I’m going to get a bit personal here, for a moment, and talk about things that I normally keep to myself.
At 5’8″, I’m of fairly average height for a woman. I’m not particularly tall. At a 150 pounds and a dress size eight, I’m really quite average all around.
I’ve never felt like it, though. I’ve always felt like this:
Maybe it comes from the fact that I was told by doctors that I would likely grow up to be over 6′ tall, and I began intentionally stunting my growth for fear of that when I was just a little girl. Maybe it’s the fact that I was taller than my mother by the time that I was ten, and that I reached my current height before I entered middle school. Maybe it’s the fact that one of my childhood best friends was so tiny that in third grade, our teacher couldn’t see her over the desk and thought that she was absent on the first day. Maybe it was that I grew up in a small house with low ceilings and tiny rooms that gave me a sense of claustrophobia. Whatever it is, I never, ever wanted to grow. I always felt that I was too big.
I’ve done various things to make myself seem smaller– I wear lots of vertical stripes and clothing which is cropped in a way that shortens a person, I choose prints and patterns which are cute, dainty and diminutive, I slouch as much as I can possibly get away with (which I was doing fairly well for myself with, I felt, until Malignus decided that I needed to improve my posture) and I’m never seen wearing heels. I did bring a pair with me to TASSP, and it was the first time that I wore heels in as long as I can remember, certainly at least a year.
There was one thing which I always took comfort in, sort of an adage that I’d come to love: “All girls are the same height when they’re over a lap.” I really, truly believed in this, and it did wonders for me. While being spanked OTK, no matter by whom, I felt truly small. I don’t mean that I felt “little” or that I felt “young.” I felt like a small thing, and it was an absolutely beautiful feeling.
Recently, I was talking to one of my Tops about these feelings, and about how badly I wanted to have a smaller body, and I said “At least I can take comfort in the fact that when I’m over your lap, you can’t tell!” “Well, you know that’s not actually, true, right Alex?” he asked. I shook my head. I thoroughly believed that it was true. “I can still tell how far you stretch out to, and your center of gravity is still in the wrong place.”
I never believed in Santa, or in the Easter Bunny, or any of that stuff, and I originally didn’t believe in God, then forced myself to, so when I stopped believing, it wasn’t painful. As a result, this was the first time in my life that I really experienced having something which had previously been rather sacred to me taken away.
|You’re sure? I’m still too big?|
I still haven’t recovered from it, entirely. It never mattered to me what my size was compared to the person spanking me, but suddenly, it’s become something which is on my mind. I know I’ll get over it. I know I’ll let go and stop worrying and let myself feel safe and good while being spanked. I’m just still a little heart broken.
The day that I had that conversation, I called my doctor friend and my scientist friend and asked them if there was a way that I could be shrunk. When they promised me that there was no safe way, I started doing research on my own, JUST IN CASE.
I know that I’m just going to have to find a way to accept myself.
For a while now, I’ve been dating a boy here in Sioux Falls. He’s clever and funny, he gets my sense of humor, and on our first date, we spent most of the time discussing Hume’s empiricism. He’s also 6’5″ and extremely strong because he does physical work. For the first time since I was a teenager, I felt small beside him. I could put my hand up to his and feel like I had little, tiny fingers. He could pull me down with the tiniest of efforts on his part. We were just “getting there” romantically, but I had high hopes for it. See, I don’t need all of my relationships to satisfy every part of me. That would be very against the point of Polyamory for me. I was hoping that if I had, for the first time since I was a girl, someone who made me feel small sometimes around, then I would get over the complex that I’m big in general. I imagined that having someone who made me feel small would make it so that I never felt “too big.” I thought that it would make me alright with my body.
|Sorry, not happening!|
Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I imagined might happen, because he met someone with whom he wants to have a monogamous relationship, so we won’t be seeing each other anymore.
I realized tonight, that this may actually be a good thing. There are no “drink me” bottles floating around, and I’m stuck with myself for the rest of my life. The truth of the matter is, I don’t need someone else to make me feel good about myself. I have to rock what I’ve got and be truly confident in myself in order to be happy and successful. The way that I look or appear to others or seem next to them shouldn’t influence the way that I feel.
The truth of the matter is that I’m the only one who thinks that I’m so large that I take up the entire room and I’ve got my head on the ceiling, but as long as I’m seeing myself this way and acting like that, people *are* going to see that I’m not fully comfortable with myself.
So, I’m going to be alright with myself, no matter where my center of gravity is. I’m not going to surround myself with environments that make me feel better about myself. I’m going to feel okay with myself.
I’m not entirely sure *how* I’m going to get there, but I know that I will, because I am nothing if not determined.
