Saturday, October 27, 2007

Flipped switch

Wow. Hottest post I've read in a long time. Best orgasm I've had in a long time.

Omg -- I'm becoming a guy! Reading other people's blogs and wanking on a Saturday night!

Seriously, though, while reading that post I was thinking about fucking and being fucked at the same time. Probing and being probed. Whipping and being whipped. Two seemingly contradictory turn-ons simultaneously. I mean, being dominated -- particularly if it involves my ass -- has long been a powerful turn-on. More recently the idea of imposing myself, my raw, rapacious desire and will on another body, is also damn titillating. But to feel them both at the same time...wow. Just wow.

This switching thing is so disorienting, though. I was always so comfortable as the naughty little girl. The emotional terrain familiar. I didn't have to think much about what I felt. Everything was just second nature.

Well, I guess now I'm learning a third. ::grin::

Thursday, October 25, 2007

S & M in space

So, I'm in the kitchen making chicken soup tonight with the CBS Evening news on in the background when a story (the link is a video that's preceded by commercial) comes on about how women are now simultaneously commanding the International Space Station and the Space Shuttle (yay feminism!). And they mention one of the magic spanko words: whip. Apparently the Russians gave the female commander of the space station a whip as a symbol of her authority. "Remember, you are the boss," they said as they presented a single-tail.

Now that could make for a very interesting spanking story. A femdom one methinks.

And speaking of femdom, my dommey phase is over for the moment. And my spanking mojo is so back. Just 18 more days. I shall definitely have to be on my best behavior. Or not... ::grin::

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

The other side

I think I have discovered a cure for my tentative spanking mojo: topping.

As we usually do when A.'s arrival is imminent, we start sharing fantasies that we'd like to act out when he gets here. Granted, half of it we never actually get around to doing, but the planning itself is quite fun. The other day as I was laying in bed and thinking about evil things to do to A., I found myself getting rather aroused as I imagined whipping him. Indeed picturing a bunch of rosey-purple marks welling up on his pasty ass and thighs made me positively wet.

So this is what it's like on the other side.

To be honest, while I have wondered in the past what motivates someone to inflict pain on another, my curiosity rarely extended to a desire to see the view from the other side of the paddle, strap, or cane. Despite a friend's view some years back that the exclusive nature of my role as bottom was "selfish," I've always seen it as a matter of sexual orientation. I've fantasized about getting spanked just about every day of my life since I was six or so. But in all those years I don't think I've ever really fantasized about spanking someone else.

However, as I mentioned back in April, the collusion of chronic illness and A.'s subby moods has brought out an inner domme in me that had not previously existed. And as you can see, now that she's out, she is starting to quite enjoy herself.

For the moment, I may yet wince at the thought of me getting spanked, but I still like the idea of spanking in a general, abstract way. What I've found is that the thought of spanking my partner gives me a personal connection to spanking. Allows me to fantasize about it by proxy as I imagine being the one getting spanked -- sort of like how reading a spanking story works -- without the immediate threat of personally feeling pain. If that makes any sense at all.

I've even figured out how to feed my inner little girl as a top. It started last winter when A. and I had our own Christmas together. I wore a velvet-satin Christmas dress that I made in the early nineties that is not really in style much these days, but always makes me feel very girly. After dinner, when A. said he was feeling subby, I worried that my little girl mood and his subby mood were totally going to clash. However, before I knew it, I started slipping into this demanding, selfish, spoiled little princess. Voila! Princess Natalie was born. And lemme tell ya, she's downright despotic. Perfect for any aspiring masochist.

Maybe it's just the whole yin and yang thing. Maybe it's just that the thought of someone else being spanked is whetting my appetite. But I tell you dear friends, my spanking mojo is becoming less and less tentative. I might -- just might -- even try a little wakin' spankin' tonight before I go to sleep. You could say it's the one way to get a simultaneous view of both sides.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Spanking angst...again

It's been 203 days since I last saw A. That's almost seven months, my friends. If it wasn't for the pictures on my bookshelves and bulletin board, I think I would have forgotten what my beloved even looks like by now. When November 13th rolls around, we will have broken the record for time apart formerly held by the 2004 interlude of 216 days.

