Monthly Archives: November 2005

Ivory Woes: The (Hopefully) Final Chapter

Yes, yes, I’d hoped we’d heard the last of this saga too.

Last night I came back home from my parents’ house which I will hence forth call the "The Sugar Shack" in honor of the amazing number of desserts existing under a single roof.  Getting home involved (for Pablo) a dead battery, a tow truck and an emergency favor from a friend).  It was after 11 by the time we got inside.  Still, even with all of that, he’d worn new white stiff collared shirt (it’s one of our little rituals and one that had been too long coming) so I knew he’d been thinking about stuff.

I sort of hoped that meant we could skip the spanking and soaping. Because he knew I had to get up at 6am for work (ugh!) Pablo offered to wait until tonight.  I thought about it, I mean any delay in a storm, but then I realized I’d have to spend the whole day thinking about it.

Better to get it over with I thought.

And with that I gave him my additional bad news.

I’d had a cookie on the plane.

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Something to write about

I’ve been MIA for awhile now. I’m sorry about that, and I sort of feel like I should be punished for it. Why? Well, because my lack of participation hasn’t been an "I’m just so busy" kind of thing, it’s been a "I suck and shouldn’t even attempt to write" sort of thing. More on that another day.

The main thing I wanted to write about is this decision-making process I’m in right now regarding discipline. See, Dave spanks me for real life stuff — we’ve established that in the past. But, I’m trying to lose weight right now and I’m actually going to Weight Watchers meetings, and I’ve been feeling like some help in that area might be a good thing …

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Ivory Woes (Part 2)

So, as you may remember from Wednesday, soap became my long-distance punishment for eating sugar.   You may also have notice my comment that yesterday I ate chocolate without thinking about it.   The following is my account of the conversation Pablo and I had last night.  There is no spanking (for those of you who look to this page for that stuff) and more white bar horror.

If you find this somewhat tedious, I’ll defend myself by pointing out that the account isn’t entirely voluntary.  In fact, it isn’t at all.

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Ivory Woes

I’ve been intending for a while to write an entry about non spanking sorts of punishments.  Intending to but not actually doing it.  I’m not sure this entry will either but I have to write it and so it’s a start.

As I mentioned in this entry, I can’t have very much sugar without getting sick.  (I did make it through that week, finally btw.)  But this week I’m staying at my parents’ house where the sugar supply is endless.  After several days of hearing (Pab is at home several hundred miles away) of my failure to avoid sweet treats, Pab told me last night that I was to buy a bar of soap today and have it ready for tonight were I to continue to eat too much sugar.

Well, actually, he said "no" sugar.  Which is sort of the problem. 

The threat / warning was enough to make me tear up.   

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A Good (?!?) Old-fashioned Spanking

The punishment I described in my previous post had actually happenned
two weeks before that; I don’t take time off to write up posts often enough.
And on this occassion my delay has come back to bite me on the butt: a
couple of hours after I theorised about a spanking infusing me with
four weeks’ worth of good behaviour, I was over Abel’s knee, said butt
bared and getting smacked.

In somebody else’s house, as well; he hadn’t even waited to get me home. Don’t you feel bad for me? Please say that you do.

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Grandmas can be dangerous

Lordy my grandma is trying to get me in trouble.

I’ve been slowly feeling better the last few weeks (I’ve been pretty sick for the last six months or so – read this or this if you want details). 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!"

Holy Paddle!

I’m beginning to notice a pattern here: I get spanked, I make a post about it, and then nothing happens for a month. But only for a month. When those few weeks are over – well, what do you know, I’m in trouble again. Do you think I have a reserve of "goodness" that lasts only for a month?*

Beside that, it seems, there’s another pattern at work: for the second time in a row I got two punishments in one day. It was pure misery, although I can’t really complain, because I did bring it on myself, really, by being a complete and utter brat. There was even some stomping of feet involved, and some throwing of things. So you see that I’d kinda asked for what I got, although I hadn’t specifically said: "Please, wallop me with an enormous paddle with holes in it"; Abel totally improvised on that bit.

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Equality (or not)

There's this immensely cool writer person called John Scalzi; I heard him speak about blogs at the last WorldCon, and have been blog-stalking him ever since.* It looks like one of his back entries has been hit by one of our, erm, friends of the God Says Man Is HoH ilk, and Scalzi refutes her with a persuasive list of reasons why, if one were drawn to choose a head of household, his wife would be more qualified for the title.

It was fun to read (because I take a lot of pleasure out of preachy HoH nuts having their empty wee heads slammed in), but it made me quite sad. It is an objective truth that in our family Abel is the competent person who knows who to call when the car breaks down, and such, and I'm an artistic soul in need of serious maintenance (which is just longhand for "incompetent").

Were I a man and Abel a woman, it would be quirky-cool for me to admit that she (Abel) should be appointed a head of household, because she (Abel) takes care of the practical side of our family life. But, being a woman, I simply can't afford to say this, because how many HoH nuts would file this away as another proof of inferiority of all that's female to all that's male? And when you add to it the fact that we're into spanking, and that I don't bring in any money other than from the sales of some porn stories – well, there would be no use for me to scream "But we don't *believe* in your HoH stuff, we're equals!" – I'd be forever written off as a Weak Female. And perhaps as a traitor to the feminist cause, as well.

My point? Being an incompetent, masochistic feminist is a lonely place.


*Did you know I went to WorldCon in Glasgow? Well, I did. The move to the UK had been worth it just for a chance to go. It was full of writers like you wouldn't believe it; disturbingly, I had previously blog-stalked so many of the younger, cooler of them, that it felt like we should all be mates, but of course, that's what stalkers usually feel in their more delusional moments.**

**A few nights ago I dreamt that one of those writers, who is possibly the most handsome man I've ever seen off a TV screen, gave me a caning. I didn't feel a thing, as is usual in dreams, but I revel in the pleasure of dreaming about somebody so beautiful. It's really odd, because I don't normally go for traditionally handsome men, nor for the young ones.***

***Hi, Abel 🙂

Too Sweet

Can I just say that spankings really really hurt?  Not just on my bottom, though that's certainly true, but on my ego.  Especially when the spanking wasn't for something I did deliberately, that is something where I thought "I shouldn't be doing this but I'm going to anyway" but because I'm too spacey to remember what I'm supposed to be doing.

I'm sitting rather tenderly just at the moment because I'd promised (after a rather epic-ly painful hair-brushing) not to have any sugar for five days.   How long ago had I tearfully promised that?  Less than forty-eight hours ago. 


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