UPDATE: 11 July 2015
When I first wrote this post on 2 October 2012 I had no option but to password protect it. Family members read my blog, friends read my blog, and I was ashamed – no, terrified – of such people finding out the intricacies of my internal psyche. Three years later and I am not so ashamed. I have grown and evolved as a person. Although I don’t want my family to read this post (and they won’t if I ask them nicely!) I am no longer scared of how other people may perceive it. That is why I have decided to lift the password protection. If people know my deepest, darkest secret, so what? It is nothing to be ashamed of. It is nothing I should hate myself because of. As Samantha used to say, it is simply one small thread in the multicoloured tapestry that is me.
So strap yourselves in for a journey through the kinkier recesses of my mind. A journey fraught with self-doubt, self-hatred and immense, unwavering passion. A journey that will, undoubtedly, warm the very cockles of your
Note: Meadhbh has convinced me to lift the password protection on this (epic) post with one proviso: family members are politely asked to read no further. Thank you! :)
Fifty Shades of Addy
This post contains memories involving spankings I received, nearly received and (probably) should have received during my childhood. But I wish to make it absolutely clear that I do not condone nor agree with the corporal punishment of children. There are always better disciplinary methods available to parents. Some of which can be found here.
When I started this blog in October 2007 there were several topics I wanted to write about in order to understand what was happening to me: such as my self-harm, my suicide attempts, my hallucinations, my anxiety and my mood shifts. In addition, I knew posts about the friends I’d lost to suicide and how my illness had impacted on my relationships and friendships were a necessity. As were posts about stigma and discrimination and the general day-to-day memes that proved I was more than the labels that had been branded upon me. Then there was my kimnyk, which was the hardest thing of all to write about. So hard that, until now, I have never tackled it.
If you don’t know what kimnyk means don’t worry because it’s not a real word. It’s a word I used to use in my journals because I was too nervous (or confused or terrified or ashamed) to refer to what it really is, so I opted to use an anagram instead.
Kimnyk being my kink.
And my kink being spanking.
If you wish to stop reading, feel free to do so.
If you wish to insult or criticize me, feel free to do so; I’ve heard it all before!
Over the years I have heard every abusive comment under the sun from the people I trusted enough to share this information with. I’ve been called disgusting, grotesque, perverted, deviant, frightening, abusive, sick, ill, weird, horrible and evil. Girlfriends have told me I should undergo intensive counseling to cleanse this sickening horror from my soul. I was told that I will be alone for the rest of eternity as no-one could ever love someone either sexually or platonic who thinks as I do. I was even told that, as a child, I should have been beaten on a daily basis to purge the evil from my soul.
All of which, to be completely honest, I find ludicrously over the top given all I have is a mild fetish for consensual spanking. A fetish that has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. A fetish that is now so mainstream I seriously don’t understand the abuse I’ve received over the years. But abuse I have received, frequently, and it is had a devastating impact on my mental health. My confidence, self-esteem, anxiety and depression have all be adversely affected by the reaction my fetish revelation has received. And it has made me hate myself.
And I shouldn’t.
I have a spanking fetish. So what? If people don’t understand or can’t handle that, then that is on them. It shouldn’t affect me in any way. But it does. I hate that people judge me for it. That they hold it against me. I hate that they mutter amongst themselves instead of speaking directly to my face and I hate that they label me as evil because I enjoy a consensual activity that, in the scheme of things, is pretty damned tame.
The way I see it – like bipolar, self harm, anxiety and homelessness – my spanking desires are just a tiny thread in the multi-coloured tapestry that is me. It is not a be all and end all definition of my personality. Nor is it a defining characteristic of my life. Just as I am more than my mental illnesses, I am more than my spanking.
So, please (even though I’ve heard all the insults before) if you’re anti-consensual spanking and will do nothing but judge and hurl insults perhaps head somewhere else. But if you’re open-minded and can accept someone who’s a bit confused about his fantasies and trying to work things out; feel free to read on and ask questions (if I can answer them, I will) :-)
Throughout my life I’ve faced mental health discrimination, homelessness discrimination, gender discrimination and sexual predilection discrimination. Each time my personality has become defined by one singular aspect of my being (e.g. people see my bipolar and nothing else or people see my homelessness and nothing else).