But November 13th will be 229 days, so why mention that date rather than November 2nd? Well, that's A's arrival date. Yes, we've finally scrapped together enough money for a transatlantic flight (how on earth have we managed more frequent visits in the past?) and he booked the ticket yesterday morning. There will be cuddling again. Lots of it. And yes, probably some spanking.

It's like life is really starting to feel somewhat normal. Somewhat.

Last week I found myself fantasizing about spanking on a sustained basis again after a month-long hiatus due to yet another bad pain month. By Sunday I was frisky enough to be naughty on the phone with A., earning myself a sort of pseudo-punishment spanking with the ping pong paddle. I was even given a bedtime before he got off the phone to go to bed himself. There in the twilight after saying good night to my sweetie, my fingers wandered. Despite being somewhat nervous that I was still too weak for an orgasm, I went ahead and rubbed and came. And for a moment as I gazed at the graying brick wall outside my patio door, the world felt right again. I was a spanked, disciplined, naughty girl -- the way it's supposed to be.

But then the magic broke. All I could think of was that I'll probably be in the same place five, six months from now: laying on my bed alone in the dark after climbing my way out of the abyss yet again because of another virus or major pain event. It felt daunting. Even a tiny bit hopeless. Any joy spanking had been giving me evaporated.

And it didn't help that the next morning I woke up distressed -- again -- about whether spanking is making these pain events more frequent and more intense by exacerbating the central sensitization at the heart of fibromyalgia. I know I decided awhile back that spanking represents acute pain and that according to at least one study the brain processes chronic and acute pain differently. But, it was just one study. And surgery isn't chronic pain, yet it most definitely exacerbates central sensitization. Yes, I know spanking is nowhere close to surgery. But it is pain. Sometimes a lot of pain. Though, to be fair, the anticoagulants limit just how hard we can play now. So, I dunno. Maybe it all evens out.

I thought I was over all this angsting about returning to spanking after one of these episodes. I thought I'd just learned to accept that I go through them and for awhile afterwards the thought of getting spanked sounds a bit repulsive but I wait it out and then my inner pain slut returns. I must have written about this cycle a gazillion times by now. So why do I feel so afraid this time? So fragile? I mean, I was done being fragile a week or so after having blood clots in my lungs. What was so traumatizing about this time?

I suppose with the clots in my lungs there was some conclusion regarding why I was in so much pain. And now I'm on medication which should keep me from ever getting them again. Not to mention that oddly enough, I actually felt less flu-like than I normally do for the first couple of weeks after the clots.

This time they really don't know what caused that horrific pain at the base of my spine -- so oblivious to potent narcotics -- a month ago. My doctor and I talked about the possibility of endometriosis as the only sort of pattern to it is that it shows up (though not usually as bad) a week or so before my period or whenever I lay on my back (but also at perfectly random times too). So I visited the gynecologist last week, who broke the news that my chances of finding a surgeon willing to do a laproscopy (the only way to definitively diagnose endometriosis, as well as remove endometrial implants) on someone taking Coumadin was slim. And most of the hormonal treatments will make my ME/CFS worse (Eeek! If it gets much worse, someone is going to have to bathe and feed me!). About the only treatment she could recommend was Mirena, a progesterone-only IUD, which for reasons that I don't know how to articulate well, just feels very wrong for me.

But, of course, it may not be endometriosis at all. And it's the mystery of it that feels so scary now. What if I do something that inadvertently causes it to return? What if it returns even if I do nothing? What if -- God forbid! -- it's even worse next time?

Why the hell have the fetish gods played such a cruel joke in giving a chronic pain patient a fetish that involves pain?

No matter how desperately I want them, I know there aren't any easy answers to my questions. Yes, I will get pushed back down into the abyss of illness and pain again. And again I will climb my way back out because it beats staying in the abyss.

But instead of focusing on the inevitable horrors to come, I will chose to live right now. I will revel in the knowledge my dearest is coming in 26 days. I will patiently wait for my spanking mojo to return because it will. And ultimately I'll dive back into living -- including spanking -- as much as I can.

I mean, I can't let the pain win, ya know?

