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.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Thursday, November 17, 2005
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!"
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!"
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, November 07, 2005
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...
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.
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.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
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::
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::
Sunday, October 30, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
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.
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.
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...
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
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
Saturday, October 22, 2005
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."
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."
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
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.
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. ;)
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. ;)
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
"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.
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.
Monday, September 19, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Monday, September 05, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
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."
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.
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.”
Friday, August 12, 2005
About that discussion...
Yep. We finally had it. And I posted the details over at the Punishment Book should you care to read them.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
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::
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::
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
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. ;)
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. ;)
Saturday, July 30, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
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.
Thanks for your patience.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
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.
"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.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, July 18, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
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.
[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.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
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. :)
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. :)
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
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. :(
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. :(
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
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...
*********************************************
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. :)
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. :)
Thursday, June 16, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
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! ;)
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! ;)
On his way
Yup. The bureaucratic hassles are over and he's booked the flight. :D
Two weeks from tomorrow tonight I will have a happy but sore ass.
Two weeks from tomorrow tonight I will have a happy but sore ass.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Confessions of a structure junkie
Well, my academic career is over. At least for the foreseeable future. Two years ago when I started taking classes after a leave of absence for illness, I managed a good productive six months or so catching up on incompletes. Then last year it was one health crisis after another and aside from a bit of reading and publishing a couple of book reviews and a review essay, there wasn'’t much progress.
[...]
Though by this winter I was feeling better and thought maybe it was time to dive back into the thick of things. So, I registered for some classes thinking that the interaction and structure of the classroom would help me back onto the path of academic accomplishment from which illness had led me astray.
Yet, as I recounted in the "“school girl pt.2" post, I was pretty damn tired by the end of the first week. After dropping a class and just focusing on the one, I struggled along for a month. However, by May I was bedridden and began to finally face the painful truth: it's over. Over after six and a half years of stubbornly insisting that I was going to get better and get back onto the academic fast track I spent my undergraduate years and first year and a half of my MA program doggedly pursuing before surgery and blood clots in my lungs and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome reared their hideous heads. I cannot push my body anymore. And frankly, I can'’t push my brain anymore either. At the end of the day, my illness takes all the intellectual energy I have that would otherwise be spent on examining how a series of Christian historical fiction novels about the founding of the State of Israel in 1948 reflect and shape a collective memory among American Evangelicals.
Aside from the gaping hole in my personal identity with academia taken out of the equation, the big issue for me in finally giving up school was that I would have no structure. I found myself becoming depressed each morning when I woke up. What would I do today? Not that I've had much structure for the last year and a half. But that was supposed to be temporary. I always had something hanging over my head waiting to be done. Now it was gone. What on earth was I going to do from now on? What was there to wake up to?
School has always defined my goals. It was what provided structure growing up when there was none at home. I hated summers. Summers were this excruciating ordeal of housekeeping and television. There was some reading and writing. But, without a teacher and an assignment and a deadline, there wasn'’t anything to make sure I really accomplished anything. By the beginning of August I was always jittery with school withdrawls. Need...structure...{leg bouncing while reading old textbook} must...have...assignments... (Funny episode of the Simpsons where the teachers strike, and Lisa gets out her emergency school kit--that was so me.).
Sure, I did read my share of books. But, I wanted so much more. I wanted to learn more. To be pushed more. Obviously my spanking fantasies converged with this and still do. When I read Mija'’s and Haron's punishments a few months back for not working on their respective dissertations, I was rather envious. And when I read Claire'’s description of enacting a "sixteenth-century boarding school"” regime to get some of her work done, all I could think was, omg, I soooo want that.
Have always wanted that.
Of course, all the punishment in the world wasn'’t going to change the fact that I wasn'’t getting much done. But I wanted it to be something a good spanking could cure.
