Cold Turkey

I imagine that some readers of this blog are so young – over 18, I certainly hope, though I seldom say too much that's too explicit – but young enough that they remember using the family internet connection under their parents' watchful eye. I can imagine that in some cases that's pretty difficult – not wanting pages in the history but not wanting to suspiciously clear the history, following links so that at least addresses don't appear in the address bar, not saving the many text files or pictures that you'd prefer to. Parental oversight of internet activity is only something I've encountered when I've checked my e-mail from my mom's retirement apartment.
(by the way, having my mom, whom I do love dearly, watch me navigate the 'net is, unbelievably, even worse than having her navigate while I drive – why did you go there? It let you do that? I didn't know it would let you do that... I can't believe it let you do that, I never knew it would let you do that...)

But a close second to parental oversight is having the kids here for the holidays. At least I can dump the history and cache, the hell with suspicion. And I have a DVD writer so I can easily write out all of my scene files to DVD, lock it up, delete the files from the hard drive, and empty the recycle bin. Check anything I log into and make sure I haven't set it up to log me in automatically. Make sure nothing too obscene is listed in any of the applications' "recently used files" lists. And so on, though as I said, the least of my worries.

Then it's the five days of togetherness with cold-turkey withdrawal for three of my favorite activities – writing, reading, and corresponding. Though it goes far beyond feeling slightly (or wholly) out of touch. First of all, the teenagers have no desire for my 24/7 attention or activities – especially two of them who have strict limits on how much interpersonal interaction they can stand in any 24, 48, or 72-hour period. Exceed these limits and they either withdraw non-negotiably or break down physically. So I do come up with a fair amount of free time.

I hate to call myself a writer, since I only do it as a hobby, only write scene material, and only get it posted, never "published." But "as a writer" I always, always feel behind. Thinking takes minutes; writing takes hours or days. Thinking can occur at any time; writing, for me, requires a concentrated, seldom-interrupted block. Having five days (I took Wednesday off) without work would normally seem like a great time to "catch up" if that's at all possible, and some of the mountain of writing I'd like to do – and not only writing but on-line reading that I also can't always keep up with. Some of it's writing – stories and essays – and some is correspondence and dialogue and chatting, which can also be a little hard to keep up with, due to conflicting schedules and all.

Much as I love my kids – I'd much rather have them here every second weekend, if they still lived in town – having them here for all of my holiday and vacation time can be a bit taxing.

So if you're in an unfortunate situation – still sharing a computer with your parents, for instance, regardless of your age – you have my sympathy. But don't feel like you're alone. While I had a great Thanksgiving with much to be thankful for (including coming up with a Christmas present for my hard-to-buy-for youngest) I am still jumping back into things feeling five days farther behind than ever!

The Young and the Responsible

LibraryGirl and I were discussing ages – some women want their partner to set up all sorts of rules and monitor them or, in my experience, the women want to set the rules and have their partners monitor and enforce them. In several ways this is like being a child, say under 12 for a convenient marker – no responsibility for one’s self, no decisions, just stay within the rules. And without going into detail here (later, probably), that’s asking a lot of your partner if you’re trying to do this on a 24/7 basis.

LG isn’t like that – she wants to make her own decisions and such but not actually have responsibility for her life, like a teenager. If she’s got a job and money she can spend it all on CD’s and DVD’s (not that she does) and hair thingees and non-necessities. Ideally, to her, the rent is paid and the grocery shopping done and as long as she cleans up after her snacks all should be well and good. This isn’t only like a teenager, it’s also like a cat – or at least our/ her cats, which are the only ones I have experience with. She is like them in a lot of ways. And like an awful lot of people, she’d rather give up all kinds of material things if it means she can live modestly where she wants, do what she wants, and work when she wants. And if you have a partner who feels the same way you can put together something that works this way, sometimes.

My Permanent Age

I’ve always said (correctly or not) that women mature but men are born to an age and are that age all their lives – in my case early to mid 30’s. When I was younger – say mid 20’s – people actually said I looked good for my age, assuming that I was in my 30’s. And I can look back and see that for a lot of years that was the spot where I was heading my life – job – check; house – check; family – check; boredom – uncheck. Not really looking for a new car every two years, a good golf game, and a big 401k. Maybe, of course, it’s just not yet, and I’ll get there later. But the period of my life I was heading for completely skipped college or a young-twenties social life and headed to that nice orderly spot even back before I got out of grade school – really. I’m not basing this whole theory on one closely observed individual, however – we all know guys who will always be 17-19 even as they approach 50; other friends of mine (mostly at my work) were in their mid-50’s, mentally, when they got out of college – eager to have their retirement plan well-stocked, making purchases with an eye toward this TV or this couch being the last one they ever have to buy. And yes, I realize that a lot of the difference between men and women is that men don’t hear their biological clock, or recognize it as such; babies at 70 or 80 seem to be more the mark of a true champion than a symptom of dementia.

What I did to get to be old before my time, maybe I’ll get into later.

Too Responsible

I’m smart, very smart, LG is too, and while you’re growing up being smart seems to be everything to parents and teachers and you get a lot of positive reinforcement. And it becomes your identity, especially if you’re like me and you are nothing but smart – but whether you have other talents or not, being very smart defines you at that age, if not others.

And with smart comes responsibility for your actions, and usually a great willingness to recognize and accept this responsibility. I’ve let go of most of my grievances from that age, really, but now that it comes up I guess it still annoys me that you get this level of responsibility but no authority at all; no opportunity. I envied the big dumb guys who could make their living, have cars and apartments, without finishing high school while I had to wait through four years of college. A high IQ can get you a minimum wage job at age 16 but it doesn’t help – all it does is restrict your hours because you can’t afford to miss classes. If I had my way, though I never will, smart kids could get good $10 an hour jobs part time starting in early high school. Anyway.

I’m not saying that other kids don’t get punished – you came home late, you went too far, you should have known better – but all that happens to them is that they get punished, grounded, yelled at, lectured, whatever. But when you’re smart it goes beyond that – the parents or teachers also withdraw the approval of what makes you special to them – being so smart, always being right, being a good thinker, being a miniature adult. But if you screw up, you’re not just inattentive or forgetful, you’re defiant or disobedient. And the worst part is that this is true – I knew I was coming home late (so playing dumb makes me a liar, to boot), I knew I wasn’t supposed to cross the freeway (using an underpass, or a culvert, but still, I was in second grade). They were right, I was being defiant or disobedient. Maybe (looking back and guessing, I have no training in this and am just thinking off the top of my head) because I wanted the authority that went with my responsibility. Hey, why shouldn’t I decide when I come home or how far I go, since I’m basically a small adult?

Okay so they were right and I was wrong – a 60, or 90, or 120 pound “mental adult” cannot safely do the things a 20-year-old can. And they were wrong in expecting me to act with the responsibility of a 20-year-old (30, whatever) when my world was that of an 8 or 12 or 16-year-old.

We’ve all seen the Marx Brothers movie where Karl (he was the serious one with the beard) says “From each according to their ability, to each according to their need.” While this statement has its merits and represents a good ideal, it hasn’t proved very practical in, well, practice, not in general society. And it might make a good theory for raising kids – who doesn’t try to match what they do for their kids to each kid’s needs? But in certain ways it sort of sucks. I sort of prefer the Gospel passage (no, I’m not going to look it up) “To him much has been given, much will be expected.” Okay, parents, you want to expect a lot from me, what are you giving me? And don’t give me that “smart genes” crap, I mean what are you giving me lately?

So my point in all this blather is that it’s very easy for a smart, serious kid to miss childhood altogether – or at least an important part of it: carelessness without serious consequence. Your ice cream drips, so your clothes have to be washed. Is that better or worse than going through life making sure your ice cream never drips? Being able to foresee every likely problem and failure – and trying to mitigate it in advance – means you miss a lot of fun to avoid the occasional scraped knee. Scrapes might be one-for-one or two-for-one, but you can get a lot of thrills before you break your arm and the cast would have come off a long time ago. In fact, if I’d screwed up and robbed a bank, or gotten caught doing some of the things I really did do, I’d have gotten out of jail twenty years ago last month. And maybe I would have lost my right to vote in the last presidential election, as my mother used to warn, I believe. Oh boy oh joy, dodged a bullet with that one.

Now I'm not totally blaming my parents and teachers here – they couldn't have prevented it if they tried (though I don't really remember them saying "maybe you should try to be less responsible..."). We bring it on ourselves – maybe because we think that taking responsibility will lead to authority, or maybe just because we can't help it. In fact, if I was going to blame anyone, it'd be me, except...

Blaming Myself

Up till a certain number of years ago, I used to look back in horror at some of the things I did, in high school, at jobs, in college, in my first years working as a professional. And probably back into junior high school. Generally immature things, usually initiated in an attempt to be funny, to impress a girl, or as the result of an enormous amount of drinking. And according to Maxim, I had done everything wrong in the social department. Then at some point I realized that they were giving advice to guys in their mid-twenties – even though it included how to select a great video game – while I had been making these mistakes in my teens. Frequently (unfortunately, not limited to) my early teens – honestly. So no wonder. I looked around at some of the guys I knew who were younger than me at the time – say I was getting close to 30 – and realized that in a lot of cases they were years older than I had been when I tried to do some of these things – like, rent an apartment, at 17 – not everything went smoothly (though I did get one). Trying to switch from a blue-collar/ union upbringing to a white collar/ management perspective and playing office politics at 21. And I would have recovered, over the years, from those mistakes, had I stopped making new ones...

