Kinky gingerbread fun

Somehow I missed making it over to Jigsaw Analogy/Dyke Grrl's blog the last few weeks (actually, I've missed making it to a lot of blogs the last few weeks) where she has some kinky gingerbread baking fun. My personal favorite is the naughty school girl made of chocolate fondant.

That Dyke Grrl is quite the kinky Martha Stewart, whether it's making cookies or loopy toys. Well, you know, except she's actually nice.

Caned for...reading about the 1948 defenestration of Jan Masaryk in Prague?

So I was just getting caught up on reading my Robert Fisk, probably the single greatest English-speaking journalist writing about the Middle East, when I came to his article from earlier today. It began with this rather brutal anecdote.

When I was at school, I was once beaten by a prefect for reading a book on Czech history at a football match...back in 1960, screaming "Come on, Sutton!" at a bunch of grunting, muddied idiots in blue, black and white shirts was deemed more important than the 1948 defenestration of Jan Masaryk in Prague. A prefect later lashed me with a cane on the orders of a spectacularly cruel housemaster whose unwillingness to prevent the most vicious beatings almost equalled his love of soccer and rugby football.

Lordy, not only did you risk being unpopular at public school as a nerd, but apparently you also risked getting beaten!

Spanking fetish aside, I have to say I'm glad my rather strong nerdy tendencies in high school only cost me momentary embarrassement from time to time.

An advent of a different sort

Yesterday I was throwing away my now empty chocolate advent calendar, and as I'm now in a new advent of sorts -- A. comes in ten more days -- it occurred to me that I really need a new advent calendar. My dearest isn't exactly my savior/messiah. But he is more cuddly.

So, I was thinking of a calendar counting down to the day he arrives where each day I open a window revealing a picture of a different implement. And there are a fair number of past implements to chose from...

Granted, considering the dashed spanking expectations of the last few arrivals, we're not making too many plans this time, aside from my overdue birthday spanking (December 8). And, um, a few punishment spankings that merited being delivered in person (::gulp::).

One thing we are looking forward to is our belated Christmas dinner togther. You know, it will sorta be around the same time as Eastern Christmas. And I'm Byzantine Catholic so it'll be kinda like the old country (never mind that neither of us have ancestors from an "old country" that celebrates Christmas on the Julian calander). We've been discussing the menu for said dinner and have reached an impasse regarding the poultry: turkey or chicken.

"But we never get to eat turkey except once or twice a year," I whined.

"And clearly if it was so great, people would be eating it more," A. noted.

"Nuh huh..."

I decided to try a different approach.

"So, uh, if you let us eat turkey I'll let you spank me," I offered. A. laughed.

"Yes, that would be such a sacrifice for you."

I think I've got him talked into turkey, but I also think he's leaning toward my offer. His last words in our dinner discussion, I believe, were something along the lines of "You are going to get such a beating."

::giggle::

Cool.

Merry Spankin' Christmas

Not that Santa is keeping track, but I have been a bit naughty lately.

Last night I introduced my nieces (12 and 10) to "Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo." It goes without saying that they loved it. And then I decided that it would probably be okay to show them an episode of South Park (the very first one -- "Cartman gets an anal probe"). Err... I just hope they didn't go home and ask their mom what a dildo is. Granted, they were going home rather hyped up on sugar. I fed them pumpkin pie for breakfast. And they ate caramels and cookies and other sugary stuff throughout last night and today. Though, they did eat some roasted pumpkin seeds (my favorite part of making pumpkin pie). That's sorta nutritious.

And A. kept telling me that I better not over do it, to which I would respond with silence and then attempt to change the subject. I do have a tendency to push myself at the holidays and then spend days in bed feeling really shitty afterwards. I think the fact that my nieces asked me a couple of times to come sit with them and relax probably means I was over doing it.

Damn.

I did that at Thanksgiving too. And spent several days barely able to take care of myself. Not only did A. tell me that he has plans to deliver my punishment for that in person, but even my caregiver scolded me.

But the Vitamin B-12 No Shot has been giving me more stamina and, well, it's Christmas.

::sweet angelic smile::

Eeek! It's 12:15 am!

Er...Merry Christmas all.

Cartoon memories of a spanko

News of Joseph Barbera's death today caused me to think of all the wonderful cartoons of his I've enjoyed through the years, Scooby-Doo probably being my favorite. But being the sick pervert that I am, I couldn't help but remember some of his delightful cartoons that mesmerized me as a budding, if not yet conscious, spanko.

There was Tom and Jerry, where every now and then Tom's owner would give him a sharp smack on his behind that would show up as a bright red hand print. Oh, how I longed for a bright red handprint on my backside!

But the one that I think really captured my imagination was The Flintstones, where there were a handful of spanking references here and there but one episode in particular that lived repeatedly in my mind: Ladies' Night at the Lodge. It's the one where Wilma and Betty dress up as men so that they can join the Water Buffalo Lodge. But, first they have to make it through the initiation. With lots of paddles. They get paddled over and over. And in the last scene they are at home, playing cards, standing up because their bottoms hurt too much to sit.

As you might imagine, I soooo wanted to join the Water Buffalo Lodge...

