Closest near miss? How about full-on spanko play while you have a teenage child a couple of rooms away and don't know it?
Sunday mornings have always been a 'special' time for me and SO, but with kids in the house they're usually have to be special in a muted sort of way.
Anyway, on the morning in question both our kids were away for the night. Youngest was at a sleepover, while the eldest had gone to a music festival 40 miles away.
So, SO got breakfast in bed and when the toast crumbs had been swept away things were just getting interesting. I was being told, in some detail, how I was going to have every last drop of naughtiness spanked out of me - and SO was stressing the point with the occasional sample smack.
The next step was going to be my poor behind meeting up with the table tennis paddle that lives under the bed in a very noisy way. And then I heard the click of a door opening.
We both froze for a second and then scrambled for the cover of the duvet. Our bedroom door was partly open and as eldest daughter wandered by - heading for the bathroom - she gave us a little wave...
Thank the Lord for iPod. It turned out that rain had driven daughter and friends away from the festival and they'd driven home, arriving in the small hours of the night. We were horrified that she may have heard what we were up to, but with her headphones it seems she didn't; a very close near miss.
Anyway, here's my point. I have relatives coming to stay, so things have to go into vanilla lock-down for a week or more. No fun and games for me and, probably, no blogging either.
But it does make me wonder about how well we all keep our secrets from our nearest and dearest. Who knows about your spanko tastes?
I fear my mother probably does. I studied some pages of Nancy Friday's 'The Secret Garden' so closely that if she'd bothered to look when she was cleaning my room the book would have fallen open at exactly those pages.
My sister might have an inkling too. It's just something about the way she talks to me at times.
Not that there's any shame in wanting to have your knicks pulled down and your bottom spanked red raw, is there? OK, I think that yes, there is - a deliciously wriggly, squirmy sort of shame that I for one can't get enough of!