Thursday, February 26, 2009

The ghost of abuse

It haunts every stroke, every word of a scolding, every moment anticipating a punishment. Years of being afraid and worse. Sometimes it seems so long ago, I start to wonder if it was really me all that stuff happened to. Sometimes the memories are still hot and raw, so much so that a year or two ago when I tried to write this post, I had to walk away lest it break the pieces I've spent years gluing back together.

While there hasn't been a lot of research on those who engage in What It Is We Do, research regarding BDSM in general suggests that child abuse is not the reason practitioners have the sexual orientation they do, even if those outside our community may think otherwise. In my own case, I started fantasizing about being spanked years before the abuse started and I am convinced that I'm a spanko despite the abuse.


My stepfather has delicate lips and a front tooth that is slightly crooked, and when making certain expressions, A.'s mouth reminds me of him. Sometimes when A. coughs or clears his voice, it's almost the same pitch as the muffled coughing of my stepfather that I listened ever so carefully for from my bedroom. When I'm over A.'s lap and he's giving me the full force of his hand, the motion feels almost identical to the full force of my stepfather's rage-filled palm.

There are so many ways that my punishment kink interacts with the abuse I experienced as a child. Memories that I've not thought of in years will suddenly terrorize me as I approach a punishment. Feelings that I can't quite articulate will harass me after, especially when a phone spanking doesn't allow for tactile cuddling.

Of course, communicating with my partner is vital. It means telling A. when I'm beset by the ghost of old chastisements and cannot deal with any new. He faithfully discharges me from whatever disciplinary session is at hand, no questions asked -- even though I may have spent all day worried that he would be mad, would not understand my fear. Sometimes the desire to continue with whatever regime we've agreed to is there, but I just need to make him -- and even more so, myself -- aware of the turmoil brewing just below the surface.

What I have learned is to never repress, though admittedly the habit is hard to break completely. Ghouls of all shapes and sizes never fare well in the light. The more I write (journal) and I talk out loud (mostly to a therapist) about my memories, the more power they lose. Not that it isn't painful. And it scares the living shit out of me at times. But it gets easier. Really.

After my mother and stepfather divorced, I kept having this recurring dream where I was in my old bedroom and it was littered with piles of old clothes, books and knick-knacks. A move was imminent, but I was completely overwhelmed with the disarray, as well as bewildered about what to do with all the stuff. I always woke up distressed and fatigued.

I still have the dream, except now the room is almost empty save for a handful of things that I'm still not sure what to do with. But I always wake up knowing they will find their place.

Yes, there remains a nagging interplay between my punishment kink and my history of child abuse. However, embracing my discipline fetish has been a means of empowerment through choice. It is also a means of healing because this time, there's no yelling, no rage, no belittling. And when there is fear and shame, it's yummy and magical and completely therapeutic.

(Cross-posted at the Punishment Book)

Thursday, February 19, 2009

A spanko in a non-spanko world

I've joined a writing group as a way to actually interact with real, live human beings. It's just next door, which is what allows me to participate given my limited mobility. I'm really enjoying a bit of camaraderie and surprising myself with some of the writing I've done thus far.

I suppose it was bound to happen at some point. We write based on prompts and one of the prompts tonight er, prompted me to write about a character interested in spanking. As different people read their pieces, I debated about whether I would share mine or pass. In the end, with a warning about its racy nature and what I'm sure was a bright red face, I shared. And it was received well. A few people even said they wanted to hear more, though I suspect that it had more to do with the characters rather than it being about sex and spanking.

Of course, that's just my guess. There well might be some kindered spankos in the class for all I know. However, I didn't get that sort of vibe.

I'd share it here, but it was only a few sentences, and I'm not sure if it might turn into something more that I might want to publish.

But it was sort of my small step for spanko-kind in the non-spanko world.

Monday, February 16, 2009

VibeReview Fantasy: Lily vs. Silver Bullet

I knew it would be naughty. Shopping at Safeway with the Lily firmly ensconced in my labia, delivering a steady appetizer of arousal to my clit. But taking the Senior Shuttle to and from Safeway while the Lily buzzed between my legs was particularly naughty. The very thought that a woman who walks with a cane could be so merits not just condemnation but severe chastisement.

And that's exactly what I got when I returned home and the frozen yogurt was put away and he felt between my legs.

"You dirty little slut," he said with a tut while groping my cunt.

A moment later he jerked my trousers and knickers down. Dragged me to the bed, pushed me over its edge, and spanked my full, meaty cheeks with his hand and a ping-pong paddle until they blushed with shame and sting. Turned me over and pulled my legs apart to expose the wicked gadget still teasing my clit.

"Don't you dare move those legs together," he ordered before disappearing into the kitchen.