But in any case, at some point I decided to stop blaming myself – or start forgiving myself – or letting go of the stuff I had done but had stopped doing. Or did a lot less regularly. The stuff I haven't stopped doing, well, you have to learn to live with what you can't rise above, as Bruce Springsteen said.

I'm not famous – maybe I wish I was, but I'm not – I haven't even done a ShadowLane video and I certainly didn't do one twenty years ago, right after I got out of the reform school I didn't go to, which I'm sort of glad of because my hair in 1986 is not something I want to be remembered by. Somewhere around then I had about a three-inch high flat top and some other time I had sort of a pseudo-mohawk, or a faux-hawk. If those tapes had been made, though, I guess I'd have to get over it. And I sort of have to wonder what Madonna thinks (not of me, I already know that) when she reinvents herself and has the power to drive the definition of cool away from her old self, but in doing so makes her old self look all the more dated, ridiculous, and foolish. Does she shudder at every old picture or Sean Penn movie, does she just avoid them (hard to do), or does she just accept that at one time she sang "Lucky Star" and "Holiday" like Tiffany, or was too obviously provocative with "Like a Prayer/Virgin?" Does she say "that was another person?"

I went back to my hometown after I'd finished college and started making some serious money and walking the streets like I always had I almost told myself "there is no way the you you are now came out of here. How did that happen?" (a lot of generosity by a lot of people was a big part of it).

Writing this and looking it over, I can see that I overcame some obstacles just to get to a point where I was a self-sustaining, contributing, productive human being, which at one time was my goal – or at least my next goal. And yet, being a critical thinker, for many years when I looked back all I could see was the mistakes and the embarrassments – the person I was thinking most critically of was myself.

Where does this bring us?

When I was young I was too old, my expectations were way too high, and I had to learn to accept that I hadn't met those or even more modest expectations without feeling like a perennial failure. I'm not sure I missed feeling like a teenager or being one but I can see how I could have. I'm not really trying to get back to that stage of my life but in some sense I never left it, either.

Nice of you to have read this far to see how this ties into the spanking scene, but I treat spanking, at least most of it, like play. And I treat a lot of sex like play. Chasing, laughing, mock threats, throwing Cat around. Starting with clothes on. Who ever starts a seduction in clothes except a couple of horny teenagers? And I don't mean fancy lingerie, I mean jeans and t-shirts. I like making out under clothes – why? Because you're not supposed to, you're stealing a moment, it's something you do when people might walk by any moment. Smacking a bottom (once) – everybody does it, and no one's supposed to – she always looks shocked and insulted and embarrassed. Oh, sure, there's the running around the house naked, but that's for weekends when you have absolutely no plans before 8 PM like a kid whose parents are out of town. There were things I was supposed to get done last weekend – adult things, grocery shopping, organizing – but hey, there was no one here to make me do it. So – no.

I've always said the sexiest thing about a woman is enthusiasm, and that's what I love about spanko women – they're always (or so often) anxious to play – or play again. You can play for half an hour and fifteen minutes later just a sidelong glance and it's off to the races – like a couple of teenagers. And everything else takes a back seat. Except that I no longer have a car with a back seat you can play in, let alone make love in, though now the minivan does have some possibilities.

Another way that spanking is like teen sex, in a great way, is its (supposed) secrecy. If you're adults, married, living together, dating or whatever, if you've got a door to close and you're having sex no one says you shouldn't. How fun is that? But start spanking and all of the sudden you're doing something you don't want everyone to know about (even if they do). You hide it from the kids, you hide it from your parents, you try to hide it from the neighbors probably with no success, but you try. Is it dirty? Maybe. But at the very least it's covert. You're in a restaurant or a movie, pick any adult couple and you can say "He's going to take her home and make love to her." Ho-hum. "But you – I'm going to take you home and blister your bottom." Now you've got a secret. And if it's not so secret, who cares? Did suspicious parents, knowing teachers, and a Verizon-Network style crowd of onlookers ever keep us from mauling each other? Think not.

So that's where I am – it needs to be fun. Mistakes need to be free of serious consequences. It's better when it's something we're not supposed to be doing. And we're in too big of a hurry to change into pj's, brush our teeth, feed the cats, check the locks, start the dishwasher, and turn out the lights. Now. Quick. While maybe nobody's looking.

Thank You and Good Night

Whew - not much to say about this one - except thanks...

Mass De-lurk Day

Bonnie Burns over at My Bottom Smarts has declared this "Mass Spanko De-Lurk Day" and has asked all of us spanko bloggers to encourage as many people as possible to "come into the light," if only for a moment. Specifically, she'd like everyone who can possibly bear to to post a comment to one of today's messages. And if you see this late, post a comment anyway!

Bonnie herself can be found over at bottomsmarts.blogspot.com. In honor of, or support of, Bonnie's de-lurk day, I offer the following tale:


Lurker's Birthday

Julie and I bought a new computer this weekend and some of the software was already loaded, so I poked around a bit to see what we'd got. That's when I came across a folder called WordPad-Diary. Who could resist?

When I found this entry, I had to show it to Julie right away and I knew we'd be posting it before too long. Hope someone out there at SSS is as interested as we are.

***

Dear Diary (it said),

I was sitting at my computer tonight, happily cruising my favorite website, when the doorbell rang. I looked out and there was a policewoman with a respectable-looking couple, so I opened the door.

"Internet police, ma'am, may we come in?" Since they were in already, it wasn't much of a question.

"Who?" I asked. I didn't even know the Internet had police. I looked at the couple she had brought with her - a tall Anglo woman, maybe a banker or real estate agent, and a quiet, heavy-set Hispanic man. Respectable, you know? Like someone from church. The officer was a short woman, not much taller than me but with muscles where I'm round, so she did look like she could handle herself.

"Internet police," she repeated. "You've been lurking on the SSS news group for one year as of 8:00 this evening, without posting."

"Would there be something wrong with that?" I asked defensively, trying to cover my shock. "There's nothing wrong with listening." I was hoping that I was not admitting anything, without saying something really stupid, and I like the term "listening" better than "lurking" anyway. After all, SSS was on my screen in the bedroom at this very moment so I couldn't very well pretend I'd never been there.

"Well, people are free to listen but responses are what feed our writers, as I think you know."

"Lots of people respond!" I countered, realizing too late that I should just keep my mouth shut. So I'm a slow learner, I've had this problem all my life - keeping my mouth shut, I mean.

"That's not the issue here," I was told. "Lurking without posting may not exceed one year in duration. It's in the bylaws... certainly you've read the bylaws?"

"Yes, well, um, I was going to, I've been waiting until they're posted again."

"They're posted regularly, ma'am. And they specifically state that the duration of lurking may not exceed 365 consecutive calendar days, exclusive of February 29th."

"Okay, so what? You're going to kick me off? You're going to de-lurk me?" I tried to sound a lot braver than I felt. I did not really want to be exposed to the world of SSS and I certainly didn't want to be kicked off. I was hoping they'd give me a choice, I could make up a name and come out if I had to.

"Not exactly. We consider this to be your news group birthday and are here to treat it as such. This is Deborah and this is Jorge," she waved, indicating her companions.

My jaw fell to the floor. "I don't think so!" I demanded, "Get out of my apartment!"

Officer Brunswick, as her badge identified her, seemed unmoved. She flipped open a small notebook.

"On February 17th, you copied a story from the board to other electronic medium. This was specifically and explicitly forbidden by the author. The evidence, we believe, is on your hard drive at this very moment. Do any of the following phrases sound familiar to you? 'Listen here, little missy... who do you think... you won't be sitting... how dare you... if I ever... won't forget this one'?"

I got an icy feeling across my seat. There were more than a few stories like that on my hard drive. I never had any idea it was against the law.

"Everyone does that," I stated definitively. "You can't single me out."

"Perhaps people do. We'll not argue that point. As far as singling people out, we are prepared to make you a test case for Internet property rights." As a wave of horror swept over me she verbalized my very thoughts - "You can see yourself on AP top stories - with a photo, perhaps."

Instinctively I covered my bottom with both hands and pushed it as far away from this trio as it could get. Tears sprang to my eyes. I could not have people know about me, I'm not the type to be famous, much less infamous.

"So, shall we see you in court - and on My Yahoo 'Stories of the Hour'?" Brunswick asked.

"Or?" I half-wailed, half-moaned. She waved again to Deborah and Jorge.

They didn't look wicked - more serious, disapproving, perhaps, and a little disappointed. My mind spun as I tried to figure out what could be going on. As I said, Deborah was tall and Anglo and looked very competent and respectable. She wasn't in any kind of scary or sexy costume, just a woman going to work. At an office.

I say an office because Jorge probably works outdoors. He had a deep tan and very hard hands, I couldn't help but notice. His shoulders looked like he did a lot of lifting and not weight-lifting, work lifting, I mean. His middle looked liked he had lifted a few beers in his time as well. His clothes were clean and not worn, even though they didn't look new, so he looked dressed up, especially his shirt, which was orange and red with a Latin-western design. He still had most of his thick dark hair and his sideburns were way too long. I couldn't help but notice that behind the requisite oversized belt buckle was a wide, heavy, and somewhat overworked leather belt.