School in real life was not nearly that draconian, even if I wished it was. And the threat of getting anything less than a perfect grade was far more motivation than spanking would have been. Though there were moments. There were teachers who would give me "A" minuses for work they would give other students "A"”s. My undergraduate French professor (who I think was a spanko and at the very least was a nun sans habit) was the most egregious in this respect. She often pushed me much harder than the other students in class. At first I thought she just didn'’t like me, and I certainly wasn'’t too keen on her. Indeed, she almost made me cry in class once. It wasn't until that summer I learned the truth when a friend of mine pointed out that this prof only pushed me because she liked me. And you can even say there was even a bit of corporal punishment when, at a wine and cheese event we both attended, I made a comment to her that my Arabic was taking over my French and she smacked me on the arm--only half playfully. By that point I took it as the highest form of affection she could have shown. :)
But, even if school life was hardly that of Tom Brown, there was structure. Goals to accomplish. Degrees to pursue. Schools to get into. Courses to take throughout the summer. I liked doing homework outside in the sun.
And now that I can't handle assignments and deadlines, life feels like one very long August.
Okay then, if I am to be the patient, I will find structure in that. Create structure for that. And I have a boyfriend who likes enforcing structure, so surely something will be accomplished.
So, I tried to set up a daily regime. Ride my exercise bike. Do some yoga or qi gong, as well as forty-five minutes of meditation. Eat a low sodium diet. Write in my journal every day. Take all medicine and supplements every day. Do the moxa and massage every day. And physical therapy exercises every day. And...and...
But there were also medical appointments to attend. Transportation to coordinate. Case workers to meet with. Housing options to figure out and applications to fill out. Insurance denials to appeal.
And, of course, get some rest. Something my body was as determined for me to get as I was about creating structure in my academy-less life.
When I announced to my boyfriend that I was going to start sending him a schedule again with my new illness-related to-do list, his response felt tepid. When I then promptly forgot to send it to him and he didn't say anything, I figured he wasn't too keen on the idea. Granted, I think he just hasn't been in the mood to be much of an "enforcer"” but as I was exhausted with anemia by that point, I decided to forget about it. Not because I wanted to but because I was just too damn listless to discipline myself to do much of anything.
But I could be doing so much more as a patient. I should be...
A few nights back my godfather and I were talking. He is only a year older than me but was my sponsor when I became Catholic five years ago and in the Byzantine rite that makes him my godfather. He feels closer to me than just a friend and has a paternalistic streak about him that makes him feel very godfatherly sometimes. At one point as I told him about all the bureaucratic shit I'’ve been having to deal with in addition to being sick and all that I was doing to deal with being a good patient, he stopped me. "Do you remember right after I came out and I kept calling myself a ‘faggot’ because I was angry at myself for being gay?"” Of course I did. He was a good Arab Catholic boy who was supposed to marry a good (hopefully) Arab Catholic girl and have lots of good Arab Catholic babies, except that he finally realized he was attracted to boys. I knew the rejection of his Church and culture were agonizing for him and it was agonizing for me to watch him reject himself. "“And remember how you said to me, '‘have mercy on yourself?'’ Well, now it's my turn. Michelle, have mercy on yourself. You'’re dealing with so much right now. Please be kind to yourself. All the other stuff will come in its own time."
Yes...yes, it will.
So, in addition to letting go of my academic career, I'’m also trying to let go of my incessant need for structure. It'’s funny because the stereotype of the top/bottom relationship is of a control freak and passive submissive. In reality, I'm the one who is the control freak and has tried to use spanking as a way to control my world (again, see "school girl pt 2"). But I think for right now, I'’m going to just rest. Quit trying to impose structure on myself and just be. And let the structure rise up on its own, however long it takes and in whatever form it takes.
[...]
Though by this winter I was feeling better and thought maybe it was time to dive back into the thick of things. So, I registered for some classes thinking that the interaction and structure of the classroom would help me back onto the path of academic accomplishment from which illness had led me astray.
