As you all know, in the past year and a half or so, I’ve become really shitty at updating my blog. There are tons and tons of reasons for it, which I think I often explain when I’m talking about this. There are two main ones, though.
The first is time. I’m a busy girl, and I’m glad to be. I pack my days full of doing administrative work for myself, shooting, sessioning, house keeping, cat cuddling, writing, visiting friends and working on two projects that I don’t want to mention until they are finished but are very time consuming. I spend half of my year with Paul, visiting with him for three months at a time before he’s gone for another three. This ends up meaning that when Paul *is* here, I get wrapped up in wanting to spend all my free time with him, which I honestly think is totally legitimate. And in addition to Paul, I’m lucky enough to have Rafa and Z nearby, and, in case I haven’t mentioned it here, to have Z as my girlfriend again (we dated, broke up around the time that I was moving to South Dakota and recently started to date again). Having three significant others in one city means that I spend a lot of time with at least one of my partners. I have to learn how to build blogging into my daily activities once again, and it’s been a slow process, but I’m going to keep trying!
The second reason is vulnerability. When I started this blog, I was happy to sit down and just talk about everything that was going on in my life. This was something that slowly changed. My ex didn’t want me to write about certain parts of my life. Others seemed off topic. Others seemed to personal, too vulnerable. Things got to a point where my style changed and I only wrote encapsulated little stories or thought pieces. I love writing those things, and really, they’re always going to be my best posts, but I’ve decided that I want to start writing about my day to day life more.
There are some things that I strictly won’t talk about: what happens during sessions, for example, is strictly confidential, even if it’s funny or poignant. Similarly, I won’t share stories that aren’t mine to share: I won’t talk about things that are going on in my friends’ and partners’ lives unless I have their explicit permission to discuss it.
But, after that header, I’m ready to launch into talking about things. So, in other words, very little of this post is actually about spanking, so you might possibly find it boring.
Paul went back to England on Monday. The last week of him being here was mixed between trying to get as many things done as possible and me wanting to spend about 90 percent of my time like this:
Paul didn’t mind, of course. He wants to cuddle me just as much as I want to him. We snuggled and he spent a long time reassuring me that everything is, of course, going to be alright. I do require a lot of that, and it makes me feel silly sometimes, but that’s just me. Paul also spent a lot of time sitting in the yard and reading. The weather has been warm recently, even for Los Angeles and it had been sunny. He said that wanted to load up on sunshine to save for the long, gloomy winter in England that he had ahead of him, and I told him that he was being like Frederick the mouse. He was unfamiliar with this story, so I told it to him.
On Sunday, Paul obviously had plans for me. He had woken up earlier than me, as usual, and I laid in bed longer than I needed to listening to the sounds of him moving around the house. I was keenly aware that soon, I would we be waking up to quiet, and I took comfort in the reminder that he was there with me for at least a little while longer. When I got up, I discovered that he had laid a school uniform out for me. It was one of the ones from the Northern Spanking wardrobe, complete with a cute pink and blue striped tie. I hadn’t made the bed that morning because The Baby Monster was sleeping on it, and he looked particularly cute and I didn’t want to disturb him. Not making the bed is one of the most common reasons for us to segue into a play punishment spanking scene, and so it began, with Paul pulling me over his lap and lifting my rather short and form fitting navy blue skirt.
He began to spank me with his hand, no harder than the usual for fun spanking, but within a few moments, I burst into tears. I was in a state of total and complete vulnerability, and I couldn’t handle very much playing. He spanked me for a while, letting me cry out what really should have been all my tears. When he finished, he pulled me up into his lap and cuddled on him desperately. “How do you feel?” he asked me, as has done from time to time since the very first day that we played together off camera. This time, for the first time, I didn’t have an answer right away. I did feel happy to have been spanked, and to be existing in the comfortable bubble of being taken care of. At the same time, though, I felt sad. That was the only word for it. I was sad. I knew that Paul had to go, and I really didn’t want to make him feel guilty about it. I just couldn’t keep myself together, as much as I wanted to be able to put everything away.