I thought of the stories I had most often cruised and a light went on. I almost laughed! These two were supposed to be my parents, me their daughter. What was funny about it is that my father was born in California and works in a bank (I probably thought of one of his co-workers, seeing Deborah) and my mother is a housewife, as short and plumper than I am. She's the one from Mexico and only works a few days a week, at the market. It was almost like they'd gotten my parents reversed.

Then the unfunny thought occurred to me - what always, always went on in these stories. I felt that exact sensation they always describe - a combination of glistening excitement and abject fear. I thought instantly about what panties I had on - clean, at least, even if they did lack sex appeal. Why I should worry about appealing to these people, I don't know. Why I even went along with it, I don't know. I guess in a way I wanted to. A year of reading these stories had gotten me more than ready.

Even as I thought back to a story or two, Jorge went over to my couch and sat down like he owned the place. His legs were well out in from of him and he looked like he was on a throne. Without a word he patted his solid thighs and motioned me over with a look. For some reason I drifted in his direction.

As soon as I got close his arm caught me under the seat and in an instant I was across his lap. I thought of hot stories with belts and switches and very embarrassing positions and hoped and prayed this wasn't one of those. I really didn't want that, I really, really didn't. Thankfully I still had my jeans up when he smacked me the first time.

"So, little lady, you know it all now, do you?" he started. I didn't answer as much harder smacks fell on my seat. I could feel how easily he was spanking me and already it hurt. I felt sticky from the whole situation and that made me feel dirty. Feeling dirty always makes me feel like I should be spanked, which didn't make me feel any less sticky.

The spanks got hard and he'd just started. I tried to take it.

"Maybe one more lesson might still teach you something," he told me, spanking quickly.

"Umpft," I responded. "Umpft, umpft, umpft."

When I read these stories, I always imagine that I'd get extra swats because my seat is big, not one of these "his large hand covered her entire bottom" types. It's not a good feeling, exactly, but it does excite me in a weird way, that I would have to be spanked all the more. But he was spanking just in a few spots and I found myself starting to fight him, I had to. Already I was crying some and it didn't look like he was going to let up. I asked, begged, cried for him to stop.

"Oh, no, chiquita, you still have much to learn," he assured me but he did start moving around. I was so embarrassed by how many places he could fit his hand on the target I was giving him. Through my jeans it didn't really sting but it hurt! I was really getting so sore and I begged some more, until I thought of the fact that when he did stop, my pants were coming down! I was in no shape to be seen, I'd die! I quickly switched to "sorry's" and tried to be more compliant. But it was so hard with him spanking me like that!

He seemed to have found the softest parts and was staying in those few spots. I couldn't help kicking and even swinging my arm but he didn't even notice. He held me across the back like I was a child, and where his arm held me, I didn't move a bit. His soft, firm voice kept reassuring me how much better I was getting with every painful spank. Finally he stopped but only to reach for the top of my jeans. I was sweaty and more, I was crying with pain and sobbing with embarrassment and I felt so sorry for all those girls I had read about and envied. My squirms were in a way that was probably turning him on, even though he'd stopped spanking me.

I have never been more relieved than when the hand at the top of my jeans pulled me off his lap.

"Do you think you can be good now?" he asked very seriously. I assured him I would, that I'd be very, very good and that I was very sorry and sorry he had had to spank me. He just told me to remember that it could always happen again.

I had fallen out of half of my bra and turned away to fix it and to give myself a chance to regain my composure and stop crying. If he'd sent me to the corner I'd have gone gratefully but that was not in store for me.

Deborah spoke with authority as she stated "We'll be wanting some privacy, I believe." She opened her purse and withdrew a wooden hairbrush and the scenario seemed chillingly familiar. "Will you wait for me in your room?" she asked, but it wasn't a question.

I was half glad to get out of there, in fact I closed the door behind me, I was so out of it, but on the other hand I was all the more scared and very sore already. Deborah opened the door and came in, closing it again behind her. The hairbrush, of course, was still in her hand.

"Are you going to take those down, or am I?" she asked menacingly. By now I knew I had no choice around here, so I did what she wanted, except slowly.

She sat.

"If I have to take those down for you, you are going to be the sorriest young lady in this city tonight," she predicted. I started crying again but at least the door was closed. I squeezed my legs together in fear and before I could move she stood up and wrapped an arm around my waist. "Oh, so that's how it'll be, will it?"

"No! No!" I cried, oblivious to the two outside, "I'll do it!"

"Too late," she informed me and my seat was bare and I was back facing downward. "Missy, you have just made a very, very big mistake." Deborah slapped me hard right where I was sorest and I howled. "Stop that!" she commanded. "Settle down!" A rain of spanks fell on my unprotected seat, right on the bare skin. They hurt!

She eased up some until I did settle down and finally she stopped all together. I couldn't resist a little breath of relief. "I don't want to do this at all," she lied, "and I am certainly going to make sure that I only have to do this once! And as for that foolishness about your panties, you know what I'm going to do about that!"

I was begging and "please'ing" and asking her not to but it didn't seem to make any difference. I guess I should have known but at the time I thought it was worth trying. Deborah waited and waited but then finally asked if I was ready to get the hairbrush. Of course I said no but she repeated herself exactly and followed it with, "That's two." I gulped hard, knowing I'd have to say it. Then she was already repeating, "Anna, are you ready to have me spank you with my hairbrush?" again. I said "Yes, yes!" trying to interrupt her but still she said, "That's three."

What happened after that I can hardly describe, not that I've forgotten a minute of it. She spanked with a snap that made each and every swat go right through me - I couldn't believe something could hurt that much! She did kind of the same thing as Jorge, spanking those few bad spots at first for a long time, then moving around. When she got low and kind of inside my cheek, I begged her, "not there, pleaseeee not there!"

She assured me that I would be spanked there and gave me a bunch right there to prove it and then another big bunch just on the other side. She promised me that "every square inch of my bottom" was going to get "every swat I had earned for it." At that point I just had to give up, I couldn't fight her anymore. I just lay across her lap and sobbed, bouncing from the reflex to her terrible stinging snaps.

I guess I would have been done then if I had cooperated better, because she finally stopped. She told me again how much she hated to do this and patted me with the brush. I jumped, even though it was light, and she sort of laughed at me. She said she didn't appreciate my making her job harder with my foolishness about my panties. She put her hand on the cheek away from her and smoothed it upward, pulling it flat down below. "And now I am going to make you very sorry you didn't cooperate when you needed to," she informed me.

"I AM sorry!" I protested but to no avail. I started struggling again but she had me completely under control. And it was true, I was sorry, sorry I hadn't pulled down my panties, sorry I needed to be spanked, sorry I read all those stories and got soft feeling while all those poor girls got spanked. I tried to tell her but she was having none of it.

"You're not sorry yet, not by a long way. You just think you are but just wait until I've really spanked you," she threatened. She pulled my cheek up again and started spanking, just in that one spot. Hard and stingy both at once and I was already soooo sore! Then she moved to the other side and I had to get each of the swats again over there!

My breathing was both panting and sobbing, I thought I would hyperventilate but she held me while I calmed down. She reached up and stroked my hair but then, with a voice that chilled me, she asked, "How old are you, Anna?"

I knew what that meant and I started sobbing again but this time she just waited. And waited. I told her, "Twenty four."

"Twenty," she said, tapping my bottom. "Four."

"And! How many times did I have to ask if you were ready?"

"Nooooooooo!" I wailed, "Owwwwwwww!" as she brought the brush down hard, "Two. Two!" I insisted and I thought I was being fair.

Those swats were so much harder! I couldn't believe the earlier ones weren't the hardest she could spank - though at least these didn't snap like the ones I'd already had. She counted out the twenty-four very hard swats - twenty-four on each side! I should have been done but she repeated her question.

"How many times did I have to ask if you were ready?"

"Three," I sobbed piteously. I didn't even care anymore, this spanking would never be over. Then she swatted me and I started caring again. She repeated her first two sets, acting like she hadn't already given them to me - and then, then! This new mom they'd given me spanked out a third set right in the middle! I couldn't even fight her, I just had to lie there jerking back and forth and crying and being very, very sorry.

She had spanked me for so long that when she was done I didn't really believe it. She let me lie there and cry and then slump down between her legs and cry some more. After a while she stood me up, handed me my poodle from my bed and stood me in the corner, where I leaned with my head against the wall.

After a long time I looked around and she was still sitting there. She got up and found me my robe and put it around me, then led me out to where the others were still waiting.

They stood up and Jorge looked at me sympathetically, I thought. As well he should. Deborah got her purse and at long last the dreaded hairbrush disappeared from sight.

"We'll be going - for now," Brunswick warned. "You had best de-lurk quickly."

I immediately agreed, trying to look contrite and sincere. Once the door was closed, I headed right back to the computer. So I had to stand, I probably sit too much anyway. What I need to do, I figured, was find just the right stories. No telling when they'd be back and I certainly wasn't going to read the by-laws. Now let's see, there was one about a handsome sheik.....

***

Julie looked at me speculatively. "Do you think this policy has ever encouraged anyone to respond, instead of just listening?"

"NOOO!" we laughed in unison.

Saying "No"

One more of many interesting experiences from this last ShadowLane party – the experience of trying to say no. I’m sure more than a few women can recite my pontifications of giving a nice, direct, no-excuses “no” to a guy they don’t want to play with. And I’m sure when I’m on my soapbox I make it sound like I think it’s easy – though I know it’s not. Now I’m not saying that this was at all the same situation, but I did get a first-hand example of how hard it can be to say no, especially to say no very directly.