Yet, as I recounted in the "“school girl pt.2" post, I was pretty damn tired by the end of the first week. After dropping a class and just focusing on the one, I struggled along for a month. However, by May I was bedridden and began to finally face the painful truth: it's over. Over after six and a half years of stubbornly insisting that I was going to get better and get back onto the academic fast track I spent my undergraduate years and first year and a half of my MA program doggedly pursuing before surgery and blood clots in my lungs and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome reared their hideous heads. I cannot push my body anymore. And frankly, I can'’t push my brain anymore either. At the end of the day, my illness takes all the intellectual energy I have that would otherwise be spent on examining how a series of Christian historical fiction novels about the founding of the State of Israel in 1948 reflect and shape a collective memory among American Evangelicals.
Aside from the gaping hole in my personal identity with academia taken out of the equation, the big issue for me in finally giving up school was that I would have no structure. I found myself becoming depressed each morning when I woke up. What would I do today? Not that I've had much structure for the last year and a half. But that was supposed to be temporary. I always had something hanging over my head waiting to be done. Now it was gone. What on earth was I going to do from now on? What was there to wake up to?
School has always defined my goals. It was what provided structure growing up when there was none at home. I hated summers. Summers were this excruciating ordeal of housekeeping and television. There was some reading and writing. But, without a teacher and an assignment and a deadline, there wasn'’t anything to make sure I really accomplished anything. By the beginning of August I was always jittery with school withdrawls. Need...structure...{leg bouncing while reading old textbook} must...have...assignments... (Funny episode of the Simpsons where the teachers strike, and Lisa gets out her emergency school kit--that was so me.).
Sure, I did read my share of books. But, I wanted so much more. I wanted to learn more. To be pushed more. Obviously my spanking fantasies converged with this and still do. When I read Mija'’s and Haron's punishments a few months back for not working on their respective dissertations, I was rather envious. And when I read Claire'’s description of enacting a "sixteenth-century boarding school"” regime to get some of her work done, all I could think was, omg, I soooo want that.
Have always wanted that.
Of course, all the punishment in the world wasn'’t going to change the fact that I wasn'’t getting much done. But I wanted it to be something a good spanking could cure.
School in real life was not nearly that draconian, even if I wished it was. And the threat of getting anything less than a perfect grade was far more motivation than spanking would have been. Though there were moments. There were teachers who would give me "A" minuses for work they would give other students "A"”s. My undergraduate French professor (who I think was a spanko and at the very least was a nun sans habit) was the most egregious in this respect. She often pushed me much harder than the other students in class. At first I thought she just didn'’t like me, and I certainly wasn'’t too keen on her. Indeed, she almost made me cry in class once. It wasn't until that summer I learned the truth when a friend of mine pointed out that this prof only pushed me because she liked me. And you can even say there was even a bit of corporal punishment when, at a wine and cheese event we both attended, I made a comment to her that my Arabic was taking over my French and she smacked me on the arm--only half playfully. By that point I took it as the highest form of affection she could have shown. :)
But, even if school life was hardly that of Tom Brown, there was structure. Goals to accomplish. Degrees to pursue. Schools to get into. Courses to take throughout the summer. I liked doing homework outside in the sun.
And now that I can't handle assignments and deadlines, life feels like one very long August.
Okay then, if I am to be the patient, I will find structure in that. Create structure for that. And I have a boyfriend who likes enforcing structure, so surely something will be accomplished.
So, I tried to set up a daily regime. Ride my exercise bike. Do some yoga or qi gong, as well as forty-five minutes of meditation. Eat a low sodium diet. Write in my journal every day. Take all medicine and supplements every day. Do the moxa and massage every day. And physical therapy exercises every day. And...and...
But there were also medical appointments to attend. Transportation to coordinate. Case workers to meet with. Housing options to figure out and applications to fill out. Insurance denials to appeal.
And, of course, get some rest. Something my body was as determined for me to get as I was about creating structure in my academy-less life.
