and it's always a wild time. Keith and I had been letting our hair down a little since Dani had gone off to college and we no longer had our kids around to raise, and we both had a little too much to drink that evening-no. I'm being too kind, we were both plastered by the end of the evening, that's the truth of the matter!

I can remember us all counting down the New Year, our friends had the big ball at Times Square on their big screen TV, I can definitely remember that, though it’s a little blurry. I remember the ball going down, Dick Clark talking, and I’m pretty sure we were all singing Auld Lang Syne. Pretty sure, but I couldn’t swear to it in court. That’s how much I’d had to drink, and my darling husband was pretty much the same.

He says now that he remembers singing the song, but not counting down the last seconds. He’d had quite a bit of wine and champagne, and I’d been knocking back wine coolers, and I remember kissing someone under a mistletoe that I sincerely hope was my hubby, because he says he doesn’t remember it. Of course, that doesn’t prove anything, either way.

OK, now you have some idea of how far gone we were. Oh, it wasn’t just us, half the people there were in no better shape, it had been a particularly raucous and wild New Year’s Eve Party, more so than most years, and we’d all been having a pretty good time, the wet bar had been open and the booze flowing freely.

Our hosts (who were not nearly as sozzled as we were, but still more than a little tipsy) claim now that they offered to call cabs for those of us who were too drunk to drive home ourselves. They may very well have, I don’t remember, but I don’t remember a lot of what happened that morning in the wee hours. Keith says he sort of remembers something like that, but can not swear to it. Anyway, maybe we had the offer and maybe we didn’t, either way we shouldn’t have tried to drive home in our state…but we did.

That’s the nasty thing about being that drunk, it wrecks your judgement, you can’t accurately assess whether you’re competent to do anything, but you think you are ‘cause your judgement is shot. All I know is that Keith and I piled into our car, and tried to drive the five mile trip home at sometime around one in the morning of New Year’s Day. I don’t actually remember doing that, but that’s what had to have happened given what followed, we pieced it together afterward.

Well, the next thing I clearly do remember is waking up at home with the most terrible hangover I could recall having since my college party-girl days. I went to college in the mid-seventies, which ought to give you an idea of how wild my party-girls days were, but I was way, way out of the habit and way way older (49 at the time) and my body was punishing me for overindulging. My head felt as if someone had stuffed my skull with dynamite and set it off, my mouth was dry and tasted like I’d been eating old tire rubber, the world spun when I tried to move, and my stomach was threatening to stamp ‘return to sender’ on the party snacks I’d eaten the night before and mail them back up.

I wasn’t in my bed, I was lying on the sofa in the living room, and when I was able to force my body to obey my brain again, I found my husband in the recliner, still asleep. I was actually kind of annoyed about that, I guess I resented that he was still blissfully unconscious while I had to be awake and miserable, but I’m proud to say I resisted the strong urge to wake him up so he could share my misery.

That’s about all I’m proud of from that day.

I stumbled through our house, managed with great concentration and effort, by sheer force of will, to remember how to make coffee, I gulped some aspirin to try and force my head to stop hurting, I checked out bedroom to find the bed still neatly made, apparently we’d never made it past the living room when we finally passed out, and I stumbled through the motions of getting cleaned up. One look in the mirror made me wince, if you’ve ever been that hung over you’ll understand, especially if you’re of the female persuasion.

I felt a little better after a long, very hot shower, drinking enough water and coffee that my throat didn’t feel like the Sahara, and putting on clean jeans and a sweater. By the time I Keith woke up I felt almost like a human being again, and I decided I was recovered enough to go out and get the morning paper from the day before, which had lain there all day while we prepared for the party and all night since. I picked up the paper, turned around…and let out a screech at what I saw!

Our car was not in the garage, it was parked a few feet from the garage door, and the front fender was bent all out of shape, and a dark streak of blue paint on the driver’s side marred the red color of our corvette! The garage door was dented too, though not in a spot to match the damaged fender, apparently we’d managed to bump into the garage door the night before and our bumper had dented the door. When I checked it turned out that the door was just bent enough that it wouldn’t open, and I deduced with Holmes-like brilliance that in our drunken state we’d just left the car where it was, staggered inside, and passed out.

Really mature performance, huh?

TO BE CONTINUED...