Respite

The last couple of days my pain level has dropped to more manageable levels. So, I've been poking A. to spank me. Literally. It's my subtle way of bratting for it.

Last night he half joked as we waited for an old friend of mine to stop by for a visit that he was going to spank me before she came so I'd have a sore bottom while we visited. I think both of us got a little busy in the meantime before that phone call from her requesting that I buzz her in. After visiting for a couple of hours, she left and A. and I decided we could go for a bit of tuna fish. As it was midnight or so, I went to the bathroom afterwards to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. And came out with my hair in pigtails.

You know, just to remind him that he forgot something earlier.

"Oh oh oh! Pigtails," A. exclaimed as he sprawled out on the bed flipping among late night shows. I grinned and climbed up to join him. As we cuddled and wandered from Leno to Letterman to Kimmel, he caressed my flannel-clad bottom.

Gawd I love it when he does that.

Though I admit I was getting a bit impatient. So, I started poking. Which he ignored. But the caressing was nice. Smooth circular motions outlining my ample backside and crack. The other hand sometimes caressing my hair. Playing with my pigtails.

As he watched the opening monologue of Craig Ferguson, it was all I could do to keep from screaming "would you just fucking spank me already!" while he chuckled and made comments about Ferguson not being quite as bad as he originally reckoned. Finally, the monologue was over, and A. flipped off the telly.

"Alright. Over my knee."

That wonderful place I've missed for almost four months -- including twenty days of him being here.

We scooted around and I assumed my position and he tugged down my jimjam bottoms as I lifted my hips slightly. There were some soft smacks and then the harder ones.

Good gawd is my pain threshold shit.

I mean, I'd already taken my bedtime narcotics and those smacks still stung like crazy. Had me kicking and squirming and whimpering and clenching my teeth. And it was only his hand.

Of course, there was lots of rubbing in between. And alternating of hard and soft smacks. There was a little bladder pain, and it probably would have been more comfortable had I put a pillow on his lap, but I couldn't be bothered to interrupt play with anything illness-related. Eventually he motioned for me to get up.

"I'm going out to smoke, and I want you to lay on the bed and wait for me to give you the cane."

The endorphines had finally kicked in so I wasn't nearly as afraid as I might have been otherwise. It was even hard to put myself in that naughty, scary frame of mind as I lay there with my flannel pj bottoms at mid thigh while my bare, pink ass awaited further punishment.

"Right. I'm going to give you eight strokes," A. said as he picked up the cane upon his return. "Count them please."

"Yes, Sir." I scrunched my eyes shut waiting for hot, horrible pain. It was hot, but not necessarily horrible. Indeed, the eighth stroke came rather quickly. We cuddled for a bit after that until he told me it was bedtime. "But, I don't wanna go to bed."

"Excuse me?" With feigned, stern shock. "I haven't put the cane away yet."

Normally this would solicit instant compliance. But, you know, those eight strokes were so quick. And not as hard as I expected.

"I don't want to go to bed." With my mischievous grin. He calmly stood up and picked the cane up off the chair.

"Well, that'll teach me for being too light on you," A. said with a smile. "Right. Eight more. Count them please."

And that time they sure did hurt alright.

Though, I think if it hadn't been 1:30 am and might have waken the neighbors, I probably would have begged for the strap.

But, I obeyed this time. Got up and turned out the lights, though not before admiring my marks in the mirror. Then snuggled under the covers on a stingy bottom, still hungry for more but grateful for this little window of opportunity.

Yep, the urologist's office called about an hour or so ago and said my cystoscopy will be next Tuesday. Then the UTI pain starts all over again.

Swell.

Upadate: A. could read my mind even if he hadn't yet read this post. The next afternoon, as the cane was still resting on the chair, A. couldn't resist the urge to pick it up as I walked through the room. He gave me a few on my breasts and a few more over my pj bottoms. Then got out the strap. ::big grin:: Except I wasn't grinning once he started whacking me. Damn that thing hurts over a sorely caned bottom! Then he took me over his knee again and almost had me crying with a really hard handspanking. Almost.

It was very cool. ;)

"Gotta take advantage of my windows," he said as we cuddled afterwards. Must have read this post, I thought. Nope. Hadn't had a chance yet. "But now I'm really curious."

Alas, the window closed by that night as a new medicine took affect and my back and pelvis started hurting from a yeast infection. Fingers-crossed my UA will still be UTI free today. Not sure how it will affect the schedule for the cystoscopy on Tuesday if I do have one.

To all those morons in IRC chat rooms

Okay, if you can't spell or use apostrophes correctly, you can't spank me.

A little Boxing Day spanko reading

Hope you have all had a nice Christmas/Kwaanza/Hanukkah. Mine was busy with baking and making presents, so Boxing Day has been a day to sleep. Seriously. Didn't get up until 4pm.

My last post reminded me of a story by one of my all-time favorite spanko writers, John Benson. He writes wonderfully complex stories about the variety of emotions that intersect in those attracted to spanking or being spanked. He even makes me enjoy fantasy and science fiction. "The Wicked Witch" is about Carla, an Empath who helps a naughty boy, Jimmy, appreciate that he has a choice about who he lets spank him. Once he gets rid of the Wicked Witch who has been spanking him, he pleads with Carla to spank him. She hesitates because as an Empath, she can feel every stroke.

She struck him and a white hot line of pain was on her buttocks as well as his. She felt the way this was true punishment for him, true acceptance of his guilt. And she felt the way in which it was not punishment at all, but scratching of a psychic itch as primal and compelling as the urge to fuck could ever be. And so she was able to strike again. And again. And cry out with him in a shared symphony of pain and strike again, until they both could take no more.

I've always loved that description of spanking being a "psychic itch." And, well, that's what makes John Benson such a great writer.

Another article I might point your attention to is one mentioned on the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup in the New Yorker about C.S. Lewis. It's actually a fascinating, exquisite article about him on a number of levels, but there was also a paragraph about his spankophila.

This loving and mother-deprived boy was sent to a series of nightmarish English boarding schools, where he was beaten and bullied and traumatized beyond even the normal expectations of English adolescence. Lewis’s own words about the places are practically Leninist. (One headmaster raced down the length of a room with his cane to beat a lower-middle-class boy, enraged by his social pretensions.) Lewis writes about his last school, Malvern, at such length, and with such horror—with far more intensity than he writes even about serving on the Western Front—that it’s clear that the trauma, coming at a time of sexual awakening, was deep and lasting. It seems to have had the usual result: Lewis developed and craved what even his Christian biographer, Jacobs, calls “mildly sadomasochistic fantasies”; in letters to a (homosexual) friend, he named the women he’d like to spank, and for a time signed his private letters “Philomastix”—“whip-lover.”

A bright and sensitive British boy turned by public-school sadism into a warped, morbid, stammering sexual pervert. It sounds like the usual story...

I never knew Lewis was a spanko. I think what was so fascinating in this article was understanding Lewis' internal life and seeing the tension that existed between that and his rigid Christianity. Not that such a tension is necessary. But it was interesting to see how it played out for him. I live so much of my life, particularly that in relation to spanking, within my inner world and have struggled with that tension between what I've thought God demanded and that which makes me feel real joy. Seeing the tragedy of how Lewis was unable to truly reconcile the two has made me think about the importance of averting such a tragedy in my own life.

At any rate, hope your holidays have been a blessing in whatever way you celebrate them.

That unscratched itch

What type of spanking do you crave?
brought to you by Quizilla

(via Poiesia)

Honestly? I have no idea what kind of spanking I crave. Yeah, role play might be fun. A "just because" spanking might be nice too. Emotionally, I could probably go for a punishment spanking. But, everything between my waist and the middle of my ass still aches so when I think about the logistics of getting spanked, it leaves me feeling very, very ambilivilent.

I hate it.

Gosh, I started tearing up when I typed that last sentence. It's like I'm having to supress this whole part of me. A really important part of me. And it just aches.

I suggested to A. the other night as we drifted off to sleep that perhaps implements that are stingy and don't push my butt into my bladder might work. Or maybe we could try my hands or my breasts or (gulp) my thighs. Or try non-physical punishments.

A.'s missed using his cane. So, last night as it was Sunday night, he decided we should chat a bit about the upcoming week. And since canes are more stingy and don't necessarily push the buttocks in so much, we decided to try it.

I told him to make sure and aim low. He agreed. We tried piling the pillows up like we usually do, but that was really uncomfortable so I got rid of them and just put a flat pillow down under my chest like I do at night to sleep or at acupuncture. He took down my pajama bottoms and gave me a few light strokes, though I felt so incapable of processing them. He sat down next to me and talked about me getting back into routine and I agreed. He gave me a few more strokes that were still fairly light but felt dreadful. Particularly the one that hit my thigh. When I whined about it, he reminded me that I told him to aim low.

Sigh. I had.

We cuddled after that, which was nice. But, you know, the spanking hadn't really been enough to have that sort of catharsis. Not that all spankings do that. Some are just short and sweet and perfectly fine that way. But I need the long spanking. My inner brat needs it. My sulky, pouty inner bitch needs it.

It's like needing an itch scratched and not being able to scratch it.

Have you Wikied spanking before?

My boyfriend did the other night and you might be interested to know that Wikipedia has a fairly lengthy entry on spanking including a discussion of procedures and positions. There is also a separate entry on erotic spanking to specifically explain us perverts.

Sulking

Remember when I said this a little over a month ago?