More than anything though, people have concluded that my spanking fetish is the be all and end all definition of my personality. They have immediately responded to the information by attaching a plethora of stereotypes to my otherwise naive person that, patently, are not true.
So, to try to combat these stereotypes:
1. In the realm of spanking there are three basic personality types.
Top (or Dom); who is the person giving the spanking.
Bottom (or Sub); who is the person being spanked.
Switch; who alternates between Top and Bottom.
I am a switch. In other words I like both giving and receiving spankings. In other words, I’m fucking awesome! :p
2. There is a distinct difference between BDSM (Bondage Discipline Sadism Masochism) and spanking. I have little interest in the BDSM world (such as heavy bondage, leather, PVC, electricity play, golden showers, chains, whips, dungeons etc.) but whomever I told of my fetish decided – without conversation or question – that I wanted to slip on a gimp mask and start suspending myself from the ceiling with piano wire! I am a spanking purist (or spanko) which means my pleasure lies in spanking (and discipline) only.
3. Spanking for me does not always have to involve sex. Although I enjoy the occasional spanking as part of foreplay, I also have an interest in spanking as discipline (i.e. no sex involved).
4. It is a common stereotype that people interested in spanking (and BDSM) were either abused as a child or wish to abuse others. When I write about spanking I am talking about the consenting action between two adults. If it is not consensual it is abuse. And I abhor abuse in every way, shape and form. Also, I was never abused as a child, which laughs in the face of that particular stereotype.
5. Many people believe that there must be a psychological reason for my spanking desires. To them I ask why? I genuinely believe I was born with a spanking fetish; there is no psychological trauma, incident or repressed experience that created this part of me. It is just part of my DNA; an aspect of my personality, like left-handedness, hair colour or height.
The Childhood Years: Where it all began…
There was no abuse in my childhood. I was never beaten, thrown into a cupboard for hours on end or violently threatened with hours of emotional torture. There were spankings – I was smacked on four occasions; twice with a hand, twice with a slipper – and all were deserved. There were also dozens of occasions where I was threatened with a spanking and half a dozen where I genuinely believed it was going to happen. But this was all part and parcel of the time and place of my childhood. Unlike today, in the 1980s, smacking was a common form of punishment. It was in comics, on television and written about in books. It was just a part of life.
But it’s always confused me why I had such a fascination with spanking from an early age, or why I spent most of my childhood wishing my parents/guardians/family would follow through with their threats and warm my backside. This confusion is a large part of the anxiety and self-hate that I’ve generated over the years, ever since the first time I remember being fascinated with the word spanking.
6. My earliest spanking memory:
I was sitting in a dentist surgery with my mother and looking through a picture book. On one page was a picture of a boy in profile wearing a yellow T-Shirt and blue shorts. There were several arrows pointing to parts of his body with an explanation of what they were for (e.g. these are your eyes, you see through these or these are your feet, you walk on these) and I was captivated by one particular arrow this is your bottom, be careful you don’t get spanked here. I turned to my mother and showed her the picture, asking what spanking meant. She told me if I was good I would never have to find out.
Nearly thirty years later I can still remember the butterflies of excitement that buzzed in my belly when I read that word. Excitement being the only word I can use to describe the emotion. As time went on, and I became more aware of spanking, I did develop a fear of it. But this fear was always tinged with a deeply embedded desire to experience the reality of this enticing word.
Every week in the Beano characters were getting spanked by hand or walloped with a slipper. In television shows, school children were receiving the cane or belt and cartoon animals were having their rumps roasted left right and center. Each time I saw these scenes I became hypnotized by the act and found myself thinking about spanking more and more.
However twisted it sounds, each time I read the Beano I wished I was Dennis or Minnie. The punishments my parents used were, for the most part, grounding or confiscation, neither of which had any real impact on me as I could just read books, play on the computer or watch TV; none of which felt like a punishment.