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Story: A Grown Man [M/m]

Awhile back Kayley mentioned that M/m stories were connecting with her spanking imagination, which made me exclaim to my computer "omg - me too!" In fact, I thought I was quite odd even among us spanko freaks because I really liked reading M/m stories. But then Mija mentioned on the newsgroup once (or more) that she fantasized about being a naughty boy punished by an older man, and I had that same feeling I had when I first typed spanking into Google. You know, "omg -- I'm not the only one!"

Like Kayley, I suspect what fuels my M/m fantasies are the fact that most spankings in non-kinky fiction are boys being spanked by male teachers and parents. And historically speaking, boys were far more likely to be whipped than girls.

Before I got distracted by what became my research field before I left academia (American Evangelicalism and the Israel-Palestine conflict), I initially wanted to study/teach about the history of childhood in the Middle East. It would have been a brilliant way to read about spanking and get paid/funded for it. And as an undergraduate I took a seminar on the Oregon Trail to get practice using an archive (the Oregon Historical Society archive was -- and still is -- just down the street from me) and wrote my paper on emigrant attitudes towards education and child-rearing -- to practice writing legitimate research papers that fueled my kinky imagination. Despite my prof's concern that I wouldn't find enough to fill a twenty page paper, I found plenty, including the following anecdote from said paper that inspired the story for the 2002 SSS Short Story Contest that follows.

"The journey, however, presented parents with a number
of challenges to maintaining consistency in teaching their
children morals. One particularly devastating challenge was
sickness. Abraham Henry Garrison's father encountered this
difficulty when he became severely ill and was forced to
remain in bed for a significant amount of the trip. Henry
(as he was called), though only fourteen, but also the oldest
child, was required to take on the responsibilities of his
father, particularly in handling livestock. Yet, when he got
into a fight with another boy in their train, his father sought
to punish him because he had always taught Henry not to
fight. However, his father was physically unable to punish
him and so he sought the assistance of the captain of the
wagon train. The captain refused, arguing that the boy with
whom Henry had fought 'had it coming' and also that Henry
was doing the job of a grown man. Henry's father insisted
until the captain finally exclaimed, 'The man that tries to
whip Henry will have me to whip!' leaving Henry's father
helpless and Henry free of punishment." (See Garrison,
Abraham Henry. "Recollections, 1846 (1903)." Mss. 874.
Oregon Historical Society.)


oOo


Story: A Grown Man [M/m]

Henry kept his face turned left where the glow of the fireplace might not discover his bruising eye. Might not betray him to Father, who sat in the rocking chair next to the fireplace. His worn, leather Bible upon his lap.

“Henry -- is something wrong with your neck, Son?”

“No, Father.” Henry shifted his body toward the shadows.

“Son, look at me.” Father sighed as Henry turned. “You’ve been fightin’ again, have ya?”

“Father, I had to. Our family honor was at stake.”

“Oh, I doubt it was in that much trouble.” Father closed the Bible and set it on the table. “I’ve always taught ya not to fight, haven’t I, Son? To use your brains, not your fists…”

“Yes, Sir.” Henry looked down at the floor.

“Off to the barn with you, then.” Father stood up, walked to the kitchen and grabbed the razor strop.

*******

It had been weeks since the Garrisons left Missouri and three days since the wagon train camped along the Platt River. More than half the members were sick with cholera, including Father. For the last two weeks Henry alone had driven the oxen team, saw to the care of the livestock and his siblings. Even cooked the meals.

“You’re a fine lad, Henry,” Captain Pert said as he checked on the families under his command. “Don’t let that Prentiss boy get to you.”

Billy Prentiss, who was two years older, felt compelled to criticize the way Henry fed the livestock. Or loaded the wagon. Or made a stew. Not five minutes after Captain Pert left, Billy stood over Henry as he fed buffalo chips to the fire.

“You use too many chips.”

“How would you know?”

“You want my help, or don’t ya?”

“Not particularly.” Henry continued feeding chips to the fire. Billy glared at Henry. Picked up a buffalo chip.

“Don’t forget this one.” He hurled the dried dung at Henry, who had to step back to catch his balance when it hit his neck. Henry heaved a heavy breath, then turned and landed his fist into Billy’s eye. Then again across his right cheek. Billy fell to the ground and Henry jumped on him with another punch to his right jawline. Not more than two blows later Captain Pert was there to break it up.