All I have to say is that if I start feeling too sick again to play when he gets here in 28 days, I'm going to be super pissed.

And of course, as Murphy's/sod's law would have it, I am too sick now that A. is here. The doctor called me on Monday to say that my urine culture showed that I'm actually infected with TWO bacteria requiring two separate antibiotics because each is resistant to the other's antibiotic.

So, I'm hurting and groggy and really, really annoyed at the moment. My brain totally wants to play but my body sooooo does not.

Stupid urinary tract infections and accompanying back and pelvic pain.

That urologist so better figure out what's wrong and take care of it very, very soon. No more Miss Compliant Patient here. Next Friday when I'm in his office it's going to be "quit dicking around and get that damn cystoscope in my bladder so we can see what the hell is happening in there!"

Hmm...not sure if that came out quite the way I intended. But, I'm on a lot of drugs right now (A. is trying to be the medicine nazi so that I remember to take it all) so I figure I've got a good excuse if stuff doesn't come out right.

The best birthday present of all

Yep. A. got in Wednesday night -- just in time to give me my birthday spanking yesterday. At the end of a quiet day with a lovely dinner and lovely, er...loving (let's just say it involved a spreader bar and ginger root), there were 33 solid handspanks before I drifted off to sleep.

::happy sigh::

Alas, there probably won't be too many spankings for a bit though. My UA today showed that I've got another UTI, which explains the back pain and extra fatigue this week. So, two weeks more on antibiotics, and then it'll be time for a cystoscopy and a biopsy.

::apprehensive sigh::

At least A. will be here to go to the hospital with me and look after me once I'm home.

Curious about control

I've been thinking a lot lately about the idea of control and spanking. People often talk about the loss of control they feel when they are spanked and the appeal of that loss of control. However, I've never really had that loss of control. I always know the spanking is something I agreed to. Maybe not that specific one, but in general I agreed to do or not do whatever and the consequences for doing or not doing whatever. That I can stop it at any moment, but chose not to even though it hurts a ton.

I suppose it's something I'm more curious about than anything. The only times I've ever felt a real loss of control, it's been the few times A. and I have played "Master and slave" and then it's been a horrible feeling, despite being very aroused when we talk about it doing it. Like what I used to feel with my stepfather. So, we're going to change some of the ways we play so I don't end up in that headspace.

But I guess I wonder about it in terms of that feeling of being little -- that Natty part of me -- that I really do like. Do I reach that little feeling better when I'm not in control like an adult? If so, then I how do I do that?

I suppose I always approach spanking as an adult, even though the appeal of it has to do with feeling like a child. Of being able to be this childlike part of me that rarely gets to come out. Yet, I need to approach it as an adult in order to protect that childlike part of me.

Plus, well, there's a lot about being an adult that I like. I remember a few years ago I was standing on a curb next to a mother and her child waiting to cross the street. The mother told her child that they couldn't cross the street because the big orange hand was up. I looked to my right and left and noticing that there wasn't a car coming, went ahead and crossed the street. "Mommy, why is she crossing the street?" the kid asked. I chuckled to myself and thought, because I'm a grown-up and I can.

Or the other night when I was in a chat room with a friend while I was watching "South Park." She happens to think it's um...well, not the most edifying show and as she switches, suggested maybe "mother" should come in and make me stop or else. I laughed and said "oh, I'd just leave then."

Yeah, I don't really like someone controlling my viewing habits either.

I dunno. I suppose having been a parent of sorts, I don't believe parenting is about controlling children, but about providing a safe environment that allows them grow as human beings. For my stepfather, it was all about control. And I suppose when it comes to being that child-like part of me, the adult part of me doesn't really want her to be controlled but to grow as a human being.

Though, I suppose there is also the appeal of an all-wise parental figure, sorta like the tradition of the spiritual father/mother we have in the Eastern Orthodox/Byzantine Church telling me what to do and following him or her regardless. But then, they don't really make good partners for, um, other things...

I do think there's still an element of the adult-me taking over during a spanking when I really need to let that Natty part of me be the one getting spanked. I guess you could say that in subtle ways I can be a real control freak.

Hence my utter wonder at the whole "losing control" thing.

In case you missed it...

...there's a link to that SNL skit with Catherine Zeta Jones getting spanked as well as spanking her groom. You'll need to scroll down to "television" and click on "Spanker's Wedding."

Hat tip to a couple of people on the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup who posted this.

For you Colin Firth fans

After watching this movie twice, I have to say that My Life So Far is the perfect movie for you spankos who drool at the thought of being spanked by Colin Firth.

Oh yes.

He plays the eccentric-inventor father of a gazillion kids in a huge house in Scotland ca. late 1920s. While he's definitely NOT Mr. Darcy here -- his character has some definite flaws and, indeed, is a total dick in certain parts of the movie -- he's also the lovable but stern father-figure.

And yep, there's even a spanking scene.

Granted, you only see the shadows as he's using the strap. But ya can't help but get goose-bumps when he lets the smarting lads go with "be lucky I don't use my cane to thrash the both of you!"

OMG

Ya got goose-bumps too, didn't ya?

My pervy family

Like most other families, mine had turkey and pumpkin pie today. But along with these Thanksgiving staples, there was an underlying spanking theme throughout the afternoon.

-- A friend of my mom and my grandma's husband sat trading stories of how they were spanked as kids. The former told the "go cut a switch" story, but with the twist that when he'd come back with a small one, his dad would simply say, "no problem, I've got a back-up" and haul out a huge switch from the closet. Or when he and his siblings got into trouble once, his father lined them up oldest to youngest to spank each of them. "You'd think he'd have gotten tired by the time he got to me and my brother, but instead he was just more pissed off."

-- My six-year old nephew, brother of the spanko nieces I've referred to a few times, pleaded with the above mentioned friend of my mom to be spanked after being tickled. His mother, my sister, sat next to me blushing. "I don't know what it is with my kids always wanting to be spanked."

-- As that sister and I sat perusing the sales papers, I commented that this one piece of exercise equipment looked like some sort of S & M furniture. She laughed and then goes, "how would you know?" I grinned, as she's the one in my family familiar with my proclivities. "Oh, and like you don't know!" her boyfriend exclaimed.

-- Then there's my brother. He's a twenty-year old cutie with Down's Syndrome who seems to have also inherited the BDSM gene. My other sister once caught him tying up all of his stuffed animals when he was younger. Today he found himself bent over the couch at one point, which invited my mother to playfully kick him in the behind. He feigned distress, but when my mom stopped, he went, "again! again!" Later he comes over to me while I'm watching television, bends right over, and in case I haven't figured out what he wants me to do, says "spank me 'Chell."

Yep. Never know whether to be horrified or amused by my pervy family. But certainly there's no doubt where I get my spanko-ness from.

Grandmas can be dangerous

Lordy my grandma is trying to get me in trouble.

I've been slowly feeling better the last few weeks. Last week I was feeling really good after I paid a visit to my acupuncturist/massage therapist/Magic Lady (as A. calls her). I walked five blocks home from the bus stop. Did a load of laundry all by myself (haven't done that since April!). Even made a pumpkin pie. My grandma called me up thrilled to hear I was feeling better and has decided to help pay for me to see the Magic Lady every week.

Of course, she also expressed concern that I not over do it too much. I told her not to worry. I was being careful to do a little bit, then sit and rest for a bit, then do a little bit more, then rest a bit more. "Besides," I explain. "A. has already warned me about over doing it and accompanied that with a look so stern it made it all the way across the Atlantic and the continent to Oregon."

She giggled at that.

So, an hour or so ago she calls me up to discuss arrangments for her to pay for the Magic Lady and when she asks me how I'm feeling, I yawn and say something about being a bit tired as I didn't get enough sleep last week.

"Now, didn't you get a very stern look warning you not to over do it? Hmm?"

I hastily explained that it wasn't because I willfully over did it, just that my brain finally turned on, and I couldn't get it to turn off when I would try and go to sleep.

But in my mind I'm thinking, "geesh, woman, you're going to get me thrashed within an inch of my life!"

Nailed to the ground

I'm not the only one feeling frustrated at the lack of spanking action.

A. had a dream last night that he was spanking me in front of someone with his hand (he doesn't know who or why), but couldn't get any force into the spanks. You know, like those dreams where you're trying to run but your feet seem to be nailed to the ground. At any rate, when he went to get an implement, he woke up.

All I have to say is that if I start feeling too sick again to play when he gets here in 28 days, I'm going to be super pissed.

Un-American naughtiness

My godfather has no idea I have a spanking kink. But he just told me during our phone conversation that I was being very naughty for a sarcastic post I made about the president on my regular blog.

So, of course, I said I would be sure to tell A. so he could make a note of my naughtiness. Which caused my godfather to improvise a version of "Santa Clause is Coming to Town." He's making a list, checking it twice.

::giggle:: He has no idea.

Perhaps A. will make me wear my stars and stripes knickers when he spanks me for this entry...

Starving

O

M

G

My spanko cravings have suddenly turned on like you wouldn't believe.

They wake me up and keep me awake. Distract me from writing or unpacking. Make my daily meditation routine nearly impossible. Indeed, suppressing them is draining away my precious, fledgling energy.

And I've got a whole month to wait until A. is back.

:: sigh::

Gawd is it going to be a looooooong month.

Naughty priest

Nah, not THAT kind.

A chat pal was telling me tonight about a conversation she had with the priest at a wedding she attended this weekend. They sat across from each other at the rehearsal dinner and talked about how they both had problems getting to places on time. "I need a spanking," the priest told her.

