Story: A Grown Man [M/m]

Awhile back Kayley mentioned that M/m stories were connecting with her spanking imagination, which made me exclaim to my computer "omg - me too!" In fact, I thought I was quite odd even among us spanko freaks because I really liked reading M/m stories. But then Mija mentioned on the newsgroup once (or more) that she fantasized about being a naughty boy punished by an older man, and I had that same feeling I had when I first typed spanking into Google. You know, "omg -- I'm not the only one!"

Like Kayley, I suspect what fuels my M/m fantasies are the fact that most spankings in non-kinky fiction are boys being spanked by male teachers and parents. And historically speaking, boys were far more likely to be whipped than girls.

Before I got distracted by what became my research field before I left academia (American Evangelicalism and the Israel-Palestine conflict), I initially wanted to study/teach about the history of childhood in the Middle East. It would have been a brilliant way to read about spanking and get paid/funded for it. And as an undergraduate I took a seminar on the Oregon Trail to get practice using an archive (the Oregon Historical Society archive was -- and still is -- just down the street from me) and wrote my paper on emigrant attitudes towards education and child-rearing -- to practice writing legitimate research papers that fueled my kinky imagination. Despite my prof's concern that I wouldn't find enough to fill a twenty page paper, I found plenty, including the following anecdote from said paper that inspired the story for the 2002 SSS Short Story Contest that follows.

"The journey, however, presented parents with a number
of challenges to maintaining consistency in teaching their
children morals. One particularly devastating challenge was
sickness. Abraham Henry Garrison's father encountered this
difficulty when he became severely ill and was forced to
remain in bed for a significant amount of the trip. Henry
(as he was called), though only fourteen, but also the oldest
child, was required to take on the responsibilities of his
father, particularly in handling livestock. Yet, when he got
into a fight with another boy in their train, his father sought
to punish him because he had always taught Henry not to
fight. However, his father was physically unable to punish
him and so he sought the assistance of the captain of the
wagon train. The captain refused, arguing that the boy with
whom Henry had fought 'had it coming' and also that Henry
was doing the job of a grown man. Henry's father insisted
until the captain finally exclaimed, 'The man that tries to
whip Henry will have me to whip!' leaving Henry's father
helpless and Henry free of punishment." (See Garrison,
Abraham Henry. "Recollections, 1846 (1903)." Mss. 874.
Oregon Historical Society.)

oOo

Story: A Grown Man [M/m]

Henry kept his face turned left where the glow of the fireplace might not discover his bruising eye. Might not betray him to Father, who sat in the rocking chair next to the fireplace. His worn, leather Bible upon his lap.

“Henry -- is something wrong with your neck, Son?”

“No, Father.” Henry shifted his body toward the shadows.

“Son, look at me.” Father sighed as Henry turned. “You’ve been fightin’ again, have ya?”

“Father, I had to. Our family honor was at stake.”

“Oh, I doubt it was in that much trouble.” Father closed the Bible and set it on the table. “I’ve always taught ya not to fight, haven’t I, Son? To use your brains, not your fists…”

“Yes, Sir.” Henry looked down at the floor.

“Off to the barn with you, then.” Father stood up, walked to the kitchen and grabbed the razor strop.

*******

It had been weeks since the Garrisons left Missouri and three days since the wagon train camped along the Platt River. More than half the members were sick with cholera, including Father. For the last two weeks Henry alone had driven the oxen team, saw to the care of the livestock and his siblings. Even cooked the meals.

“You’re a fine lad, Henry,” Captain Pert said as he checked on the families under his command. “Don’t let that Prentiss boy get to you.”

Billy Prentiss, who was two years older, felt compelled to criticize the way Henry fed the livestock. Or loaded the wagon. Or made a stew. Not five minutes after Captain Pert left, Billy stood over Henry as he fed buffalo chips to the fire.

“You use too many chips.”

“How would you know?”

“You want my help, or don’t ya?”

“Not particularly.” Henry continued feeding chips to the fire. Billy glared at Henry. Picked up a buffalo chip.

“Don’t forget this one.” He hurled the dried dung at Henry, who had to step back to catch his balance when it hit his neck. Henry heaved a heavy breath, then turned and landed his fist into Billy’s eye. Then again across his right cheek. Billy fell to the ground and Henry jumped on him with another punch to his right jawline. Not more than two blows later Captain Pert was there to break it up.

“What’s that happening out there?” Father’s weak voice drifted from the wagon.

“Oh, nothing – just a skirmish between the boys.”

“Henry – you are fighting again?”

Henry hung his head as he and the Captain walked to the wagon. His temper had once again subjugated him.

“Captain Pert, I’ve always taught Henry not to fight but I am too sick to punish him – you must for me.”

“No, Billy’s had it coming. Besides, Henry’s been doing the work of a grown man. I can’t whip him.”

“But you must.”

“Look, the man that tries to whip Henry will have to whip me!” With that, Captain Pert left and Henry remained a grown man.

It's LOL!

That's right. It was so popular last year that Bonnie -- clever woman that she is -- decided we should make Love our Lurkers an annual thing. So dear friends, it's your day. The one time when you can bravely (albeit anonymously if you wish) take a stand and say "Visitor 542? Yep, that's me!"

If you're feeling even braver, you can talk a little bit about your own spanking kink, maybe how spanking blogs have fed your fetish, what your favorite implement is, or whatever you like. Or of course, a simple "hiya!" would be just fine too.

So step right up, dear reader. Feel proud of being a spanking blog lurker. Give my comments section some luvin' and bask in the glow of knowing you're more than just a number on my StatCounter graph.

REM cycle spanking

You know how sometimes real life just takes up everything and there's not much room for anything else -- including spanking? Ah, you gasp in shock but you know it happens. Indeed, I feel safe in saying that it happens to even the most die hard spanking-nymphs out there.

At any rate, I've realized what happens when real life steals even that nightly spanking fantasy that usually lulls me to sleep: it gets pushed further into the sleep cycle. And when spanking shows up later in the sleeping cycle, i.e. the noted REM cycle, it's just plain weird.

Normally, I have the odd spanking dream here and there but I've had three in the last week, even though spanking has been the furthest thing from my conscious mind for a good three weeks now. I mean, it still shows up throughout the day, but more from habit. My ears have developed some sort of Pavlovian response in which they immediately perk up the minute they hear words like "spanking", "whipping," "belt," "paddle," etc. And the bedtime spanking fantasy faithfully shows up each night the minute I turn the light out, even if lately it's been quickly discarded.

I told you all about the one I had last Thursday. I had another one earlier this week that I don't remember very well, but the one I had last night was yummy...yet, as my spanking dreams are apt to be, very odd.

It started with me making dinner for my little brother who has Down Syndrome (and who, like all my siblings -- and now a niece -- I look up to). He's outside rambling on about a lot of stuff I wasn't paying attention to because I was watching a black and white movie with Gregory Peck spanking someone, which caused me to burn the chicken nuggets that were to be dinner. Understandable because, you know, Gregory Peck...spanking. I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

Eventually my brother and the chicken nuggets disappear, and I'm sharing the Gregory Peck spanking with assorted, but this time consciously-unknown spanking friends. The improvisational-spanking story theme from last week returned as this group and I started to act out the movie spanking but ended up making a new story of our own with far more spankings. And it was night-time and dark. And then A. showed up and began to tease me about how often I got spanked. As with most dreams, there was more to it, but I can't really remember it all now.

And just like last week, Meals on Wheels pounding at the door woke me from my spanking-filled reverie. Which made the whole thing feel even more surreal.

Once I'd put my meal in the kitchen, taken my morning medications, and laid back down in bed to wait the hour until I could eat (to fully absorb my meds), I probably should not have gone back to sleep as then I end up sleeping too much making it hard to sleep at night. But for the first time since the spanking dream last week, I had a little spanking mojo. Felt a little bit more like I normally do. Decided to take my chances and go back to sleep and see if I could return, even if only sub-consciously, to that core spanko part of me that's been empty these last few weeks.

I wish I could say it worked but, alas, I dreamt that I was at my health clinic and needed to get home but despite numerous attempts at dialing the number for the cab, kept forgetting or losing track of what I was doing (which happens frightfully frequently) while there was a Christmas party going on with pink lighting in the background (which doesn't happen so frequently).

But, who knows? Maybe in a few hours after I've fallen asleep...