When I announced to my boyfriend that I was going to start sending him a schedule again with my new illness-related to-do list, his response felt tepid. When I then promptly forgot to send it to him and he didn't say anything, I figured he wasn't too keen on the idea. Granted, I think he just hasn't been in the mood to be much of an "enforcer"” but as I was exhausted with anemia by that point, I decided to forget about it. Not because I wanted to but because I was just too damn listless to discipline myself to do much of anything.
But I could be doing so much more as a patient. I should be...
A few nights back my godfather and I were talking. He is only a year older than me but was my sponsor when I became Catholic five years ago and in the Byzantine rite that makes him my godfather. He feels closer to me than just a friend and has a paternalistic streak about him that makes him feel very godfatherly sometimes. At one point as I told him about all the bureaucratic shit I'’ve been having to deal with in addition to being sick and all that I was doing to deal with being a good patient, he stopped me. "Do you remember right after I came out and I kept calling myself a ‘faggot’ because I was angry at myself for being gay?"” Of course I did. He was a good Arab Catholic boy who was supposed to marry a good (hopefully) Arab Catholic girl and have lots of good Arab Catholic babies, except that he finally realized he was attracted to boys. I knew the rejection of his Church and culture were agonizing for him and it was agonizing for me to watch him reject himself. "“And remember how you said to me, '‘have mercy on yourself?'’ Well, now it's my turn. Michelle, have mercy on yourself. You'’re dealing with so much right now. Please be kind to yourself. All the other stuff will come in its own time."
Yes...yes, it will.
So, in addition to letting go of my academic career, I'’m also trying to let go of my incessant need for structure. It'’s funny because the stereotype of the top/bottom relationship is of a control freak and passive submissive. In reality, I'm the one who is the control freak and has tried to use spanking as a way to control my world (again, see "school girl pt 2"). But I think for right now, I'’m going to just rest. Quit trying to impose structure on myself and just be. And let the structure rise up on its own, however long it takes and in whatever form it takes.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Quote of the night
My boyfriend's response to Anne Robinson's face lift:
"I better not hear of you getting a face lift, young lady, or it will be a butt lift for you!"
{giggle}
"I better not hear of you getting a face lift, young lady, or it will be a butt lift for you!"
{giggle}
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Brain chemistry
I'm not used to posting about news items on this blog, but the New York Times (reg. required) had a fascinating article about how neuroscientists have pinpointed the part of the brain associated with passionate love.
It made me wonder if that's what is also happening when it comes to spanking. Spanking can be arousing for me, but normally it's not. But it is something I will crave like Ben and Jerry's or water, even though while I'm getting spanked it hurts like hell and I'll think why the hell did I want this? I always just thought it was the endorphine rush. But another little snippet from this article made me think there might be more to it.
And maybe it's that dopamine circulates actively when I desire or anticipate a punishment. That some wire is crossed, or is too sensitive so that dopamine circulates for both states -- reward and punishment.
I dunno. Just something that got me thinking.
In an analysis of the images appearing today in The Journal of Neurophysiology, researchers in New York and New Jersey argue that romantic love is a biological urge distinct from sexual arousal. It is closer in its neural profile to drives like hunger, thirst or drug craving, the researchers assert, than to emotional states like excitement or affection.
It made me wonder if that's what is also happening when it comes to spanking. Spanking can be arousing for me, but normally it's not. But it is something I will crave like Ben and Jerry's or water, even though while I'm getting spanked it hurts like hell and I'll think why the hell did I want this? I always just thought it was the endorphine rush. But another little snippet from this article made me think there might be more to it.
In the study, a computer-generated map of particularly active areas showed hot spots deep in the brain, below conscious awareness, in areas called the caudate nucleus and the ventral tegmental area, which communicate with each other as part of a circuit.
These areas are dense with cells that produce or receive a brain chemical called dopamine, which circulates actively when people desire or anticipate a reward. In studies of gamblers, cocaine users and even people playing computer games for small amounts of money, these dopamine sites become extremely active as people score or win, neuroscientists say.