Hmm...maybe he should consider joining Opus Dei.

A. tends to think spanking is a good remedy for tardiness too. ::sigh:: Six strokes with the brush for every minute I'm late. And, well, I have to admit, it's pretty damn effective. I haven't been late to a medical appointment in months and months. Granted, Medical Transportation has been taking me to my appointments over the last several months. But even when I've been able to go on my own, I've actually arrived a few minutes early. You know, just to make extra sure I don't get that damn brush. ::shiver::

An afternoon reverie

That child-like part of me has been asserting herself more and more the last few days. Don't know how long it will last as she's been rather ephemeral of late. But right now she feels very palpable.

I want to be mischievous and insolent. Pouty and petulant. Told firmly, though calmly, to behave myself, please. And then when I continue with my impishness, taken firmly, though calmly, by the ear to the bed. Laid over the lap and my trousers and panties taken down. Spanked with crisp, sharp smacks until my bottom is good and red and scalding. Told to stand in the corner and ponder my naughtiness. After a few minutes when I whine, "can I come out yet?" I will be told, "yes, and please bring me the hairbrush." To which I will stamp my foot and cry, "but I already got spanked!" I will then hear, "yes, you did, but clearly it was not enough to change your disposition. Now please bring me the hairbrush or I shall use it on your thighs." I will then scowl so violently at the injustice of it all but do as I am told and present it for use on my already tender behind. And it will come down hard and fast with no pause so that I begin to cry and plead that I will be good. "An apology would be nice," I'll hear, to which I will feel badly that I haven't done so already and quickly say how sorry I am that I was bad. I will be told to return to the corner, where I consider for several moments what a naughty girl I have been and how truly repentant I am. Still sniffling, I will be told I can leave the corner now. "Alright, big cuddle," I will hear and smile with as much energy as I scowled earlier. And cuddle with a contentment to which most people on this planet only aspire .

::happy sigh::

Only 38 more days until A. is back -- the day before my birthday.

Unpacking

Well, all moved in to my new apartment. It's like living in a fort at the moment. Though, my dad unpacked most of my kitchen tonight, so now it's a fort I can walk around in.

Also did a little unpacking tonight of the cyber sort. Turned on my Yahoo Messenger for the first time in a few months to find a number of you, dear readers, have IMed me. I apologize that it took me so long to open it up, but now that I've got my laptop back, I promise to be on Messenger a bit more frequently if any of you want to chat.

Spanking on SNL

My my, now that I've got my laptop back it's like the spanko thoughts are pouring out of me.

Right. So I was watching Saturday Night Live last night. I was getting pretty sleepy and ready to turn it off because most of the sketches hadn't been all that funny, save the first one spoofing Brit Hume and President Bush. When the last skit started with guest host Catherine Zeta Jones and Will Forte playing a bride and groom singing their wedding vows to each other, I wasn't expecting much. But lo and behold, she starts singing about him spanking her ass. He then sings about her spanking him. Then they sing more about spanking and he sings about how she reminds him of his mother (who, along with most of the audience, is absolutely horrified). The bride turns around and bends over slightly so her loving groom can wallop her good (though, it actually looked rather fake). After several swats, he turns and she gives him several good whacks.

My eyes about popped out of my sockets.

Though, it's not the first time I've seen spanking on SNL. I watched the Best of Mike Meyers a few weeks ago (God bless the good folks at Netflix) and in the opening monologue, it shows Norm McDonald with his trousers down being caned while Lorne Michaels watches. Mike Meyers pushes him aside to get his own caning, only to be told by Lorne that when you're a host, you don't have to be caned when you mess up your lines.

My eyes about popped out of my sockets then too.

Though, I've long suspected that Mike Meyers is a total spanko.

Visions of grandeur

Forgot to mention that during our weekly read together of the Observer this morning, I noticed in the story about David Cameron, the wanna be Tory leader, this little gem.

According to interviews yesterday, Cameron is a man who wouldn't smack his children - two-year-old Nancy is sent to stand in the corner instead...

Granted, I don't know too many two-year olds who would actually stay in the corner if made to stand there.

And while I'm not a big fan of smacking kids myself, the image of, say, being the PM's daughter and standing in the corner at 10 Downing Street is rather hot...

Yup

What to do on yet another Sunday afternoon in bed while my dad is busy packing my stuff and doing my laundry? Why, take spanking quizzes of course. And Patty's here pretty much nailed it.


Spanking's on your mind but right now you're
content to wistfully imagine it.


What kind of spanking do you deserve?
brought to you by Quizilla

A little good news

My laptop is fixed! Yay! So now I can snuggle up with it and write about all the spanko thoughts I've had while laying bed.

And I've missed so many. Particularly those related to current events. Like George Bush's note to Condoleeza Rice at the UN asking for permission to pee. A. and I have been wondering whether Condi was a sub or domme. But that note clinched it.

A. is also happy that Angela Merkel became chancellor in Germany. As a former tabloid journalist, he sees great potential with the name Merkel. "Plus," he says, "she is someone else I can fantasise about spanking when her country lurches to the right."

Faith

I so wanna be naughty.

I was reading one of Patty's punishments over at her blog last night and felt intensely jealous. Of course, if I was in the middle of said punishment I wouldn't be jealous at all. Indeed, I'd be thinking something like "what the FUCK was it again that possessed me to WANT this?!"

Yep, the Natty part of me is back. Trouble is, she's living in a body that doesn't want to be mischievous. Or even really has the energy to be. Putting a DVD into the player or my dinner in the microwave -- that I can manage. Throwing the temper tantrums that are building up inside? Well, not really.

Hell, I started writing this post last Friday. It's taken me four days of typing away at it little by little to get it publishable.

My laptop screen was broken a few months ago, so I've got my laptop hooked up to a huge-ass ancient monitor at my desk. Since I can't take it to bed with me, I don't spend as much time on the computer. However, my grandma is paying to get it fixed so hopefully in the next few weeks there'll be more regular posts.

Then again, I am moving next week. Since I can't go to school anymore I can't stay in student housing so I'm moving about 8 blocks away to a nice little studio in a HUD building (Housing and Urban Development). A nice local social service agency is helping me with the move. Hopefully it won't be too bad. (Though if anyone reading this in the Portland area has extra boxes they need to get rid of, drop me an email! I've got 1100 books or so to move and can't have too many boxes at this point.)

But...I HATE BEING SICK!

I HATE BEING IN BED ALL THE TIME!

I HATE THAT I NEVER GET TO GO OUTSIDE EXCEPT TO GO TO DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENTS!

I HATE THAT I DON'T EVEN HAVE ENOUGH ENERGY TO STAMP MY FOOT, DAMNIT!


Of course, a lot of what I think about in terms of spanking right now makes me miss my boyfriend. The trans-continental thing really really sucks, I have to say. But the other day we were reminiscing about a particularly romantic moment that only other spankos would appreciate. It was a conversation we had not quite three years ago on Yahoo Messenger. At the time, we knew we liked each other, but we had no idea when we were ever going to meet in person. Both of us were living in dire poverty and visiting the other's country wasn't in the plans any time soon. But we did have faith. And in this instance, an exercise book to represent that faith.

Here is the following excerpt from that conversation, a bit cleaned up, though with a "who's on first" sort of feel at times.

A.: Right. I'm just looking at Nick Cohen's traditional end of year quiz
Natty: yeah?
Natty: in the Observer?
A.: yeah
A.: it's always good fun
Natty: I'm on my way...
A.: okay, I imagine the answers are at the bottom
A.: so no peeking
Natty: oh okay
A.: that's an order lady!
Natty: :P
A.: I mean it now
A.: I can tell if you have been cheating
Natty: you think so huh?
A.: well maybe
Natty: he he he
A.: uh don't let that be an incentive to cheat
Natty: lol
A.: you will only be cheating yourself
A.: ;)
Natty: so?
A.: okay, we will do it together
Natty: cool :)
A.: I'll write down our answers
A.: Q1
Natty: Ken Lay...
A.: that must be Enron
A.: and he was the chairman?
Natty: yep
A.: ok
A.: q2
Natty: strawberry
A.: I imagine he did add that
Natty: oh wait that's q#3
Natty: yes to q2
A.: stop jumping and answer q2
Natty: yes
A.: are you looking at the answers?
A.: huh?
Natty: [-(
Natty: lol
A.: so the answer to did he really add...
A.: is strawberry?
A.: lol
Natty: no - it's yes
A.: huh?
A.: huh?
Natty: that's the answer to question 3
Natty: strawberry that is
A.: yep
A.: okay 4
A.: I think that was coconut oil
Natty: papaya, melon and mud...
A.: ah right
A.: q5
Natty: Dick Armey
A.: q6
Natty: the Senate assistant majority leader
A.: right
Natty: 6 -- a paragraph...
A.: q6?
Natty: yep
A.: did it get any coverage?
Natty: not with only a paragraph
A.: how do you know it was a paragraph?
Natty: uh...
A.: okay.. q7
A.: any idea?
Natty: that one is Egypt -- saw that on the news a couple of weeks ago
A.: ah okay
Natty: and actually, that's only one episode of the show
A.: q8
A.: hrm?
A.: around 20-30%?
Natty: no - -I'd say less
A.: yeah?
Natty: less than 10%
A.: okay, pick a number and we will go with that
Natty: uh...8%
A.: LOL
A.: I knew you were going to say 8
Natty: LOL
Natty: and how did you know that??
A.: you
A.: flipping
A.: cheater
Natty: LOL
A.: you were thinking..
A.: now if I say 9, he will guess I'm cheating
A.: yeah?
A.: oh, sorry
A.: It was 8
Natty: no -- because it is 8 percent LOL
Natty: if I said 9 then I'd be wrong... and wouldn't have looked LOL
A.: I scrolled down after q6 and thought it said 9
A.: right, quiz time over lady
Natty: aaawww
A.: well, I did tell you not to peek
A.: and if you're gonna cheat, cheat better
Natty: well... I wouldn't have even thought to if you hadn't said anything...
A.: oh, so it is my fault you cheated?
A.: is it?
Natty: it is indeed
Natty: lol
A.: oooo
A.: you really need your backside tanned, young lady
Natty: nuh uh...
Natty: [-(
A.: nuh uh indeed
A.: you could at lest try to form a coherent sentence
Natty: lol
A.: or even a complete word would be nice
A.: maybe I will teach you one
A.: called 'ouch'
Natty: oh, but words...sentences...they are so overrated...
A.: lol
Natty: ouch?
A.: yes, and maybe get you to say it sixty or seventy times for good measure
Natty: :O
Natty: [gulp]
A.: hrm.. well luckily for you, and your bottom, I am a few thousand miles away
Natty: :D