“What’s that happening out there?” Father’s weak voice drifted from the wagon.

“Oh, nothing – just a skirmish between the boys.”

“Henry – you are fighting again?”

Henry hung his head as he and the Captain walked to the wagon. His temper had once again subjugated him.

“Captain Pert, I’ve always taught Henry not to fight but I am too sick to punish him – you must for me.”

“No, Billy’s had it coming. Besides, Henry’s been doing the work of a grown man. I can’t whip him.”

“But you must.”

“Look, the man that tries to whip Henry will have to whip me!” With that, Captain Pert left and Henry remained a grown man.

Friday, October 12, 2007

It's LOL!

That's right. It was so popular last year that Bonnie -- clever woman that she is -- decided we should make Love our Lurkers an annual thing. So dear friends, it's your day. The one time when you can bravely (albeit anonymously if you wish) take a stand and say "Visitor 542? Yep, that's me!"

If you're feeling even braver, you can talk a little bit about your own spanking kink, maybe how spanking blogs have fed your fetish, what your favorite implement is, or whatever you like. Or of course, a simple "hiya!" would be just fine too.

So step right up, dear reader. Feel proud of being a spanking blog lurker. Give my comments section some luvin' and bask in the glow of knowing you're more than just a number on my StatCounter graph.

Friday, October 05, 2007

REM cycle spanking

You know how sometimes real life just takes up everything and there's not much room for anything else -- including spanking? Ah, you gasp in shock but you know it happens. Indeed, I feel safe in saying that it happens to even the most die hard spanking-nymphs out there.

At any rate, I've realized what happens when real life steals even that nightly spanking fantasy that usually lulls me to sleep: it gets pushed further into the sleep cycle. And when spanking shows up later in the sleeping cycle, i.e. the noted REM cycle, it's just plain weird.

Normally, I have the odd spanking dream here and there but I've had three in the last week, even though spanking has been the furthest thing from my conscious mind for a good three weeks now. I mean, it still shows up throughout the day, but more from habit. My ears have developed some sort of Pavlovian response in which they immediately perk up the minute they hear words like "spanking", "whipping," "belt," "paddle," etc. And the bedtime spanking fantasy faithfully shows up each night the minute I turn the light out, even if lately it's been quickly discarded.

I told you all about the one I had last Thursday. I had another one earlier this week that I don't remember very well, but the one I had last night was yummy...yet, as my spanking dreams are apt to be, very odd.

It started with me making dinner for my little brother who has Down Syndrome (and who, like all my siblings -- and now a niece -- I look up to). He's outside rambling on about a lot of stuff I wasn't paying attention to because I was watching a black and white movie with Gregory Peck spanking someone, which caused me to burn the chicken nuggets that were to be dinner. Understandable because, you know, Gregory Peck...spanking. I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

Eventually my brother and the chicken nuggets disappear, and I'm sharing the Gregory Peck spanking with assorted, but this time consciously-unknown spanking friends. The improvisational-spanking story theme from last week returned as this group and I started to act out the movie spanking but ended up making a new story of our own with far more spankings. And it was night-time and dark. And then A. showed up and began to tease me about how often I got spanked. As with most dreams, there was more to it, but I can't really remember it all now.

And just like last week, Meals on Wheels pounding at the door woke me from my spanking-filled reverie. Which made the whole thing feel even more surreal.

Once I'd put my meal in the kitchen, taken my morning medications, and laid back down in bed to wait the hour until I could eat (to fully absorb my meds), I probably should not have gone back to sleep as then I end up sleeping too much making it hard to sleep at night. But for the first time since the spanking dream last week, I had a little spanking mojo. Felt a little bit more like I normally do. Decided to take my chances and go back to sleep and see if I could return, even if only sub-consciously, to that core spanko part of me that's been empty these last few weeks.

I wish I could say it worked but, alas, I dreamt that I was at my health clinic and needed to get home but despite numerous attempts at dialing the number for the cab, kept forgetting or losing track of what I was doing (which happens frightfully frequently) while there was a Christmas party going on with pink lighting in the background (which doesn't happen so frequently).

But, who knows? Maybe in a few hours after I've fallen asleep...