A Liberal spanking

This week's cover of The Nation (hat tip to newsgroup reader ngtybtnice) with an amusing picture pertaining to the topic of this blog...

Not particularly fond of either Olbermann or O'Reilly, though I do like The Nation a great deal.

So, liberals spank with rulers, eh? Who knew?

More weird spanking dreams and my funny boy

I think my spanking mojo is returning after my icky two weeks.

I had a dream last night that I was in a sort of auditorium of spankos including friends Mija, Haron, Bailey and lots of people I don't know. And it was like some sort of improvisational spanking story was occurring with a medical bent. Like, it looked like a doctor's office. And I think I was supposed to take my clothes off and put on a gown. Then Aunty Agony came out looking very stern in a gray suit. Except, I've never met her or seen a picture of her so I suspect it was a picture of someone posted on her blog -- that I was reading last night before going to bed. After she came out I think I was about to be laid out on a gurney and spanked, which I was very embarrassed about.

That's when Meals on Wheels knocked on the door and woke me up. It was surreal.

But, I have felt a bit more frisky. Have actually been craving a bit of spanking today. Though I'm probably still too tired for one. Which is fine since A. isn't here.

In fact, today marks six months that we have been apart. It's not the longest we've been apart. That record was set in 2004 when I was last in England that April and we expected I would return in a few months for doctoral studies. My body had other ideas and we didn't see each other until that December when it became clear I was not going to be well enough to go over there and A. would have to come over here if we were ever going to see each other. Now we rely completely on A. coming over here as he's the one who is capable of earning an income and enduring trans-Atlantic travel. So far we've been remarkably lucky considering neither of us makes much money. But there are always lean times, and we make it through those times as best we can.

We're luckier than a lot of people in our situation: we can talk on the phone everyday for free (I have Vonage and he has some sort of funky free deal there). No matter how icky the day has been, he always makes me laugh -- which makes me feel a little better no matter how much pain I'm in or how nauseous I may be. When I started reading about endometriosis a few weeks ago (as this might be what's been causing my pelvic pain) and told him how one of the treatments is with hormones that make women grow facial hair and develop lower voices, he was quite excited. "Cool. I'll get to date the bearded lady from My Name is Earl! And we'll be able to sit and watch football together!" Totally made me giggle as well as feel less fearful of whatever might lie ahead.

Yesterday he talked about the new upcoming Billie Piper show called The Secret Diary of a Call Girl. "Billy Piper in sexy lingerie. Does it get better than that? I mean, monkeys could write the dialogue for that show, and I'd still watch it. In fact, I bet when they pitched the idea and ITV wanted to know about the script they were like, 'it's Billie Piper with a whip. We don't need a script.'" What a funny boy my A. is.

But, alas, he felt differenlty this afternoon. "I take back the part about not needing dialogue." Apparently Billie Piper in sexy lingerie wasn't enough for him. And the dialogue they had was too slick. "I thought she was more sexy in Dr Who."

Hmm...now I'm probably going to dream about Billie Piper and being a bearded lady or something.

Kinky distraction, dissonance and Real Life

Distraction

Help me forget the burn in my hip.
My fingers swollen with hot.
The currents screaming through my body at
An even higher voltage today.
The constant bickering between my muscles and gravity.
The circuits in my brain straining to remember while
My lungs ache with memory
Of books and hiking and driving myself to the store.
My chest tight with reminder that the State declared me useless
And keeps us apart just to be mean.

Lay me over your lap.
Spank my sit spot with the hairbrush
So hard that I finally cry real tears you can finger.

Slam your cane down onto my wide fundament
And make my skin explode with tiny red kisses.

Order me over a hill of pillows and strap me
Until my writhing crumbles it all over the bed.

Spread my cheeks and force your manhood in,
Extracting screams I muffle for fear of the neighbors.

Squeeze my nipples, wet my hungry cunt
And produce at last that long elusive orgasm.

Yes, hurt me, my love, and take my pain away.

When my mother attended my fourth grade Parent-Teacher conference, my teacher greeted her with "Michelle has such an amazing imagination!" I think it had something to do with the fact that no matter what the topic was for our creative writing assignment that week, I always managed to transform the subject into a magical trip through time. And said trip often involved meeting Laura Ingalls Wilder -- though she was lacking the "Wilder" part of her name when I would meet her.

Yes, I was a regular Anne Shirley when it came to utilizing my imagination in an effort to survive an otherwise unbearable home life. Not only did I imagine being friends with one, Laura Ingalls, but I imagined coming across the prairies in a covered wagon, or living in a medieval monastery, or being a pampered princess, or comforted by a guardian angel. And, of course, being the little spanko that I am, every fantasy contained punishment of some sort.

I never did lose that imagination. I continue to live much of my life in fantasy world, though now I have a partner to include in my wicked reveries. Indeed, since he's so far away most of the time, phone calls and fantasies are how we stay close. His absence, the isolation of illness, and my otherwise unbearable physical life make my kinky flights of fancy just as important a tool of survival as they were when I was in fourth grade.

But there are dangers that accompany living in a perpetual kinky mindset, as Sparkle discussed at the Punishment Book recently. I'm not a parent (though did get my share of parenting my siblings and mother when I was a teenager), but over the last few months it has begun to dawn on me that there is value to real life. I spend hours each day laying in bed while not quite sleeping, and my habit from childhood is to retreat into my imaginary punitive worlds. Retreat into the childhood I wish I could have had. But I have a soul, an intellect, a non-kinky mind that also need utilizing. That need to contextualize and process and grow from loss and take advantage of the ability to live the examined life that a career would not have otherwise afforded me. Plus, if I ignore the body I'm in too much, it has a habit of screaming to finally get my attention.

A week and a half ago my right pelvis started screaming bloody murder and there wasn't much anybody could do to make it stop until it suddenly did all on its own -- thank God! Though I then proceeded to sprain my ankle good and proper. I was still physically and emotionally spent from the pelvis agony from before, so the ankle thing has put me into a serious pain deficit. Now when I go to peruse my stock of kinky fantasies to lull me to sleep, it's like thinking about food after Thanksgiving dinner. I've had to rely exclusively on a cocktail of narcotics and Valium to get me to sleep instead (or narcotics and lemon balm tea, which I don't recommend unless you plan to sleep all the next day).

Dissonance

The commandant has made me
His plaything this week.
My tongue still craves
The taste of pain,
But the commandant has left me
Bloated with suffering.

Not only has pain stolen my sleep, comfort, and security on some level (since we don't know what caused the pain, there's a good chance -- not to mention precedent -- that it will return, though hopefully not quite at that level), but it's stolen my fantasy world for awhile. Now I'm left to face life. Real life. The life without A. Without naughty adventures. Life with crutches and a messy apartment (long bureaucratic story: I'm without a caregiver for awhile) and more doctors appointments and books I can't read and a grocery store I can't walk to and nieces and nephews I never get to play with and a social life that consists of me talking to my laptop and the television and a career that's long gone. It means spending time being aware of my body. Observing and letting go of things I've been hanging on to even if I wasn't paying much attention to them. Appreciating who I am instead of trying to be someone who feels more fun or beautiful or...better.

And, well, if reality just gets too beyond my ability to cope, my sister did bring over two whole seasons of the Gilmore Girls. Not quite the same as pretending I'm a recalcitrant but immaculately uniformed schoolgirl, but maybe my sister and I will have more clever conversations after I watch 40-some episodes of witty speed-talking small-town Connecticut lefty chicks. Who knows? There may even be more amusing posts forthcoming... ;-)

You know she was so asking for it...

A friend IMd this animated pic to me the other day (you have to click on the link for the animation to work), and I thought it was adorable. The reddened bottom. The eyebrow rising while her jaw drops with each swat. Her bottom cheek smooshing under his hand.

I don't usually like animated pics (such as used with a lot of spanking porn advertising -- and don't get me started on those flashing ads), but this one is just so subtle and cute.

Spankos who make ya go "hmmm"

Three years ago, the very first comment I ever got on my blog was from Patty (and boy has this week so been deja vu of that first commented post). And through the years she has often had funny and friendly words to say which I've appreciated very much.

So, way, way back in April, Patty tagged me for the Thoughtful Spankos meme snaking its way through the spanking blogosphere, as well as listed me as one of the blogs she deemed thoughtful. Unfortunately a combination of illness and laptop woes had diminished my blog reading significantly at the time, and I missed her post and kind words. Indeed, I would have missed the post altogether had I not found it by accident one night a couple of months back during one of those all too familiar circuitous jaunts of "follow the link".