[momentary pause]

Natty: well, actually, that you are so far away is rather sad...
A.: yes it is
A.: :(
Natty: :(

[another momentary pause]

A.: however, I do have an exercise book by my pc
Natty: okay...
Natty: what does that mean?
A.: and it is turned to a fresh page
A.: oh it is a lined book for writing in
Natty: oh oh -- you mean like a punishment book?
A.: it could act as such, yes
Natty: ohhh
Natty:[gulp]
A.: what is the date today?
Natty: December 29
A.: thank-you
A.: give me a moment and I will scroll up and read your earlier comments
Natty: okay...
Natty: and why do you have to read those?
A.: I want to see how many answers you cheated on
Natty: oh dear...
Natty: well, how do you know?
A.: I will take off the ones I believe you would have known
A.: shhh
A.: give me a moment
Natty: sigh...fine...
A.: okay, I believe you would have know the first three questions anyway
Natty: sure
A.: Q4 was a cheat
A.: as was Q6 and Q8
A.: was Q5 a cheat or did you know the answer to it?
Natty: well...sort of...
Natty: I mean, I wasn't sure specifically but once I saw the answer then I kinda figured
A.: so you would probably have not come up with the name without prompting?
Natty: well...no...
A.: okay, and I suspect Q7 was a cheat as well
Natty: that one actually wasn't at all -- I knew that before I ever looked down
A.: okay, then that is good
A.: otherwise that would have been a cheat and a lie to cover the cheating
A.: okay..your misdemeanor has been entered
Natty: and uh...well...er...uh...Q3 was a cheat too...
A.: and there are 22 lines on this page
A.: well, thank-you for owning up
Natty: :">
A.: I thought you might have remembered that from the article
Natty: nah
Natty: but I figured that's what you were thinking
A.: well, that doesn't affect what I wrote in my entry
Natty: so how many lines did it take up?
A.: I will tell you this time, but this is the only time I will
A.: two
Natty: okay
Natty: :)
A.: and I almost had to start a third line
Natty: you did?
A.: yes
Natty: because of Q3?
A.: no, I had written it up before you told me about Q3
A.: okay, just this once I will tell you what I have written
Natty: okay
Natty: :)
A.: Dec 29: Cheating at a quiz after promising not to. Attempting to justify cheating.
Natty: okay
A.: that is fair, is it not?
Natty: sigh...yeah it is...
A.: yup
Natty: though of course I'm going to try and justify it LOL
A.: trust is very important after all
Natty: true
A.: so you should know that attempting to justify cheating is a punishable offence
Natty: yes Sir...
A.: thank-you
A.: and it will be interesting to see what words keep cropping up in your punishment book
Natty: true
A.: when it is all read out it may sound very bad indeed
Natty: yeah
Natty: I suspect that justifying thing will come up a lot
A.: yes, I do too

Do note that by the time I managed to get to England nine months later, he had lost the punishment book. However, he assured me the other day that he's far more organized now and has a new punishment book should I commit the mortal sin at the moment -- overdoing it. Indeed, I got a look so stern it made it all the way over the Atlantic and across the continent to Oregon when it accompanied his reminder not to over do it upon my feeling a bit better for a few days.

Sigh. So I'm not. I'm being good. Which means it's probably time I got off the computer.

[rolling my eyes]

I can at least manage that act of brattiness still. ;)

"Why is everyone so anti-enema all of a sudden?"

I couldn't help but giggle last Wednesday morning when the medical assistant in the urologist's office asked this question out loud in response to two patients in a row whining about having to have an enema before their medical procedures.

Well, indeed. Why would anyone not want an enema?

(Hit "Keep reading" to continue.)

As you might imagine, the fact that I'm in a urologists office to hear such questions means my health is still pretty shitty. The doctor's assessment last Tuesday was that I have interstitial cystitis and so he proceeded to do something called a DMSO wash. "It'll sting for 15 minutes but then it will numb everything," promised the medical assistant.

Sting was an understatement and it lasted a hell of a lot longer than 15 minutes. After two hours I couldn't even pee and had to head into the emergency room for a catheter and a morphine shot.

"You want the shot in your butt or the front of your thigh?" asked the nurse.

Normally my butt would have won hands down, but that would have meant moving. And pressure on my bladder. So my thigh it was. Ouch.

They sent me home with a catheter and the doctor decided the next morning to leave it in until Friday. Lemme tell ya, life just doesn't get much better than have a bag of piss strapped to your leg. I will never again take for granted that blissful feeling of relief you get after you pee when you've had to go for a really long time.

As it turned out, I still had a UTI, which came as no surprise to me because I managed to get an entirely different UTI a couple of weeks ago while still on antibiotics for the first UTI the week before that. But the urologist usually has about 6 patients waiting for him at any given moment so doesn't really sit down and listen to what's going on. Just assumes a lot because, hey, he's been doing this for 30 years or whatever and doesn't really need you to tell him what's going on because he already knows. That is, until he gets a patient like me whose body doesn't quite cooperate with his assumptions.

So, now I'm on heavy duty antibiotics that make me both very sleepy and very nauseous. The medication they gave me to counter the nausea also makes me very sleepy so I'm sleeping about 15 hours a day or so and during the time that I'm not sleeping I'm barely lucid. Right now is about the time the antibiotic starts to wear off, but I just took my second dose a half an hour ago so I'll probably be in a coma in about 15 minutes. However, I've been trying to type up this post for almost a week now and thought I'd take my few minutes of lucidity to clean it up enough to post already.

Right, so all of this difficulty with...um...elimination along with the fatigue that has been more profound than my normal relapses have reminded me of not quite seven years ago when I had a pulmonary embolism (blood clot in the lung) after having knee and ankle surgery. When I was admitted the hospital, my nurse introduced herself and sternly forbade me to get up to use the bathroom.

"I've had patients say to me that they'd rather die than use a bedpan and sure enough, they get up to go and that clot hits their brain or their heart and they do die before using a bed pan."

Fair enough. I was scared good and proper and used the bed pan without complaint. And was quite happy to graduate to the bedside commode the next day. A friend who was caring for me at the time joked that it was "a big potty chair." I certainly felt a bit like a toddler when the nurse stood me up after doing my business and wiped my backside. I also felt an odd sort of tingle that I now understand was arousal buried beneath a lot of embarrassment and just plain being grossed out by the close proximity to bodily fluid and waste than I was normally accustomed to or wished for.

For the last month or so I've had this odd, empty feeling when it came to my spanko-ness. Certainly pain has been a part of that, as it was last year at this time. While I am normally an insatiable spanko slut, I've had no desire at all to be spanked or to even think about it. However, it's been different than last year in that the child-like part of me -- the "Natty" me -- has barely been around. Usually when I go through a patch of bad health, the child part of me gets very cranky and constantly wants attention. And I try to give that part of me as much attention as I can by reading fun books like Harry Potter, or watching movies like Anne of Green Gables, and eating naughty stuff like ice cream or candy (though I try to get the organic stuff to give myself the illusion that it's not quite as naughty).

Now she sorta comes and goes. I know she'll be back. She came back after the P.E. eventually. And when I do feel little, I find myself thinking a lot about that nurse I had. How wonderful it was to be cared for by someone who wasn't grossed out by the help that I needed. Then I think about A. and how wonderful he's been. How instead of getting tired of me being sick all the time, he just gets sweeter.

Okay, I also took my pain meds along with the antibiotic and nausea medicine so I really am about to crash. Hopefully I'll be able to write a more well-constructed post at the end of the week.

Head girl ain't what it used to be

These head girls from a recent Indy article are so not what you read about in those spanking stories...

If it's got you hankering for the good old days, check out this oldie but goodie from Pablo over at the Treehouse.

Human Contact

I just finished eating my dinner from Meals on Wheels, and I have to say, I've never been more grateful to have people show up at my door with a warm cooked meal. Indeed even as I typed that last sentence I started to tear up a bit. The isolation of illness has been particularly brutal since my boyfriend left last week to head back home to England.

Damn those 90-day limits on tourist visits.