The first time I was spanked, however, did feel like a punishment.
7. My first spanking experience:
My brother and I were fighting in the early hours of the morning and after three bollockings (that fell on deaf ears) my mum marched into the room, bent my brother over the bed and gave him three smacks of the slipper. She then turned to terrified me, twisted me around, pulled my pajamas down and gave me three hard smacks of the slipper. I don’t remember the pain, all I remember is the red splotch that decorated my backside for about half hour afterwards. Before she left the room she threatened “if I have to come back in here, neither of you will be sitting down for a week!”
After this first spanking experience the threats came thick and fast:
8. At school, my teacher frequently stated I should count myself lucky corporal punishment wasn’t in use any more otherwise she’d make sure I was thrashed to within an inch of my life. (Note: I was a bit of a brat back then!)
9. At home, my father threatened to take his belt off to me after I deliberately destroyed a bookshelf he’d made whilst imitating the karate kid. I just laughed and said all that would do would make his trousers fall down.
10. At home, on another occasion, my father again threatened to spank me for constant swearing.
11. On a visit to my grandfather, after being told frequently not to, I smashed several heirlooms by playing football in the house because it was raining. He bent me over the arm of a sofa, pulled my track suit bottoms down, removed his belt and was about to “teach me a lesson he’d wished my mum had taught me years ago” when my mother returned and immediately stopped the situation from unfolding further. Only this fortuitous return of my mother, aghast at what she saw, prevented me from being belted that day. A few minutes later and that story would have a very different ending!
12. My Nan also threatened that I “wasn’t too old to go over her knee” to which I responded that “might be true, but she was too old to do any damage so it was neither here nor there”. After looking at me for several long, heart stopping minutes, she sent me to my room.
13. My second spanking experience:
Whilst on a trip to the beach, my mum smacked me a couple of times and promised she would spank me so hard I wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week when we got home. Although I can’t remember what I did, I do remember the fear of waiting for the spanking all the way home – only to be told that I came “this close” and found myself grounded for a week instead.
14. The only time I saw a friend be spanked was during a sleepover after I came up with the great idea of smoking one of his dad’s cigarettes. His mother caught us and took her son over her knee for a long spanking (i.e. not just a few smacks) that had him howling. Although she threatened to spank me too all she did was place me in the corner and tell me to count myself lucky I wasn’t her son.
One of the things all of these shocks and near-misses taught me was that I could get away with things. It had been my idea to smoke the cigarettes but my friend had paid the price. I’d been told dozens of times not to play football in the house but I escaped a belting that probably should have happened. Whilst all the snide comments I made about trousers falling down and how my Nan was too old to do anything prompted a girlfriend later in life to comment if I’d said those things, I would’ve been spanked beyond belief!
Yet, I always escaped, until I was ten…
15. My third spanking experience:
After being grounded for watching an 18+ rated movie my mother caught me watching a different 18+ rated movie and sent me to my room, telling me she’d be up to deal with me shortly. About half an hour later she appeared in my bedroom and told me I had brought this on myself before smacking me six times with her slipper.
Unlike the first time I’d been spanked, I can remember almost everything about this punishment. I can remember walking to my room and changing into my pajamas. I can remember sitting on my bed and hugging a giant cuddly turtle wondering if I would escape once again. I remember my heart sinking when I saw my mother walk into the room with her slipper, sit beside me and begin scolding. I can still feel the tears as I realized that this time it was going to happen and how after all these years I didn’t want it to. I can feel the duvet sink under the weight of my torso and my hand shooting back to stop her pulling my pajamas down. I can remember the humiliation that flooded me and the increase in my heart rate as she tapped the slipper gently and then unleashed. Although the slipper hurt – quite a lot – I think the tears I shed were more shock; shock over the fact it was actually happening, shock that unlike in the comics this really wasn’t very fun at all!
More than anything I can remember lying on my bed, arse aflame, feeling that I’d been properly punished for the first time. It was this sensation – that discipline is sometimes necessary – that prompted my wish to respond yes when my parents asked later that year if they should start using spanking as the primary form of punishment.