Paul had planned to spend most of the day playing together, but he altered this plan when he realized that I just wasn’t up for it. Instead, he spent the time looking after me, and doing everything he could to make me feel safe and secure. We decided to go out to eat at one of our favorite spots (Curry House, for those of you who want Los Angeles restaurant recommendations from me and like Japanese food). Before we ate, we went into the Japanese bookstore, where Paul looked at some historical books and I found the section where they keep the “non nude erotic art”, which is essentially tease erotica, mostly focusing on school uniforms and upskirts. The first book I had purchased from that section, School Girl Complex, didn’t actually include any pictures with panties in it, much to my disappointment, but it was incredibly suggestively erotic and very beautiful artwork. This time, though, I found one that while it didn’t include any explicit nudity, had lots of underwear photos in it. I happily showed it to Paul, who said “That’s coming home with us.” I would take a picture of the book to show you, but Paul took it with him to England.
Dinner was delicious, as always. We always have the exact same meal there: hamburger curry for and a fruit punch, chicken breast katsu curry for Paul, and a Sapporo. My mood was significantly lighter as we ate, and I focused on the fact that we’d get to talk a lot and that I would keep myself very busy while he was away. Once we’d finished eating, we stopped into the local market, where Paul bought me candy and a Re-ment raccoon figure for my collection of little chumbly animals. From there, I noticed that one of my favorite stores was still open, and dragged Paul over to it. If there’s one store where the majority of my dresses comes from, it’s this one. Besides selling cute, girly things, they have a cat in the shop, and I always want to go in and pet him. It’s a very good business technique, really. I’m friendly with the shop keeper, and we ended up talking for a while. She knows that Paul is my boyfriend and that he goes back and forth to England, and we talked about this for a while. She asked how old we both were, and we joked a bit about our twenty year age gap. I’ve been coming to this store since the first time that I lived in Los Angeles, so over five years. The store keeper told Paul “Before, she was really miserable. You could see it in her face. Now she’s always smiling, look at how happy you make her.”
It’s true. Even when things aren’t easy, I feel so overwhelming lucky to be so in love– and so loved! I ended up buying a cardigan with cats on it (obviously) and then we headed home, where we had some “alone time” and then snuggled up for bed.
The next day, I made us brunch before we had to leave for the airport. I had worried that I was going to come completely undone, but I was alright. Paul had successfully brought me back to feeling secure and focusing on being loved, not on the distance that was about to separate us. I was surprisingly fine as I drove home. I was maybe a little bit numb, and I took the evening to myself, fucking around and playing video games while wearing my bunny suit (because that’s what you do when home alone, right?)
The next day was a busy one: in the morning, Maddy Marks and I went hiking, then we met up with her boyfriend, Siq, to go get lunch. After lunch, Maddy and I went to get our nails done, which made me feel tidy and pretty again after having felt slobby for a couple days while I had broken nails. Maddy hung out with me right until I had to leave for a bondage shoot, and after shooting I went out for delicious sushi. I was overjoyed and well fed, and I came home, where I did a bit of work and then went to bed.
Except it didn’t work. I have spent most of my life with circadian rhythm issues. For whatever reason, despite having a sternly enforced bedtime, it’s very hard for me to go to bed if there isn’t someone else there to remind me to. When Paul is here with me, he doesn’t even need to tell me to go to bed a lot of the time: I just tell him that I’m feeling sleepy and go get ready, sometimes before my bedtime. But for whatever reason, in an empty house I just don’t get sleepy. I grow tired and weary, but my brain remains awake. I was still awake when the sun came up the next day. I ended up dozing a little bit, then getting up and making myself something to eat, after which I pretty much immediately decided to go back to sleep. As soon as I got there, though, missionaries knocked on my door and woke me up. I hid under the blankets. Eventually I fell into a weird, groggy sleep full of strange dreams (those have been plaguing me recently) and I got up around 3:00 PM. I woke up with a headache, thinking it was caused by my weird sleep pattern. I soon realized it was a garden variety migraine, though, and medicated myself accordingly. Eventually, I perked up and got a bunch of work done.
Besides being sad about Paul heading back to England, I’m melancholy this time of year because it’s the time of year when my brother passed away three years ago. LOL day made me sad: I remember writing my first LOL day post while my brother was in hospice, just a couple of days before he left us. I’ve accepted that he’s gone and moved on, but that doesn’t mean that my heart will ever stop feeling like part of it is dead, too.
Fortunately, I’ve got a lot of stuff going on in the next few days to keep me distracted.
PS- when I went to label this I was overjoyed to discover that there was already a tag for “bunny suit.” I’m the best. 😛
Before I get into this post, there are a few things I need to address.