And maybe it's that dopamine circulates actively when I desire or anticipate a punishment. That some wire is crossed, or is too sensitive so that dopamine circulates for both states -- reward and punishment.
I dunno. Just something that got me thinking.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Long time no post
Yeah, I'm sure some of you are thinking, when the hell is that girl going to post something already?
Actually, my boyfriend was chiding me about it just the other night. And you can imagine what he thought the remedy for my dereliction of duty should be... ;)
And I really have been meaning to post a few things.
One, I think I have spanko neighbors. The other night, when it was warm and everyone had their windows open, I heard this rapid smacking sound and a sort of high pitched squeal-like cry. Then it stopped. Then awhile later the same thing. It went on like that for a good hour or so. Sounded like just a hand, no implements. But damn has it made me curious. And it's hard to figure out who it is when your apartment building is three stories.
Two, spent yesterday reading stories over at Nathan Rysher's site after reading a nice piece he posted to the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup. I've always really liked schoolboy stories. Well, at least the ones where the teachers aren't viciously cruel. I think it's the idea of corporal punishment being sort of a fact of life and used to push pupils to do better that makes me like them. And Nathan's stories encompass all of that. Makes me almost wish I was a boy. :)
I'll try and post a bit more throughout the week. There's a lot of spanking-related thought going on in my head. Just haven't had much energy to post lately. Hopefully some newly purchased iron supplements will change that soon. :)
Actually, my boyfriend was chiding me about it just the other night. And you can imagine what he thought the remedy for my dereliction of duty should be... ;)
And I really have been meaning to post a few things.
One, I think I have spanko neighbors. The other night, when it was warm and everyone had their windows open, I heard this rapid smacking sound and a sort of high pitched squeal-like cry. Then it stopped. Then awhile later the same thing. It went on like that for a good hour or so. Sounded like just a hand, no implements. But damn has it made me curious. And it's hard to figure out who it is when your apartment building is three stories.
Two, spent yesterday reading stories over at Nathan Rysher's site after reading a nice piece he posted to the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup. I've always really liked schoolboy stories. Well, at least the ones where the teachers aren't viciously cruel. I think it's the idea of corporal punishment being sort of a fact of life and used to push pupils to do better that makes me like them. And Nathan's stories encompass all of that. Makes me almost wish I was a boy. :)
I'll try and post a bit more throughout the week. There's a lot of spanking-related thought going on in my head. Just haven't had much energy to post lately. Hopefully some newly purchased iron supplements will change that soon. :)
Friday, May 20, 2005
Spanking dreams
Have any of you ever had a dream where you get spanked (or are spanking) in a dream?
I have before but the one I had this afternoon during a nap was the first one where I woke up rather aroused.
I don't remember it all that clearly, just that I was talking on the Internet and then my boyfriend was suddenly around. First he spanked me with his hand otk. Then there was some sort of audience in what looked a lot like the balcony in my old church but with a swimming pool below. My boyfriend was at the front and people were sitting there and I had to walk down to him and then sort of kneel down or something and then he whipped me with a riding crop.
[...]
That's when I woke up.
Yeah, I miss my boyfriend a lot. And getting spanked. :)
Though, my fantasies of late have been far more tame. More the little girl otk thing. Real life has been tough these last few weeks. My foray back into the classroom has been a disaster health-wise. I'm now being added to the elite group that, along with those 65 and older, gets to participate in Meals on Wheels (though I should say that I'm so relieved as I've been struggling to cook myself healthy meals on a regular basis). There are times when I start to think my therapist's suggestion about using a walker may not be such a bad one. And my mom made a comment the other day that by the time I am a senior citizen, I'll have the whole thing down pat.
That made me feel oh so much better.
Needless to say, ageplay has a lot of appeal at the moment.
Think I'll head to bed now and drift off to sleep to memories of past times when my boyfriend and I have dabbled with ageplay and I sat in his arms on the couch as he read me Amelia Bedelia...