It is now time to address my dereliction of duty and attend to my tagged responsibilities.

I should say at the outset that each of my fellow bloggers at the Punishment Book would always be on my "most thoughtful" list. But listing them seems a bit cliquish.

And it's certainly not like there is a dearth of thoughtful spankos aside from them. Indeed, picking only five is very difficult. So consider the following list to be blogs that just happen to be resonating with me lately, or have resonated so much they immediately spring to mind when I'm asked by a competent psychiatric professional to list the first thing I think of when he or she says "thoughtful spanko."

I've been reading Vivian at the Disciplined Feminist for awhile and, like a number of other people, I've found her very thoughtful. I don't always agree with her, but in the process of trying to decide whether I agree or not, I do, you know, a lot of thinking.

Probably the newest blogger of the bunch is fellow Portlander, Abby, who has proved to be a detailed, introspective, thoughtful spanko blogger at The Little Red Schoolhouse . And, you know, she's local. And since I like to support local agriculture and local businesses, why not support local spanking blogging?

I have always found Raven at Skin Prayers to be a thoughtful spanko, whether commenting here or at the Punishment Book or posting on the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup. As a fellow practicing Catholic, I appreciate her continuing effort to blend faith and kink. As kinky reader, I also appreciate her ability to write some damn fine erotica.

Now in its first few years, it seemed that women dominated the spanking blogosphere. And while I dislike generalizations -- particularly when it's in regard to gender -- I do think women tend to share feelings and fantasies more comfortably than men.

However, in the last couple of years, more men have started blogging about their fantasies, if not always their feelings. Though as men tend (again, I cringe as I write the word tend) to be more visually oriented, their blogs have often been dominated by pictures rather than text.

But there are a few male spanko bloggers whose primary medium remains exposition, commentary and analysis.

James Stephenson is one such blogger, sharing memories and insights about his spanking kink that often remind me of my own memories and get me thinking about my own kink.

Matt Anglen, who is running a Shadow Lane Marathon at the moment, is another male blogger who freely shares his kinky observations. One of my favorite posts is this one about how being smart as a kid sort of steals your childhood in a way and spanking is a nice way of getting a bit of it back. It helped me articulate something I'd sensed (how many times did I hear from relatives and Sunday School Teachers that I was "too mature" for something even though I was no older than the other kids?) but had never properly formulated in my mind.

So, that is my very, very late list of five thoughtful spanko bloggers. And again, I should emphasize that there are a lot of other bloggers who I could just as well have listed. And if I wrote this post a couple of weeks from now, it would very well be an entirely different five. Oh and one I didn't list was Bonnie, but that's just because everybody listed her -- and rightly so.

And since this meme is at that "it's so moldy does anyone even remember what it was?" point, I couldn't possibly begin to tag people because I suspect just about everybody I'd tag has probably already done it. If you are reading this, have a blog and haven't been tagged at some point, well, go ahead, tag yourself and give us five spanko bloggers you think are thoughtful.

Another line I love to remember

I just posted over at the Punishment Book about a punishment I love to remember. But there wasn't really room for me to fit another anecdote that I love to remember into that post, so I thought I'd share it here.

It again had to do with a missed bedtime (I go through phases of not getting to bed on time, but most of the time I really am between the sheets right when I should be). When A. called at his usual time he was a bit drunk, which I thought would work in my favor as he tends to be a bit subby when he's been drinking.

"Actually, I'm more in a switchy mood," he announced.

Alright. Maybe it would still be okay as whiskey was involved. So, I confessed that I'd been to bed quite late.

"You really know how to put me in a dom-y mood," he said sternly.

Damn!

"I thought maybe I'd get away with it since you'd been drinking whiskey," I explained sweetly.

"No. This is important." Still stern but mixed with a bit of tenderness.

That gave me a smile then (you know, for a few minutes before I was getting smacked), and I've got the same smile now as I write about it.

Paper paddles anyone?

I just asked A. to reinstate my bedtime this evening. Yes, it's true. I really am that much of a good girl.

Well, alright, it's really more like I'm a "the adult part of me wants to get a decent night's sleep but the kid part of me keeps wanting to stay up just a little bit longer on the new laptop and wins out and then both the adult and the kid part of me are groggy all the next day, not to mention while I try to get ready for bed" sort of good girl.

"You just want to get spanked," A. adduced.

"I do but I don't want to get spanked for that," I replied. "I want a fun spanking. A good girl spanking."

"A fun spanking, huh? Would a fun spanking include your school uniform?"

"Oh, totally." We were going to do an over the phone school scene last week but the day we planned to do it ended up being a bad pain day and was therefore canceled, which I was quite sad about.

"Do you have any appointments tomorrow?"

"Just acupuncture next door at three or so," I answered.

"Well, I think you should wear your uniform there," he said in his deadpan voice. "I want you wearing your hair in pigtails and sucking on a lollipop when you check in."

"Wearing my skirt would make getting to my hip and upper right ass a lot easier," I deadpanned back.

"So, you could say, it would be very appropriate."

"Absolutely."

"Excellent."

Then I laughed. When I finished he continued -- for real this time.

"Right, so you will you put your uniform on when you get home."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Now, let's see, about implements...can you use the strap?" he asked.

"Well, I can use my belt. Can't really do the strap."

"Right. Well, okay. What about the ping pong bat?"

"Yeah, I can do the ping pong paddle." I really should have given him crap about calling it a "bat."

"I was just thinking the long-armed brush seems a bit harsh for this spanking."

"Yes, I think so too." I said. "Though, I should say that the ping pong paddle does sting."

"It's a spanking, it's supposed to sting! What, you want me to use a feather duster? A rolled up magazine? 'No Daddy, not the paper!'"

Gawd I love it when he gets sarcastic. It so makes me laugh.

"I think paper would be an excellent material for a paddle," I said.

I mean, don't you, dear reader?

"Paper, indeed..." A. clearly thought my idea was absolutely brilliant.

"Actually, Sir Thomas More used to whip his daughter with a feather," I pointed out.

"Ah, so some sort of symbolic thing, huh?" Then his voice got very stern. "Well, look here, we will have no such symbolic talk in this house."

I laughed.

"So, when you get home tomorrow you will put your uniform on."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good."

Then, reader, I'm afraid the conversation turned to more mundane matters of business.

But just after I got off the phone with A. I ended up talking to my sister, who has been getting pissy lately over the fact that I seem to be on the phone with A. every time she calls or wants to come over. When she said she wanted to come over tomorrow, I paused for a second and agreed. "But, let me know what time or if you're not because A. and I are planning to do something."

I could visualize her shaking her head and making the "wtf?" face on the other side of the line.

"Wha...I don't want to know."

"Yeah, I was just going to tell you not to ask."

"Seriously. Don't tell me. I don't want to know." She was serious indeed.

"I'm not telling you anything. I'm just saying let me know."

It's a tough one, gentle reader, because I do love my sister. And I know A. and I can always play Slutty School on Tuesday.

But, I really want to play tomorrow...

Revising

Not quite five years ago I wrote a story called "...To the pain," about a spanking which brings a previously dry-eyed woman to tears. I've always liked it very much but felt it had a major flaw in it, namely that while I referenced the Princess Bride in the title, I didn't in the story. It's something I've been meaning to fix for awhile and tonight -- er, this morning -- I finally did. The original version that I posted to the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup can be found here, while the revised version is here on the blog. Not only did I fix the Princess Bride lacuna, but I also added names to the two characters giving them a little more depth. Though one could argue that there is a sort of "everyman(woman)" feel to them remaining nameless. I dunno. Let me know what you think.

I remember someone saying once that crying during a spanking can be the Holy Grail for a lot of spankees, and I must admit to being among that group. There have only really been a few times that I've genuinely sobbed during a spanking. Once was while I was being flogged with a riding crop full force, though mostly it was tearing up during the flogging with the sobbing coming afterwards. Another time was this last March after a mere three strokes with the strap when I was still just a bit too sick for spanking play. I keep thinking there was another time but I can't think of it now.

However, this now-improved story remains a fantasy.

Overheard at the doctor's office

Yesterday as I spent an hour and a half in the waiting room at the doctor's office, I remembered a delightfully startling conversation I overheard a few months back that I wrote down in my notebook but never got around to sharing here because of all the laptop problems.