As those of you who read this blog regularly have probably noticed (and there are a handful of you who check in at least daily) it's been a bit quiet the last couple of weeks. My immune system has been overwhelmed with a variety of infections: a staph infection in my right index finger, an ambivalent respiratory virus, two separate UTIs, and the ever-present yeast infections that accompany 5 weeks of antibiotics. It's all left me so weak that even moving my fingers across a keyboard has seemed like a gargantuan task. And since other trivial activities like bathing or cutting up a few vegetables for soup have also turned into gargantuan tasks, blogging has been relegated to the superfluous.

However, when you spend most of your time without actual human contact, blogging becomes a way of feeling like you do have some sort of connection to the outside world. A way of sharing all those thoughts running through your head as you spend hour after hour laying in bed. A way to feel like you're contributing something even as illness makes you feel so damn useless and burdensome.

So, blogging hardly feels superfluous. It certainly provides a necessary function in my life. Yet, despite it's value, I've been made painfully aware this week that it can't take the place of human contact. Friends in Canada or Florida or England or California are unable to be here when I'm too sick to type.

Which means that on days like today when I can finally type again, you all are all the more precious to me.

As are those good people at Loaves and Fishes who came and woke me up with a Styrofoam package of sausage, mashed potatoes, spinach, cottage cheese and peaches, a dinner roll and Nilla wafers.

Another thing to add to the list

I got spanked with a leek the other night. Yup. Really.

I was laying on my side in bed watching TV because I was sick and A. came out to ask me a question. Noticing that the leek in his hand was slightly whippy, he smacked me with it a few times on the bottom.

"Owch," I said. My pain threshold is crap these days. And it did have a bit of a thud. He grinned and ordered me to lay on my tummy. "But I'm sick," I pouted. Though I was secretly a bit excited to do something not illness related. So I turned over. And he gave me a few more whacks.

So, now I can add a leek to the list of things I've been spanked with.

And yes, he did wash that leek before putting it in the soup.

Stripedy like a zebra horse

Oh my - two posts in one day! (A. has been out for the afternoon -- he he he.)

One of the cool things about not being able to use use my computer as much has been that I've been reading more. You know, books.

Like, The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingslover. A brilliant book about about a family of Baptist missionaries from Georgia who go to bring the Word of God (whatever that is) to the Congo in 1960 as told through the wife and four daughters of the misogynist, racist, clueless minister. And being a Free Will Baptist minister (indeed I remember hearing once that Conservative Baptists were found to be the most frequent users of corporal punishment), he is liberal with his use of the rod so there are frequent spanking references. My favorite is from five-year old Ruth May:

"That razor strop burns so bad, after you go to bed your legs still feel stripedy like a zebra horse."

Thinking mode

I've been in one of those meditative moods of late. Not much spanking going on because I haven't been feeling well and not much posting going on because I've had an infection in my right index finger that didn't respond to the first round of antibiotics (but thankfully has now responded to the second) and has made it hard to type. Plus, my boyfriend has been hogging the computer (hmm...better be careful here...he gave me the strap the last time I said that over at the Punishment Book...) in order to get his website up and running (which it is, which means he's on the computer even more).

Okay, teasing aside, he's actually been very good at sharing the computer with me when I need it, so I can't really say that's the reason I haven't been posting much. It's been more that I've sorta been in thinking mode. Perhaps some of you go through those times when you think about your kink and yourself.

One of the big things I've been thinking about has been how much I want my spanko self to integrate with the rest of me. Like, maintaining two separate blogs so that "Natty" and "Michelle" end up being two different entities on the blogosphere. After a month or so of thinking about this, a long-ass thread at the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup came up about this very thing. About how out we should or want to be with those outside of our little subculture. It was one of those threads where I was so busy pondering what was being said I didn't have the energy to construct my own response. Well, at one point I did venture a response, but it wasn't particularly articulate or original and was pretty much ignored. I can't say that I've yet come to any grand conclusion, but thought I'd let you all know that I'm in thinking mode at the moment.

In the meantime, I leave you to ponder the wisdom of Kinky Friedman from this feature in the New Yorker about his campaign for govenor.

“You have your life and your work, and you should get the two as confused and as mixed up as possible. Make it all one fabric. Vincent van Gogh did that. Hank Williams did it, Allen Ginsberg, Bukowski, those kinds of people did it.” He thought about it for a moment, lit his cigar, and added, “Anne Frank, of necessity, did it.”

About that discussion...

Yep. We finally had it. And I posted the details over at the Punishment Book should you care to read them.

Spankos-in-training

I've blogged a few times about my nieces, who appear to be spankos-in-training. Such as here, or here.

So, tonight one of my sisters and I took the oldest two out for their birthday. After watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (was a bit nervous, but I actually quite liked it) and eating pizza at Eatza Pizza (nasty pizza, but nice employees), my sister and I dropped them off at home. I went to give the oldest a hug and as she bent down to hug me, I gave her 11 soft smacks. The next oldest comes running over. "Give me my birthday spanking 'Chell!" And, well, I gave her a hug and 9 soft spanks. Their mother's boyfriend says that he hasn't given them their birthday spankings yet, to which the 9-year-old responds by running over to him and throwing herself over his lap, causing him to wince and complain about his hurt knee. And promise that he's going to give them their birthday spanking at their pool party in a couple of weeks.

Yep. That'll probably be their favorite part.

A somewhat sort of night

Whiskey makes A. somewhat subby. Somewhat.

And last night he drank enough to get him into that somewhat subby mood. Enough to make me very...er... pleasured.

Being dommey isn't my natural instinct, but for those rare occasions when it's requested, I'm getting a little better at it. Last night when I accidentally whacked him on the balls with the riding crop, I felt bad like I often do. But only somewhat. Certainly not enough to stop whipping his ass.

Though the problem I usually have is that the whiskey so desensitizes him to pain that I have to whack him so much that it makes me more sore than him. The most extreme case was once last year when I had an hour to get him to give in or I would get thrashed. After an hour of wrestling him down, handcuffing him to the fireplace railing and whipping him with every painful implement I could think of, the bastard never gave in. The next morning he was all "hmm...I'm hardly sore at all" while I was aching over every inch of my body.

Last night it was just my shoulder that was so achy. I need to figure out an implement that will hurt him but will save my arm.

A tazer perhaps?

But as I said, he's only somewhat subby. It lasts for a very finite period. And when it was over last night, I was the one on the business end of a cane. And a ruler. And his hand -- which let me just say, is getting harder and harder.

Though he had way more marks on his backside than I did when we went to bed. ::evil giggle::

Real life

Okay, how sick is this?

My back is KILLING me (well, not as much at the moment -- I took three Lortabs and a Flexeril about an hour and a half ago) but I'm totally craving a spanking.

Yes, I know. You're thinking that I'm just wanting the endorphine response. And yeah, that's probably part of it.

Part of it is also a little bit of wanting to feel little as I've felt so damn old and sick for the last two weeks.

And, partly, I'm rather randy. Except A. and I are so out of synch on that level. Or rather, I've been too damn sick for the most part to be randy at all. It's something that happens every blue moon anymore. And at the moment, he's exhausted from his sleep being all out of whack.

Sigh.

Well, any spanking at this point would sorta be cheating since I'm on so many drugs. ;)

Despite

The other night as A. and I were talking, our discussion led to a traumatic memory of abuse from my childhood. It's still something that is hard for me to verbalize and after giving him a brief, nondescript summary of the incident, he held me quietly while the memory played out in full detail in my mind. He rubbed my back as I began to cry. Caressed my bottom, an act that usually turns on my spanko cravings. Instead, it reminded me of years lived in fear. I even slightly flinched at one point when his hand came toward my head to stroke my hair.

When I first began to explore my spanking kink five years ago, I thought that perhaps my desire for a spanking was an eroticization of the abuse from my childhood.

But over the years I've realized that I'm a spanko despite the abuse.

Under the apple tree

A. and I went to visit my grandma Saturday night. She lives about an hour away on seven acres of wooded property in the middle of suburbia. Indeed, it's hard to see the gravel road leading up to her house from the street, and A. almost missed it were it not for his Dukes of Hazzard-like turn in the middle of the road (he's adapting to driving in America so well). Yet once the gravel was crunching beneath the tires as we drove along fields lined with tall Fir trees, it felt miles from the endless rows of McMansions.

My Gram welcomed us inside. Made us each a drink (Scotch for A., vodka for me). Took us out to the back porch where hummingbirds freely buzzed among the feeders and rhododendrons and Gram's chocolate brown dachshund bounced around noisily demanding that her favorite chew toy be thrown.

After chatting for a bit, my Gram announced that she needed to use the restroom, so I took the opportunity to show A. around the place. We walked out to the barn where I pointed to the old sheep stalls and the back field where they used to graze. We sauntered back to the house but detoured along a concrete path down towards the storage shed in the basement. The path was overgrown with blackberry bolts and various flowers that hadn't been cut back. A. stood in front of me holding the hand of mine that wasn't holding onto my cane as I hobbled down the small steps. When we went as far as we could, we turned to head back up.

"Just a second." A. turned to step under an old apple tree.

[...]


I followed, half smirking as I knew what he was thinking. He looked around the ground at the various sticks. "Turn around. Up against the tree," he said as he pulled me toward the trunk. I did as I was told.

He picked up a hunk of wood about an inch or so in diameter.

"No, that's too big," I told him. Though it didn't stop him from whacking me on the ass with it a few times. I rolled my eyes. It stung a little, but clearly he knew nothing about switches. I turned to my right and saw a nice green, fairly smooth switch growing out of a branch about even to my head. "Here." I picked it off and handed it to him.