I use formspring to answer questions that are posed by friends, readers, fans, whoever. Today, I checked my inbox and among some sexual questions that I didn’t feel like answering was the following query:
Who are you really?
At first glance, it’s the simplest question possible. I’m Alex, duh. But it came at a poignant moment for me, and it had a positive influence on my thought processes for a while. It’s one of the most important questions one can be asked or ask one’s self and it’s something that has been on my mind quite a bit recently. I’ve gone through a phase where I’ve been less than focused on being my best self. This isn’t to say that I’ve been something other than myself, or that I’ve been bad or awful or something. But when I read my older writing, there’s a difference. It isn’t that I lost something; more that I misplaced it. At worst, I’ve lost a sense of focus. I’ve been withdrawn and going through some things recently, and I’ve started to come out the other side. I know that this is vague, but I’m alright with that.
To answer this question, I could point to my fetlife profile, or post a photo, or do a bunch of other things, but I think what I’ll do is make a list of what I know to be true.
When I started this blog, it was my intention to do a combination of writing about spanking, DD and D/s topics. I touch on the latter two every now and then, but they are rarely the primary focus on a post. I’m going to start trying to include a Submission Topic every week if I can. I always have a lot to say about it anyway. 🙂
So, here it goes!
For the entire time that I’ve been in my primary relationship, I’ve had submissive feelings and limited actual submissive behavior towards people besides my partner and Dominant. This has never been any kind of a problem. I’m mostly poly in all situations and Malignus is nearly perfectly poly. There are times when he’s more comfortable with the idea of me exploring things with other people than I am. Because it was always natural and accepted for me to explore and talk about submission with other people, it seemed to follow that I eventually would enter into a second D/s dynamic. At present, Malignus has five submissives, and he manages that with few problems. So when scotchgrove and I realized that we worked quite well together in terms of D/s, we began to take the steps towards making that happen.
A lot of people were very surprised by this. Apparently having a lot of submissives is fairly normal, but a submissive having multiple Dominants is not. Thinking about this brought up a few interesting points.
The most obvious reason why having multiple Dominants might not work out smoothly is that there might be conflicting rules or instructions. The question that my friends have asked me the most when finding out how things are working for me now is “What do you do when they want you to do different things?” So far, this situation has come up rarely, almost never. There’s usually a clear level of importance between two tasks: things with real world time limits have to come first, as do grossly more significant things. Unless something of those natures comes up, I take care of the things that I committed to first before committing to something else. If everything is equal, I tend to err on the side of Malignus’ wishes because he invests more in me. He’s there with me on the day to day and he’s been giving me time, energy, love, affection, violence, care, education and more for over a year now.
This is system is really no different than the way that we balance social commitments in any other situation and is mostly based on common sense: if I’m working on research for Malignus and scothgrove wants to chat, I finish my work first. That’s no different than what a responsible person would do if they were doing research for school and a friend from outside of a power exchange dynamic wanted to talk. If I’m hanging out with Malignus and scotchgrove needs to speak to me regarding something of importance, I talk to scotchgrove. The only difference is that I don’t just do these things: I seek permission to do these things. That’s also pretty easy and mostly just a way to be respectful. Because both Dominants are aware of these arrangements, they tend to be fine with things.
scotchgrove doesn’t usually make rules for me because he’s aware that those needs are already being met by my dynamic with Malignus. If he does, it’s for things that I don’t have rules about already. If both of them were to make a rule about the same thing, I’d talk to both of them to come up with something that worked for everyone involved. Basically, if everyone is on the same page, it works out really well.
There is, however, a reason why the idea of having multiple submissives makes more sense than the idea of having multiple Dominants does: that’s the flow of power. This is a concept that has been kind of hard for me to articulate, but which I’ve been bouncing around in my head for a while. I made the following really shitty diagram in Paint:
The following is a piece entitled “Genetic vs. ‘Interest'” which was written by my friend, Thursday Knight, and posted on fetlife. It raised several points that are important to me and that I wanted to add my thoughts on.
The day I opened up my fetlife account was on my 18th birthday. Throughout the internet, various websites had a new user of “Thursday Knight”–all of them spanking related.
I am a spanko; ever since the age of three years old I’ve had the desire to be spanked. While holding true to most spankos who can relate, I had all the signs. Anything spanking related in books or TV was a rare obsessive delight (the clock in Disney’s Pinocchio, Benjamin Bunny, and countless other things), looking up the word “spanking” in the dictionary, getting the topic brought up among friends to find out if they had any personal stories, etc. etc. etc.
The thing is, I did not choose this condition. I did not choose to be sexually dysfunctional (and despite spanking being a very ‘mild’ sexual deviancy, it still is not ‘normal’). Yet…what astounds me is that people do choose it.
