Category Archives: Health

Crikey, I’ve lost my spanko-mojo!

I’ve been living with some persistent urinary tract infections for several months now. It’s baffling the doctors who have both run a CT scan and done a cystoscopy but find nothing to explain the relentless number of bacterial visitors for which I’m now taking antibiotics for the foreseeable future. What really sucks is that it really hurts. Like someone driving a nail through the base of my spine. You know, just above where normally I’d get spanked.

As sparkle mentioned in the last post, we had someone email us recently asking if we all really get spanked. Of course, the answer is yes, for whatever reasons of emotional and sexual expression we might have. But for the first time in my life, I can totally see the world from that emailer’s perspective.

Why on earth would I want someone to hit me with a belt or a cane or a hairbrush? Why, why, why would somebody do that? Why would I let them — nay, seek them out?!

Now, ordinarily when I’m getting spanked, I rarely like it (though, yeah, there are a few exceptions). The appeal is usually the concept. One of the most core, intimate pieces of me is part child mixed in with the intelligent, mature woman. Punishment for real life things is a way of connecting to both of those at the very same time in which a type of fusion is created that is about as close to nuclear fusion we can get on a human level.

Or at least, normally it works like that. Except for the last few weeks, the concept has had no appeal to me.

Not. At. All.

As my boyfriend, A., and I cuddled last night, I said it was like someone has stolen my spanko-mojo.

We both chuckled awkwardly. And sighed. He rubbed my back and cuddled me some more.

But as the night went on, a little tiny bit of that child-part thought again.

"Well, maybe you could make me write lines or something," I said later as we drifted off to sleep.

"Yeah. I could make you wear your school uniform (which I don’t really have yet) and write lines…" A. began.

And the appeal of the concept came back a bit.

So, maybe I still have my punishment-mojo…

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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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!"

Like a Virgin

I guess this title makes it sound like my 80s childhood is showing.
But really, it's Tasha's fault.   The title of this entry I mean.  Not
anything else — though now that I think about it, I'm sure someone
could find something to blame her for.  Apparently after eight years of
posting, writing erotica, chatting, not to mention my real life
activities, I've reclaimed my spanko virginity.  My pain threshold is
lower than I ever remember it being.

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Pushing an Elephant Up the Stairs

Lately I’ve been ill a lot, and consequently ended up spending lots of time staring into space, arranging and re-arranging various pieces of work in my head into increasingly scary action plans.

I have quite a lot to do, you see. There’s the thesis. There’s my fiction writing. And there’s something Which Must Not Be Named, but alright, as you’re curious I’ll say it once and never say its name again. *motions for the readers to move their heads closer into the circle* Job search! (There. Now you know. My name is Haron, and I’m terrified of applying for jobs.)

Yeah, anyway. You’ll be pleased to know (I think) that since my last update I haven’t earned any new punishments. The draconian regime has been working (that’s when I haven’t been sneezing my nose off). Yet, it hasn’t stopped me from peering at my work load with eyes wide open in terror. Instead of focusing on every day as it comes, I cower in front of the big picture.

And what do you know? Abel has come up with another cunning plan.

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The Devil On My Shoulder

I might be alone on this.  My fellow authors might understandably be flabbergasted (and mortified) by this topic. 

However, this blog is written by women, right?  No, I do not intend this as a debate on whether we should be called or call ourselves ladies, girls, hotties, wives, bottoms, subs, spankees, women, chicks, or any other myriad of labels assigned to our gender.  It’s just that I believe that all of the authors of this site are of the female persuasion.  Not that our gentlemen (and not so gentlemanly) friends and observers don’t enjoy the blog – but there are a few topics that truly are generally confined by culture and modesty to discussion among women, and I need to write about one of them. 

[Hint:  If you can imagine anything related to the female body as the least bit squicky, perhaps you ought to skip to the next article.]

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