We were at a party Sunday afternoon down at Danny’s and he had quite a nice crowd gathered, including several people I didn’t know. This surprised me a little because I’m used to having gotten used to seeing most everyone by then – obviously I wasn’t paying enough attention Saturday at the banquet.

One woman I didn’t recognize was over between the bed and the bathroom – tall, fashionably short blonde hair, business suit, chunky heels – and she was already tall. Okay, I admit, I had a good idea that she was a top but as attractive as she was I figured I could let her tell me that. Oh, and the big F/M party had just gotten out, so that sort of underscored my impression.

I am not good at initiating one-on-one conversations – I know it’s hard for a lot of people, and I’m one of them – but I did manage to get her name and ascertain that she was having a good time or some such lame thing. We drifted toward the door of the suite – and the munchies – and she introduced me to her husband (I was not surprised) and he was likewise tall, attractive, mid-thirties, Texan. I congratulated their Longhorns for beating us in the Rose Bowl but they weren't big college football fans.

Never one to give up, I contrived to be in her area a little later and somehow managed to say something that allowed my to segue appropriately into “Are you interested in playing?” and – as I could have predicted, and with perfect control, she responded “Are you?”

So, okay, I’m not stupid, I have this situation pretty completely figured out, so I say, “Well, are you a bottom?” and as I’d expect, she says “No – do you bottom?”

Okay, let me explain that first, I have a tremendous weakness for attractive women; second, I try to be complimentary and supportive of everyone whenever possible; and third, I have not only respect but admiration for the woman tops I have met (more on that in another post someday, maybe soon). So, in short, saying no to this lovely lady was not something that came easily to me – in fact, in this case it did not come at all.

“Or not in public?” she offered as my mouth moved with no reasonable speech coming out. What I was thinking was “how do I say very definitely “no” without rejecting how she plays or who she is as a person?” Now you can say, don’t be silly, people understand – but I was operating on 4 hours of sleep for every 20 hours of super-high-pitched erotic excitement – times three or four by now.

“Or not...” Honestly, I forget what other excuse/offer she provided me with. By this time I did manage to say “Ah, no.” I did manage to save a little face because some attractive young woman was trying to drag me off to some other party emergency which, of course, was of no consequence.

So like I said, this was in no way like a woman trying to tell one man no while keeping herself open to approaches by other men – in this case I was clearly declining her mode of play and not the woman herself. But even so I did realize how difficult it is. (And I might mention that, naturally, as a guy top I don’t have a lot of experience saying “no” except in answer to “Aren’t you going to stop?” or “That’ll be okay, wouldn’t it?”)

Afterward, of course, all the best responses occurred to me, like “You make it a very attractive offer, but no, I don’t;” or “Well, no, I don’t, but if I ever do, I’ll be sure to check back with you,” so maybe next time I’ll be a little better prepared.

I was telling one woman about this and she asked “So you haven’t ever been spanked?” and I felt it only fair to explain – I have switched, some, with some – not even all – of the women I’ve been in long-term relationships with – which I guess, strictly speaking, was one reason I was hesitant to answer “Do you?” with a flat-out “no,” without adding a disclaimer like the guy at the end of the TV ads for McDonald’s new Monopoly game:

“Your chance of winning varies with participation. Contestants must agree to living arrangements and work out personality issues, if any. My right to the left side of the bed is non-negotiable. No purchase is necessary to win and does not affect your chance of winning. Offer is void where prohibited and in Puritanical states and states of mind or elsewhere if illegal, taxed, licensed, or freakishly abnormal, although highly immoral or just downright kinky is still okay.”

My Stories

So here's something I'm actually pretty pumped about – after a lot of years of wanting to I have finally arranged to get some of my stories on-line. I never did work out getting my own website and I don't really want to use the one provided by my ISP, so I've put them up on Blogger. They're at Matt Anglen's Spanking Stories.

Over the past few years, with the thoughts of posting, publishing, or otherwise getting my stories read, I got them all pretty well organized into volumes, and made a table of contents describing the earlier ones and all, then printed off some booklets for my friends. One book is pure fiction and then the rest are in chronological order. The first ones were easy because everything had been prepared to be posted somewhere, which I did back in 1998-2000. Somewhere after that, however, I had a lot of works that weren't quite in publishable form and an awful lot more that was in pretty bad shape – imbedded in e-mails and all. But I did eventually extract about half of this and organize it as well.

Of my best, organized stuff I have about 100 stories. Mostly all by me, with influences of my partners or sometimes written by them influenced by me. But in any case, I'm sure reading 100 of my stories, if anyone ever tried it, would be like reading 100 Agatha Christies – even if you like them it gets old fast. So what I decided to do was make a "permanent" and "rotating" collection. I picked about 20 stories that I thought best represented my oeuvre to have up all the time and then I'm going to put up 6-12 stories for a month apiece. Then after a year I'm going to start over. I know better than to commit to write so much as a single good story between now and then – sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't.

So it was sort of funny, trying to choose these 20 stories – basically because I wanted to choose 50, and maybe I should have posted all 50 of the better ones and just left them up, because I do really like about half of them and have gotten really positive feedback on them. But I cut it down to 22 or something and I'll spread the remaining best ones out over the coming months. Something else that was funny was looking at the dates – my most prolific time was 1995 – 2002 and then I have three recent stories that I think turned out well. All the time I've been living with Cat, however – what happened there? Well, what really happened was that I've been trying to put together a novel, and write chapters, with minimal success. But any writing I have been doing, I've tried to fit it into one of the frameworks I had in mind, making the individual pieces less suitable as a stand-alone story. Third, my earliest stuff is a lot more vulgar than the recent works, even discussing the same situations – because prior to 1998 or so, stories were basically targeted at men buying printed erotica, so that was the only model I knew, while once I got on-line, I discovered a female audience that appreciated a little more discretion.

Another interesting thing (to me), though, was re-reading some of these stories. Some are written to be funny, some are written to catch a particular feeling from a particular moment, but a lot of them are largely written to be hot, and they are, if I do say so myself. In other words, I was a little surprised how hot I still found them to be, after having had them around for years.

Anyway, you shouldn't even be reading this, you should be over there, reading those – so I won't keep you – but I hope you enjoy them!

An Ideal Fourteen Inches

Not as an endowment, of course – my God! Other than visually, perhaps, would a woman have a use for a man that big? Let's just say that I don't know, obviously...
No, what fourteen inches is ideal for, it seems, is good over-the-knee spanking implements, at least for me. As they get shorter they tend to lose effectiveness in that, basically, it seems like my hand gets in the way and I fear that I'm striking as much with my knuckles as my toy. If they get longer, they get harder to control – at least that's the first problem. Fourteen inches for otk seems just right. (Just right for me, Cat likes a twelve-inch limit for toys she uses otk).

This determination does become important, actually. You may be thinking it'd be best to just try something out and see, or hold it in your hand and guess, either one of which would work fine. Where this leads to trouble, though, is when I purchase a lot of "pervertibles" on-line, with little more than the seller's description of it.

Pervertibles, says David Stein, are everyday objects converted to nefarious purposes, primarily for spanking and BDSM. Hairbrushes, belts, and wooden spoons – and I have literally dozens of each – are high on the list of spanking toys, while other objects might be for restraint or touch/sensation play. I suppose a feather duster isn't a pervertible when used on your lover, unless you tie them up first, possibly with pantyhose...

And let's just say I have a lot of pervertibles, having gone through a stage of collecting – or merely accumulating – them, with a lot of help from E-bay and internet shopping. Most of these objects cost literally a dollar or so, definitely under five – plus five to seven dollars for shipping. Now, a dollar I can waste, I'll just buy one less bottle of water – but eight or ten gets a little steep.

Hairbrushes don't range up to fourteen inches, and I have a very short, very thick one that is very popular, but it's an exception. The better ones might make nine inches and normally I find less than eight a little disappointing. I ordered a maple "cookie paddle" which I believe was listed at about seven inches and looked quite promising but really arrived seeming more like six-and-a-half and, while cute, is not useful like I had hoped.
Cooking spoons are the ones where this really comes into play. I've seen some lovely spoons advertised made of great woods and supporting wonderful causes, but they're only eight inches long, which for a spoon is too short. The magic of a spoon, besides the fact that it lives in plain sight, is that the length and speed makes up for the low weight. Once again, we have a beautiful one (from a shop on Venice Beach) that's ten inches and lacks a lot of persuasiveness.

The "other" reason fourteen inches is ideal, however, is because of the "other" pervertible. One year as a safety award the now-defunct company I worked for gave out briefcase-style carry-alls. I usually find these awards to be useless, but keep them anyway, and in this case I'm glad I did. Besides numerous zippered compartments on the outside which I have yet to use, the bag has three large zippered sections. The first section is divided as if for files, perfect for separating paddles. The second section has interior zippered pockets – I used to keep my thumbcuffs in there (note, thumbcuffs do not qualify as a pervertible) and is a good big pocket for a large pile of smackers. Then there's a third pocket which is expandable (and always stuffed, it seems) where I mostly keep restraints and sensation toys, soft stuff and lotions, plus sometimes nice objects that I don't want scratched.

Longer toys can get folded or rolled and put in there but I've found that I don't really like to do this – they often come out bent or curled. And despite what we learned in geometry, the diagonal on this case is barely longer than the legal-sized width, so angling toys seldom helps.