While sitting in the exact same seat waiting for my anti-coagulation nurse back in July, I suddenly heard a female voice say, "I'll take her home and spank her." I looked up and realized the threat came from a slightly tired, rose-cheeked young woman leading another young, attractive, giggling brunette in a flowery dress.

"Yep, I promise I will spank her when we get home," the rose-cheeked woman said even louder as they started to walk toward the elevator.

A young man, who I believe was friends with them, laughed. "Hey, might be fun."

"Yes, don't you wish you lived at our house?" The spankee-to-be said. She then began to make small talk with the young man as they waited for the elevator. An older, wiry, stern looking woman who I suspect was the young man's mother, told him to stop talking to the brunette.

"You be quiet now," the rose-cheeked woman ordered the brunette, "or you're going to get him grounded."

That's when the elevator showed up and the waiting room returned to it's normal, vanilla ambient noises.

A. threatened to ground me once several months back when my shoulder became too sore for any more phone spanking (I'd been having problems getting to bed on time). It gave us both a good laugh (I'm housebound or a "shut-in" as some of my Meals-on-Wheels deliverers call it) .

I'll be in the clinic again three hours from now waiting for my anti-coagulation nurse. I'm kinda hoping for a bit more kinky eavesdropping.

Too much spanking thinking

As Lele mentioned in the London Bridge post below, I have been rather chatty this last week. It's sorta been like, well, you know how when you have to pee really really badly and you've been holding it for a really long time and then you finally get to go? And you know how it just feels SO goddamn GOOD? That's what it's been like finally getting to empty my brain. It's been throbbing with too much spanking thinking for far too long -- a good year and a half or so as my old laptop crumbled bit by bit, and I could no longer use it on my lap in bed. But now that I've got the new (old) Thinkpad that, you know, is really a lap-top, it's just such a relief!

Actually, the whole thing has made me hyper. Like a little kid who's been far too overstimulated at Chuck E. Cheese. I can hardly sleep. Indeed, this has been a week of erratic slumber. It'll take me until the wee hours of the morning to fall asleep, but I'll wake up five or six hours later with my brain turning right back on again to the relentless refrain of "computer...must get online...must blog."

If A. was here, a good spanking would probably solve that problem. But work is keeping him in England far longer than he anticipated. This is actually the longest we've been apart in three years. Usually he's managed to come over every six months for three months at a time. So in July, when our time apart hit four months, I was climbing the walls with longing to be with my beloved. I'm still dying to have him cuddle me after he's soundly spanked my ass, but by last month I started to calm down a bit. Maybe it was knowing that one, hopefully this will be the last time we'll have to worry about where the money is going to come from for another plane ticket, and two, if he doesn't make it until October (which is quite likely), he'll be able to stay through my birthday (Dec. 8) and Christmas.

And in the meantime, I'll probably be channeling all that pent up spanking energy into blogging, not to mention relieving the rest of my spanking thinking both here and at the Punishment Book.

Spanking blog archive

Just happened to be doing a quick browse at Spanking Blog before I try to sleep and this post, which takes the reader down memory lane to a superb but now defunct blog, ends with Dan asking for spanking bloggers of the past to consider archiving their site. He's offering free space (d'oh -- almost typed that out as spank) and will build a mirror of your blog to maintain on the web in perpetuity.

As a trained historian, archives of anything have a certain appeal to me. And when I was reflecting back to the early days of this blog on my third anniversary a few weeks back, I started thinking about how many good spanking blogs have gone by the wayside without a trace. Very unfortunate.

That's why Dan's idea and offer are so brilliant that I hope any of you former spanking bloggers reading this will consider it.

Take the key and lock her up

A few weeks back I was reading a delightful post over at ZED & ginger's blog about bondage. Ginger muses about her spanking fantasies eventually including bondage when she reached adolescence, and it made me think of my realization awhile back that my first squirmy feeling wasn't when I read the The Story of Ping, but when I played London Bridge at daycare when I was five.

You know the little ditty:

London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, Falling down.
London Bridge is falling down,
My fair lady.

Take a key and lock her up,
Lock her up, Lock her up.
Take a key and lock her up,
My fair lady.

Two kids would stand facing each other, hold hands and raise their arms up. The rest of us would join them singing the ditty while walking under their little arch in single file. Whoever was under their arms when the first verse ended would find the makeshift arch slam down around him or her, locking up him or her during the second verse.

When I got "locked up," I remember feeling a twinge of shame. But, the funny thing was, this shame was fun. It made me giggle. As the two sets of arms slung me back and forth, I remember being excited that I was imprisoned. Indeed, I was disappointed when the verse ended and the human arch was raised up again letting me out to start the first verse all over again. Hoping that I'd find myself locked up again when the verse ended.

Of course, my excitement left me feeling confused. I knew jail was bad. It was how grown-ups were punished. And punishment was bad. I certainly didn't like it when my mom or teachers punished me -- so much so that I was almost never punished. So, you know, why would I like being locked up? And that's when the so very not-fun shame started.

I'm no psychologist, but I suspect that dissonance along with the bad sort of shame normally associated with punishment is what caused so many of us to feel so badly about our kink until Google came along.

But now that it's here, I can enjoy fully that delicious feeling that started back in daycare when I played London Bridge.

Bed and Breakfasts for the kinky set

It wasn't enough to have a bed and breakfast set in an old public school. McMenamins, a local chain of brewhouses and hotels here in Oregon, then had to go on to convert a Catholic school complete with nunnery and friary into a brewpub and B&B, and is now going to convert a jail (hit the 'watch video' button to the right) into a brewpub and B&B complete with wedding chapel.

If the McMenamin brothers aren't kinky themselves, they sure know how to cater to the kinky set.

Actually, I've been to Kennedy School on several occasions as it also includes two restaurants, a movie theatre, two bars, and a gym that doubles as a concert venue (or prom venue). The ATM is in the school office which includes the old principal's office, and the first time I went to get some cash there I overheard one of the employees discussing paddles, saying something like, "you know there was a lot of paddling going on in this room -- assume the position!"

Indeed, the history section on the Kennedy School website used to be longer and included a section about one of its more beloved principals, even if she was rather stern. It even included a ditty about her smacking bottoms, but it's no longer there. ::pout::

The B&B rooms at Kennedy School include chalkboards along the walls, perfect for writing lines. In fact, if you scroll through the pictures of the room on their webpage, the one of the chalkboard in the hallway shows just such a scenario. There is a small desk as well should you have to write lines on paper. It's definitely the perfect place for a kinky couple to spend the night. Not that A. and I have yet, as money has usually been pretty tight when he's been here. But I did hang out with an out-of-town spanko friend staying there once. Though, alas, we didn't make nearly as much use of the chalkboard as we had planned.

But just imagine what new sorts of punishment scenarios could occur in a room that is also a jail cell. ::grin::

When pervin' leads to thinkin'

Now that I lead a life of leisure, I've been working my way through my Netflix queue trying to catch up on cultural reference points, one of which was Midnight Cowboy. And not only did it helped me contextualize, "hey, I'm walkin' here!," but it even had something to feed my insatiable inner perv.

There's a dream sequence in which protagonist Joe (Jon Voight) is remembering a traumatic incident when he and his girlfriend are dragged naked from their car by a group of sneering, salivating men. Interspersed amid the haunting event are memories of Joe's grandma, including one in which she is giving him a spanking.




Half the men drag off his girlfriend and rape her, while the other half bend Joe over the front of the car and rape him (totally understand why this movie got an X rating back in 1969). As they pull his legs apart, there's another flash memory of his grandma preparing to give him an enema.




As you might imagine, the dream sequence was terrifically sexually charged for a pervert like me. Rape, spanking, anal rape over the hood of a car, an enema -- it's enough to get a girl rather hot and bothered.

But as I watched the dream sequence again to catch the spanking, it seemed like the boy was naked, which felt odd. I mean, it could have been that he had just gotten out of the bath or something. But the only children being stripped completely nekkid for a spanking I've ever heard of have been in spanking porn. And while it turns out that if you look at the picture closely there are pants scrunched up around his knees, it did make me wonder how much sexuality intermingles with the discipline of children, whether consciously or not.