When he returned, he placed a claw of peeled and scored ginger up my ass. Removed the Lily. Slid his belt out of its appointed loops and whipped my cunt with firm, measured strokes. Divided my labial lips and pressed a disk of ginger against my clit with the Silver Bullet.

"Let's give that clit of yours some real attention," he said as he nudged the control toward high.

My pelvis flickered and lurched. My legs squeezed together, then released. Soon my pelvic floor was convulsing from the provocation. My clitoris throbbed and twitched and soon it came...I came...


I'm beginning to realize that I'm a veritable Tim Allen when it comes to clit stimulation. My constant refrain is always, More Power!. Though I generally forgo the Neanderthal grunt.

In this review I thought I'd do things a bit different. Aside from beginning with the fantasy rather than ending with it, I also decided to compare and contrast two toys ostensibly prescribed with the same task, namely, vibrating the clitoris.

The Lily is the pretty rich girl with all the latest accouterments. She's got a pink (or black) phthalate-free silicone exterior, multiple speeds and settings, a charger to keep her running without batteries or cords, and comes in an inconspicuous black box along with a black satin bag to travel in style. The settings allow you to run her with short, fast pulsations. Or longer pulsations. And a couple of variations on that theme. Being cordless and quiet allows you a great deal of freedom in how you might choose to use her.

Like all rich girls, she's not cheap. Figuring out her settings can be tricky, as well as a bit awkward when she's down there. So play with her a bit before putting her to work. And when it comes to work, well, she has some breadth to her abilities, but not a lot of effort. The Lily will whet my appetite but never make me come. Even when I used it along with the Silver Bullet coated with cayenne ointment in my ass (that often makes me come all on its own). And like most pretty, but expensive dresses, hers stains easily. My Lily has all sorts of marks on it after sitting in its black satin bag, as well as from sitting in my bedside drawer sans the bag.

The Silver Bullet is the working girl that may not be all that fancy, but she knows how to work hard and get the job done. She's so affordable even I could buy her and I live well below the poverty line. The hand-held control makes her incredibly easy to use – just slide the knob up or down. No frantically digging in between your labia to change the setting. And the Silver Bullet has the power to make me come, which is any clit vibrator's ultimate objective. While the orgasm isn't as intense as it is with the Miracle Massager, I sometimes prefer that as it leaves me with enough energy to come a second time.

Sure, she does require batteries. And she may or may not be phthalate-free. The hand-held control is attached to the Bullet itself so it's not as portable as the Lily, though I imagine there are ways around that. She doesn't have a fancy satin bag or special box. But, well, she makes me come, and that's what really matters, no?

So there you have it. If you don't need something too powerful and want the fancy bells and whistles, Lily is your girl. But if you're like me and need your clit vibe to work hard for the money, you can't go wrong with the Silver Bullet.

Both the Lily and the Silver Bullet are at reduced price during VibeReview's Winter Sale, along with many of their other toys. Follow any of the links in this post or via the ad in the sidebar and you'll help out your favorite invalid spanko.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Not as perverted as it used to be

Don't ya love news stories that state the obvious? "Kinky sex is on the rise," is the headline at ABC News. The line following lists several fetishes and then asks, "is it the Internet?" Um, need you ask? And as always there are a few things that are mostly right but the language seems a bit awkward.

But today, according to sex-perts, couples are looking for more intensity in sex lives, and interest in sado-masochism appears to be rising.

"After the pain threshold is crossed, they describe a type of ecstasy called 'flying," Dunlap found in his research. "It is no longer painful and gives an entirely sexual as well as psychological, transcendent place. Flying is bigger than any drug."

I've heard of "sub space" but "flying?" Have any of you heard it called "flying?"

I also wonder how it works for vanillas -- er, teleiophiles (ya learn something everyday!) -- when they use sex manuals suggesting BDSM to "spice up" their relationships. Spanking and bondage have been the core of my sexual fantasies before I even understood what sex was. It comes as natural to me as breathing. But does adding some handcuffs and a paddle really "spice up" a relationship for people who don't breath it?

The article was a nice reminder, however, that being a pervert isn't as perverted as it used to be.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Front page spanking: Bankers Flogged

Oh how those tarts at CNN tease us.

Personally, I'm thinking it's time to get all French Revolution on those bankers' asses. And maybe throw in a few Republican senators for good measure.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

All about the blows

Slapping isn't just good for the ass. Sometimes it's exquisite right across the face, as Angela Connor details in this delectable essay over at Nerve. I particularly loved the following passage:

Peter asked about the sex, and I told him it was sweet, but I wanted to talk about the blows. And he asked the questions friends ask to make sure you're being honest with yourself.

"I'm just wondering," he said, "why isn't it abuse?"

Without thinking, I gave my most honest answer: "Because it feels good."

Talking about kinky sex can feel so strange with vanillas. Intercourse is nice and all, but it's the blows, the implements, the stern looks that are so much more interesting. And feel so good.