I had a second victory when I was packing for an overnight trip. I don't really have a suitable small bag for my clothes and things – the next one up is a full-sized suitcase. However, this suitcase is about 15" x 24" inside, so I can perfectly fit the toy bag on one half and have the other half for clothes and shaving stuff. Along the top I run all the longer toys that I don't want rolled or folded – a strap that doubles to 18 inches, a shoehorn, backscratcher, and short looped cane, Cat's favorite narrow "Ladies' Strap," my own long narrow stinging strap, a faux birch, rubber loopy, paintstick, rawhide lace flogger and the like. Oh by the way, over half of which are pervertibles.
Maybe I can put up some pictures – with all the time I've put into pervertibles, I ought to be able to get a few posts out of it.

Carry On!

Okay, I promised something a bit lighter this time:


Carry On!

Has anyone tried to get on a plane lately? I think a lot of the security panic is passe, and now these guards / inspectors / whatever are just plain bored, nosey, and looking to hassle paying customers. Case in point - I try to board with a perfectly harmless carry-on, it’s a normal size, it can easily be stowed in the overhead bin or under the seat in front of me. And what do I get? First it’s x-rayed, then grabbed off the conveyor by a woman wanting to search it by hand. Of course, the search is optional - I can always walk to JFK, if I’d prefer.

“You don’t have any checked luggage, sir?” Unaccustomed as I am to this mode of address, she must mean me.

“No, just this.”

“I see....”

“Is there a problem?”

“You don’t have any shirts with a collar,” she points out. Somehow, this sartorial faux pas has her at a loss.

“Vacation, you know,” I explain politely.

“But you have four neckties.” Forty thousand airport workers, I get a budding Agatha Christie. “You could tie up a flight attendant.”

“Mmmm. Been known to happen.” Not the response she was looking for. Better not joke around too much. “I wear them as a belt.”

“But you have a belt. Four, in fact. A brown one...” Yes, my thick wide western-style belt. “Two black...” One elegant, one casual... “And a red one?” Her eyebrow arches into her bangs.

“That’s a leash.”

“I see,” she repeats, and what she sees is my hairbrush. Holding it dangerously, she stares pointedly at my head. Hey, I'm not bald! Of course, the bristles are longer than my hair is...

Choosing her battles, she retreats, and returns the hairbrush to its rightful place. “Only one of these gloves?” Now she’s come up with a thin leather glove, right-handed.

“Yes. It’s for golf. Or - baseball? Maybe weightlifting.” Stick to the vacation motif, I tell myself.

“One plastic coat hanger,” she continues. There appears to be a pattern.

“For my bowling shirt,” I supply cheerfully.

“And it looks like someone lost a sandal,” she informs me helpfully, holding up one woman’s sandal - straight, flat, wood, rubber soled, and mateless.

“Yes - I’ll bet she regrets it already.” I look full at her, challenging her to challenge me.

Before she has the chance to do so, the gate agent stalks over.

“Tanya, is he clear or not? I want to close the door and go have a smoke.”

“He’s alright,” Ms. Backpack Cop concedes.

“Then stop being a brat and let him on the plane.” If it weren’t for nicotine, I’d probably still be there, discussing the brands of lotion I’m carrying. Yes, I need all six.

Grudgingly, she repacks my carry-on.

“You’ve made a wise choice, young lady,” I reassure her, but she doesn’t seem mollified.

“You’re all set,” she declares, glaring at me one last time. I return her look expectantly. “Sir.” She slides my pack gingerly across the table, as if it might bite her. Always a chance, I suppose. “Have a good flight.”

“Have a good stay,” I offer with a smile.

“Oh and sir?” It’s easy once you get used to saying it. It’s my turn to arch an eyebrow. “Round-trip ticket?”

“Sunday night return. Are they searching the outgoing passengers these days?” Even with the Fourth of July warnings, that seems excessive.

“New policy, maybe. Just a precaution. I’ll see you get through.”

Perspective on Power

So I’m always a little concerned, in writing for this blog, I know I have a lot of readers already (thanks everybody!) but also that a lot of my friends are reading it and they have heard me say a lot of these things before, sometimes many times before. But I do want to get these things written down somewhere so this is a good place to do it...

One thing my friends have heard – I do some (very) minor acting, just enough that I have a working knowledge of theater and video, along with directing and believe me, no matter how small-time it is, there is no such thing as “minor” directing. And I’ve had some interesting auditioning experiences and learned a few things from that which I hope to post about sometime. But one thing that stands out, as far as acting goes, is that I am always cast as the villain. I mean, like always. The worst case was when I was offered a role of a 70-year-old villainous judge when there were three other, better roles needing to be filled that were age-appropriate (apart from the lead which I really wanted but it went to a very well-suited actor). When I turned it down the actor they got was in his early 60’s, at least.

I’ve demonstrated a decent enough range of acting skills and usually get very good reviews so it has always seemed to me that I ought to be offered some different parts. Now recently I auditioned for a Woody Allen role which was essentially Woody Allen playing himself and I must admit the guy they got did an excellent job – I would have had trouble exhibiting that overall incompetence for everyday life. So, disappointing but understandable.

Seeming change of subject here – I write a lot of fiction. You haven’t seen it since I don’t seem to finish a lot of it, though I’m thinking about a “companion” blog where I’d post my stories, mostly older stories. In any case, I almost always write from the bottom’s point of view. While I have two male-bottom pieces which, like I said, I haven’t finished (in one the gender was intended to be ambiguous but my native sexuality can through pretty clearly), that pretty much means that I’m writing with the main character being a woman. In fact, this has confused some people at some time, if my pen name is not gender-specific. I am aware of the reason I do this, it’s because, or mostly because, I’m not comfortable, usually, writing about how I topped a woman and especially not comfortable writing a string of stories about how I topped women, which may be why my party reports often never get finished.

I was having a vanilla discussion on script-writing and I was pointing out that the movie (or whatever) always sympathizes with the weaker character – or at least weaker most of the way through the movie, since they always end up on top. This is no huge realization. And I credit that to the fact that the viewer always relates to the weaker character, no matter how powerful the viewer actually is. A humorous take on this is the cell phone commercial where the president/ owner of the cell phone company talks to some young guy about “sticking it to The Man.” YG reminds him “but you ARE the man.” No matter, he relates to NOT being The Man.

Almost universally the character is the person not in power – the entire story is driven by the protagonist being blocked from what they want. This is because the audience does not feel in control. And this explains why I’m always cast as the villain, despite the frequent age disparities – because I come across as being in control in normal life, and this is emphasized on stage. I move with purpose, I probably stand up too straight and am too stiff; I speak clearly and loudly (less so for camera work) and I have a bad habit of, when I enunciate I clip my words, which sounds hostile – or certainly forceful. (Actually, it is fascinating to sit down and try to determine what exactly you need to do differently to portray a character much different from yourself). In fact, this realization is going to do me a lot of good since now I’ll find villain roles I like and audition for those.

It also helps explain why I, along with everyone else, am not satisfied with stories of unmitigated success (well, a certain number of real-life tales can be very interesting and entertaining) – so if I’m going to write any of these they should focus on the obstacles overcome, I suppose. I tried to think of what type of stories do have strong male leads, like action flicks, and I have played around some with a powerful private detective who, like an action hero, is opposed by many forces of evil (this bunch is humorous, okay?).

What’s unusual about this realization coming so late is that I tried stand-up comedy for awhile, and I have always known that the funniest target of a joke is yourself, and the best way to ruin a joke is with a smirky “I got the best in the end” twist. So why it took so long to realize this explicitly for fiction writing is something of a mystery, apart from my absolute absence of formal training.

Even while I’m writing this I’m imagining readers saying – comedy? that’s a joke, right? because my writing sounds so serious which is not how I am in person at all. So I guess the next post will have to be a little lighter.

Discpline and Punishment

So – discipline. I don't like to apply discipline and I prefer not to, if another, reasonable alternative can be found – but I do when I have to and I try to look at it as the hurts I'm protecting her from, this person who is important to me, are far greater than the pain I could ever give her.

For instance, I had a friend who got into the scene and got wilder and wilder – which I take as a pretty clear message that she's not feeling "looked after," that she wants to know where the boundaries are and who's going to do what about it. Well, as usually happens, one time she approached a boundary and ended up blowing so far past it… she and a friend were in a bar, maybe in a scene club, I don't really remember. For some reason – maybe the guy next to her had annoyed her and she wanted to make him feel bad, maybe, as I said, she was just feeling like it'd be a wild thing to do, she started flirting as deliberately as possible with some random guy across the bar. Soon they were on the dance floor, kissing. Next thing she knows, she's out the back door, pinned against a brick wall with the guy's hands inside her minimal clothes and no intention of slowing down. The good news is some guy walked by and when her would-be rapist backed off a bit, she shoved him off and escaped back inside the bar.

You can imagine how scared she was to tell me – not because of how I was going to punish her, obviously she deserved and needed that – because she was afraid I would tell her that her behavior had been so unacceptable that she had abdicated her position of someone I would be acquainted with. On the other hand, she was so just sick with fear and recriminations that basically she couldn't function and she couldn't very well continue to interact with me in any form without telling me. I have a hard time sitting in silence waiting for a woman to get herself ready to tell me what she has to tell me but eventually the whole story came out.