I think about it a lot in terms of the environment in which I grew up. Not just in my family, but within the Evangelical community I was a part of throughout my youth. In first grade I went to a Fundamentalist Christian school where spankings were a daily occurrence. And on our birthdays the teacher would have us come to the front of the room, give us a traditional birthday spanking, as well as "a pinch for an inch" on our bottoms and "a hug to grow on." That's right, my first grade teacher pinched my ass. Now, I don't think she molested me or anything (though I doubt such a practice exists today at that school). She was a wonderful woman who would never have done anything to consciously harm a child.

Yet sexual awareness can be a lot like eating from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Though I think there are better ways to teach kids other than hitting them, I also know I couldn't possibly spank any children I'd have because sexuality is so attached to it for me. And I'd feel profoundly uncomfortable playing "spanking tag" with my nieces today, while I didn't at all many years ago before I began exploring my spanking fetish.

I wonder if that's why today pedophilia has become worse than mass murder. Now that we've eaten the fruit of knowledge, it's opened our eyes, but now we're banished from the paradise of ignorance. Don't get me wrong, I in no way condone pedophilia. Those who cross the line from ignorant, harmless bottom pinching to purposely hurting kids to get their jollies should indeed be locked up. Yet, what happens when the line isn't clear? When a person gets her jollies, but isn't always aware of it? Or gets his jollies from spanking young girls, but only spanks girls over the age of consent who look like they're not? I feel safe about where the line is regarding the later question, but not necessarily about the former.

A spanking conversation in the outside world

A month ago I mentioned that I was getting a new laptop, and yesterday I finally got it. Which is good because I couldn't use my old one anymore and for the last two weeks I've been almost completely offline. Yep, that's right. No blogging. No email. No newsgroup.

It sucked mightily.

It especially sucked because not quite two weeks ago, during my appointment with my massage therapist/acupuncturists, L., I had a most interesting conversation that I've been dying to share with you all.

As L. was working on my neck and shoulders, we started talking about pain and dissociation and living in the present. I explained that lately I've been trying to focus more on living in the present, as hard as that might be. When you live with chronic pain, dissociation is an important tool, but I tend to take it too far because the present usually sucks and I have an active imagination.

"So, where do you go with your imagination?" L. asked.

Er...to being about to go over A.'s knee and begging "No, Daddy! Not the hairbrush!"?

Or a naughty turn-of-the-century girl who is about the be whipped with her papa's razor strop?

Or a cruel, wicked princess who makes her servant do all kinds of degrading, shameful, nasty things and afterwards is herself punished severely?

Oh dear.

I froze. I mean, I couldn't tell her any of that, ya know?

Then I remembered that she said she once worked in a sex toy store.

"Um, well, it's sorta kinky," I finally said.

L. busted up laughing.

"That's great!" she exclaimed as she tapped my arm. Then she reminded me that she used to work at a sex shop where they held seminars on all kinds of kinky activities.

That's when I decided to come out.

"Actually, as my massage therapist, I should probably take this opportunity to tell you -- not that it really matters much at the moment -- that I have a spanking fetish." I said it sorta quickly and quietly. When she laughed some more, I notched it up to my normal voice. "So, you know, if you see a lot of bruises, they were obtained totally consensually."

"Right. So bruises down here are okay, " she said as she pointed to my backside."

"Exactly. And bruises anywhere else are probably thanks to the Coumadin."

"Got it." L. paused. "Actually I can go for a little spanking myself sometimes." Which made me giggle along with her. Then she said something about blood sports that I can't remember now because it was two weeks ago. "Though, for all I know, you guys might be into that."

"Nope. Which is good because it wouldn't mix well with the Coumadin," I said. "We had wanted to try single tails but now we probably can't."

"That's right. I suppose you have to be careful with the Coumadin."

"Yeah, certain implements can be tricky. Like, I start bleeding after 8 or 9 strokes with the cane."

"Oh wow."

"And of course, we have to be careful with heavy, wooden implements like paddles or hairbrushes."

As soon as I said that I became very aware of the fact that I was laying there discussing the merits of spanking implements with my massage therapist. You know, someone outside of my spanko world. Was I getting a little too TMIish? I mean, I have been known to at times (I have a spanking blog for gawd's sake). But, well, L. is an acupuncturist, meaning that she's trained to discuss a person's poo in great detail, so I doubt she felt uncomfortable.

"And even though I'm in pain all the time," I added, "It's nice to get the endorphines going, ya know?"

"Oh totally! Gets the blood flowing," she said.

"Exactly!"

Then there was the seven-minute lull that happens in every conversation, allowing me to focus on my breathing and her to focus on my right trapezius before the conversation went somewhere else entirely -- somewhere far less memorable.

And now that I look back on the whole thing, I keep thinking, why the hell didn't I ask her about her liking of a little spanking too?!

At any rate, stay tuned, dear readers. Now that I have a laptop that I can actually use lap-top in bed, I'm about to get a lot more talkative. ::grin::

Three is a magic number

Three is a magic number,
Yes it is, it's a magic number.
Somewhere in the ancient, mystic trinity
You get three as a magic number.

Every time I think of three, I think of that Schoolhouse Rock* song. Though one would think "Naughty Number Nine" would seem more appropriate for a blog about spanking. However, three is indeed the magic number today because it's the third birthday of this here blog.

When I mentioned to A. that the blog is now three years old, he was a bit surprised. "I thought it's been longer." And the funny thing is, I feel like it's been a long three years as well. Maybe because my life has changed so much. When I first started blogging, I was still in graduate school. I was still somewhat mobile. Hell, I could still drive.

Initially, I started blogging because I wanted to give a stable home on the web to my spanking stories and essays that I had posted on the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup over the years. But like everyone who blogs, I quickly discovered that it was a place to make friends. To share all those kinky hijinks and thoughts that I couldn't share with my vanilla colleagues and family (though, I'm not so sure my family is very vanilla).

Granted, there were only a handful of us in the spanking blogosphere back then: Patty, Tarte, Poiesia, Invidia and Bossman, Library Girl, Sparkle, and, of course, our originator, Dan (I know I'm missing others). Suddenly -- sometime in late 2005/early 2006 -- the number of spanking blogs exploded. But in early 2006 my spanking mojo dried up for a few months. When I came back, the size of the spanking blogosphere was overwhelming, and I don't think I've ever really caught up since. Indeed, I'm not sure if it is possible to catch up as there's just so many.

But it's definitely a case of the more, the merrier. I've been quite happy to see old friends from the newsgroup like Haron and Abel, Dyke Grrl, Alex Birch, Ted and now Jen join the fun -- each contributing their intelligent imaginations that I enjoyed so much before blogging. Mija, another newsgroup pal, has been blogging for a long time but has started blogging about fetish stuff more recently, while Pablo has been blogging for even longer (I think), including kink-related posts here and there.

Blogging is also, at times, as sort of therapy, albeit while thousands of people watch. In early 2005, when I had an improvement in my health and could write more, I processed so much about my kink -- how I use it to relate to my body, how it interacts with childhood abuse, how I integrate it into all of me, how it has helped heal old wounds. And, of course, since then when I haven't been writing about getting spanked, I've been writing about how I nourish my kink while dealing with a long-distance relationship, chronic pain, blood clots in my lungs and a debilitating illness. It hasn't always been sexy, but it's real life.

I remember starting this blog during a few-week reprieve between two very painful infections. And I named the blog after a character I wrote about in a non-kink story who represented the healthy, mischievous little girl I longed to be. The little girl that spanking allows me to be. It was also my nick on the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup, so, you know, it made sense.

But I've never been able to escape the fact that I'm not really Natty, at least not the healthy, mischievous little girl. And more and more I find that I'm less interested in escaping. Don't get me wrong, there's always room for a little escaping. I mean, I'll always fantasize about being one of those poor, abused girls in a RGE-Lupus film. And I'll always have a little mischief in me. I mean, it wouldn't be very fun if I didn't.

But I also know that mostly I -- Michelle -- am both a woman and a little girl who thinks too much, is generally very good (indeed probably worries too much about being good), who is both strong and, yes, fragile. And who just needs a spanking every now and then. Or sometimes more. ::grin::

So, thanks for being with me through a lot of spankings -- with canes, straps, wooden spoons and even leeks -- and a lot more.

And on this august occasion, it'd be great to hear from some of you hundreds of nameless individuals who visit every day. Give a quick shout out in the comments section. Maybe share what you've liked over the years. Even a favorite post if you have one (mine is probably the "Under the apple tree" post, though I know a lot of people liked the Grand Canyon spanking). Think of it as NSB's Third Anniversary Delurk Day.