"Ah, that's better."

Well, yes and no.

I mean, it definitely stung a lot more. But, well, it stung a lot more!

Before I know it, he's pulling down my trousers and panties right there in my Gram's yard.

Part of me was thinking, omg, my Gram is going to hear. She's going to tell my aunt that here I am, after not coming to visit in over six years, bringing some British guy around and getting all kinky in her yard.

The other part of me was grabbing the branch just above my head, feeling really warm and squirmy. A. felt his hand up my shirt and onto my breasts.

"Are your nipples still tender?" I nodded. PMS has been extra fun this month. He brushed along my left breast, though at that moment I totally wanted him to go ahead and squeeze. "Keep still," A. ordered as I reflexively tried to dodge the switch.

Did I mention that it stung? Thank God for the vodka earlier.

I mumbled something about my Gram hearing between oowws, though I know she can't hear well. But, what if she came looking for us? What if she was in the living room looking out the glass patio door and down at us?

Yet, wasn't holding onto to this tree branch above my head as I got whipped one of the most erotic things we've ever done?

"You so like this tree," A. teased as he gave me a few hand spanks.

"You're the one who picked it out." I giggled. "Maybe you're a...dendraphile."

"No, you're the dendraphile. Holding onto that tree like that. You so want it," he kept teasing as he pulled my pants back up. I adjusted my shirt, grabbed my cane, rubbed my backside and headed back up the steps.

"Where did you guys go? You've been gone forever." Well, at least Gram didn't hear anything.

We went out for dinner and after salty Mexican, returned to her place to look at old photos and knick knacks until the wee hours of the morning before finally heading back to downtown Portland.

I didn't sleep well that night, though not for the reason you might imagine. The sting wore off after twenty minutes or so. But, as noted above, I haven't been to visit my Gram in over six years, before the surgery that made me so sick. Physically it's hard for me to get out and about on my own much of the time.

However, as I mentioned in this post, I didn't grow up with my Gram. Or my biological father. I didn't really get to know them until I was 24 and spent part of the year living with that side of the family. My father was more ambivalent about my presence in his life, but my grandparents and aunt were happy to have me around. Happy to spend warm summer evenings, a lot like last Saturday, telling me about a part of me I never knew. About the life I might have had. Like spending summers with them on their ranch in Dallas riding my own pony instead of living with my histrionic mother in low-income housing eating Kraft macaroni and cheese.

My grandpa in particular spent hours telling me all the family history. About farming. About being a Navy cook on a ship during WWII. About hunting with his Native-American friends in Eastern Oregon. He talked about building bookshelves for me. And a little chair because I'm short and don't fit well in regular chairs.

And when he died that summer it felt like the most unfair thing that ever happened to me.

As I got up Sunday morning while A. remained asleep, that staggering loss came back in the same flood of tears it usually does. In the same ache in the middle of my chest. In the less palpable, but more unbearable pain seeping throughout my being. All those "whys?" All that terrible unfairness.

But then I remembered A. and I under the apple tree.

And smiled.

I cannot go back and erase the mistake my mother made in never telling my father about me. I cannot go back and capture the childhood I might have had if she had told him. I will never again listen to my Pop tell stories on the back porch as he sits flicking his cigarette ash into an old Alpo can next to him.

Yet, right now, there is a lot that is sweet and wonderful and beautiful.

Like memories of being kinky under an apple tree.

Technical difficulties

After a heads up from Poeisia, I discovered that my blog is not showing up properly in Internet Explorer. I usually use Mozilla Firefox, and my blog is showing up just fine there so I wasn't aware there was a problem. I have alerted Blogger of the problem and hopefully they'll have it fixed soon. Especially as I got a wicked spanking under an apple tree yesterday that I want to tell you all about. ;)

Thanks for your patience.

In case you were wondering...

Lest you wrongly assume that I always think saintly, good Catholic girl thoughts (well, alright, you guys know I don't, but those who read my non-kink blog where I originally posted this don't always know that) consider the conversation my boyfriend and I had the other morning about fetishes.

"I wonder what the most obscure sexual fetish is?" A. pondered.

"I remember coming across balloon fetishes once online," I said. "I think that one has to be the most boring."

After thinking a bit about zoophilia, which we always joke about after he saw a BBC documentary about zoophiles, I wondered aloud about the following.

"So, since there are zoophiles, can you have the vegatarian equivilent? Say, an herbiphile?"

"Now, Prince Charles - he'd be a right herbiphile," A stated.

Before you know it, we were on the Internet looking up herbiphilia. Which is apparently phytophilia. And those who have sex with trees are dendraphiles.

So, now ya know.

More neighbor action

The warm weather has us all opening our windows and reminded me that there was more spanko action in some apartment somewhere above me.

I was taking a bath and could hear it. My boyfriend was in the other room, and I wasn't sure if he had heard it until after I got out of the bathtub.

"Did you hear the spanking action going on?" he asked.

So, it isn't just my imagination. I've got another set of ears to verify the presence of other spankos in this building.

They might have even been the couple behind me at Safeway a week or so ago. They were college-age and the young woman was saying something about she shouldn't be punished. I didn't hear the rest of the conversation as it was my turn at the pharmacy counter.

No spanking action in this apartment lately. I've felt pretty shitty this week. Wait, I think there was some a bit earlier in the week before I took a nap. But that was with my pajama bottoms on. Yeah, it's been one of those weeks when all I wear is my pajamas.

Sigh. Yeah, bad pain. That icky, flu-like feeling so much apart of having CFIDS/ME.

Makes me think I'm insane for having a spanking kink when I live in so much pain as it is.

Catching up

Okay, we finally got the Internet connection fixed, so it's time to catch you up on the spankings I've had in the last two weeks.

As my last post mentioned, I was a bit cranky last week and this time a bit more vocal about it. Though, my boyfriend, A., says that my cranky is really "cranky-lite," the "diet-Coke of cranky" with pinky finger hooked to the corner of his mouth. (Think "The Spy Who Shagged Me.") At any rate, I woke up that day really achy and tired because I hadn't slept well due to the fact that my hip is STILL bothering me after almost a year now and has flared up even more the last few weeks. I had been annoyed with all kinds of things all day and when I got pouty, A. just responded with silly faces to make me laugh. Which did make me laugh, making me all the more annoyed.

"Stop it," I'd whine.

"But it's the best remedy for crankiness," he'd say.

"Nuh uh."

"That's alright, I'll sort you out later." He couldn't then because my dad was with us. So later that night after I'd taken my dad home, I figured he'd be sorting me out. When he just got ready for bed instead, I got really bratty. He emerged from the bathroom to find me sitting on the corner of the bed, my arms folded over my chest.

"About fucking time you got out of the bathroom."

He gave me that mock-shocked look as I went into the bathroom. While I, um, did my business in there, I could hear him rummaging around underneath the bed.

Damnit! Why oh why can't he just use his frickin' hand? Why does he need implements?

To be honest, as it was over a week ago, I don't remember the details of that spanking well. I believe there was a strap and a brush involved. And a half-assed lecture about swearing. I do, however, remember him saying afterwards when we cuddled that it was hard for him to be very stern when I'm cranky because it's so cute.

Sigh...what can I say? Maybe I should change my nickname to the Cranky Cutie. ;)

The second spanking took place last week while we were on holiday at the Coast. We stayed in the cottage of the Sandlake Country Inn, a delightful Bed and Breakfast in Pacific City where our privacy was priority for the innkeepers. Indeed, each morning they brought breakfast in a basket, placed it on the doorstep, rang the doorbell and left. The only time we saw them was when we arrived and when we left. Which was a good thing because we packed with kinky play in mind. However, we didn't end up doing much kinky play as those bastards at Thrifty Car Rental failed to tell us over the phone about a variety rules, including those about additional drivers, despite being specifically asked, so I ended up having to drive, causing my hip pain to flare up to ungodly levels. After a night of very little sleep, we decided to have A. drive and hope we didn't get into an accident or anything as I was utterly incapapble of driving by that point.

And we needed to drive up to Cannon Beach to meet a spanko friend from online. The innkeeper said that it would only take an hour or so to drive to Cannon Beach. We were meeting our friend at 5:30, so leaving at 4:30 seemed reasonable, right? Wrong. It actually takes about an hour and 15 minutes. And of course, I was running about 10 minutes late. Why? I have no idea. I'm always late and still can't quite figure out what exactly causes me to be late. Then there was road work. Though that didn't throw us off too much. But we ended up in Cannon Beach at 6:05 pm.

"I'm so blaming you," A. said as we got out of the car. As always (it's a play thing). Though this was rather merited as we did leave late because of me. We ended up missing our friend. And while I enjoyed the poshest dinner I've ever had later that night at the Stephanie Inn, it was with a twinge of dread as I knew a spanking awaited me at the end of the night. Tardiness usually carries a six strokes with the brush per minute late penalty. And A. had most assuredly packed the brush. Thankfully he was in a merciful mood when we got back to the cottage, especially as our being late wasn't entirely my fault. I only got the strap and his hand. Which made for a nice, cozy glow to sleep on. If only he would do all bedtime spankings like that...

The last spanking was Friday. We finally got our Internet connection up, and the new cane arrived from Adam and Gillian's. I was trying to catch up a bit on blog reading and managed to make it over to the Punishment Book where Mija was showing off some antique brushes she's put on sale at Ebay. I didn't even get a chance to finish reading the post as A. decided my reading a spanking blog was a sure sign I was hankering for a spanking, despite my protestations to the contrary. It was over a pile of pillows on the bed for me.

