I did it

In Dyke Grrl's (aka Jigsaw Analogy) latest post she talks about the impact child abuse has on her current spanking relationship with her partner and asks her readers about their own experiences talking about spanking in therapy.

I have to admit, I've been way too wussy to ever mention to a therapist that I'm into spanking. That is, until Friday.

As my old therapist is no longer working, I'm starting out with a new one. And I decided to take a tip from PB pal, Iris, in the comments section of the Dyke Grrl's post and state to my new therapist that I need to be able to discuss my sexual expression/orientation, which for me involves BDSM, without fear of judgment.

It turned out that the questionnaire I completed in the waiting room asked, among other things, if I was having problems with sex. I marked yes because being sick so much this last year (the primary reason I'm pursing therapy) has most certainly interfered with my sexuality.

When my new therapist asked me to elaborate on what the problems were, I ignored those voices inside screaming "obscure, obscure!" and stated clearly that all the pain and feeling shitty made it difficult for me to engage in my primary form of sexual expression, namely, BDSM. She smiled softly, wrote something down, and then asked me how long I had been into that. It was then my turn to smile and prattle on wistfully that I've been fantasizing about being spanked since I was a little kid. Again, she smiled softly, wrote something down and then turned to another topic. As the intake came to a close, she asked if I anything else to add, and I just reiterated my three main ground rules for us to have effective therapy, the last one being that I need to feel safe to discuss my sexuality, including BDSM, without fear of judgment. It was a deal.

I was so frank. So straightforward. And it was so easy. Well, at least so far. Ultimately Dyke Grrl's challenge was whether or not anybody had managed to discuss their DD arrangement with a therapist. And, well, I'll see in the weeks to come if I'm up to that challenge.

Bend me over like Beckham

My worries of last week were certainly for naught. My spanking mojo came back and then some. I mean, you'd think after going for four months without a proper spanking (not to mention the fact that the top of my right butt is in constant pain) I'd need to ease back into it. That my pain threshold would have dropped considerably. But oh no. It's like I can't get enough.

A. found himself opening my junk/tool drawer for apparently the first time yesterday. And he laid eyes on those defunct USB cords thinking the same thing I did. Before I knew it, he was fishing around the drawer for cords he could cut up (weed does funny things to him -- he'll become obsessed with a project to the complete disregard of anything else) and ended up with a flogger and a loopy toy.


As he made the toys, we discussed and derided the announcement of David Beckham's $250 million deal with the LA Galaxy (or rather, AEG and Addidas and, um, well, we still can't figure out how the whole thing is working out). Mused about whether the entire MLS was even worth $250 million. Tutted about how Beckham couldn't just retire with whatever (little) dignity he had left after his tearful press conference following England's dismal performance in the World Cup. Rather he was slinking off to America where, as one writer put it, he was "like an old dog looking for a quiet place to die." Except that the shallow world of Hollywood is hardly quiet, though is perhaps a suitable place for a pretty boy with little remaining football talent. Sure, in the short-term Beckham is supposed to make soccer the new "in" thing and raise its popularity in the US. In the long-term, however, the Beckham Rule may well bankrupt the MLS, a fate that befell its predecessor, the NASL.

It's funny because A. was wondering on Thursday if Beckham's move was even going to be reported on the news here in the US. Now he's not only annoyed that the omnipresent, nasally-voiced washout has followed him across the Pond, but will also, on top of it all, make a shit load of money.

Perhaps it was time to add Becks to the whipping girl list.

"I'm going to bend you over like Beckham and fuck you up the ass like Posh does to him," A teased. "I'm going to make you cry harder than a substituted overrated has-been who's just realized he's never going to win the World Cup."

Mmm yeah. That squirmy feeling was so back.

In the end we couldn't think of an appropriate physical punishment for Beckham (tying him up and making him read all the newspaper accounts about what a loser he is seemed far more apt). But we did have a flogger and loopy toy to test out, as well as a new ping pong paddle. It was time to take my pajama bottoms down and lay me on the bed with my nekkid ass well and truly exposed.