0O0

*For those of you who do not fit that narrow demographic of Americans chomping on Lucky Charms every Saturday morning while watching cartoons in the mid-1970s to early 1980s, Schoolhouse Rock was a campaign to educate us during commercial breaks with three minute cartoons featuring songs about math, science, history ::cough:: propaganda ::cough::, grammar, and personal finance. It was way cooler than it sounds because the songs kicked ass.

I hate losing

Several weeks back A. and I got into a discussion about the size of Brazil within the whole of South America. He was certain Brazil takes up over a third of the land mass of South America whereas I thought it was less. As we do with so many things we disagree about, we made a kinky wager. In this case, an hour of slavery was at stake.

Well, A. finally got around to doing the math to figure out which one of us was right. He emailed me the following results:


Brazil = 8,514,877 sq km

South America = 17,840,000 sq km

= 47.73% of the continent = your sorry slave ass


::sigh::

And he was quite keen on me blogging about my geographic error.

Fuck I hate losing...

"Two teenage girls are in trouble today"

The last couple of mornings I've awakened too early, or rather, woke up at the time normal people wake up but too early for someone who didn't fall asleep until 1:30 am and needs a good ten hours or so to maintain a certain tenuous level of health. While I waited to go back to sleep, I turned the radio on to listen to NPR.

Amidst the horrific news from Minnesota (I used to have nightmares all the time when I was little about a bridge collapsing while I was on it), the local feed reported that two teenage girls were in trouble for leading cops on a high speed chase. And they really started with "two teenage girls are in trouble today following a high speed chase involving..."

Now, maybe I've just had too much naughty on the mind lately, but lordy did my ears perk up when I heard the phrase "two teenage girls are in trouble today." I mean, don't you think it just screams "boiler-plate spanking story ahead?"

Needless to say, I couldn't fall back to sleep.

So, about a half an hour ago I started getting very sleepy. And now that Meals on Wheels has just shown up, I can go back to sleep without interruption.

Just you all wait 'til I get that new (used) laptop. You're going to be inundated with all my pent up spanking thoughts -- both here and at the Punishment Book.

First openly spanko TV personality?

Grand Inquisitor - News from the Big Brother house on Channel 4.com Annotated

"Well," chuckled Carole, "you'll have a laugh here. Are you married? Single?"

"I'm a virgin. I'm not into sex," came the intriguing response.

"Looking to find love?" continued an unfased Carole, "Are you heterosexual?" she added.

"I'm attracted to both genders," confessed Jonty, dropping a second bombshell. "I don't do sexual, I just do spanking instead."

A. told me yesterday afternoon about this conversation at the Big Brother Halfway House and he wondered, is Jonty now the first openly spanko TV personality?

Ramdom perving amidst real life

Ooof! Has it been over three weeks already?

While some of my absence has been related to adjusting to new medication and family stuff, mostly it's been due to my laptop. It's so rickety now that it's basically a desktop, which means I can only be online a couple of hours a day off and on. And as my laptop is sorta like a space heater with a keyboard, I didn't even turn it on a couple of weeks ago when it was in the 100s.

But fear not, my gentle readers, help is on the way. Some ME/CFIDS associates familiar with my laptop travails are donating a sturdy used Thinkpad that is pretty much an equivalent machine to what I currently own. Hopefully I should be getting it sometime next week (knock on wood). And when I do, I'll be able to curl up in bed and blog about all sorts of spanking-related thoughts, especially as I'm feeling a little better on the new medicine (Lyrica [Pregabalin] for you Fibromyalgia readers out there).

And being the pervert that I am, there's been plenty of spanking-related thoughts going on in my sick mind. Here is a random sampling:

• In this post, I mentioned that I've been having a fantasy about the, um, you know, that rectal exam I had back in March. So much so that I decided to buy some KY Jelly -- or rather the Safeway equivalent. And the label on the back talking about what it can be used for included "An excellent lubricant for insertion of rectal thermometers, enemas, douches and similar types of nozzles." I was seriously weak in the knees reading this...(insert dirty perv moan here).
  

• Thanks to the new medicine, I actually made it to a public lecture last month given by a guy who would probably have been my academic advisor had I not gotten sick. He was discussing the background to recent events in Gaza and the West Bank and when talking about Fatah's election loss he stated sternly "they should have taken their whipping and gone off into the corner." It was a lovely moment of perving in an otherwise very serious hour and a half.
  

• Television can provide a lot of pervy moments. A number of pals, like Mija or Haron (actually, she blogged about it a few times, as did Abel), have noted a recent episode of Dr. Who set in a British boys school in 1913 that gave them plenty of fodder. While I'm stuck watching the first series on PBS (and I should be grateful they bought a BBC show that wasn't My Hero), it too has had it's squirmy moments, particularly as my A. has a northern accent similar to Christopher Eccleston's. Like when Rose brings about the end of the world and the Doctor asks her to apologize. He even had the same sort of tone of voice A. has when he suggests I apologize for whatever misdeed -- real or imaginary -- that I've committed. Or when some alien force has taken over a little boy and the Doctor tells him sternly to go to his room. True, it's not the same as him holding a cane at a public school, but, well, I haven't gotten to that series yet.
  

• Along with drooling over stern moments in Dr Who, TV is peppered with spanking references, particularly if the characters are African-American. In just about every episode of Everybody Hates Chris, the mother is threatening or does spank her kids (always off screen). And just before going to sleep the other night while watching Bernie Mac I heard him threaten his nephew. "Boy you better start icing your ass now..." I can even remember an episode where he takes his nephew over his knee. I've always loved predominately African-American shows, most likely because of all the spanking references, but also because growing up poor, I could relate to a lot of the situations (Good Times was my favorite).
  

• And then there are John Wayne movies. I'm watching the Duke, along with other westerns, because should I ever get well enough to return to my thesis, one of the themes I'll be writing about is the western. So, you know, it's a perfect blend of kinky and academic Netflixing. Two little tidbits so far include Glen Campbell spanking Kim Darby in True Grit, which prompts Wayne to tell Campbell to stop as he was "starting to like it too much." And in Stagecoach, the Mexican helping out the stranded riders starts going on that "no matter how much I beat her, she never stops going." One of the riders asks "your wife?" Nope, it was his horse he was beating. I've also watched Mclintock, but, well, that whole movie is about spanking Maureen O'Hara. Think of it as The Quiet Man set in a frontier town, but with more spanking. There are more thoughts I have on John Wayne movies and spanking, but I'll save that for another post.
  

Yeah, I know. I really should quit just writing all of this down in my notebook, but post it here instead of saving them all up for one long post. And when I get the new laptop, I will.

A Fourth of July post

So, uh, the most popular page on this here blog today was the one about my stars and strips knickers. Seems appropriate. ::grin::

Can't tell if I'm just exhausted from new medication or if it's post-viral stuff or what, but hope to blog again soon.

In the meantime, hope you have plenty of fireworks tonight -- literally or figuratively. ;)

A bunch of random spanko ramblings

As that handful of you who read my non-kink blog may know, I'm getting over another virus (ah, the joys of a compromised immune system), hence the reason I haven't been posting much. But, aside from an odd day here and there, it hasn't really dampened my spanking mojo. Seriously, you have no idea how much I've been fantasizing about getting my ass whipped. Well, okay, I suspect a few of you probably do. ::grin::

Regarding my last post, I can report that I have had a bit more success in the orgasm department. Interesting enough, it happened while I was topping A. over the phone and trying to focus on being as cruel as possible to distract me from the vertigo and nausea from the virus in my inner ear. What can I say? I am definitely connecting with my inner domme. ::evil grin::

But, in the yin-yang world we live, I turned very subby after that -- as did A. turn very toppish. I began to fantasize about being a cruel princess who is then punished for treating her servant so horribly. Being ordered to appear in the throne room where I'd be stripped naked and tied to a bench. Whipped severely with a riding crop or maybe a birch. In the middle of my whipping, my nanny would be ordered to hold my cheeks apart while ginger root is inserted. Then the whipping would continue. ::dreamy sigh::

Actually the fantasy I've been having the last several days involves the um, rectal exam my doctor gave me in March. The thing is, the whole thing was so utterly embarrassing. Truly and wholly mortifying. But, um, well, it's that embarrassment that so turns me on now. I keep thinking of having to strip and have my ass probed with a gloved, KY-jellied finger. It's like all I can think about right now. ::moan::

Though my nurse the other day also gave me a bit to fantasize about when I was getting my blood checked. I was trying to swipe a couple of latex gloves while she was getting my chart and she caught me.