Other women I've known seldom do crazy things – their problems are usually a matter of not meeting their own high expectations with an endless series of little disappointments – and I've always found that these "chronic" troubles are very dangerous to criticize because it sounds much too much like you're disapproving of the person, not the action. And when they can't bring themselves to change these things, they can feel rejected or worse. But I don't often have to deal with "acute" offenses – these same women seldom do anything that's particularly bad for them.

Even though I prefer to avoid discipline, I do know what's needed, both in terms of lecture and physically. To make myself okay with the situation I described above, I kept telling her "this isn't hurting as much as three years of reconstructive surgery" (since the guy showed an inclination to brutalize her as well as violate her). I also said, once, when she hesitated to comply, that "this isn't as embarrassing as having to explain to your daughters how you got raped" (her daughters were teenagers at the time).

I tend to play with women I have some type of relationship with, more than casual meetings – in other words, a woman who knows and trusts me. I think that's why after we've played one or two times she will want to play very very hard. I have interpreted this as meaning that when she needs real punishment, I have to go way past that. Maybe this is a mistake because her reaction to punishment is always amazingly more sensitive than her reaction to even the hardest play. And no matter how hard a woman likes to play, I do have a few tools at my disposal that are safe but completely intolerable. I define "safe" as not breaking the skin, no chance of broken bones or some kind of deep bruising, and I try to avoid raising welts (I try to avoid purple marks, too, but not too successfully). So these extra tools, which see little play time, are frighteningly stingy. They work by producing an absolute panic, an uncontrollable need to get away which, when it can't be fulfilled, leads to a sense of true submission. Typically when true punishment is called for I require a woman to submit to a heavy paddling, strapping, or both and then take her over my knee for a long session with one of these painful little implements until she has to admit to herself that she really did do something wrong – not "scene," not role-play, but real life.

If the preparation is just a strapping I have her kneel on the couch with her face on the cushions, hips raised or supported by cushions (I do this because the edge of my bed is about waist-level, which is too high), so her arms have to either be out in front of her or tucked with her hands under her chin. The strap has two layers of very heavy leather, not doubled – I use the open end. I strap her pretty conventionally to a normal limit and then coach her through a few dozen more (I never seem to be satisfied with the count I promise her so it usually has to go over).

Then I move up along the couch until my leg is even with her face. By shifting a little she can press her shoulder against my leg and wrap her arm around my thigh or calf. At the same time, by keeping her feet back against the arm of the couch, I can make her keep her bottom raised. Also, like this, she can feel basically held in place (encouraged, actually) just from the touch of my hand on her lower back and the feel of my leg just above her hip.

With a wide stance and a little bit of reach, I can still generate a powerful swing either conventionally from the side or at a high angle – typically I don't use the strap over-the-top for serious work, though the paddle I have can be used quite well this way. This part of the session is extremely difficult but I completely believe that we manage to create a feeling that we're in this together. Emotionally, the penitent's emotional pain is increased by my remarks like the "this doesn't hurt as much as" one. She also hears a lot about how she has endangered someone very important to me – herself, which I make her acknowledge. Frequently she'll refuse or question this, looking for repeated reassurance – which costs her dearly but I suppose she must think it's worth it.

This isn't the first she's heard this, though. Before the first stroke lands, she has had to take some time out to rid herself of any resentment or argument. Not corner time, but alone time. If she has issues after fifteen minutes, we discuss the whole situation and she tries again. Before, during, or after this I tell her, as calmly as possible, what problems I have with all aspects of her behavior. I pretty much dismiss the possible physical damage – cars and other objects can always be fixed or replaced. Instead I start briefly on bodily dangers and then move into emotional, relationship issues – sometimes, for instance, temperamental behavior might be basically a rejection of me, which is not something she wants to do; irresponsible behavior that endangers herself is something of a rejection of everyone in her life, which is also not her intent.

When she has reasonable issues, we discuss them. When she has emotional issues I usually listen to them – to separate out the reasonable ones – and the invalid ones ("so-and-so did such-and-such and she doesn't get spanked" or "she did worse to me," etc.) she has to take the time to overcome. Once I had a scene that never got past this stage on the first attempt and we weren't going to see each other again for two weeks – still we waited and of course the next day she called to say she was ready and sorry I wasn't there.

In short, I don't do the angry spankings to make her see the errors of her ways. Women who need to play that way have to get that from someone else, if they can. Yes, it hurts me for her to have a need that I can't fill, but it would hurt me so much more to ever be wrong, even once. In almost everything else my philosophy is: accept the fact that you'll be wrong sometimes, people cannot reasonably expect anything else and both you and they have to be able to let it go. But I hedge my bets when it comes to driving and I don't take any chances at all when it comes to punishment. You can say that this means that I don't trust my partner to forgive me (for a bad or inappropriate scene) but it's the best I can do.

Going back to the corporal aspects, sometimes I use a different preparation: alternating the paddle and strap done over the back of the couch (or arm of the couch, depending on her height). I used to say that the strap was for "hot" offenses like temper and the paddle was for "cold" offenses like stubbornness but I've concluded that that just seemed like I was showing that I could get madder or more stubborn than she was. I don't want to give that impression, though I fear it is very much true – and probably apparent. Anyway.

In addition to having a heavy strap for such uses I have a paddle that's extremely difficult to endure. It started life as a cutting board and is made of thick, heavy, hardwood. Although it's not long like a frat paddle, it's fiddle-shaped which gives great both-cheek coverage and is so wide that it has incredible heft. I try to get a bent-over position that eliminates the bun-thigh crease so that the paddle is sure to land flat – this avoids those awful purple crescents high on the thigh where the edge came down on it. Since it was a cutting board it's polished smooth and has all rounded edges so a lot of the real danger has been removed, but it's still very clear how school vice-principals maintained order with just a few swats over clothes. My only complaint is that the handle is small and uncomfortable but I suppose if I ever got a better grip on it I'd make someone bite off her own tongue.

From all reports, the first school-style swat with this (school style minus the clothing, that is) completely clears your mind of all other thoughts, concerns, worries, regrets, misgivings, grudges… having admitted you need this has just become a very clear admission that you've done something seriously wrong and that you are in serious serious trouble. I think a first-timer might believe she can still survive this if I stop at six but has few misconceptions when the count heads for twelve. After only a dozen, usually, I switch back to the heavy strap which, even applied straight on (rather than downward), hits very hard. So there's two dozen of those.

At this point I do something that I know not everyone will agree with and some people will say disqualifies this as a punishment session but first of all, it's my show, and second of all, I've been there, the entire session works. So I stop and apply a thick layer of aloe vera gel. Yes, it feels good and alleviates the burning but she's still sore underneath and it protects the skin which is absolutely essential. I rub it in well and make sure there's no excess which I know feels good but otherwise, even this early on, she may have signs of drying, chaffing, and some small bruises (come to think of it maybe I should use it before we start).

Once this first step has been applied, I get out a small mister bottle – normally used for touching up hair-do's. Her bottom, still in the same over-the couch position, is thoroughly wetted and then soundly paddled with a short thick rubber paddle. For some reason the rubber paddle produces an entirely different kind of pain and after bracing for the power of the heavy paddle and heavy leather strap the super-stingy rubber comes as something like an electric shock. Probably its biggest contribution is that it shakes the body out of its resistance mode. If I've had some problems with this woman before (in terms of requiring a lot of punishment) I also have a version with holes in it.

The process is repeated – paddle, strap, lotion, water, rubber paddle – and then reversed. In this set-up, our connection is maintained not just through the two doses of gel but with a continued touch on the lower back. I try to keep my hip against hers as well unless I have to back up to swing harder.

As I mentioned earlier, the fiddle paddle can be used over-the-top from the opposite side – in fact, it's pretty ideal for it, well sized and shaped to match a normal derriere or with double swats on alternating sides for a larger lady. Because of this I may give the last application of the paddle over-the-top or apply it conventionally followed by over-the-top.

However I prepare the woman, it leaves her mentally spent and she requires something of a break. If I put her over my knee too immediately she feels savagely beaten; if I wait too long it might feel like play. And while the break may include a check to see if she's "all right" – still breathing, hasn't sprained her wrist or hit her head (weird things happen) – it does not include coddling of any kind. All of that can wait, in real time it will all be over in a few minutes anyway.

I prefer a certain position to punish a woman over my knee, if I can get it, when I expect that she'll instinctively fight. She does this despite my telling her that her struggles are a silent (ha!) argument against what I am doing while it is only what she has made me do. I sit on the edge of the low couch so that one thigh is straight out and flat while the other points out to the side. I have her bend over my one thigh and put her elbows on the floor, then I lift my foot over at least one of her calves. Regardless of what's been done or said before, it is impossible to be in this position without clearly realizing that you've done something very wrong and you're now definitely going to be well punished for it.

As I arrange her over my knee, trying to do so without inflicting incidental punishment, my attitude has moved all the farther from personal anger, annoyance, or hurt to entirely disappointment and regret at what lies ahead. I remind her that I don't want to be punishing her this time and I definitely don't want to ever have to do it worse (which is entirely true). That her inconsiderate actions are making me do something that I dislike and find difficult. That I'm willing to do this for her if this is what it takes to protect her but I certainly don't like it. I think she needs to recognize this for what it is – an imposition on me when we could be pursuing much more pleasant and playful activities which we will now have to forego.