First of all, I’ve been a very bad girl when it comes to blogging the past few months. There’s nothing less attractive than a half effort. I’ve had an awful lot going on: a series of unfortunate events, some health struggles, different hours at work than I was used to, and the fact that Malignus and I have begun to launch a new business. I’ve been dedicating a lot of time to other things. That said, my blog is very important to me, and I intend to return to updating regularly.
Secondly, I know that you all want to hear about TASSP. I want to tell you about it, too! Unfortunately, I’m saving that post until I receive a few photos, and I have something else that I want to address briefly before that.
I left TASSP on Sunday. I arrived in Omaha, and then Malignus and I drove back to Sioux Falls and went to bed around 4 the next morning. That afternoon, I got up and went to the airport to fly to NYC to visit my family of origin in New Jersey and then go into the city for some shooting and visiting friends. During the time that I was in Sioux Falls, I basically dumped all my crap from Texas out and onto the floor of the spare room and then repacked it with appropriate family attire.
I don’t enjoy visiting with my family, especially after my oldest brother died last winter. That brother was the part of the family that I connected with. I value my other brother, but we don’t share the same kind of closeness. My mother herself has never been emotionally well in my lifetime, and she’s caused me a great many difficulties in my lifetime. I don’t believe that going into those details here would be appropriate, but know you this: things have been more often bad than good between us.
Yesterday, I had a rough day. Last time that I was here, my brother’s death was still a present topic. We were at his funeral. This time, it was as if he really never existed to everyone else, while I was hyper aware of all the things that reminded me of him. Despite my acceptance of his death, I caught myself longing for him; the feeling of my body cut up by want inside. My mother ragged on me for small things over and over again, she invaded my privacy, she was critical of my body (this is her favorite hobby. She was a professional dancer and I did not inherit that build, and she takes every chance she gets to remind me of this). It kinda sucked. Then, things got serious.
While I was in the bath, my mother went through my suitcase to find any laundry that might be there (so she said) and, while at it, happened upon a stray cane that had been left in the bag. It’s half length and not very noticeable. She wasn’t entirely sure what it could be for, however, so she looked up the brand, found photos of me on the brand’s site and panicked. She was in hysterics, telling me that she wanted to have me committed to a mental hospital because I’m a danger to myself.
I felt very similarly to the way I did when I first found out that my brother was near death: I’d always known on some level that this moment was going to come, but I sure as hell didn’t expect it when I woke up that morning. On many levels, I was prepared for this. I’ve always been detached and I don’t actually NEED anything from her. My familiar connection is more based on filial piety and social constructs at this point. These things didn’t stop me from calling Malignus in tears as soon as I ran out of the house.
I ended up going to New York that night, to stay with PeachyKeane and Scotchgrove. They’ve been extremely welcoming and gracious to me. I explained to the doctor that I am in sound health and that my mother is simply not accepting the choices made by an adult and that was the end of that. I posted about what happened to fetlife tonight, and I got a wonderful outpouring of kind words. That’s really the reason for this post more than anything else: I want to thank everyone who posted or messaged me with their support. It reinforced the lesson that I needed the most at this moment:
The scene is my family. When I grow, it loves me for it. When I fail at things, it pushes me back up to try again. When I’m strange, it’s stranger. When I’m afraid, it’s safe. When I need love, there’s love for me. When I need understanding, there are many who have gone through what I have.
As an entity, you’re all I could ever ask for, and I love you.
I’m also forever grateful for the people who make up my D/s list. The people I’ve grown close to are truly beautiful people. I realized when my mother was in hysterics that there is nothing in the world that matters more to me than the people I know from the scene (especially now that my brother, my closest family member is gone). I’m a very lucky girl to have such wonderful people in my life.
I’m not happy with the way things have gone with this incident (between my mom and I) and I don’t think that it’s over yet. But I’m okay despite it. When I was a girl, I was terrified that I’d be found out and put away for what I do (or, at the time, what I wanted to do). Now, those threats don’t really scare me because I’m an adult, and I know that I can and do take care of myself. If anything, this is rather freeing. I have confidence in myself and even less to fear.
And I have you guys. And that rocks.
TASSP post will happen as soon as I get some pictures from a few people! Keep your eyes open! It’ll include lots of amazing adventures including me, Malignus, Pandora Blake, Ten Amorette, Amelia Jane Rutherford, Heather Michaels, Christy Cutie, Shay Elizabeth and lots more awesome people! There’s even a puppy! Spankings and a puppy! What could be better?!