"I, um, was going to play with the glove," I lied as quickly as one would come to me.

"Huh?"

"You know, like, while I was waiting."

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you," she shook her head. Of course, I could think of a few things she could do...

Then when it was time to prick my finger, she told me to wash my hands.

"Already did it."

"Are your hands still warm?"

"I hope so," I said as I rubbed them together.

"Well, think hot thoughts." She paused. "Wait, that wasn't what I meant...I mean, not like that."

I laughed mischievously.

"I know what you were thinking. You're bad. Laughing like that. I suppose you were thinking of your boyfriend."

"Uh, yeah." Actually I was thinking of my boyfriend watching as she bent me over the exam table and probed and spanked my ass. ::evil giggle::

Okay, I'm watching Conan O'Brian right now and there's a comedian talking about how the doctor at the hospital gave him opiate suppositories. "It was like the best day of my life." That wonderful opiate feeling starting at the ass.

Oh, yes please. I could go for a bit of that. ::big smile::

A startled sister and fucking frustration

When last I left you, dear readers, my beloved had left me all hot and bothered and was making me wait until Friday (last Friday) to attend to my...um...shall we say, excitement.

Unfortunately his brother ended up staying over the weekend, and I had a nasty fall Thursday night (thanks to a medication that made my already poor balance truly awful) leaving me with some minor injuries and not much mojo. Hence we postponed our phone play until Monday.

So yesterday A. sent me an email telling me to be in my school uniform with the long handled brush and wooden spoon handy when he called at 5:30pm (my time - PST). And being the obedient girl that I am, I was appropriately dressed along with said implements (well, actually I couldn't find the wooden spoon so I substituted the wooden spatula) at 5:30pm sharp. A. finally got around to calling me at 5:50pm (ah, the double standards of the top/bottom relationship...) to tell me he was going out for a smoke and would call me back in a few minutes.

Ten minutes later the phone rings and I answer with a "heya" only to hear my little sister reply with "you were clearly expecting someone else." D'oh!

"Um, yeah..." ::giggle:: "Actually we were, um, going to be, um, doing stuff..." Standing there in my school uniform made me feel particularly conspicuous, even if she couldn't see me.

"Oh, oh, stop! Just...I don't want to hear about it!"

I helped raise my sister and, as you can see, there is still a bit of a mother-daughter dynamic between the two of us, though most of the time it's more like a Lorelei-Rory dynamic.

"Honestly, Michelle, I don't know what I'm going to do with you. You're naughty." She paused. "So, does that help your...whatever?"

I blushed and again felt remarkably conscious of the fact that I was in my school uniform.

"Um...well...actually...um...yes it will."

"Ohmygod! You guys are so weird!"

"Hey, you're the one who brought up the 'naughty' bit."

"Just...I don't wanna hear about you're little phone sex or whatever it is..."

And we then changed the topic for the next three or four minutes until A. called.

I'm not too worried about her thinking that we're weird. For one thing, it's not like it affects our relationship. But I also have long suspected that my dear little sister is a spanko in deep denial. She's quite conservative when it comes to sex and that conservativism extends to all things kinky. But someday when she's ready...

At any rate, A. thought I was naughty too and spanked me (or...well, you know how phone spanking works) for being a slutty school girl. Then he finally let me attend to my state of arousal. Except that I COULDN'T FUCKING COME! When I finally realized that it wasn't going to happen, I yelled out a hearty "Goddamnit!" and just about started to cry.

I think I've only had one half-way decent orgasm since Valentine's Day. I'll always be just about there and then everything stops. Sorta like the Little Engine That Could, except this is more like the little clitoris that can't. Or whatever the mechanism is that causes orgasm.

I know it's just an energy issue. Sex is a lot of work, and I just don't have the energy resources that are needed for it. And it's certainly not a topic people talk about in ME/CFIDS groups. Granted, most people with ME/CFIDS don't even have a libido so I guess I'm lucky in that respect. But the whole thing is really pissing me off.

Hmm...this is the third Tuesday on the trot that I've posted. This might start to become a routine if I'm not careful. ::grin::

Naked Bottom Days

Recently one of our more prolific writers at the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup posted a story called "Spanking Itch." And I dare say, like many of you, there are days when I definitely have the spanking itch.

Now, I might be revealing just how weird I am, but on those days I like to dispense with panties and trousers altogether. There's something very sensual and even naughty about feeling textures other than the usual cotton on my backside. In a way, it's like trying to scratch that itch even if it doesn't make the itch go away.

Since it's almost 90 degrees out, and A. just got me all hot and bothered on the phone before leaving me to go to bed (he has a penchant for doing that to me -- and this time he's making me wait until Friday before I can, um, tend to that...mean, mean, mean!), I decided this would make a great Naked Bottom Day.

Funny thing though. Several weeks back I was having a perfectly lovely Naked Bottom Day when I ended up making it to bed a little past my bedtime. Suddenly my itch disappeared upon the realization that I was going to be spanked the next day.

Impending punishment can be a bitch that way. Well, you know, along with all the other ways it's not very pleasant...

Story: Wrong Driver [M/F]

I'm doped up on a lot of drugs this week and don't know when I'll be awake enough to post something original. So, I dug around my archives and found this oldie.

It's another story looking at the darker side of the kink that I wrote after one of many lengthy threads on the newsgroup about discipline vs play spankings in which a friend of Mija compared disciplinary relationships (or domestic discipline if you are so inclined to call it that) to driving. It was an excellent discussion and the driving analogy helped me understand why an earlier spanking relationship I had didn't quite work, as well as inspired the following story.

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

Story: The Wrong Driver [M/F]

The dishes were still in the sink. Some crusty. Others floating in chili bean slime since Jenny went to visit her sister. And in the living room, Matlock was on.

“Oh, honey, you’re back!” James dropped the remote on the coffee table and jumped up from the recliner. Jenny let him embrace her, but didn’t return the hug. Just stood looking at the empty boxes that should be filled with the pictures and knick-knacks on the walls that would be moving in two days. Boxes he promised to pack while she was gone. “Oh, I missed you so much.” He squeezed her close.

“Yeah? Well, it’s probably good that I’m back then…Especially as those dishes need to be done," Jenny said a flat, tight voice. James blushed.

“I’ve been meaning to do those.” Then he straightened up. “But you’re not doing any dishes – the doctor said you’re suppose to rest. And if you don’t rest, I’ll beat yer butt.” Almost like he were taunting her. Jenny rolled her eyes.

[...]



“Then do the damn dishes.”

“Hey, don’t take that tone with me, young lady, or I’ll take you over my knee right now.” He was half smiling, but she knew he would.

“Fine. I’m gonna go lay down.”

“Alright.” He sat down and picked up the remote. “You did go to your doctor’s appointment yesterday, right?”

“No…” Fuck! “With the whole thing with Mom, I totally forgot. But, it’s just a routine blood test. No big deal to reschedule.”

“I understand, but…” He put the remote down and stood up. “We made the rule. No skipping doctor’s appointments”

“Oh c’mon, James. It was an honest mistake. Yesterday was crazy.”

“I know, but doctor’s appointments are important.”

She was too tired to argue as he pulled her over his lap.

The sting was gone as Jenny laid in bed that night but she was still sullen and she wasn’t sure why. Yes, she had agreed to the rule. It was a fair, necessary rule. And she liked rules. Structure. Discipline.

Yet, she also thought of the dishes, which he finally did after Matlock. The empty boxes, several of which he filled that evening. But only because she was home to make sure. To give him exact instructions. Like she did last month at the airport when she had to stay with him throughout the check-in process to be sure he didn’t get into an argument with anyone that would keep him from his flight. Or had been trying to teach him to call the temp agencies early in the morning to get jobs. And to sound peppy on the phone.

She knew he liked taking care of her. Liked trying to provide the structure she craved. But…

“I don’t want you to punish me anymore,” she explained when he came to bed.

...It was like being in a car with a driver who speeds excessively. Tailgates constantly. Is lost all the time…

And she didn't want him to drive anymore.

Copyright 2002 Natty

ME/CFIDS Awareness Day: Being Understood

[T-shirts available at nopityshirts.com]

Right, so this is going to be a little off topic for a moment.