My first taste of a rattan cane was almost a year ago. At that time I remember thinking that rattan stings much more than bamboo. And Friday I was reminded of just how much they sting. I got six of the best several times over as A. played around with intensity and position. Then he decided to compare it with the riding crop to see which one hurt more. OW! Definitely still have to go with the riding crop as the more painful implement. There was a final nine strokes that were fairly severe. Then the strap. Then his hand. Then lots of cuddling during which I fell asleep.

Spankings do seem to have that affect on me.

So, my gentle readers, you are all caught up. And no, we still have not had the "discussion" yet, but I suspect that will be the next post.

There's nothing like a good spanking...

...to put you in a better mood. :-)


[Note: I started writing this post a week ago but between the holiday and no internet connection, haven't been able to finish it until now. I'm using a tenuous wireless hotspot here in my apartment for the moment. Hopefully they'll figure out what's wrong this week.]

I'm not normally a cranky sort of person. On those few days when I am, I tend to suppress it as I don't like to make others suffer from my bad mood. And that was true for the first few days after my boyfriend arrived. I felt really cranky, but didn't really say much. I mean, it wasn't his fault. I was tired and feeling shitty. My neuropathic pain was back. And I had no libido. At all. It was really annoying.

I kept telling myself to be patient. I was actually able to drive to the airport to pick him up, and I haven't been able to drive for almost two months. Hell, I've spent most of the last two months in bed. So, I mean, there is progress here.

But I still felt annoyed.

And I wanted a spanking. Well...sorta. My body still felt squeamish about it.

As we were leaving Trader Joe's Friday afternoon, we talked about whether or not we had enough time to get the Flexcar washed before we had to have it back. As I looked at my watch, I thought it would be cutting it too close.

"And you don't want to be late," he said with a pseudo-stern grin. "Or rush to get back."

"Nope. I learned my lesson that day." And, you know, I have too. I tend to leave a lot more time for things now, which means I rush less. Funny how that works.

"Actually, you've been very good since I've been here," he said as we pulled out of the parking lot.

Sigh. Yeah. I have been. I've felt too shitty to be otherwise.

When we got home, he unloaded the groceries while I sat in the car waiting to take it back to its appointed parking spot. After taking the first load in, he came back out for the second.

"Did you honk at me?" With a stern-ish edge to it.

"No." I shook my head a bit puzzled as I hadn't heard any honking. Then felt that devilish feeling come up and honked the horn. "But now I did." And grinned my mischievous grin.

Yay! My bratting instincts are back.

He gave me a mock shocked look. Took the rest of the groceries inside.

A little while later we were sorta just sitting lazily and talking. At one point the conversation shifted to a discussion of his new glasses and how stylish they are. He pulled them down his nose as I giggled about how stern they made him look. That's when he mentioned that he hadn't really spanked me since he arrived.

"Nope, ya haven't," I said.

"Right. It's six now. At 6:30 I want you on the bed in your knickers."

"Okay." There was a pause for a few minutes. Then I giggled. "About time you fucking spanked me."

Yep. Those bratting instincts are soooo back.

"My my, you do need a spanking," he said after another mock shocked gasp.

"Ummm...yeah," I grinned.

I was ready now. Both mind and body.

So, at 6:25 I was on the bed laying on a pile of pillows in nothing but my pink flowery knickers. Watching from the corner of my eye as he pulled out various implements: the new leather strap, the paddle, the mean ol' brush. Feeling that excited dread coursing through my veins.

It was basically a "getting reacquainted" spanking. Testing out where my pain threshold was utilizing the 1-10 scale. The strap was about a 7. The brush an 8 1/2 and the paddle a 9/10. Yeah, that paddle freekin' hurts. He also played a bit with the diminutive, broken cane while we await the new one from Adam and Gillian. At 12-inches it definitely gives a bit of a sting and leaves some marks, leaving me to imagine what the full 33 inches will be like.

Then he got out the wooden spoon.

"Do you know why I'm going to use this?"

"Um...no."

"It's because this is the implement most associated with past spankings about your writing." As he spanked me, he told me to be thinking about all the writing I do -- novel, blogging, school, emails -- and how much time I spend on each and how much time I want to be spending before our forthcoming discussion.

Which, trust me, I've been thinking about a great deal after that damn wooden spoon.

A funny thing happened once the spanking finished. I was no longer cranky. And I was even a little, er...libidinous.

"I'm in a much better mood now," I said with a happy sigh as we cuddled before falling asleep that night. "I've been feeling cranky all day."

"I didn't even know you were in a bad mood."

"Well, I don't know, I usually don't really say anything."

"You'll have to tell me next time when you're cranky."

Well, yesterday I told him. Boy oh boy, did he get to see me in a cranky mood.

But that will have to wait for another post.

Internet service down

Just a quick note here from my school's computer lab (my haven't I gotten brave) to let you know that my Internet service is down and may not be working again until Monday (ugh!). I hope to return to writing about the salacious details of my spanking life as soon as possible.

In the meantime, go get some sun and quit blog surfing. ;)

P.S. No, we haven't had that "discussion" yet, though we did have a different one. I've started writing about that but was only able to get about half way through the post before I got too tired and had to save it to finish later. And then, of course, I wasn't able to access the Internet to finish it so, it's still in draft status for now.

The annual SSC at SSS

Every summer at the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup there is a short story contest to give all us perverts plenty of summer reading. Should you be creatively inclined, you might try your hand at writing a story for the fame and accolades this venerable contest provides. Er...well, sorta. Okay, maybe not much fame, but perhaps a few accolades.

Here is one of my stories from last year, "Spanked by Mr. Schneider." I'm working on a few stories for this summer, but I'd love to see what you write. :)

Hey-la, day-la, my boyfriend's back

Now I'm going to get a beatin'. ;)

Actually, last night I got a little spanking, more to test out his new toys: a scrap strap from Adam and Gillian's (I like it) and a paddle from Woodrage (ouch!!). We tested them out with me bent over in front of the dresser, then a bit more bent over the bed, then finally over his lap. It felt so nice to be over his lap again that I almost cried. Though, cuddling was even nicer.

We're supposed to have a "talk" soon about the novel I've been taking a break from writing. Or rather, we were going to have it this evening but my dad stopped by unexpectedly (one of the few times his timing was impeccable!) and we didn't get around to it (oh, what a shame...). The break was a legitimate break that we both agreed upon. However, it's getting to be time to start writing again and spanking does help to focus my mind a bit.

Sigh...but it's going to hurt. :(

Story: Dealing with My Disability [M/F]

This is an old story to tide y'all over while I'm sick. And as illness has been the topic of many of my posts lately, I thought I'd post this particular story which originally appeared at the soc.sexuality.spanking Usenet newgroup in March of 2002. At that time I had recently been diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome (also called Myalgic Encephalomylitis outside the U.S) and was suffering a relapse severe enough to convince me that I had to take a leave of absence from school. As I'm in the midst of a similiar relapse, this seemed like a particularly apt story to post. It's not one of my better stories -- there are parts of it that make me wince a bit. And I kind of giggle to myself as the character of Walter is sort of an amalgamation of three people, all of whom I can recognize in certain lines. But, at any rate, here it is. Enjoy.

*********************************************

Story: Dealing with My Disability [M/F]

"I think we need to meet..." Walter's voice lingered in my mind as the
clock ticked closer to 5:30. When he said those words, I knew I was in
trouble. And with only fifteen minutes left until he arrived, I couldn't
decide if I wanted the minutes to hurry up and pass already, or to stay
off, away in a future that wouldn't come. At any rate, I still had
fifteen minutes -- no fourteen minutes - to rehearse my arguments. To
practice my spin...

"Well, I see you haven't touched your meds for today..." He glanced down at the plastic rectangle with boxes for each day containing pills and
capsules of various size and color on the countertop of my kitchenette
as he came into my studio apartment. D'oh!

"Oh, yeah...I forgot," I said without thinking.

"Well, I'll have to make sure I help you remember."

"Well, I mean, I didn't really forget...I just haven't gotten to them yet.
And, well, my throat has been kinda sore so they're not as easy to
swallow..." Yeah, there was always a health ailment to get me out of
trouble...Or so I thought...

"Yes, but that's all the more reason to make sure you take them if
you're not feeling well."

"True...I'm just taking them after I eat dinner...and some of them are for
bedtime anyway." Lame attempt, I know.

"Of course." He looked at me with a wry smile and a raised eyebrow.
"Now, how about if I take a look at your journal." My
symptom/food/activity journal. It was something to help the doctors keep
track of my illness, as well as help me think about what I was doing. To
learn to listen to my body when I'd as soon ignore the headaches and
fatigue telling me I needed to rest before I get REALLY sick.

"S.s..sure..." Right to business, as usual. I handed him my spiral bound
notebook. This was the part I worried about. There in my pencil
scratchings, or lack of them, was the grim truth that I had not been as
diligent in keeping tack of my symptoms. And when I had written down my
food, it was stuff I shouldn't be eating. And when I tallied my
activities and the points of energy they cost me, I had clearly racked
up far too many.

"Hmmm..." Walter flipped through the pages as his eyebrow reached further
towards his hairline and his lips pursed together.