<3 <3 <3
For the past several months, one of my all-time best friends (and fellow spanking model), Heather Michaels, has lived with Malignus and I. There have been a lot of awesome times and adventures during that time. My sisters in my family of origin are both considerably older than me and also suffer from a condition known as “being total bitches” so I never had a close relationship with them, but Heather has always been exactly like what I imagine a sister is supposed to be. It doesn’t matter what we’re supposed to be– she’s part of the family that I chose for myself.
Unfortunately for me, but on a very exciting note for her, Heather left Sioux Falls on Friday to move to Texas with her boyfriend, who had been out of the country for work since before they started dating. Malignus and I took her to the airport to pick him up and got to meet him for the first time. He’s a really awesome guy and I’m very happy for them. Unfortunately, pretty much as soon as we got to the airport, I started to get a fairly severe migraine, so I sort of shook his hand, went home, threw up a bunch and then curled up in the bed and died for the rest of the night.
The next day, I was supposed to go to work and then the four of us were supposed to go to the other side of the state to visit various sites including Bear Country USA. The list of the happiest days of my life include when I got spanked for the first time, when I entered University (I find this to be happier than my graduation because the fact that I had to leave the college after graduating was pretty tragically heartbreaking for me so that was very bittersweet) and the day that I spent at Bear Country in August with Malignus. We also went there recently for the Cub Festival, where they didn’t actually let me hold the cubs but they did let me pet them and I kissed one when no one was looking.
Anyway, I was so sick that I decided out of my own free will that I needed to stay home for the weekend instead of driving out to see all these awesome things (read- baby and adult bears). It’s no wonder that originally, Malignus wanted me to stay with friends who live closer to the hospital before I convinced him that I was going to be alright!
EVEN MORE sad than the fact that this meant I didn’t get to see bears is the fact that this meant that I didn’t get to have a weekend to say goodbye to Heather. I spent last weekend at Sternwood with her, but without the idea that she’d be leaving soon at the front of my brain. I already miss her like crazy and it’s only been a day and a half since she left.
I wanted to take a moment to celebrate this very special woman who I’ve been very fortunate to have in my life.
Heather is very sweet and she cares about the people in her life with a sense of devotion that is rare and beautiful.
She’s energetic and can really get behind having a good adventure. I love hearing her say “YES! Let’s do that!” when we’re brainstorming ideas for ways that we can have fun or do something cool.
Our minds are very in-tune when it comes to our spanko nature, and we can’t go anywhere without finding things that could be used as implements.
Heather is strong without being threatening. I’ve never felt like she was going to punch someone in the face, but she carries herself with a sense of confidence which makes it undeniable that you shouldn’t fuck with her. (She did tell a hippy to shut up on a plane once, though. That was for the win.)
Heather is fun to very nearly get into trouble with in real life (oh look! We somehow got everything done at the last minute!) and to get into lots of “for fun” trouble with during shoots.
Heather is fun to get spanked with and her reactions are very powerful and genuine and also kind of cute. She’s a fun Top when we play that way, even if she hasn’t developed a great sense of rhythm yet. 😛
I think that she could probably run from South Dakota to Texas and be just fine, because she’s crazy athletic.
Heather is a really beautiful woman. It’s clear to everyone that looks at her that physically, she’s a knock out, but to me, the more important beauty comes from her positive energy and the fact that she can’t hide what a good person she is.
I know we’ll be seeing each other before too long, and we’ll be in each other’s lives forever. My love and affections for her could not be more genuine and I know that distance won’t diminish them.
This post is, as my holiday and special occasion posts tend to be, slightly belated. Oh well! Happy St. Patrick’s Day, Blogland!
St. Patrick’s Day is a holiday that I primarily stopped celebrating after I graduated from college. In Los Angeles, I first lived in an extremely hispanic neighborhood, then in Chinatown. Not a lot of Irish going on in those parts. I also greatly decreased the amount of getting excessively intoxicated that I was up to after graduation, and what kind of fun can be had on St. Patrick’s day without getting totally plastered?
The answer is spanking fun. The whole thing started with a shirt that scotchgrove got me which reads “Spank Me I’m Irish.” To get the question out of the way before I get into it, I’m only a quarter Irish. The rest of me is English, Polish and Panamanian. I’m still Irish enough to get spanked for it, as far as I’m concerned! This is my second spanking related t-shirt. This one, however, is plain looking enough that scotchgrove encouraged me to wear it in public. I set my mind on doing so.