May 12 is the day when ME/CFIDS organizations around the world recognize ME/CFIDS Awareness Day. Those of you who read this blog much know that I frequently mention having this disease. However, it occurred to me a few months back that I haven't ever really explained what that means precisely like I have with being on anti-coagulants (blood thinners) or having Fibromyalgia (which shares this awareness day with us, as it's a fairly common co-morbidity and includes a lot of the same symptoms). So I decided then that a great way to celebrate Awareness Day would be to create a little more awareness here about ME/CFIDS. And I should have started working on this post then because it's been a lot harder to write than I thought it would be, hence the reason it's a bit late...

[...]



First, the name. The "ME" stands for Myalgic Encephalomeylitis, which literally means "pain and inflammation of the brain" and has traditionally been a British designation for a disease known in the United States -- both unfortunately and incorrectly -- as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, a term that was created in the mid 1980s by the Centers for Disease Control (CDC).

In the 1990s, a group that later went on to form the CFIDS Association (the primary advocacy group here in the US), added "Immune Dysfunction" to the title to emphasize the immune system abnormalities that have long been associated with this disease, such as the low activity of Natural Killer cells, low molecular weight RNase L (an antiviral enzyme) and higher rates of apoptosis (programmed cell death) and gene expression of white blood cells.

I use both ME and CFIDS because at the moment there is a huge debate going on in the community about renaming the disease, with a committee of top physicians and researchers recently choosing the less specific term Myalgic Encephalopathy (i.e. pain and brain pathology) to replace the universally despised "Chronic Fatigue Syndrome." However, they have also chosen to use the two together until government agencies such as the CDC or Social Security (for people like me who can't work because we're too sick) recognize ME in place of CFS. To me, using them together just feels a tad more accurate for now.

Second, what is ME/CFIDS? I think Maryann Spurgin of the ME Society of America summarizes it best by stating that it's "a multi-system disease adversely affecting the cellular mitochondria and the heart, brain, neuroendocrine, immune, and circulatory systems." While fatigue, or more accurately, profound exhaustion, is indeed one symptom, calling this Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is like calling a concussion merely "a headache" or Tuberculosis something like "Chronic Coughing Syndrome." In other words, it's a hell of a lot more than just being tired.

I've often compared it to having the flu forever. However, in this post, Dyke Girl (aka Jigsaw Analogy) pointed out that it's actually worse than that. And she's right. In addition to flu-like symptoms -- muscle and joint aches, headaches, low grade fever, feeling chilled, tender lymph nodes and sore throat -- people with ME/CFIDS will usually have post-exertional malaise (riding an exercise bike for even just three minutes can send me to bed for the rest of the day), shortness of breath, widespread pain, irritable bowel as well as neurological problems such dizziness and balance problems, impaired spatial perception and cognitive abilities, difficulty processing sensory information and orthostatic intolerance (fainting or near fainting due to blood pressure drops). The most annoying part of all this is that all these symptoms are remarkably variable. Some days I can do things that two or three days later I couldn't even dream of doing. Why? Got me. I mean, obviously over activity will exacerbate symptoms (hence the reason I get into a lot of trouble for overdoing it). But a lot of the time it's completely arbitrary.

Lately I've started comparing it to having both Multiple Sclerosis and mild Congestive Heart Failure. My best friend has Multiple Sclerosis and he is often amazed at how similar our symptoms are, except mine are more severe (indeed, he's still in his PhD program and I'm not). A lot of that reflects the fact that his doctor knows what causes his symptoms and has medicines that can treat his MS. That's not yet the case with ME/CFIDS.

Third, so what causes ME/CFIDS? That's the million dollar question and a lot of the problem is sort of a chicken and egg one. Some have speculated that it's a virus that attacks specific parts of the immune system (whereas HIV is a catastrophic attack on the immune system). Some think it's undiagnosed chronic bacterial infections such as Lyme Disease, but the use of antibiotics (and growing antibiotic resistance) makes this a very contentious topic. One provocative theory argues that ME/CFIDS and Autism are one and the same disease caused by a genetic inability to maintain adequate levels of glutathione and that a person gets Autism if the glutathione problem develops within the womb and up to three years of age, while it becomes ME/CFIDS if the problem happens after three years old. But most of the more prominent research, however, has focused on the immune system and the brain, though in the last few years more and more research has also focused on oxidative stress, mitochondrial deficiencies, and the cardiovascular system.

Fourth, why they hell would I talk about this on a spanking blog? Well, I've been talking about having ME/CFIDS since the first few months of starting this blog back in 2004 (wow -- can you believe that was almost three years ago?). I mean, it touches just about every part of my life so it would be difficult to not talk about. And while I may have a disabling disease, it doesn't keep me from living. This blog is my way of talking about one particular way I live life to it's fullest as best I can.

I also wanted to provide some context. I've had this disease on some level for about 24 years now -- in it's more debilitating form for about 8. I'm not getting better anytime soon (indeed, I've been getting progressively worse save for a slight improvement in 2003 and the winter of 2005). Now, there may well be a breakthrough in the research down the road that will provide some relief (God-willing!) but I've come to terms with life as it is. While I'm sure there are going to be more good days in my future at some point, I also know there are going to be more health-related problems as well.

And when I write about those bad times, I understand that it's natural to feel badly after reading them. But making people feel badly isn't really my aim. I write about that stuff for the same reason that so many people blog: we are relational beings and sharing our stories is part of connecting with other people, of being human. C.S. Lewis once said that we read to know that we are not alone, and I think the same is true of writing. We string together words and send them out in the hopes that they resonate with somebody else -- an act that, perhaps, I appreciate all the more being housebound (seriously -- it beats talking to the cockroaches, which I've found myself doing lately with disturbing frequency...).

In other words, it's okay to look past whatever illness related context I may start out a post with and enjoy or contemplate whatever larger theme/story I'm writing about. It's okay to make jokes (like Alex did in this post). It's okay to ask questions. And, of course, it's okay to feel whatever the hell you want to feel about them.

Lastly, a little disclaimer. Everybody who has ME/CFIDS has had the experience of meeting somebody who had it (or knows of someone who had it) but got better thanks to [insert magic cure of your choice]. And there are some people who do eventually recover after a lot of rest and combinations of pharmaceuticals and nutritional supplements. I want to assure you that one, I stay more aware of current ME/CFIDS research than all but a small handful of people on this planet. I've also studied and utilized many forms of alternative medicine (and continue to do so). If I haven't tried something it's because there's either not enough evidence (including even anecdotal) to support its efficacy or, more likely, I haven't the money (this disease can be a bottomless pit financially). Ultimately, spending all my time trying out every magic cure out there is not only hard on the pocket book, but it doesn't leave me with much energy to do any, um, you know, living.

So now you know a little bit more (well, probably far more than you really wanted to know) about what those seven capital letters with a slash in the middle that I frequently refer to mean. The woman who makes the t-shirts at the beginning of this post, Ricky Buchanan, has also written An Open Letter to Those Without CFS or Fibromyalgia that you may also want to check out. She ends by saying that most importantly she wants people to understand her. And that's really what this post -- indeed my blog and any blog -- is about. All of us, healthy and ill, just want to be understood. I hope this post has helped you to understand me and all ME/CFIDS patients a little bit more.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...

Between Mija's post at the Punishment Book and newsgroup pal Domino's story "Secret of the Confessional," a priest/penitent fantasy had been sounding mighty appealing. Then tonight I turned on PBS (yes, I know, I'm a total nerd) to watch "Secret files of the Inquisition" and when they talked about the practice of making repentant Cathars wear a yellow cross (which, in this show, were all women), well, what can I say? I think my spanko fantasies are now going into overdrive.

It's funny because I think one of the reasons that the priest/penitent fantasy works for me is because within the Roman rite (i.e. the vast majority of Catholics in the world), confession is so very different than in the Eastern Church. We have confession face to face, which makes it harder in some ways. Though the priests who have been my confessors (see here, for example) have generally been very kind -- including their facial expressions. The prayers are different. The listing of sins is discouraged in place of focusing on themes (at least in my experience). And, of course, penance is not meant to be punishment but medicinal. Going to confession is like going to the doctor.

So, reading Mija and Domino's posts almost felt like reading about a different culture. A culture that felt uncomfortable to my spiritual self, but tantalizing to my kinky self.