She sometimes forgets that this was her idea.
She’s getting confused about this, and she forgets that she’s the one who talked him into it. She forgets that she’s the one who found the Website, with the handbook and the Bible quotes and the stories: all that stuff about how God wants husbands to decide and wives to obey, how it was God’s will for a husband to physically chastise his wife, how it restored the natural order of a marriage for a husband to spank his wife when she misbehaves. She forgets how intriguing she found it: like an adventure in marriage, an exciting secret with God’s blessing. She forgets how eager she was to show him the stories: the devotion of the rituals, the constant cycles of defiance and penitence, the loving attention to the physical details of implements and undergarments and bare bottoms being revealed. All by command of the inerrant word of God.
His reaction to it — now that, she remembers. He was shocked: but not the way she’d expected. Not at the ideas or the stories. He was shocked that it was her presenting them. He kept asking her, “Don’t you know?” “Don’t you know what people think of this stuff?” “Don’t you know that this stuff is sick?” When she showed him the stories, it was like he’d been reminded of an unsettling dream he’d been trying to forget. And when she showed him the handbook, with its extensive explanations of why this sort of relationship was not only accepted by God but sanctioned and blessed by Him, he looked both relieved and ashamed, like he’d been given permission to do something he knew was sinful and terrible.
But she forgets that it was her idea. She forgets how hard she pleaded with him to at least try it; how happy she was when he cautiously agreed; how excited she was the first time he told her that she’d been bad and he was going to do it right then and there.
She forgets because it’s hard. It hurts, and it’s hard.