Since I'm writing this on Christmas, the title seemed appropriate.
I've been thinking a lot this week about different implements and the images or feelings they evoke. In my mind, there are some that are very traditionally "domestic discipline" types of implements, and some that I could only put in the "S&M" category — they "feel" more like a sexualized, eroticized implement, to me, and I don't understand their appeal. Let me explain …
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.
Well, the prodigal blogger has returned — for now anyway. After getting an email about updates to the site, I felt *really* guilty about not even checking in in – what? – two years? Holy crap.
So much has changed. After four years together, Dave and I called it quits for good on June 15, 2008. It's been 16 months, and writing that sentence made me cry. So, I'm not really dealing well with it, obviously. The short-story is that he doesn't ever want to be a husband or a father, and there's nothing in the world I want more than to be a mom, so it was an impass neither of us could see over. The long story is probably much more convoluted, and something I completely blame myself for. I became a different person than the one he fell in love with, and I wasn't snapping back.
Yes, I’m still alive. And yes, Dave and I are still together, and still spankos. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way …
Recently we’ve been going though this sort of Relationship Identity Crisis, of sorts. Some of it has stemmed, I’m sure, from some insecurity about our future, and some of it has stemmed from the fact that he actively seeks out and spanks other girls — which I’ve always been "ok" with, on the surface, but I’m somewhat bothered by in truth.
That said, I have a friend who is sort of my mentor in ‘the scene,’ and also one of my very best friends even though he lives very far away. We talk a lot and we’ve spoken about some of these issues and I told him, "Sometimes I feel like I’m not very submissive and it really makes me feel awful." That’s when he really blew my mind …
(Read the previous post first if you want the back-story)
OK. Full tummy and some time off of my sore butt and now I’m ready to continue. 🙂 I’m sitting on two pillows as I write this but it still hurts. *sigh*
So, I got to Dave’s and he was still in the shower. I was all nervous and having trouble looking at him when he got out of the shower and greeted me. I did spill that I had something else to tell him but that DH told me I shouldn’t tell him until after. He guessed right away why that was, which I thought was sort of eerie — do they ALL think alike? He says, "It’s so ridiculous that he figures it’s going to require a separate punishment?" I just blushed. "Well, we’re going to follow his lead. He’s got more experience than both of us, and he knows what the big secret is. If he told you to wait on telling me then you’re going to wait."
Dave has started a new job where he will be travelling a lot – 3 or 4 days a week – and it put me into panic mode, in some ways. I always feel somewhat at odds in this relationship — wanting to be the strong, loving life-partner that is there to be his rock; wanting to be allowed to make mistakes and have the little girl in me taken care of and taken in hand. He’s been on vacation with his family, and then on a business trip, and in the time that he was away I had a major medical emergency (well, semi-major) that was very scary to me.
My asthma, which is normally not a big deal at all, got really bad and stayed bad for over a week. By the time I ended up up in the hospital, my inhaler wasn’t working at all. I realized when I took it out to clean it off on Friday, after my doctor’s office was already closed, that the damn thing was expired and had been for almost a year. I had no refills (again, the asthma isn’t a *problem* normally – so I haven’t brought it up at a doctor’s visit for quite some time) at any of the pharmacies around town and my doctor wasn’t calling me back. An ER visit occurred on Saturday where it turned out I had a nasty case of bronchitis, needed steroids, a breathing treatment, a new inhaler, and antibiotics. Dave saw me through all of this over the phone, because he was out of town, and he never scolded or lectured about the expired inhaler. He could tell I was scared to death as it was.
I recently moved into an apartment with very thin walls. The other day, I was treated to the details of my upstairs neighbor's 12:15 am booty call. (Oh yes, it was lovely. Twelve minutes of hard banging on a squeaky bed. I was simultaneously jealous and pissed off.) Anyway, This has me REALLY worried about the Sounds of Spanking.
I need some ideas for quiet toys. I've heard that Loopy Johnnies are quiet. Are they not also deathly painful? Is there anything else that's relatively quiet? Please throw me your ideas. My apartment is so convenient to D's work so while heavy-duty type of punishments need to be reserved for his house, where the neighbors are pretty far away, we'll still be doing stuff at my place and he and I both tend to be kind of shy about people hearing us.
Hi everyone. 🙂 I just posted this in my Livejournal, but I wanted to get it here, too, just so everyone knows that I’m not dead — or, worse, Vanilla.
I got a spanking today. It was asked for, and deserved, and needed — but none of that takes away the sting or the blow to my pride, or the moments where I wanted it to stop. It had been a very long time coming. Ever since I was diagnosed, D’s seemed less and less inclined to be dominant in any way. He’s been loving, and giving; but his kink-needs have been on a sort of down-wave, and coupled with my pain and depression I think he’s just felt it was better not to ‘go there.’
But lately I’ve been begging for that part of my life back.
The last couple of months have been weird as far as discipline goes. I’ve been spanked here and there, sporadically, for various things. But, there hasn’t been much consistency and that’s due to a LOT of different things — illnesses, vacations, frustration. What usually happens with me didn’t fail to happen this time. I got completely out of control, sank into a depression, and felt like the only way to get out of this was to start enforcing some structure and discipline. Fortunately, I have a man who agrees.