Surreal spanko dream land

I had the most bizarre dream last night. Well, yes, I know. Don't we all? ::grin::

After waking up from a dream about a sort of Israel-Palestine museum of understanding in the woods in which an Israeli friend and my Arab-American godfather were both present, and I was trying to keep a shelve of glass dishes from falling on me and breaking all over (gawd I really need to stop reading the Indy so much), I fell back asleep and dreamt I was in an office/apartment (also in the woods -- sorta like a treehouse but with an early 80s modern, autumnal toned interior) in which the cast members of Scrubs and Ally McBeal were mingling. And there was this one woman (who I don't recall belonging to either cast) who I really wanted to spank me.

At one point we were in a room or porch (it was open air but had sofas) alone together and she asked me to spank her. So I shrugged, nodded, and said, "okay." Then I paddled her ass. But she seemed very, very tall (in fact, I vaguely remember a basketball hoop above the couch). Now, granted, I'm only 5', so just about everybody seems tall to me. Yet, as she was bent over with her hands on the sofa, her large, white backside presented for me to spank, my head was just barely taller than her waist.

After paddling her for a bit, she finally told me to stop because she had to leave to go on a trip (also vaguely remember a plane taking off in the background) and she didn't want to be too sore to sit in the plane seat for a lengthy period of time. So, I stopped. And sat on the couch. And still wanted very much for her to spank me. I was contemplating bratting for it when she left.

I woke up this morning feeling profoundly disappointed.

Speaking of planes, A. is hoping to be here just after the first of the year. If you'd like to contribute to his ticket so you can read more posts about me getting spanked, feel free to click on the donation button in the left sidebar. For personal reasons, we have to use my mom's PayPal account, hence the crazy username/email addy.

Absolutely behaving

Don't ya hate it when people flirt with you in a spanko sort of way who you really don't want to?

Okay, yes I suppose this works on a non-spanko level too...

At any rate, yesterday I was taking the trash out when my neighbor popped his head out the door. Now, he always makes me rather uncomfortable. He called security on me once because I was supposedly making too much noise when I was simply sitting quietly in the kitchen. On the other hand, in person he's always very chatty with me -- chatting that usually includes bitching about other people being loud. On one of those occassions when he noticed I had a woman's clothing catalogue in my hand (junk mail is great, isn't it?), he asked if he could have it because he likes to look at them. He routinely has a box of beer cans in front of his door. And when I asked what his name was after he asked mine, he responded, "The Chief."

Um...yeah.

So I'm dragging my trash and recycling bags to the elevator when he asks, "whatchya you doing?"

"Oh, just taking the garbage out." I smile politely. And push the down button.

"You behaving yourself?"

Now, if this was my nurse asking this, she'd get a mischievous grin. When A. asks this question, I get that delicious, squirmy feeling in my belly and, er, down a little further. When The Chief asks me? Um, well, there's this uncomfortable tension in my sternum and a tad bit of disoriention.

"Yes." I smile abruptly. And push the down button again.

"Well, okay then." And he closes the door.

Feels sorta weird answering that question without the slightest bit of naughty intonation, ya know?

Beware of Saudi high school teachers with big sticks

This post over at the Spanking Writers brought back memories of my Saudi "brother" from college.

W. and I were meeting for lunch at the student union after my Arabic class one day, where my professor had explained to us that it is common in Arab culture when a man and a women have to be together alone at, say, a bus stop, for the man to put his hand over his heart and say "you are my sister" (anti 'ukhti). So, at lunch I decided to try out my new Arabic and met W. with anta akhi - you are my brother. He looked at me for a second and then said, "yes, Meechelle, you are my sister." And we called each other sweetie brother and sweetie sister from then on.

What does that have to do with Abel's post? Well, one night when I was supposed to be helping W. with his history class, I got him talking about school in Saudi Arabia where apparently discipline varies considerably from teacher to teacher.

One teacher he had didn't even really care if they showed up and, if I remember correctly, even let them smoke in class (this is the Arab World, after all, where chain smoking is not only not banned, but sort of expected).

Another teacher, however, would walk into the room and bark out, "whoever didn't finish his homework, stand up!"

"And you just did because he was going to know in about five minutes and it would be worse," W. said.

Then he'd call the first student up, who'd hold out his hand upon which the teacher would slam his big stick. And if the student pulled his hand back, the teacher would start beating his leg until he put his hand back out.

"You always hoped you'd be last so he'd be tired," said W. "I was lucky. My hand never broke."

Um, yeah. Like I said, it varied considerably.

Fragments

I came across a poem describing a feminist the other night when I was catching up on some blog reading that, with all the talk about feminism and BDSM over at the Punishment Book, felt so appropriate.

sometimes,
wrists red,
thighs spread or sewn
with purple tape to match
the next morning’s bruises.

Go check out the entire thing here.

My Appalled Feminist and Me

As I've alluded to at times here and over at the Punishment Book, I've been struggling a lot with my punishment fetish this last year. And I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to articulate the whole thing. Well, I've started to with this post at the PB today about how my Appalled Feminist and I have come to some sort of uneasy truce about the whole thing.