Monthly Archives: February 2010

Someone Else’s Fantasy

There are very few things about one's body that feel sexy when one is pregnant.  There are even fewer after delivery.  (Gi-normous breasts excepted.)

Actually, I had a fairly strong libido during pregnancy.  What we couldn't enact in real life got pushed into my head and I was able to get some satisfaction from vivid fantasies, close proximity to M, and a good vibrator.  In the three weeks since our son's birth, though, I haven't been able to orgasm once.  Part of this is due to the rigors of new parenting and the simple lack of opportunity.  But even when I have a few stolen moments to myself, or M and I have a rare minute together, I can't come.  The desire is there, but my body can't get on board. 

It has also been a loooong time since I've been spanked, for punishment or
pleasure.  M has given me a few swats here and there, but intense
physical play has been off the table for a while now and will be for a
while to come (c-section incision has to heal first).  

But even though I can't play and I can't come, that doesn't mean my life is completely devoid of kink.  In fact, I've experienced lots of kinky things since becoming a mother.  None of them happen to correspond to anything I like, but in the spirit of making lemonade out of lemons, I'm trying to have a sense of humor about it.  Here are a few of them:

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Our Wooden Valentine: 5 Years, 201 Posts, 1.6 Million Visitors

happy-everythingIn late 2004, after Paul opened an account for us on Typepad and, after I played with a personal blog and got the hang of it, I wrote to a few friends. These were women I’d met online in the previous decade, but also gotten to know on different levels in real life. We were very different, but had in common a love of writing and a fascination with the use of discipline and punishment in real life relationships. You see, I had an idea — we could start a group blog (there weren’t many then) as a place to discuss the nitty gritty of trying to make a discipline relationships work in our respective “real” worlds.  Because they’re such good friends they claimed to be both excited and flattered and were sure it would be great fun.  From the start, I knew we should call it “The Punishment Book.”

February 2005, the blog entry officially opening and explaining The Punishment Book read:

Punishment books were records kept by schools and reformatories recording punishments given. Records were kept of who punishments were given to, how much and why each punishment had been given. Most often, though not always, the punishments were corporal.

Though we took our banners from scans of historical punishment books, that history is not what this blog is about. There will be accounts of punishments here, of course. The punishment book dot org is about punishment, especially spanking, being used to correct real life behavior. This is something the authors of this site all have in common, the use of disciplinary punishments in our real lives to some degree or other. Not as role play, although some of us are role players (and in some cases real life can feed role play). Not as foreplay, though some of us are into erotic spanking, but as part of our real lives and relationships. We’re all pretty funny (well, I mean, in so far as we amuse each other), but this isn’t a game. The issues of discipline and punishment are something seriously important to each of us.


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Submitting to Correction

calligraphy1Those of you who follow my blogging in other places (el tercer ojo and my new calligraphy blog) will know that I’m presently taking a calligraphy class studying the Gothic hand.  The mixed ability (some students have been studying calligraphy for years — others like me are taking their first class) class meets once a week for three hours.

Like most art classes, the teaching style is very structured. Anyone who imagines that most art courses are about creative free expression hasn’t taken many.  This is even more true of calligraphy, and within calligraphy, with learning a historical hand.  While there is a vague sense other ways might exist, my instructor only wants to see one way — the way she’s teaching us.  As we’re learning a medieval hand, the teacher also tends to mention life of early scribes and student scribes and their floggings.  This, of course, prompted me to do a little burst of research to discover what a “palmer” might look like (see links for the images I found).

calligraphy2At the second class meeting I was delighted to discover that our homework was being collected.  When I got home, Paul was pleased for me too, especially when I told him it would be turned back marked. The following week my homework was returned, with red inked corrections, at class a week ago Monday.  Not all the comments were positive, as you can see in the included images. In fact, except for a closing “Good Work,” every red mark was negative (or constructive criticism as I believe they say in the biz).  While I blushed to see my mistakes circled, it was great they weren’t being glossed over with a banal “Good Effort” or the like.

Last week I was actually called out a bit in class for not having practiced more during the previous week (it was not a lack of desire, but sadly other unavoidable demands on my time). Nonetheless I felt totally abashed at her slight disappointment, but again also thrilled because she’d noticed and thought it worthy of remark. I made no excuses for my lack of practice but simply promised to do better during the two weeks we have between classes due to various holidays.

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Listening & Leading (or sometimes, topping from the bottom is okay)

We were together on the bed not so long ago, doing what we do very well. Canoodling, I called it once, and Chris laughed at the word but agreed. Sometimes it is foreplay, and sometimes not. It is touching, often naked touching. Sometimes there is spanking.

It'd been about a week, because of one thing and another, and I'd sorely missed his time and attention. In addition to my own woes, I was under a work deadline (finished 2:30 this morning, yay!, waiting for feedback now). And I have a bit of a cold coupled with a nasty cough. Chris has just started another semester of graduate school and the subjects addressed in these courses promise to be of a pertinent and absorbing nature for him. He has a new toy and is busy getting iTunes behaving properly instead of me.