On Friday I had the day off from work. Malignus left me with a list of things to do, which I affirmed that I would accomplish. I then took a nap (because my sleep schedule had remained disturbed) and when I got up and got ready, I decided it would be a good time to take some photos with the t-shirt and a pair of St. Patrick’s Day panties that I picked up. I set up my laptop’s camera and did a mini photoshoot in the bedroom by myself. I then figured out how to make a photo collage online.
Shortly after I completed this, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find the UPS man standing there with a very long box. There aren’t nice things that come in boxes like that. Besides, scotchgrove had been threatening me with more murder-presents (horrible implements as gifts) for a while. The title of this post gives away what was in said long box: it was a sjambok of my very own. It was hard to be appreciative.
Now, as a general rule, I don’t talk about disciplinary things on my blog unless they’re part of a larger point. This is because I don’t want to glorify my bad behavior (or sometimes even share something like that publicly) and because discipline is a very private and personal part of my life. I’m going to deviate from that standard for a bit because this story is entertaining and very worth sharing.
Imagine that you’re a girl in a D/s or DD relationship (perhaps you needn’t imagine at all!). Now imagine that you’ve just received the worst implement imaginable as a gift when you were at home waiting for your partner to return from work. You have a set of things you are expected to get done. What would you do?
If you have half a brain and don’t like getting hit with sjamboks, your response would probably be something along the lines of “get my chores done before doing anything else.”
scotchgrove described the situation the best when I told him ex post facto: “For such a smart girl,” he told me, “you can be pretty stupid sometimes.”
I figured I could spend more time on the internet and talking on the phone and doing other unnecessary stuff before I needed to get everything done. It’s not a good skill to have, but I am kind of a pro at hustling chores out at the last minute.
|That’s pretty much me.|
My confidence got the best of me and I ended up wasting the day away. I was still at the grocery store when Malignus got home from work. Going to said store was the first thing from my list of chores that I had done all day.
On the way home, my brain could pretty much be documented like this:
My powers of deduction and ability to predict events were rather flawless. Upon my return home, I promptly confessed that I had not completed my chores, and Malignus promptly provided me with clearly required discipline using (SURPRISE) my brand new sjambok.
To my credit, I lay still through the approximately 20 strokes I received like a boss. I guess that’s not really to my credit: it’s not that hard to submit to something when you know that you were REALLY dumb and REALLY deserve it.
None the less, I was clearly extremely contrite when my correction was complete:
Meanwhile, Heather and I were inspired by my little photoshoot and decided to do something that we’d long talked about but never actually done: start making videos. Heather went out and got us matching green panties. I dug out all our green implements. We both found green t-shirts. We had a plan and we were ready to execute it the next day.
On St. Patrick’s Day proper, we filmed a series of three videos that have our “signature” lighthearted, friendly nature to them. We’re still getting used to making videos, so there are some imperfections, but all in all, I think you’ll enjoy them. Here they are:
I want to add that this is my first experience uploading things on spankingtube. I was pretty intimidated because I’ve heard a lot of horror stories about people being assholes on that site, but so far I can’t complain about how we’ve been received. I’d be down with higher ratings on my videos, but I know that they aren’t perfect either.
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.
Content Warning: While it contains nothing objectionable, this post is a bit sad in places. Still, it’s important to me that I get a chance to share things, from the very start, to the present: even the sad parts.
When I was about ten, my life took a turn in a more complicated direction. My home life became unstable and I ended up living in a group home. I stayed there on and off for the next few years. It was an extremely awkward time in my life: I had begun to become aware of all the ways in which I was different than my peers. I had always known that I came from a less stable background than most of the other children I interacted with, but as I had more exposure to other people’s families, I became distressingly more aware of how little my own life conformed to society’s standards. It was during this time that I began to separate the ways in which I was different because of my circumstances: the things and experiences that I was not able to have but other children were, the lack of stability and comfort that I received at home et cetera, and the ways in which I was different because of who I was as a person: the fact that I preferred to read books or daydream than to socialize in groups or play sports and the fact that I wanted to learn everything while other children were satisfied to leave things unexplored. During this early self examination, I discovered two other things about me that I perceived as both inherent to who I was and socially unacceptable: I wanted to think about spanking all the time, and I was more interested in looking sexually at other girls and female celebrities than I was at boys and men.