"See, I've been feeling better and I've been wanting to kinda see how
much more I can do...I mean, I think the herbal decoction from the
acupuncturist is really working - tastes like shi - I mean crap - but,
um, you know, I think I should push a little bit, try 'n get my body to
come back to the real world. And besides, I haven't had a relapse for
well over a month...I think I'm really starting to get better..."

"A month is hardly enough time to consider yourself 'cured,' my dear..."
His eyebrows crinkled towards the center as he looked away from the
notebook and down at me. He was only 5'10 or so, but as I'm exactly 5'
and ½ inch, he still towered over me. "And pushing yourself is why
you've gotten so sick in the first place." I rolled my eyes, sighed and
looked away. I hate when he insists on "logic" and "reality."

As my primary argument was no longer valid, I spent the next few minutes
as he flipped through the rule-lined pages trying to think of ways to
soften the edges of my transgressions. I used to try and think of
counter-arguments. Well, I still did. But I was no match for Walter. He
was a lawyer and had years more practice at it.

"You spent four hours at the mall on Saturday?? What were you thinking?
You're one major daily activity is only suppose one or two hours and not
that physically exerting...certainly not a four hour hike through the mall!"

"Well, I was hanging out with my sister...she was home and ---"

"And then you went out to a movie...and then out to a coffeehouse afterwards?"

"We would have gone to a bar but she's still underage." I grinned with
that mischievous twinkle. He glared.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"I won't die..." I mumbled.

"You never know..."

"Yeah, I do. CFIDS isn't fatal...it's just.... debilitating..." The last word
scraped through my mouth. I really despised it. Or any of the words used
in brochures, medical journal articles, books, websites, or newsgroups
to describe my illness. A dark scowl washed over me. I guess I still
hadn't finished going through the Five Stages of Grief...

"That's right. It is debilitating and will get even more so if you don't
take care of yourself. And clearly you have not been doing that." His
voice had that mixture of sternness and impatience.

"It's just..." I didn't mean to start crying. Really. I had never cried in
front of Walter. But my scowl turned into tears and then into sobs.
"It's just that I never get to have any kind of normal life. I'm just so
tired of watching life go by and never having the chance to grab hold of
it, you know? I'm tired of feeling like some old woman..." I folded my
arms as my eyes became red and puffy and my nose started to run. Walter
stood frozen at first, then grabbed a Kleenex and handed it to me. "I'm
sorry..." I said. "I'm not crying on purpose to manipulate you or
anything. I mean, I know your right...it's just..."

"No, I understand...it's okay." He put his arms around me as I cried into
his chest. After a few minutes I calmed down, took a deep breath, and
blew my nose one more time. Walter gazed at me while I tossed the tissue
into the trash. "You know, sometimes I really have a hard time spanking
you because I know you're in so much pain as it is and I hate adding to
it." I gave him a faint attempt at a smile. "But, if the few minutes of
pain I give you keep you from weeks of pain later, I will do it." He
walked over to my desk and wheeled the chair out away from the
furniture. Sat down and sighed. Patted his khaki-clad thighs. "Well, I
think it's time for you to come lay over my lap." I nodded and laid my
plump little body down so that my bottom was the first thing underneath
his right arm.

The full skirt of my pink summer jumper came up towards my neck and my
white cotton panties scooted down to my knees. My bare feet dangled off
the floor. That feeling of utter exposure. And I certainly didn't feel
like an old woman anymore...Walter tapped his thin, slender wooden paddle
against my skin a few times as I braced for the coming stingy blows.

And they came. One on top of the other. Over and over. I curled my toes
in pain. Squeezed my eyes shut. Pressed my lips together. Every now a
then tried to swallow a whimper.

"So once again we find ourselves in this very embarrassing position..." he
began lecturing. Why did he say "we?" I was the one with the naked butt
up for God and everybody to see. But I was focusing too much on how much
my naked butt hurt to mouth off. "And why are we here?"

"Cause...I...ow...wasn't...taking care of...oweee...myself."

"That's right. And how were you not taking care of yourself?" His voice
was calm and focused. Why did he ask me questions while he spanked me?
Did he not realize that it takes a great deal of concentration to get
through a spanking? These queries were extremely distracting. Eventually
he stopped the questions and just whacked away at my cheeks and thighs.

I was whimpering steadily when he stopped. He rubbed the middle of my
back as I gazed at the carpet pile. The sides of his thighs pressed into
my stomach. I relaxed. Wrangled with my fingers and picked at lint on
the floor.

"I know I don't need to tell you why you need to limit your activities
or not eat certain foods, or take your medication. You're a smart girl.
So, just do what you're supposed to do to get better. You've got to
focus everything on getting well. Okay?" That last word he said without
the sternness. More friendly. I nodded. He tugged the part of my hair in
a barrette. "Hey, you. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Alright then." I could see underneath the chair, down by my feet that
he was picking up the paddle again. Crap! I was getting more? A hot
splat on my backside answered. Apparently so. Another ten whacks seared
my already raw skin. The he stopped. Rubbed my back some more. Dropped
the paddle at his side to the floor. "Okay, we're done now." He held my
left arm as I pushed my right hand on his thigh to get up. As soon as I
was upright, I pulled up my panties and smoothed my skirt back down.

I stood in front of him as he still sat in the chair. Held my hands
behind my back. Bit my lower lip. Shifted my feet. Gulped and breathed
in staggered breaths. Walter smiled.

"Gosh, sometimes you really are such a little girl..." He shook his head.
I did a half roll of my eyes, smiled and bit my bottom lip again. "You
want me to help you put some ice on your bottom?" I nodded.

"Just lemme put some aloe vera on first." I went into the bathroom and
slipped off my panties. Cut off a half-inch portion of a leaf from my
aloe vera plant. Slit the side, peeled back the skin and rubbed the
cooling, gooey gel all over my backside. I came out and lay down on my
stomach on my bed. Walter placed the ice pack on top of my skirt
covering my bottom. As I bruise at the slightest touch, though not as
badly since I added Grapefruit extract and a synergistic Vitamin C to my
daily meds, the ice pack would keep the bruising to a minimum. Walter
patted me on the head.

"Now, I want you to rest and take care of yourself, okay?" I nodded.
"Then once you're better I can start beatin' on you to write those great
research papers for me to read." He grinned as I rolled my eyes and
scowled. "And you'll go back to being a great scholar and graduate
student -- why we started meeting in the first place..."

But at that moment I wasn't a graduate student or aspiring scholar, a
Person With CFIDS (PWC), or the old person I often felt with it. I was a
little girl who just needed someone to take care of me. Small.
Mischievous. Spirited. Rebellious. And little enough that my feet still
dangle when I'm over a knee getting spanked...

The week before

I'm sorry my postings have been so sparse lately. I've been battling some virus for the last week or so and every time I'm on the computer for very long I end up feverish, which exacerbates my neuropathic pain.

So, just 6 more days before my boyfriend gets here. It's funny. The week before we get together, he always gets deliciously stern. Notes any and every transgression, no matter how trivial. In the intervening months I could burn down a police station without a worry in the world about the consequences (well, at least from him, though he might remember that one long enough to spank me for it once we were together) but that week before, woe to me if I'm not on my best behavior! ;)

Okay, honestly though, I'm still ambivilent in my anticipation about getting spanked. My mind wants one but my body is still reticent. If this damn fever would go away, I might be less ambivilent. But, at least I'll have him here to cuddle with while I feel shitty. :)

Thoughts while watching Law and Order

Yesterday was a "don't even think of getting out of bed" day so I watched a lot of television between naps, including back to back episodes of "Law and Order."

One, Sam Waterston is like my quintessential paternal spanko figure. He always manages to come up with facial expressions that encompass everything I'd want in a daddy: moral principal, scolding, consternation, with a tad bit of gentleness thrown in. He's been in my spanking fantasies since I first saw him in "I'll Fly Away,"(an absolutely brilliant television show from 1991 that made me go "wow, I never thought television could get this good!"). Those fantasies became even more acute after he played a father who whips his daughter with a belt in the movie, "Man in the Moon." He looks similar to a high school history teacher I had, about whom I had only the vaguest of spanking fantasies, but who was someone I respected a great deal and remained in touch with after high school.

So, every time I watch him on "Law and Order" I end up thinking about him as the father/DA on "I Fly Away" and wishing he could be my dad, except maybe a bit stricter. ;)

Two, detective Fontana gave the rich girl caught in the crossfire at a drug party a firm but fair tongue lashing in the second episode last night. It was quite yummy.

A couple of funnies

One, you'll notice I figured out how to create expandable post summaries so you can browse down through the front page without quite so much writing to plough through. What's funny for me is that the code you type into your html page is "span class="fullpost." If any of you ever read my into at the Punishment Book, you'll know I have a hard time typing the letters "s-p-a" without following it with "n-k." It's kinetically ingrained in my fingers and brain.

Two, I just ordered a cane from Adam and Gillian's last week and when I went to pick it up at the campus housing office today (which is almost a miracle in and of itself as I have been mostly housebound for the last month), a former student of mine was working there and she asked what the package was. "A new cane," I said sorta tipping my head towards the cane I walk with. "I'm accessorizing." He he...how's that for a good cover? ;)

Except, sad to say, when I got the box home and opened it up, the cane was broken! {pout} They were really nice on the phone when I called to order it, so I'll call them in the morning (or afternoon when I usually wake up) and see what we can work out.

Update: Adam and Gillian's is sending me a new cane and sending a claim into UPS. Frankly, I think whoever it was I talked to on the phone was ready to cane UPS! ;)