Letting Natty get spanked

I was being quite naughty tonight as I'm not supposed to be online much this week except for the occasional blogging. But, alas, I ended up blog and websurfing, which I said I wasn't going to do, but I think ended up having the effect that staying off the Internet was supposed to have.

No, really. Honest. ;)

Okay, I ended up at Z's Mind Candy , where longtime SSS poster Zprymantis has all of her stories. I was reading one of her newer ones, "So You Want to Call Me Mommy" (I often think about being spanked by a "mommy" or "auntie"). While the way the story/essay goes isn't quite how ageplay works for me (and I suspect ageplay wasn't necessarily the intent), it did make me think of my own ageplay experiences.

I have a dress I sewed last spring that's cotton-candy pink with blue flowers and a white rounded collar. I have frilly white ankle socks. And, of course, white cotton panties. The age I usually imagine being (the "Natty" me) is ten -- just like in Z's story. As she described giving a bedtime story, I imagined being spanked in my dress, my white cotton knickers being pulled down my fat, pale white legs while my frilly-socked ankles kick slightly. Or being in my jammies, my hair in pigtails, my flowery jim-jam bottoms being slid down to my knees and a firm hand and hard hairbrush reddening my fleshy alabaster cheeks.

And during my ageplay spanking reveries, I'm usually crying. Which, of course, has not ever happened during our real life age playing. As I sort of meditated on this tonight, I thought about how what always happens during a spanking is that the adult-me -- "Michelle" -- always takes over.

I mean, that's how I've survived. How my siblings have survived.

Michelle is the one who helped/s her mother make sense of the world. Who took care of her infant sister during the summer when she was 10 and sometimes during the school year when the babysitter was sick. Who took care of her little brother when he came home from the hospital with a heart monitor when she was 13. Who fed him through a tube in his stomach. Who gave him CPR when he had an asthma attack that left him unconscious when he was 2 and she was 14 (though managed to call 911 in time for the other attacks). Who had to always keep her abusive stepfather happy. Who learned how to live with pain and frequent illness after a severe ankle fracture when she was 10 and debilitating pain and chronic illness after a surgery gone bad on that ankle when she was 26. (And then there's the whole mess with her biological father that she didn't know about until she was 11 and he didn't know about until she was 18 -- but that's for the novel I'm writing as even Michelle didn't quite known how to handle that one.)

Michelle gets through all the hard stuff. She's the survivor.

And it's all about getting through the spanking, right?

Maybe Michelle has become the over-protective parent of Natty. Who shelters her too much. Who pushes her out of what she thinks is harm's way when really it's just what she needs.

So, I was trying to limit my time on the Internet this week in order to focus on learning more about mindfulness and meditation, as well as connect more with my emotional self (something my therapist and acupuncturist have been clamoring for me to do and seemed a good Lenten activity).

Well, I think I did the latter a bit tonight.

Even if I started out being naughty and avoiding it.

And maybe when/if I ever get spanked for it, Michelle will stand back and make/let Natty get the spanking she so desperately needs.