Now, for the sake of whoever may be reading this, this is not an attack. Or even judgement. I am simply pointing out that there are many people on this website who choose to get into “the lifestyle”.
From experience, I started typing in spanking searches into the internet when I was thirteen. Other people with sexual fetishes (note that a “fetish” is described as: a form of sexual desire in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, item of clothing, part of the body, etc. [NOT] “it just turns me on”) I would assume would do likewise. They would want to connect, find out more people who think like they do.
But besides the casual “bedroom partners”, how do average people who want to “spice” up things, suddenly become “rope professionals” and “vampiric dominate daddys”? When they were growing up did they have a small interest and it grew? Or did they “decide” that this would be okay? What would possess someone to come up with the idea that people can come together and have parties where they’ll tie each other up and eat snacks?
I’m not saying there is anything wrong with it, I am purely wondering where someone would come up with the notion.
Is it human nature to deviate from the norm? Are human minds just naturally perverse and therefore susceptible to the malleability of something new? They hear about something from a friend or on TV and realize that sounds fun?
Or is something genetic at play? Are those “vanillas” who will never even think a website like this, and perfectly happy too, every know (what we feel) they are missing?
Pretend your partner and you had a ‘normal’ relationship with very little concept of what you do now with each other, would that relationship still work? Would you think he is a lazy ass? That she is a needy attention-hog?
If these feelings are genetic (or at least a genetic disposition, in that our brains are pre-disposed to this sort of thinking) would they serve the purpose of balancing out our mental stability?
What makes people with an “interest” want to “choose” to be different in this way?
One last thought: Could you truly live without your kinky-doings and be happy? If someone said “You can be painlessly euthanized or live without ever doing your fetish/kinky thing ever again.” Could you?
I, I could not.
Thursday’s post resonated with me for a couple of reasons. First, she brought up an issue which I’ve often wondered about: why would anyone choose this? I’m also not attacking and I’m not pointing fingers. I don’t think that there is anything wrong with choosing to join the lifestyle. I just don’t see why one would. In fact, when I first started attending munches and other kink events in Los Angeles, it didn’t occur to me that there would be people there who weren’t “born with it” the way that Thursday and I (and I’m sure many of you) were. In fact, I operated under the assumption that the people I met who were into bondage were as excited when they saw a damsel in distress tied to the train tracks in a cartoon as Thursday and I were when we saw that Benjamin Bunny getting thrashed with a switch for his naughtiness in the picture book. Now, there *are* people who are bondage fetishists. I know one person who was involved in doing self bondage from a very young age indeed and several who always thought about being immobilized or secured in various ways. But many of the people who I’ve met who are into bondage, or D/s, or general impact play simply were told about it, gave it a shot and found it interesting. It sort of baffles me. There are people who choose this. They became curious about deviant behavior and decided that it was somehow worthwhile for them to engage in. Were they equally predestined to enjoy their lifestyle activities and simply unaware that they existed? Is one actually able to control their identity so much as to select something like this and make it his or her own? And to what end? I’m open about the fact that my involvement in the spanking and BDSM communities enriches my life, but I can’t imagine that the lifestyle is inherently enriching. The growth, joy, development, relief et cetera that I gain from my activities seems to me to be based on fulfilling something which has always existed. It doesn’t naturally follow that a person who developed without those early desires would have the same, or even a slightly similar, response to being exposed to the stimuli that I find valuable.
Part of the reason why I’m slightly taken aback by this is because I’ve always seen my spankophilia (if it can be called that because it isn’t sexual) as, at worst, a deformity and, at best, some sort of social hindrance. I’m not ashamed of it anymore, but it has always been something which made my life more complicated. Like Thursday, I can’t imagine myself being happy if I couldn’t have spanking in my life. Given the choice, I’d sooner give up almost anything else. I’d go so far as to be prefer losing a couple of limbs over losing spanking. I don’t want to say that I NEED to be spanked, but it’s hard not to. At the very least, I need to have it in my life on some level. I don’t ever NEED a spanking in a particular moment, but I truly don’t know if I could have a satisfactory existence without it. Other kinksters who aren’t spankos but like spanking want to be spanked or to spank others. In many ways, we require it. Requiring something brings along a boatload of things to work through and accept, fears, insecurities, difficulties et cetera. It also places a high value on something that can be very hard to find– that is to say, a good spanking partner.
It’s a lot of interesting stuff to think about, and it’s territory that I don’t often cover for fear of being offensive and making too many waves. So: what do you think?
It’s not a secret: I cry from spankings a lot. There are videos of me crying available from Spanking Court, Assume the Positions Studios, and Lily Starr Spanking. I talk about it here all the time, too, and I’ve posted about it on various fetlife threads from time to time. So it isn’t surprising that one of my friends sent me a message asking me for more insight into my ability to cry. This is the second time that I’ve been inspired to respond to a question in the form of a blog post, because my thoughts organized themselves so well that I figured that others might enjoy reading my insights as well.
