Monthly Archives: September 2010

It’s Not Squicky, It’s My History

Trying this again … a repost from my blog. Apologies to those who read both — which I think is up to 4 people now. LOL

Today I was thinking about how what happened to us as children shapes who we become as adults. Of course, I began to think of this in the context of spanking. Some people find this topic extremely squicky … for me, it’s kind of matter-of-fact.

I was spanked, mostly by my mother (only once by my dad that I remember — but I remember every detail, oddly) until I was around 9 or 10. I was a good kid, really. I didn’t lie, didn’t cuss, didn’t *pick* fights with my brothers (though one of my brother’s and I fought almost constantly). When I grew into a teenager I NEVER smoked, drank, sneaked out … In fact, the only really big thing I did was have sex. I’m pretty sure if my mom thought a belt whipping would work to stop me from doing that again, she would’ve. As it was, she yelled for awhile and then said “You’re going to get PREGNANT!” and she almost passed out when I said, “I am not. I know how to use a condom properly.” Ah, memories. LOL

But some of those spankings I remember in great detail — what I had done “wrong” (some of them were just downright un-fucking-fair), where I was spanked, what I was spanked with, etc. And I remember, too, how broken I always felt afterwards. You know how you read M/f or M/m stories and there’s often a hug at the end, and the parent or adult wiping the tears away and stuff? Yeah … never happened to me. As soon as I was let up from her lap I would usually be yelled at again to go to my room — or I’d run there of my own volition — and I would bawl. I don’t remember crying because it hurt — I’m sure it did, but I don’t remember the physical pain at all — I cried because I thought she hated me when she spanked me. I never had some warm, fuzzy, “this will hurt me more than it hurts you” talk with my mom before; and there was never a hug after … I ALWAYS knew that she was angry when she spanked, and I often wouldn’t even look at her the rest of the day.

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Nowhere to go

I am only recently starting to get back my spanking mojo after an extended hiatus for pregnancy- and postpartum-related issues.  Physically I was unable to bend over or absorb heavy blows when my belly got big enough, and then healing from my c-section meant that I was restricted for similar reasons.  And emotionally/hormonally, I just wasn't there.  Spanking didn't fire me up, intrigue me, or even really occur to me.  Every once in a while I would think about it, but more in a passing sense.  For a while I was ok with this break: I was exhausted, we had company, and the duties of motherhood and work were far more pressing. 

After several months, though, I began to long for that part of myself.  I missed the fire, the sparkle, the desire.  I wanted to feel like me again.  Still, nothing.  I worried that motherhood had completely changed me, had replaced those fiery, sassy, desiring parts with nurturing, responsible, mechanical parts.

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