As I said in the beginning, I have two tools for this punishment – both light and both intolerable. Actually both are also rather quiet so if you can dispense with the preparation you could execute this portion without too much sound privacy. The first tool is a small rubber flogger, three loops of rubber with a surprisingly heavy feel despite having little lasting effect. Swatted it is difficult to take, snapped it is impossible. The second is an extra-soft, light doubled cane – rattan formed into a tight loop on the end which eliminates a lot of its flex.

Either of these implements produces a feeling of absolute panic – a feeling of real danger, an impression that real injury is occurring and accumulating. After surprisingly little of this, even the most docile, accepting transgressor has a natural flight response, which is completely nullified by the position she finds herself in.

In contrast, I can proceed with complete calm. Being able to be rational and being able to see what effect I'm having on her poor bottom, I don't have to worry that I am shredding her skin down to the bone even though it feels that way to her. Her side and hip are against my stomach, my foot and ankle are right in front of her where she can hold me for (emotional) support, and I have one hand free to keep her steady or trap a wayward hand.

There's another reason for my calm – I can work these tools rapidly to good effect virtually without effort, allowing me to completely focus on what I'm saying and on being heard. As she protests I tell her that this is what she asked for when she behaved the way she did, that this is what happens to young ladies who hurt others' feelings or don't take care of themselves, that this is a short, minor unpleasantness compared to the other possible consequences.

It's usually when she takes exception to the word "unpleasant" that I come down on her with the full force of what might have happened – she might have been hurt, she might have hurt someone else, she may have lost many friends, she may have lost me as a friend. I list them off once and then go back through one at a time – "did you want to be hurt?" If she says "I don't care" then she has no complaint about what I'm doing, does she? When I get to our relationship – did she want to lose me; does she know how hurt I'd be; does she know how important she is to me – since she certainly has not been acting like it; does she know how hurt I am that she'd take such a chance; can she blame me for trying to prevent it? I have never once had a partner oppose me for spanking her to protect our relationship.

Once the tears start flowing they're not too likely to stop, so I can switch to hand-spanking at any time. Instantly the sting stops and the smacks drive it out all the more but emotionally the cleansing goes on. I encourage it, telling her to get it all out, let it all go; that she's getting just what she needs, how good this is for her. As long as I keep it firm it doesn't have to be hard and by the time it's over we're both ready for it to be.

Then, as she kneels and turns into me for a hug, the healing and recovery can begin, right? Well, I like to think that it starts a long time before that – maybe as far back as when she decides she's going to tell me what she's done. But whenever it starts, this is it in full force – I get her to promise to take better care of herself, to be more careful, that I'll help take care of her, that we'll stop worrying about this and put it behind us, that she'll ask for help when she needs it because I know she'd help me if I needed her to. That she's really a good girl and things will be better in the future, even if it's a slow process. If there's anything she doesn't want to completely agree with, she can go back over my knee – and I'd probably do it, too, since I don't really think that this phase provides much lasting physical discomfort. But then again, it's never come up.

When you read this, it sounds brutally harsh. Honestly, she winds up in something of a daze and will be sore for days – and worries that she looks awful, though a self-conscious smile can make any face beautiful. She's taken far more spanking than any non-scene person would receive for any offense and I'd go so far as to say that it might be too much for another scene person who didn't know me as well and wasn't as accustomed to me (or basically didn't have the level of trust in me) – but all of these factors are considerations I make. We've tried different ways and some felt inadequate while others felt too harsh, even if it was actually lighter. Really, most often the hardest part is letting her leave afterward.

One Support System I've Tried

The System

A friend of mine was having some trouble and we got together to discuss a system to help her keep up with the activities she was interested in. I thought I would post them here in case someone wanted to design their own system along these lines.

At the time my friend was having trouble staying away from her on-line role-playing game (non-scene) long enough to pay proper attention to her dog, get enough exercise, clean, or socialize – all activities that actively fight depression. Other times she was sleeping too much rather than doing what she should, and on top of that she wanted to be focusing on her writing, which she was not. Initially we discussed some savings and money management issues but she felt she had that pretty well under control. After discussing her goals and challenges with her, I proposed the following standards.

The standards work on a points system.


Standards:

Activity with your dog – once per day for at least 20 minutes. The first miss is -1 point.

“Raw” Writing – at least four separate days per week for at least 1 hour at a time; at least twice between Monday and Thursday Editing, revising, researching, etc. is extra. The first missed session is -1 point. No credit for partial hours.

Exercise: 5 standard (20-30 min) workouts per week; at least three during M-Th. -1 point for the first missed workout.

Cleaning, including laundry – at least 8 hours per week (she said she needed this many to catch up), at least 5 done before any gaming on Saturday or Sunday. The first hour missed is -1 point.

Socializing – attend 1 regular event with other people per month; get together with friends (other than me) at least three times per month. Each week that an event is missed is -2 points.

Punctuality: on-time. The first time you’re late is -1 point per twenty minutes late or fraction thereof. Driving aggressively because you’re late is -2 points for the first instance.

Gaming – no more than 3 hours per weeknight, 12 hours total M-F, 4 hours per weekend day; 8 hours total Sat-Sunday. Total allowance is less one hour per point from the previous week. The first over-playing incident is -0.5 points per hour or fraction thereof.

Sleeping: no more than 10 hours per day and 63 hours per week spent in bed. First incident is -0.5 points per hour or fraction thereof.


Multiple Instances - the penalties listed are for the first instance in each category each week. A second instance in the same category and week carries 2X the penalty; a third instance 3X, etc.


Allowance – you have an allowance of five points per week – there will be no penalty for the first five points.


“Offset” points – you can earn offset points to reduce your penalty. One full hour spent with the dog, writing, or cleaning will offset one gaming session of up to two hours. One additional workout will offset one session of up to 1 hour of gaming time. No credit for partial hours with the dog, writing, or cleaning. No credit for extra socializing time.


Gaming Budget Reductions – The initial gaming budget is as high as 20 hours per week, if used properly. However, every point earned in the current week reduces the next week’s total gaming time by 1 hour.


Classes can count as one social activity per month. Class standards: every assignment must be completed, turned in, and graded B or higher. (-1 point per letter grade below B, missed assignments scored as “F”). Every class must be attended (-1 point per hour for first class missed). Final course grade must be an A (her standard) (-1 point per letter grade below A per week of the course)


The Other Half

As far as the consequences behind all of these rules, here's what I told her:


Now that we’ve set up the standards that you're expected to meet I’ll describe the other half of the system, where we deal with cases of you exceeding your points allowance.

We will get together every two weeks but only address your behavior vs. expectations once per month, leaving every second get-together to do what we want.

We’ll run a Saturday-to-Friday review to accommodate weekend meetings. For two weeks after the review you will still need to track your behavior but I do not expect you to exceed your allowance – if you do we may need to change the system. It’s during the second two weeks of the four week cycle when you may have problems. Even then you should be able to keep under the allowance if you only miss one event in each of several categories.

If you’re not over your allowance for either week, you can choose to be spanked or not – whichever you think will do you the most good.

I expect most weeks to be zero, one, or two points over, especially if the discipline is effective. I will be glad, rather than disappointed, if you meet expectations every time – it will mean your life is in good shape, not that the expectations are too low. For the weeks when you exceed your allowance, however, you’ll have to be spanked and then punished.

Since you like spanking – at least to some extent – you have to get your fill of that first before anything could be applied that would serve as a deterrent. This will consist of a thorough spanking applied with some of the more tolerable implements – hand and leather-backed tools, mostly. We may find that we have to apply one, wait for your desire to rise again, and apply a second one – and so on until you’ve had your fill. Then you’ll be ready to be disciplined.

In this way the penalty for each point can be significant and can serve as a true motivation when you are considering meeting your standards or letting something slide.

I have an offset billet strap just for this purpose. It’s almost two inches wide and very heavy leather, 18 inches long when doubled. The tails end will be most effective, even though they are on top of one another, not side-by-side. I know just one tail would have more sting but the two together will be felt the longest.

Once you’re adequately prepared you’ll bend over to be punished for each point at ten strokes apiece. If you have excessive points in both weeks we will deal with the earlier week, give you a break, then account for the second week.

This sounds severe – it is and it is intended to be. One point per week, or two points in one week and none in the second, should be difficult but bearable; two points per week should be daunting.

My intention is that the punishment for each point over your allowance will be a significant deterrent and that you will choose to meet the standards, even at some inconvenience, rather than accepting falling even a point or two short – and that if you are falling short, you make a intentional, concerted effort to catch up or, at the very least, avoid even one additional point and the associated additional punishment.


The system has three strengths: clearly defined and achievable standards and consequences; a framework that fulfills any need for recreational spanking; and a strong disincentive to fall below the standards you have agreed to. In this way, I’m hoping that it will make it easy for you to have the structure you need and achieve what you want without the pressure of unreasonable expectations.

Our Latest Object d' Art

We managed to pick up this delightful little object at our favorite LA flea market one weekend recently – it appeals to me in so many ways.



First of all, I'm a fan of "found porn" – unintentionally pornographic-looking or sounding items that may very well have innocent purposes in life as well... and a practical extension of this, household objects with naughty applications.

In addition to this, I actually do like the black leather/ chrome/ rubber combination and the geometric, graphic design shape. This does almost qualify as a work of art, and is at least as attractive as plenty of other WOA's I have seen in my life.



It's pretty unique, and with all the opportunities we all have to fill the house with items that are far from unique, I like to reserve my space for items that really are a little bit special; and, getting back to my first point, it clearly can't be what it appears to be on first glance (or I wouldn't have it on open display...)