There are several different ways in which a spanking can make me cry. I can break my crying during a spanking down into several categories:
*Crying fueled by regret for bad behavior.
This is one of the more common forms of crying from a spanking in general, and the psychology of it is very straight forward. This takes place during disciplinary spankings. In my opinion, if a spankee is in this mindset and that is not the intended atmosphere of the spanking, then something is wrong. Either the top has not communicated the intended purpose of the spanking effectively or the bottom is dwelling on previous or otherwise unaddressed bad behavior. This is the easiest way for me to cry during a spanking, although it is rarely ever particularly difficult.
The atmosphere of a disciplinary spanking keeps my mind focused on my wrong-doing and just how unenjoyable it is to be punished. This atmosphere makes me extremely vulnerable and therefore makes my experience of the spanking much more physically painful. For me, a spanking serves this purpose most effectively if it is delivered either very sternly or, in certain situations, harshly. What’s the difference? To me, a “stern” delivery is very calm and controlled, with some level of formality, but unbendingly serious. A “harsh” delivery involves some expression of annoyance (as opposed to just displeasure) and is a bit “gruffer”: there might be some raising of the voice or rougher shoving back into position. It’s the difference between “Bare your bottom and get in position” and “get your pants down and get over my lap RIGHT NOW!” The latter is generally more effective if the offense which has earned me the punishment is related to my attitude, just because it’s more jarring and it makes it much harder for me to keep feeling sorry for myself. 😛
Either way, the creation of this atmosphere makes me vulnerable and receptive, and it makes me most contrite and regretful, and therefore brings me to tears very quickly.
*Crying fueled by stress relief/emotional release.
This is the kind of crying that happens when I get that feeling that I just need a good spanking. This happens when I feel like I’ve been keeping things inside myself, or I’ve been struggling hard with something, or life has been wearing me down. These spankings have always been most effective for me i they begin with sternness until I reach the point where I’ve begun to cry and then the tone becomes more affectionate. Again, this is about being vulnerable: in this case, the spanking is effective because I allow myself not to fight against it (or, if I cannot do such a thing on my own, to break me down) and instead use it to push everything out. I originally imagined that a stress relief style spanking would be calm and soothing, but I discovered with experience that it works best for me when it’s merciless, hard and long. A good example of this sort of spanking can be found in the story told in the last couple of paragraphs of this post.
*Crying fueled by relief.
This is a different kind of relief than stress relief. It’s relief that a long anticipated spanking is finally happening. This sort of tears is generated by a spanking that is usually very connecting, reaffirmative and filled with caring. Alternatively, these tears can be part of the reason I cry during a long awaited punishment. The point is, I’m moved to tears by the feeling that I’m back where I belong and that I’ve obtained something that I’ve long desired, or that some sort of waiting period has ended. My first spanking was the ultimate example of this: I was overcome with the most extreme relief I’d ever felt, since the burden of waiting for my first spanking was finally lifted from me. These tears are very happy, and filled with satisfaction.
|Photo by Assume the Position Studios|
*Crying fueled by submission or surrender.
Some bottoms talk about subspace- going off into some floaty, magical, trance-like, trippy state from getting a very hard beating which pushes them towards submission. They sink into the bed, they stop feeling pain, they float on endorphines, they get high, they can’t talk properly…
This doesn’t happen for me (although it did once). I’m a very cerebral person, and I’m uncomfortable letting go of my awareness. Instead, when I’ve been pushed to a place where I cease my fighting, I get to a point of submissive crying. It’s a calm sort of sobbing where there’s no urgency in the sound. I’ve given myself over to the spanking that I’m receiving and I have no will regarding when it will end. It’s certainly not as exciting to talk about, or as filled with mystery and intrigue as traditionally described subspace is, but the land of my submission is just a place where I lie still and take a lot of hurt and cry about it. It probably sounds pretty pathetic to a listener, and it doesn’t feel “good” in a traditional sense, but it’s a very peaceful place where I feel incredibly safe and loved.
*Crying fueled by physical pain.
What’s that?! It’s kind of taboo in the spanking community to admit that crying happens because a spanking hurts, but for me, yeah, that happens. I know that the fact that it’s a safe environment where I’m engaging consensually in something that I love and that I’m allowing to make me vulnerable plays a part in it, but even with amazing atmosphere and the best, most loving connection between me and my Top (so, when Malignus is spanking me), I’m going to get to crying much more quickly from a hard paddling than from a hand spanking. It’s not like I cry because things hurt in my non-spanking life (except for the occasional migraine) so it’s clearly not all about the physical pain, but I won’t deny that a harder, faster paced, longer spanking (that is to say, one which hurts more) will be far, far more likely to bring me to tears.