I have before but the one I had this afternoon during a nap was the first one where I woke up rather aroused.
I don't remember it all that clearly, just that I was talking on the Internet and then my boyfriend was suddenly around. First he spanked me with his hand otk. Then there was some sort of audience in what looked a lot like the balcony in my old church but with a swimming pool below. My boyfriend was at the front and people were sitting there and I had to walk down to him and then sort of kneel down or something and then he whipped me with a riding crop.
[...]
That's when I woke up.
Yeah, I miss my boyfriend a lot. And getting spanked. :)
Though, my fantasies of late have been far more tame. More the little girl otk thing. Real life has been tough these last few weeks. My foray back into the classroom has been a disaster health-wise. I'm now being added to the elite group that, along with those 65 and older, gets to participate in Meals on Wheels (though I should say that I'm so relieved as I've been struggling to cook myself healthy meals on a regular basis). There are times when I start to think my therapist's suggestion about using a walker may not be such a bad one. And my mom made a comment the other day that by the time I am a senior citizen, I'll have the whole thing down pat.
That made me feel oh so much better.
Needless to say, ageplay has a lot of appeal at the moment.
Think I'll head to bed now and drift off to sleep to memories of past times when my boyfriend and I have dabbled with ageplay and I sat in his arms on the couch as he read me Amelia Bedelia...
Thursday, May 12, 2005
A spanko at Safeway
On my way home from acupuncture I popped into Safeway to grab a few things -- sandwhich bags, Ben and Jerry's, green onions. As I dragged myself through the aisles I saw a plastic fly swatter and thought it might be handy now that the weather is warm enough to open the windows letting in all sorts of bugs. But it also looks like it might be a nice slapper of sorts. Then as I came out of the produce aisle they had a bunch of kitchen gadgets on sale. Including a very solid, wide wooden spatula. It was only $1.99. I couldn't resist.
As I placed the fly swatter and the wooden spatula on the conveyor belt for the cashier to ring it all up, I couldn't help but have that delicious sort of naughty feeling. And wonder if he was thinking how these implements might be put to use also (though if he did, he certainly didn't show it).
However, I've been going through several bad pain weeks again. It's a long, sordid tale about our shitty, poorly funded Medicaid system that I will leave for another blog to rant about. But, needless to say, I'm back to having those mixed feelings at the moment towards spanking. On the one hand, I certainly fantasize about spanking a lot. Yet when I think about actually getting one, I get all tensed up and scared. Sorta like last fall. Which, then I get all scared that I'll have to give up spanking. Especially after reading last night in a magazine at the acupuncturist's office that chronic pain actually changes brain chemistry and can actually shrink the gray matter in the brain. But, as I looked it up in the medical journals, I also stumbled upon a study which suggests that the brain processes chronic and acute pain differently.
So, I guess I can keep getting spanked for now. Or rather, maybe wait a few more weeks or so until my brain calms down a bit. Which will be just in time for my boyfriend to get here. :)
As I placed the fly swatter and the wooden spatula on the conveyor belt for the cashier to ring it all up, I couldn't help but have that delicious sort of naughty feeling. And wonder if he was thinking how these implements might be put to use also (though if he did, he certainly didn't show it).
However, I've been going through several bad pain weeks again. It's a long, sordid tale about our shitty, poorly funded Medicaid system that I will leave for another blog to rant about. But, needless to say, I'm back to having those mixed feelings at the moment towards spanking. On the one hand, I certainly fantasize about spanking a lot. Yet when I think about actually getting one, I get all tensed up and scared. Sorta like last fall. Which, then I get all scared that I'll have to give up spanking. Especially after reading last night in a magazine at the acupuncturist's office that chronic pain actually changes brain chemistry and can actually shrink the gray matter in the brain. But, as I looked it up in the medical journals, I also stumbled upon a study which suggests that the brain processes chronic and acute pain differently.
