Truth… or dare?

“What?!?” I ask… not really sure I even heard you right. Just out of the blue, sitting around binging that latest show, you turned and looked at me.

“I said, truth, or dare?” You hold my gaze, waiting.

I’m not sure I really want to play this game… In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. Let’s be real. My history with games, and getting any kind of a win, is pretty slim.

“I don’t suppose I can pass?” I ask hopefully.

You giggle. “Nope.”

I pick truth first. Of course, that’s met with you calling me chicken, but you’re not wrong, I mean… come on.

“OK, what’s one place you’d like to revisit that we, um, christened,” you ask, grinning.

This is an easy one. “That time at that foothills resort. The food, the room, the whole experience and, um, our time together, was just amazing, relaxed, hot as hell, and fun. I loved every minute of it!”

You nod along and we reminisce a bit about that time. Sort of like a children’s book, inside, outside, upside down-side… may have been mentioned as we laughed, grinned, and remembered… and plotted a version 2, together. I am squirming, rearranging and you notice, grinning.

Still grinning, you ask again, “Truth or dare?”

So…there’s the first twist. I don’t get a round. You’re just using it to torment. Again.

“Dare,” I say, wondering exactly where you’ll go with this.

“OK, part 1. I want you to find a location we can sneak off to, under cover of darkness, and you can give me an O… or 3 – outdoors, under the stars, but you have to find and scout the location. Your… homework, is due by Friday night and I’ll pick a date night to explore.”

Rawr! I can get all over that. I quickly come up with some places to check out… and I just KNOW this will be a fun dare.

“Truth or dare?” you ask again.

“Dare!” I ask, feeling pretty bold.

“Pick a number between 50 and 100. “

I pause, these are never good.

I pick 50, thinking less is more, and hoping for the best.

You tell me to call up the metronome app and you walk out of the room, telling me to stay put. You return with your murder bag – the bag that has all of your impact implements in it.

“So, here’s the deal 50-59, it’s times 5. 60-69, times 4. 70-79, times 3. 80-89, 4, and lastly 90-100, 1. So, since you picked 50, it’s 50×5, or 250. Now you need to set that app to a pretty consistent beat. I’ll let you know if you need to speed up or slow down.”

We set it and I hear it ticking as you place it on the table.

You stand there, staring at me. Well, at my pants, actually. Waiting. They come off and underwear too…. then you point to the couch and tell me to face in.

“This seems like a perfectly good dare to me,” you say.

I hear the first “whoosh” and feel the impact of the “baller” on my left cheek. Then, just as the metronome pings again, the other cheek is given the same treatment. Each time, I hear the setup, then the whoosh, and feel the jarring impact scream through me, from my tail to my head.

This continues, seemingly forever, with you switching up implements, but somehow, always on time with the damn metronome.

Swoosh – tick – smack… Swoosh – tick – smack.

A big part of it is knowing that with each tick, there will be an impact. With each tick there is more and the rhythm just keeps going. My head is slowing moving into scrambled egg territory, and my yelps are getting more insistent. I dare not move, because those are the rules, but it’s taking more and more as I feel the impacts add up. I can feel the heat on my ass, feel the rumble through me.

At last, I hear you sigh and you rub me, admiring your work.

“Now, where were we,” you ask. “Ah yes, ‘truth, or dare’?” you say. I look up, not believing and you’re just sitting there, waiting.