Note- This post is kind of mushy and self-serving. I’m okay with this.
As I’ve mentioned before, I can’t remember a time before I was obsessed with spanking. It was always there in the back of my mind and it felt like some sort of strange defect in me. There were times when I felt like it would ruin me. There were times when I felt like I needed to be institutionalized because of it. There were times when I wanted to kill myself over it. Dramatic much?
Now that I’ve met the most amazing man, made some of the best friends I’ve ever had and been part of one of the most positive communities I’ve ever been involved in because of spanking, it seems pretty stupid. I’ve talked before about my anxiety, but to most, I think I seem pretty well adjusted about my life in Spankingland. And I am. I love it. It’s a source of positivity, joy, happiness, growth and relief.
That said, I must confess to feeling something that I know many other spankos either feel or have felt: shame.
Shame was a corner-stone of my upbringing. The Christian environment in which I was raised taught me that there was a particular way that God made humans and that deviation from that norm was sinful and shameful. My early rational mind believed that things should make sense. If something didn’t make sense, there was probably something wrong with it. Unfortunately, my obsession with spanking didn’t fit the way that I believed I was meant to perceive a “normal,” godly individual, nor did it make any sense.
I got over the God part. I rebelled against the idea of the social norm and preferred to simply be myself. I came to enjoy being a blatant and unabashed sinner. Still, I want to live in a world which makes sense. I want to understand the origins of my actions. I want to know who I am and why. When something is veiled from me, I become angry and frustrated. I taught myself never to accept “just because” as an answer to things. I want to know why I’m like this. I want to know what made me this way. Is it genetic? Is one of my parents secretly a spanko? Is it something I was exposed to when I was very young and before I had the ability to retain memories? Is it entirely without reason, some random fluke? I’ve long believed that knowing why I ended up a spanko would make being one easier for me.
The truth is, I can’t know why, and knowing why wouldn’t be useful to me anyway. It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make anything that feels wrong feel right. I, however, can do those things without any answers being required.
The origin of my affliction may be unknown, but the nature of the beast is not.
I’m a spanko. I like to be spanked. I like baring my bottom and lying over a lap. I like the feeling of being bare and vulnerable. I like the spanking itself. Even when it’s horrible, even when it’s with an implement I hate, even when I struggle and have a hard time lying still. I like to be spanked until I cry. I like to have my thighs spanked. I like the feeling of submission, of giving up my will. I like to be spanked for fun. I like to laugh during a spanking. I like having someone in my life who will give me disciplinary spankings when I am not my best. I like having an opportunity to grow. I like being corrected. I like being put in the corner. It makes me feel safe and contemplative. I like being put there with my bottom bare after a spanking to remain in the feeling of vulnerability, gather my thoughts and get the most that I can from the experience. I like getting spanked with my female friends. I like being comforted after a spanking, a gentle hand rubbing my back or my sore bottom. I like waking up and still feeling sore from the night before. I like learning about myself as a submissive and striving to be better. I like being rewarded with a hard spanking that brings me to happy tears when I’ve done an excellent job. I like getting a hard smack on my thigh or bottom at random, just because he feels like it. I like being a vessel for sadism. I like spankings that relieve my stress. I like spankings that make me feel loved. I like spankings that hurt terribly. I like spankings that don’t hurt quite as much.
I’ve found a way to be happy with who I am. It doesn’t matter why I am the person that I am. It only matters that I admit it and that I am going to force myself to stop feeling ashamed. Because you know what? You’re here, too. You like it, too. You wouldn’t be here, reading this, if you didn’t like spanking: giving it, getting it, watching it, thinking about it. Whatever. There’s a part of it that you like. That’s okay. Maybe you were born with it, like me. Maybe this is the first time that spanking has ever crossed your mind. Maybe you’ve got some other kink, or you’re mainly a BDSM person, and you’re interested in spanking. I won’t judge you. I won’t judge myself, either. And if someone DOES know, if someone DOES have the ability to read my mind when I’m thinking about spanking in the grocery store, if someone IS mentioning it in vanilla conversation because they suspect something about me, then oh, well. There’s nothing I can do about that. It’s certainly not the worst thing in the world. If people don’t like me for it, then there’s nothing I can do about that, either. It won’t be any different than the friends I lost for having a girlfriend. I’m not going to throw it anyone’s face, but I don’t see the point in being so afraid anymore.
Really, I have nothing to be afraid of. Except the cane. And the lexan. Aaaaaaaaaaand pretty much anything on my thighs. 😉
Oh, right. I went away to my family’s house for the holidays. Then I came back.
I’m kidding, I’m kidding. There’s more to the story than that!