So, I guess I can keep getting spanked for now. Or rather, maybe wait a few more weeks or so until my brain calms down a bit. Which will be just in time for my boyfriend to get here. :)
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Medicinal Spanking
Yes, I believe I have discovered a medicinal use for spanking.
I've been having problems with pain in my right flank area - the hip, right buttock, upper front and side of the thigh, the illiopsoas region. Some of it is bursitis, some of it is muscle tightness from years of not walking properly because of my bad ankle, some of it (caused by the bursitis and muscle tension) is a pinched lateral femoral cutaneous nerve. My various medical professionals have tried anti-inflamatories (which eat up my stomach despite being on both Prilosec and Zantac), narcotics, acupuncture - including electro-acupuncture, and bodywork. The last one has been the only thing that has helped much. But, I can't afford to see the massage therapist as often as I need to in order to really resolve the pain.
This last week at acupuncture (which I get free at a really cool community clinic here in Portland called Outside In) I got a moxa stick (an herb burned to do the same thing that acupuncture needles do) and some advice about arnica and castor oil being anti-inflammatories. She suggested that I take a hot bath so the pores would be open to allow either the arnica or the castor oil to sink in, then to burn the moxa stick over the region as close as I could stand it to get it as hot as possible.
So, I've been following these instructions this week, but after I finished, I sort of gently smacked the area of my hip. It felt good -- not in the spanko way, but in the "stuff is relaxing" sort of way. So I smacked some more around my hip, then my right buttock, then onto the side of my thigh where the pinched nerve is. It still felt good, so I kept doing it, a little harder this time, until my arm got sore (actually made me feel a slight bit of sympathy for you poor tops). It wasn't enough to register pain, but my right buttock did have this nice tingle, as did my thigh and hip.
And, the cool part is, it's been working. My flank region isn't hurting quite as badly. I can actually palpitate around the bursa without about jumping up from the pain.
Now, I know Paul over at LaFesse had a story from Russian scientists who found that whipping cured depression, though the study has yet to make into the medical journals. But maybe my cure for hip pain can be added to list of the medicinal uses of spanking.
I've been having problems with pain in my right flank area - the hip, right buttock, upper front and side of the thigh, the illiopsoas region. Some of it is bursitis, some of it is muscle tightness from years of not walking properly because of my bad ankle, some of it (caused by the bursitis and muscle tension) is a pinched lateral femoral cutaneous nerve. My various medical professionals have tried anti-inflamatories (which eat up my stomach despite being on both Prilosec and Zantac), narcotics, acupuncture - including electro-acupuncture, and bodywork. The last one has been the only thing that has helped much. But, I can't afford to see the massage therapist as often as I need to in order to really resolve the pain.
This last week at acupuncture (which I get free at a really cool community clinic here in Portland called Outside In) I got a moxa stick (an herb burned to do the same thing that acupuncture needles do) and some advice about arnica and castor oil being anti-inflammatories. She suggested that I take a hot bath so the pores would be open to allow either the arnica or the castor oil to sink in, then to burn the moxa stick over the region as close as I could stand it to get it as hot as possible.
So, I've been following these instructions this week, but after I finished, I sort of gently smacked the area of my hip. It felt good -- not in the spanko way, but in the "stuff is relaxing" sort of way. So I smacked some more around my hip, then my right buttock, then onto the side of my thigh where the pinched nerve is. It still felt good, so I kept doing it, a little harder this time, until my arm got sore (actually made me feel a slight bit of sympathy for you poor tops). It wasn't enough to register pain, but my right buttock did have this nice tingle, as did my thigh and hip.
And, the cool part is, it's been working. My flank region isn't hurting quite as badly. I can actually palpitate around the bursa without about jumping up from the pain.
Now, I know Paul over at LaFesse had a story from Russian scientists who found that whipping cured depression, though the study has yet to make into the medical journals. But maybe my cure for hip pain can be added to list of the medicinal uses of spanking.
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