He began with a nice warm-up hand spanking (though damn is his hand hard!). Then he used the ping pong paddle. It definitely stung but wasn't as bad as I had it built up in my head it would be. The same can be said of the loopy toy. In fact, it had that same sensation as a belt has: it stung when it first hit my skin but instantly turned into a pleasurable sensation. The flogger, on the other hand, hurt like a mofo. The ends of it bit into my skin with the slightest stroke. Well, not literally. In fact, for someone on anti-coagulants, I remained remarkably unmarked.

You'd think I'd have had my fill at that point. But oh no. I then mentioned that I hadn't had the cane in some time, so there were some cane strokes involved. However, my ass was numb by that point so I didn't really feel much of that except for the odd stroke on my thigh. I also suggested the strap. "You're a little pain slut today," A. stated with a grin. I giggled and smiled and awaited the strap. It was heavier than I remembered it, but still had that nice sting. There was also a bit of the wooden spatula somewhere in there, but, you know, there are parts of this spanking (as with most spankings) that are rather a blur looking back on it.

Finally A. needed to take a smoke break. I put my PJ bottoms back up and climbed into bed to take a nap. Yet being the insatiable pain slut that I was, I still wanted more. I was also a bit, um, well, very...er...juicy and thought that attending to that might earn me yet another spanking. It didn't, but I did get some delightful assistance in attending to that when A. returned.

::wide, happy grin::

And I did finally manage to take my nap. You know. Eventually. ;)

Crook-handled canes are handy -- and not just for spanking!

I keep our cane in the bathroom as all the humidity is supposed to keep it nice and whippy. I meant to put it away once when my nieces were coming over, but while it's visible, it's not exactly out in the open hanging there on the back of a rung on the metal shelf over the toilet. Since inquisitive ten-year-old minds never noticed, I just left it there.

At any rate, tonight I'm in the bathtub getting ready to shave when I realize I forgot to get the conditioner that I use to shave with down from the shelf high up along the shower wall. Now, once I'm in the bath, I hate getting up unless I'm getting out (though that usually sucks too). So, what to do? Why grab my trusty crook-handled cane and use it to knock the conditioner down into the bath.

See? Very handy...

Warning: Neurotic dump ahead

I was cleaning up the cord mess from my latest offline debacle this afternoon and as I picked up my two defunct USB cords I thought that thought every spanko pervert thinks: wonder what it'd be like to get spanked with...? Except that instead of getting that delicious squirmy feeling and drifting off into fantasy land, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

A. is getting here tomorrow and it's like my mojo has disappeared again. ARRRRGHH! What the hell is wrong with me?

Is it that now that I'm definitely going to be getting spanked I suddenly don't want it? The last time he was coming I did end up in the hospital with bilateral pulmonary emboli, but that seems like something rather difficult to produce on a psycho-somatic level. And besides, once I got out of the hospital, I was the one who kept trying to initiate sex and spanking.

Is there something about January in which I go into some sort of vanilla period? I mean, I just assumed last January I lost my mojo because of all the urinary tract infections. Technically, I haven't had a laboratory-confirmed UTI since May, though there are flares of the sacro-iliac-pelvic pain off and on and constant low level pain since the first UTI in June 2004. But it's not like it's been any worse than it usually is. In fact, it's been ever so slightly better the last couple of weeks. I mean, I always do feel a tiny bit queasy about getting spanked when I can't even sit normally because my tailbone hurts like hell. But, ya know, it's not like that's ever stopped me most of the time. ::grin::

So, you know, wtf?!

I have to admit, I started panicking a bit this afternoon.

There has been that continuing ambivalence about my punishment kink. I've even written another "kink in my kink" post for the Punishment Book, but will post it a bit later after A. and I have some time to talk about it. So that's part of it.

And while my sacro-iliac-pelvic pain has been a tiny bit better, it's been a bad pain week otherwise. That sitting weird all the time is hard on my upper back/neck (especially as I'm, um, rather buxom) and I really wigged out one of my thoracic vertebrae, as well as endured that special time of the month. My body is sorta going through that no...no pain...no more pain!

At least, that's what I'm hoping.

When A. called me from Gatwick a little while ago, he made some squirmy threats. And ya know, I got that yummy squirmy feeling in my tummy.

So, you know, maybe it'll all be okay.

Yup. Of course it will.