Being with my family of origin is hard. My mother and I have had a difficult relationship for my entire life. Sometimes I just think I’ll never go visit them again, but since my mother is in poor health and my oldest brother just passed away, I knew it was the right thing to do.
The visit was really stressful, though. My mother and I quarreled a lot, she didn’t let me do anything, she said awkward things all the time (like asking me if I was saving it for marriage!) and I was reminded of all the reasons I left home at such a tender young age in the first place. Plus, I attended my brother’s memorial service, which was extremely bittersweet. I had already found closure for myself, but it hurt to see so many other people suffering and there were instances of prejudice against the HIV positive expressed *during the service* which really boiled my blood.
There were also awkward spanko moments- my family members mainly bought me practical gifts, and practical gifts for a woman tend to be kitchen things where I come from. I got ANOTHER rubber spatula (this one did go in the kitchen, but it was still awkward) and I got another wooden spoon. I have a lot of wooden spoons. Malignus doesn’t like me using them in the kitchen because he doesn’t want them to absorb germs or something like that. Basically, I am pretty sure he just wants to keep them all for spanking me. Besides, the spoon I got from the family is a really beauty from a spanking perspective: nice, long handle, perfectly flat back, smooth, strong beech wood.
|Yep: I’m aware that this is the most ridiculous photo of me I’ve ever posted to this blog!|
Then there was the gift exchange with my cousin, who bought me a set of FIVE hairbrushes. My mom said “Oh good! Alex can really use those! I’ve bought more hairbrushes for that girl than anyone needs in a life time and yet they always end up lost or broken.” Broken, yes, Mom. Into pieces. On my ass. But you don’t need to know that!
Then there was the awkward conversation in which my surviving brother attempted to convince me that I should use a bathbrush in the shower because they feel really nice and offered to buy me one. No. Bathbrushes DO NOT feel really nice. They feel like death. Like every swat is taking minutes off my lifespan. I don’t care how they feel in the shower: if it’s in my shower, it’s in my house and THAT’S BAD!
Finally, there were the little things: the fact that I notice awkward spanking related things EVERYWHERE and want to giggle or make an awkward face and can’t in vanilla company:
|I’m wearing these to get spanked sometime!|
Beside all this, I had trouble sleeping and I really missed Malignus. It certainly made me appreciate just how wonderful my life here is, though. I’m able to truly be myself at all times and I’m with someone who loves me for exactly that, not for who I pretend to be or who I change myself into. That in and of itself is more than I ever dreamed of. Add in the fact that we have a lot of fun together, I get to cook and clean, and I get a good spanking almost every day and I’m made aware that I’m pretty much the luckiest girl in Spankingland.
Coming home on Tuesday to this was just lovely. There really aren’t words for how nice it was. When I was a girl and I was obsessed with Roald Dahl’s book, Boy, there was a section that I enjoyed that didn’t have any beatings in it. This was where Dahl discussed the joy of going home from school for the summer holidays. I specifically remember him saying something along the lines of “The feeling is incredible and can’t be understood except by someone who has lived in an oppressive environment and then gone back to a place of freedom. It was almost worth going away to school just to experience the joy of being away from it.” I always liked imagining what that would be like: to leave my normal and unenjoyable childhood and go to a place of freedom. Leaving my family’s home to go back to my new adult life reminded me of that. It’s a very pleasant thing, getting to experience the stuff you’ve always wanted! 😀
On Tuesday, after Malignus picked me up from the airport, we got a pizza and went home to watch the first two Rocky movies (which I’d never seen before, despite being a film aficionado.) After the second movie, it was late and I was tired, plus I still had a lot of residual stress from the past week built up in my system. I asked Malignus is he was going to spank me that night, since I usually go across his lap before going to bed, and he said “a little bit.” I was kind of imagining a firm but not miserable hand-spanking based on that response. I was alright with that: I hadn’t been spanked for nine whole days! Better ease back into it, right?
Then I saw him coming into the bedroom with my new spoon. He had swatted me with it earlier and it had made me howl. My stomach dropped. This reflected in a very sad look on my face. Malignus asked me if I was scared about how much the spanking would hurt and I replied that I was. “You should be,” he said. He’s very encouraging. 😛
I bared my bottom and got in position over his lap and he asked me if I wanted a warm up. I gave the most heartfelt and earnest rendition of “Yes, please, Sir!” ever heard by man, I’m pretty sure. Warmups are kind of a luxury for me, and I hadn’t really been expecting one, but the idea sounded so nice.