At ten, I was beginning to go through puberty, I was at the height of my social vulnerability, and I had been thrust into a situation where many of my peers were older than I was and, due to the difficult backgrounds that tend to land children in places like a group home, many were aggressive, angry and judgmental. Furthermore, I had no privacy whatsoever: I shared a room with five other girls in my age range. I still attended a public school, where I found myself even more of an outcast than I had been before. At “home,” I was an outcast among outcasts: I was constantly teased for my bookish nature and my strange sense of humor. It was during this time that I fell deeply obsessed with video games as a secondary form of escapism, since I no longer had constant access to the library. I did, however, have a Gameboy Pocket and a copy of Pokemon Red. It was the only game I had, but it didn’t matter. It was the only game I needed, and I played the hell out of it. When my Pokemon all reached max level, I started the game over.
It was during this time that I discovered the book Boy by Roald Dahl. I found it on one of the shelves in my classroom and, as soon as I discovered the content, was afraid for anyone to see me reading it, so I stole it, brought it “home” and hid it under my mattress. I read it in any moment of privacy I could procure, flinging it back into its hiding spot when I heard the door open to the bedroom. For those who are unfamiliar with the book, Boy is Dahl’s autobiography of his childhood years. It is meant to provide the same kind of perspective on the world that most of Dahl’s books offer to children: it presents the world as a place that is full of both wonder and terror and which is dichotomized between people who will do sadistic harm to youth simply because they can and those who will always love and protect children.
|Yeah, I still have it!|
That said, it is also a very thinly veiled attack on corporal punishment as practiced in the English Public School system. The text was written and published during a time when the banning of caning in English schools was still a hot-button issue, and Dahl presents the historical tradition on which the practice is based as a series of horrific tortures that he underwent. I am in complete agreement with Dahl’s opinion, although I admit that his text is emotionally manipulative. The caning scenes are the most detailed in the book, and there is one every couple of chapters. They are presented as intentionally sadistic and extremely damaging to the students, who are young, defenseless and terrified of their superiors.Until Boy, the only text I’d ever seen relating to spanking or corporal punishment was the dictionary definition of “spanking” which I frequently looked up when I could ensure that I was alone. I just ate that book up. I loved it. I was obsessed with it. I eventually got brazen enough to carry it in my book bag, and I would excuse myself from class to read the beating scenes in the bathroom. Boy put a huge spin on my fantasies for a long time. I began to focus on boarding school scenarios rather obsessively, sometimes thinking about them so long and so obsessively that I would be unable to sleep for days on end. With the amount of desire to be spanked that I had and the entire lack of ability to express it, or even gain support about the way I was feeling, my obsession became unhealthy.
|After all these years, my Dictionary still opens to page 508.|
Boy had another influence on me, though: it dramatically increased the level of shame that I felt for my desires. The situation was made difficult because I did not know that consensual spanking play existed yet. I could only fantasize about the non-consensual, and I knew that spanking children and non consensual corporal punishment were against my morals. Dahl was clearly deeply traumatized by his experiences being caned as a boy, yet I could not stop thinking of them and being filled with a joyful excitement. I believed it was wrong for me to be so obsessed with behavior that had harmed others. I did not want to be part of something hurtful. I felt deeply ashamed of myself for this. Combined with my extreme lack of self confidence and the awkwardness of being among peers who did not accept me, I came to the conclusion that no one could ever know about my spanking fantasies for any reason. If it ever came to light, I resolved to kill myself.
I know, it sounds pretty silly now, but I felt a dark desperation in my heart. I couldn’t imagine living my life with a desire for something as strong as my longing to be spanked and no way to fulfill it. I had tried to come up with ways that I could receive spankings, but, since I had no knowledge of the kink community, I always came up empty handed. I wanted something dark, seemingly immoral and impossible, and I feared it would consume me.
Shortly after I “hit bottom” regarding my feelings about myself as a spanko, I met my first girlfriend and began to have my first loving, positive relationship. Although it had nothing to do with spanking, the lessened feeling of internal loneliness and alienation took some of the edge off things, and I was able to tone things down to a healthier level.
I talk frequently about “celebrating” being a spanko when I engage in play, and that’s extremely important to me. Every time I bare my bottom, I’m preparing for something that is at the very center of my nature. I am not ashamed of who I am or what I want. My Top is a person like me, an insider to my spanking existence, and we’re going to do this now because it is the thing that we want and enjoy and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s pure bliss. Sometimes, when I’m over a lap and getting spanked my mind flashes with the thought: this is real. I wanted something I thought I could never have, and in the end, I found something better than anything I had ever dreamed of.