In case you're still wondering, these are stoppers for wine bottles. To the best of my knowledge they have never been used for BDSM play.

Uncanny Caning

Well, I'm no expert, that's for sure, but I know how to give a very enjoyable caning, and would be glad to hear from others who have suggestions. First of all, this is a caning to enjoy, not to fear, so it all depends on what you want. We have two canes, a medium and a thin. Both of them work best if you kind of "wave" them so that they flex on their own. That gives a fast, sharp little tap. The medium has a deeper feel and is more difficult to get swaying on its own. The thin one is easy and is all surface sting but can sting a lot. Men should start with the medium (as a caner) and women the thin unless you have very strong wrists.

If you're starting out I'd suggest lying flat on the bed - it's a lot more tolerable. If this isn't enough, you can put a pillow under your hips. Sometime if you want it worse you can be on your knees which'll tighten your bottom, or stand and grab the seat of a chair with your knees straight (maybe legs slanted slightly forward), and then it gets harder as you bend farther, putting your elbows on the chair or grabbing behind your knees or grabbing your ankles. Except that you have to be over 18 and no one over 18 can actually grab their ankles, but it sounds scary, doesn't it?

So you're lying flat, let's say, and your considerate spanker is flicking this cane. After a few vicious cuts through the air to get your adrenaline going, he holds it just off of your bottom and snaps it lightly so it smacks you. You'd better let him know how much sting you're feeling because it seems like, from his end, that he's doing it way too lightly. Ideally, he holds his hand right where the cane will come down just on the near cheek and then whip forward onto the far cheek. Otherwise the far cheek has all the fun. Yes, it takes some practice and communication, if you can both overcome the embarrassment of the bottom giving that much feedback.

He should smack you in this very stingy way maybe 100 times or maybe twice that so your bottom has a good (intense) overall sting. Then what I like to do would be something like "twenty by twenty," where he gives you twenty sharp little strokes. After that, he brings his wrist back - his arm doesn't have to move - and gives you one good hard quick smack. It will seem like just a good little flick to him but on your end it'll be like a bolt of lightning! Meanwhile, he goes back to the little strokes. I'm told this works best if the new little strokes are away from the bigger stroke because otherwise they take the sting out of the bigger stroke. As the name implies, this repeats 20 times - or whatever you want, of course.

As far as placement, of course sensitivity is distributed about the same as everything else, with the medium-low part of the bottom being able to enjoy the most of it. But if you're doing it right, you can use it all over. I would keep the hard strokes away from the back of the knees by about four inches on top and a couple on bottom and probably a good eight inches above the heels. On the back avoid hard strokes on the area between the ribs and the top of the hips.
For this type of caning I like to hold the cane with my thumb on top so that it flexes over the end of my thumb. "Proper" grip for serious correction is probably completely different and I think can be seen at the SixOvTheBest website. The whole process is very tiring on the wrist so you may want to have sessions get longer with practice.

You'll probably like the light strokes so well you'll want to get them on the front, too. If you lie on your back I'd keep even the light strokes above the knee and below the throat. If you're nervous at first you can wear a bra - thin fabric doesn't seem like it'd be much protection but we all know that's an "old wives tale."

Please try this and post how it worked out - with photos and vid clips if possible. That way if you're making any serious mistakes we can help you correct them!

I Met This Guy On Line...

Some of my thoughts on women dating through the scene personals (Another re-post some of my friends may recognize).

I heard another one to add to my list this weekend – to a list that already includes "e-mail," "afternoon," and "discrete," we'll add "I don't have a phone." What's this a list of? How about euphemisms for "I'm married."

If you get tangled up with a ring-finger fink, as I call them, someone who's married or involved but not admitting it, about all that you can tell yourself is that it wasn't you who did anything wrong, it was him, entirely.

Just because a person places a personal ad, or places one on the internet, or places one on a "scene" message board, doesn't mean that she's given up her right to – well, to anything. You, my loyal reader, are very probably a good person – certainly a good, probably great person to the right partner - and you deserve someone who treats you well!

I don't mean this as a lecture – like I said, you've done nothing wrong – and hopefully if you find yourself in this situation without wanting to be you can get out of it pretty quickly, but I do know of one woman who went on for a long time without knowing that the man with whom she thought she was building a long-term (if very long-distance) relationship was married. I would never criticize someone for being too trusting, too hopeful, even too naïve – but I do think people should get into things with their eyes – and ears – open.

Okay, I just read "He's Just Not That Into You" which might go a little overboard, but let me approach it like this: I've been a single guy, truly looking for a relationship, like many women say they are. I was not afraid that some woman would "stalk" me or "out" me to anyone – especially since I only had one relationship going at any one time. Guys shouldn't be, and shouldn't claim to be, worried about "stalkers" – maybe they're annoying but a guy is not really going to be in any physical danger.

If I was going to play with a woman, she deserved my name, address, license plate (okay, it's a vanity plate, and cute), home phone number, and at least some insight into my personality. We could meet in public places even in my hometown. She always knew when it was convenient to call and when it was less convenient but there were never "forbidden" times for any reason. The only reason a guy has to forbid you to call is so that his wife or girlfriend doesn't answer, overhear, or ask who he's talking to. I have kids and when they're around they understand that sometimes, believe it or not, Dad gets a phone call.

***

break for funny story –

When I was first getting to know Cat, this other woman practically was stalking me – she wasn't in the scene and I gave her very little encouragement, but she was an expert – she'd arrange for a group of us to get together and then everyone would seem to be paired up except the two of us; she'd want to get together for a casual meal; she needed help studying for a new computer program at work (and then showed up with a fancy take-out dinner). So we're working on some material on a Wednesday night, she wants to take a break (she's not exactly a workaholic) and my pager goes off at nine at night. I go into the bedroom and make a call – to Cat – and she's flying into LAX, two hours away. I come out of the bedroom, hint for 15 minutes, and finally say, well, I need you to go.

She's one of these people who challenge things she doesn't want to hear, making you either lie or reassure her (as in "Are you telling me I'm fat?") so she says "What, do you have a date?" Usually I'm pretty blunt with these people but I don't even remember what I said – very possibly, "Well, yes."

I got back home in time to put on a clean shirt for work.

Stalker-girl still didn't get the message until the time we were in the living room and Cat came out of my bedroom with a rolling suitcase. That pretty much did it.

***

Back on track here: secondly, I had a strong desire to get with and/ or be with the woman I was seeing – I had the kids every second weekend so if we were going to see each other on those weekends then it had to be at my place and without playing but otherwise I was always looking for a chance to get together. I made crazy weekday dinner dates two hours away that got me home at ridiculous hours, offered to combine a vacation day with a three-day weekend to fly across the country on no notice, and tried to add a weekend to a business trip to be able to afford to visit a woman who was otherwise too far away. I missed the occasional trip to the gym, I arranged not to work late, I skipped a trip to the bar with friends – sometimes just to be on the phone for hours.

I have to admit that at the time these women almost always had a nicer living space than I did – that's just the law of averages considering my hovel overlooking the Pit of Doom Annex – so I visited them, but if they did come to my place I didn't hesitate to introduce them to my friends, kids, or colleagues, or tell my colleagues that I was seeing someone. And I never hesitated to meet her friends. These are the things a relationship is about. It didn't take months of planning to arrange a weekend together, even cross-country – yes, something might interfere now and then, but not consistently for, say, six weeks.

As far as I'm concerned, this is the absolute very least you deserve from someone you're playing with – if the two of you claim to be interested in a relationship. If he limits you to e-mails and chat, he needs silence and secrecy. If he limits when you can call, he's afraid of who might be around – and we're not talking about his mother – or he shares his answering machine with someone he doesn't want to know about you. If he has huge time commitments when he can't have you around, that's a bad sign – why shouldn't you go to his kid's soccer practice with him? If all his vacation time and holidays are already spoken for, someone in his life is a lot more important than you are. Classes, volunteer work, working out, working late – frequently legitimate excuses but all things that can be cut back once the two of you want to spend more time together. After all, his real reason for doing a lot of these things was to consume his time until he met someone like you.

Ladies, I've heard of women running ads and getting buried in responses – of course maybe that's just the ones I hear about, and I'm sure a cute picture helps. But just because you want a guy who's into spanking doesn't mean you have to lower your standards, you just have to increase the radius of your search a little – and believe me, an internet ad certainly does that! I have answered ads from all over the country – how we were going to work the distance thing I don't know, but I was ready to try! And sometimes it doesn't work – sometimes the person who's right for you isn't the type to answer personal ads, which makes it harder, I admit.

So guys, be honest – you're not going to get away with very much for very long anyway. Yes, you can victimize some poor woman once in a while – is this the kind of thing you want on your conscience? To get to spank a woman one time? If you're that desperate, get a divorce.

And ladies, be honest with yourselves as well. He's telling you a lot, whether he puts it into words or not. If you just want some guy who'll smack your bottom because you need it and you don't care that his heart is elsewhere, there're plenty of us out here. But if you want the guy who's right for you who also enjoys putting you over his knee, he'll treat you like he ought to and you'll know it – and there's plenty of "hims" out there as well!

And by the way, I'd recommend that if you want to be into the whole spanking scene and not already in a relationship, it's easier to find someone who's also into the scene along with being right for you, rather than trying to add the scene to a vanilla relationship. Just my experience, your results may vary...