Then Malignus said “Too bad!” and started laying into me. Then I started howling. It would probably not have been a very pretty thing to listen to. The stupid thing was agonizingly painful and it kept falling with an extremely fast pacing. It hurt so much that I very quickly began to sob. The spanking just kept going, though, without any sign that the pace was slowing. He spanked me very thoroughly: as is usual, he didn’t spare my thighs in the least, and this time he put considerable time and attention into beating my sit-spots. He eventually stopped with the spoon and spent a while spanking me firmly but much more slowly with his hand while my cries began to quiet. It took me a little bit after the spanking finished to stop crying, but my stress and tension had been replaced with a remarkable sense of calm and security. Laying over the lap of the man I love with a bruised, swollen bottom throbbing with pain, I felt like I had no reason to be anything but content and joyful. Very shortly thereafter, I lay in bed with my head resting on his chest and fell asleep.
Because I went directly to bed, I did not photograph my butt when it was properly marked, but I woke up looking like this:
I’m a pretty confident girl, right?
Back-tracking through the stories I’ve told on this blog, I’ve been photographed topless in Manhattan in the winter, done my first spanking video as a model, traveled to San Francisco to attend the Folsom Street Fair, shot with several other spanking production companies, gotten hot wax poured on me, a needle shoved into my body and cups full of suction on my back and moved across the country.
My image appears in various states of undress and bruisedness quite a few places on the internet. I’m perfectly acceptable showing a lot of sides of myself in photographic form.
Publicly, I’m as okay with being this girl:
As I am being this girl:
I know that there’s been an interruption to my regularly scheduled posting recently. It’s been a time consuming process getting adjusted to my new life, and I had a few difficult things happen which made the process of creating stability more difficult than it would previously have been. As a result, I withdrew from writing things for publication for a spell.
I’ve written very vaguely before about the presence of HIV/AIDS in my life. While my HIV status is negative, I have known people with HIV/AIDS and been very close to them for the entirety of my life.
Today is International AIDS Day. Since this day last year, two people I knew died of AIDS. First was a girl who I was not particularly close friends with, but who taught me a considerable amount in both life and death. You can read about the ending of her life here if you use fetlife.
A few weeks ago, while I was in the process of my cross-country move, my elder brother also died of AIDS. He became infected with HIV due to IV drug use when he was a teen and passed away a few months shy of his twenty eighth birthday. While his health had been touch and go for several years, he was in excellent health when I left Los Angeles. He went into the hospital due to excessive sleepiness and inability to stay awake while I was driving to Salt Lake City. I texted him that night with great concern and he told me that he was fine and would be home soon. By the next day, a viral infection had swept through his body and his weakened immune system could do nothing to defend against it. He was seen by a hospice nurse by the end of that night and passed away several days later.
I was able to have a final conversation with him while he was still conscious, during which he told me that he was alright with dying, that he loved me very much, and that he was proud of me for the woman I’ve become. I told him that he had always been a great source of inspiration for me and that he was one of the most admirable men I’ve known.
The past few weeks since his death have been extremely difficult for me because the death was so removed from me: I was unable to be with him when he ceased to exist or to see his body and his memorial service won’t be held for another several months. It took me a lot of work to believe that he was really dead, to know it in my bones and be alright with it. I think I’m there now, and if not, I’m very nearly. I’m perky and happy and enjoying my life here, making sandwiches and getting spanked. I’m having fun with HeatherFeather and Malignus and making new friends in my new community. The world is full of potential right now. There’s terror in the idea that my brother will never again be just a phone call away, but there’s also happiness in the fact that he won’t suffer from his horrible illness again and in the simple fact that I had the joy of knowing and loving him. He was ready to die and unafraid. So few get that privilege.
I’ve been keeping this information to myself to prevent it from seeming like I was seeking attention, to avoid platitudes of comfort and to simply not focus on the dark and the terrible, but today seemed like a good time to let everyone know.
Please remember to know your HIV status and to practice Universal Precaution when dealing with blood, semen, vaginal fluid, breast milk and other body fluids which may be tainted with one of the above (for example, saliva from a mouth with an open wound). Use clean needles and wrap it before you tap it. Seek medical attention if you believe that you’ve been exposed. Educate the people in your community about HIV prevention.
Additionally, remember to fight HIV, not people with HIV. There are a myriad of situations in which HIV is transmitted and it isn’t a disease that suggests that someone is a bad person. Anyone can get HIV. It’s hard to remember just what that means until you’re burying someone you love.
I’m proud of the lives which were lived by my friends who have been killed by this disease despite their illness, and I have great hope for a future where medical advances and education lessen the impact that it has on our world.