And, he'd been to the gym that evening.

You know, in and of itself, that's not a problem. Except his particular fitness facility is filled with college co-eds, most of whom have been worshiping at their own altars since puberty and are exceedingly conscious of how they look. Everywhere. I've seen them.

So he comes home and tweets this sentence while grilling dinner: "Saw a great pair
of shorts at the gym today. Well, wasn't so much the shorts as what was
in the shorts. Or rather partially in the shorts."

For some reason, it hit me the wrong way, you know? Now, I'm not a jealous person, normally, although I've had my moments, and my jealousy tends to focus on things rather than people (i.e. that video game, that volunteer opportunity that takes 40 hrs of your week outside of work, that iTouch you're playing with when I'm in the room trying to have a conversation with you, etc). And, as Chris pointed out later, I'm generally just as likely to point out that cute bum before he even notices it. Generally.

So we're canooding, and he's got me all tucked up against him.

Intending to confide, I told him that I'd been jealous about the girl whose bottom was half-displayed by her shorts, presumably intentionally.

He was honestly surprised, and why shouldn't he be? I'd normally not care a whit. But "I haven't felt very sexy lately," I reminded him, proceeding to cough up a lung into my pillow.

Chris gathered me up in his arms and muttered against my ear. "I should hairbrush you for that."

And here's why this blog entry is on Punishment Book… because if he had hairbrushed me, it wouldn't have been a nice little loving spanking with a hairbrush. No, it would have hurt. It would have felt like punishment, and he would have intended it to be painful. I don't think the momentary reaction of jealousy would have been included in why he wanted to hairbrush me then and there, but the feeling that caused the jealousy – the feeling and sense that I was undesirable – would have been what he was punishing.

He doesn't like it when I express self-doubt. I believe there is a standing rule around here that if I ever say "I'm a terrible mother" again, I'm headed straight over his lap with the ebony hairbrush, no ifs ands or buts. I know this and how he feels about my expressions of internal angst and self-loathing.

And yet, I need to be able to confide in him and tell him my fears and my hopes and my needs. If I can't confide in him and trust him to make it better, then who else is there to turn to? (Nobody, not like that, and my heart would break or ice over, and I would withdraw emotionally and probably sexually.) And if I can't confide in him and trust him with my whole heart and not just the stronger pieces of it, then are we really as strong as we believe us to be?

But, if he can't punish me for fear of breaking that trust, am I manipulating things to get my own way? And is, as he pointed out in very pertinent ways much later, my backside really his to do with as he pleases if he can't hairbrush me without risking a silly breakdown? Should I be repressing all of those feelings so that he can hurt me at will and way? Should he hurt me at will and way even if he risks those silly breakdowns, just to prove the point that he can and that he's unhappy with me?

In the end, this is yet another reason why our relationship is not a simple Top/bottom arrangement, and why Chris must be (and is) a listening leader. It's a symbiosis … and that's probably best. He didn't spank me, but listened to the tremors in my voice when I pointed out that hairbrushing me would discourage me from, in the future, telling him when I was upset. I did suggest he arrange for a hairbrushing on a different night. I even suggested (for more selfish reasons!) that he combine it with bondage. And the moment passed without tears or recriminations or the hard spanking he wanted to give me.

This morning, I'm still confused as to why I was jealous.

But…

Thank you, Chris, for not forcing the hairbrush. And thank you, for listening when I said to please not. I don't think it would have worked out quite the way you intended – then and there in that moment, I think it would have escalated it instead of purged it as you intended – but I know you could have. And you know I wouldn't have stopped you, if you'd insisted. So thank you.

Open Door – Juggling Kids, Honesty and Disclosure in a Kinky Household

Parenting kids in a kinky household really is different. I suppose everyone experiences parenthood differently, but I think kinksters definitely have unique challenges.

Our kids have been raised in a very non traditional environment.  I
don't think that will really come as a shock to anyone who knows much
about our family. First, they were exposed to polyamory from their
earliest memories. There was always Mommy, Daddy, and, from the time
they were 4 (almost 5) someone else. I wasn't the first person either
of them had in their lives seriously, either. It has always been
perfectly natural for them to see multiple people loving each other and
sharing affection.

They also see evidence of our dynamic. Both CC and I always called
him Sir, and I still do.  When they were very small they actually
thought it was his name. We also slept on the floor, each with our own
beds on the ground next to Daddy's. Again, I still do this.  They've
never thought of it as sleeping on the floor of course, they think,
"Daddy's bed and bridget's bed."

Yet, for all this openness we've
always tried to be very careful about crossing age appropriate lines.
They never see or hear us play. They aren't aware of the specific
sexual dynamics that exist between us. In fact, when CC was pregnant
with the little guy they told me they consider all three of us to be
"married" and then hastened to add, "But you and Daddy don't have
sex… right?" At the time I told them they really needed to talk to
Mommy and Daddy about that.

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