I was talking with a friend about limits in preparation for Wednesday’s PTNG Discussion Social on limits, negotiation and consent. She asked me, seriously, if I personally knew what my limits are. Honestly, it was a hard question for me. I don’t like the idea of being labeled as a “hard player”, despite the fact that I know I sometimes am one, but I know that a lot of my friends, especially my local friends, see me that way. I’m certainly not one of those “no limits crazy people” that sometimes show up on fetlife, claiming they’d let their Dom do anything to them. I do have some sense of self preservation: it’s just less than a lot of other people’s. I had to admit that there are some limits that I’m not sure of. I don’t mean what types of play or activity I am or am not comfortable with. I find that to be straight forward and easy to categorize. I do so like this:
Ethical Limits:The following are things that I won’t do, even under duress, because I feel that they are ethically inappropriate. These limits are constant and universal.* Play involving parties that do not or are unable to consent. This includes play involving minors, animals, the dead, the unconscious et cetera. * Play where the validity of consent is questionable. This includes people who are not mentally stable enough to give proper consent or those who have a track record of consenting to activities and then retroactively “removing” their consent to play the victim. I believe that consent must remain cut, dry and clear for a scene to function.
Solid (Unbending) Limits: I don’t like to use the word “never.” There was a time when I had “themes of bodily possession or belonging to another individual” on this list, and now belonging to Malignus is one of the greatest joys in my life. I’m always open to the idea that I could change dramatically in the future. That said, I can’t see myself ever doing these things if my life keeps going the way it is right now: * Sexual themes or contact in play. * Degradation or humiliation.* Inserting anything into any of my orifices, including my mouth.* The sharing of bodily substances other than my tears and blood.* Contact with my sexual organs, including my breasts, of any sort during a scene.* Religious, spiritual or occult themes in play. * Permanent bodily damage or transformation. * Consensual non-consent.* Infantilism.* Age-play where a character is younger than teenaged.* High Protocol.
Hard Limits: These are things that I have absolutely no desire to ever do, but that I would engage in if sufficiently driven by submission and in a physically and emotionally safe environment. Those in bold carry significant emotional weight:*Wet and Messy play, especially including food.*Suction or vacuum play.*Electrical play.*Breath or choking play.*Drowning or water-boarding scenes.*Fire play (including fire cupping).*Knife/ Sharp object play.*Whipping and flogging (or any kind of impact play on the back).*Needle play.*Sensory deprivation.*Medical play.*Things involving feet.*Tickling.*Confinement.
Soft Limits:These things aren’t my preference, but I’m willing to do them if they are useful in a particular situation or are for a video:*Full nudity during a scene.*Teenage ageplay.*Bondage or restraints.
These are the limits that I understand. The ones that are lost on me are the limits of physical tolerance within a scene which is emotionally comfortable. There has to be an end to what I can take, right? If there is, it’s eluded me thus far. I’ve never reached the moment where a spanking becomes physically unbearable before (although I did once reach the point where I had to throw up because I had eaten way too much ice cream cake before the scene and another time because the emotional side of things wasn’t right for me). I’ve touched on the rumored “terminal hurt” –– the place where the body simply stops processing pain and things feel awesome, once, and it was an amazing experience. But I often hear people talk about thinking that they “can’t take any more” and that is something that I don’t feel. I choose what I can endure. I have never seen a photo of a scene or created a scenario in my mind that I did not have full confidence that I could endure unless it was permanently damaging, against my other limits or far too dangerous. I’m not being cocky: I know what my abilities are, if I desire to use them. I’ve been severely injured in the past (from reasons not related to the scene!) in ways that the majority of people I interact with will never experience. I endured. I’m able to endure a considerable amount. What influences me, what creates my not yet understood limits, isn’t my ability: it’s my desire.
I’ve come to the conclusion that what I can take is based entirely on what I want to take, which makes the idea of the end point very flexible and sort of unnecessary. There’s romanticism in the idea of “going all the way” and finding the end of what I am willing to endure, the place where I no longer have any desire to continue. If I enjoy pushing myself, it would follow that I would enjoy pushing myself all the way. The problem with this is that it isn’t practical. It’s a nice fantasy, but it would involve an amount of force that would certainly be injurious and the satisfaction of proving what I can take wouldn’t be worth the effort and possible physical consequences to me.
As it is, I take pleasure in engaging in play which is severe and “pushing myself” from time to time. It isn’t my usual thing. I don’t consider myself a particularly hard player in my daily life. When I do receive spankings that are particularly severe, I have the confidence of knowing that no matter what happens, it is something that I can take. I don’t need to have physical evidence to know that. I really only play to that level of intensity with Malignus, and I trust him entirely. Perhaps more importantly, I trust myself to be responsible for my own well-being if it comes down to it, and to endure appropriately if it does not.
Whether you’re seen by others as a hard player or not, do you know where you draw the line? Are you comfortable when others mark their limits in vastly different places than you do? I’ve often been uncomfortable talking about the level of play that I’m alright with because I fear that others will judge me negatively for it. Thoughts on that?