But I didn’t. After this my parents never smacked me again, only the occasional threat as per usual:
16. My fourth spanking experience:
After getting into a fight with my next door neighbor, her father gave both she and I a swift double-smack on the arse to break us up before he dragged me home hoping my parents would “deal with me”.
17. When I was eleven, my mother caught me stealing money during a school lunch break. She told me that if I didn’t have to go back to school she would have “tanned my hide there and then but it would have to wait until I got home”. I spent all afternoon wondering what would happen when I got home – but nothing did, not even a scolding.
The Teenage Years: Confusing thoughts…My teenage years – like most – were a combination of confusion, fear, arrogance, experimentation and, as a result of my sister’s mental health, neglect and isolation. Although I’ve never harbored any ill will against my parents, this was a period where I was desperate for ‘something’; I needed help to understand who I was, what was happening and what I was dealing with; namely depression, self harm and anxiety.
Instead, I ended up retreating into a shell, occasionally popping out to commit acts designed to garner attention. On these rare moments I acted out, my actions either went unpunished:
18. When I was thirteen my father caught me skipping school. He informed me that he was going to “belt the living daylights out of me”. He didn’t. (Note: a girlfriend later in life told me if it had been her father, the belting would absolutely, positively have happened.)
19. When I was thirteen I deliberately set fire to the living room; not even a scolding.
Unlike when I was younger my reaction wasn’t ‘I can get away with everything’, it was ‘no-one cares about me’; a feeling which fed into my disintegrating self-worth, fueled my depression and increased my need to self-harm.
The only place where I was punished was at school. During my younger years of High School (ages 12 – 14) I acted out frequently – often ending up in detention or on litter duty. Neither punishment made any difference as during detention I just wrote stories and on litter duty I perved on the girl I fancied. Although I hated the essay punishments I was given, they allowed me to improve my writing ability, so they never felt like a punishment. Nothing did. On one occasion, only a long conversation between my parents and the headmaster prevented me from being suspended for continual truancy.
20. During that conversation I overheard my headmaster suggest to my parents that they ‘reconsider’ their ‘disciplinary methods’ in order to control my escalating behavior. Whether he meant corporal punishment, I don’t know, but I’ve often taken it to mean this.
More than ever before I hated the thoughts my mind was throwing up at me. I didn’t understand why I wished corporal punishment was re-introduced into schools because I would surely have been on the receiving end of it more than once. No matter from what angle I approached it, I couldn’t make sense of the arousal I felt whenever spanking was mentioned.
But it was more than the simple burgeoning sexual excitement or a randy (kinky) teenager. I wasn’t fantasizing about spanking purely in terms of sex – I was fantasizing about receiving discipline; an almost insatiable desire to be disciplined for my crimes.
21. During a social studies class I was one of only a few (three girls, one boy) who voted on the side of ‘re-instating corporal punishment to schools’. My basic belief was that all the punishments I’d been given had made no improvement to my behaviour. When asked if a caning or paddling would have improved my behaviour, I answered: ‘definitely’.
22. By my mid to late teens I had decided to try to forget these thoughts. If I caught myself thinking about spanking I would bury it, if spanking was in a book I’d stop reading, if it was on TV, I’d stop watching. I felt evil; that I was the only person on the planet who felt this way, and with my anxiety, depression and self-harm, I was tired of feeling abnormal.
23. After I ran away from home my parents were angrier than I’d ever seen them. Although they were relived I was safe, there was a long lecture about compassion and selfishness that ended with them informing me that if I had been a few years younger they would have blistered my backside for the worry and concern I’d caused to those who cared about me.
After years of trying to ‘cure myself’ I realized in that one sentence nothing would fix me. The moment they said it, I all but asked them to do it. I knew I deserved it; I knew I needed it; I knew I wanted it.
However much that disturbed me.
The Internet Years: There are others…
The internet became a part of my life in 1998 and was the first step toward trying to understand the thoughts and fantasies I had been harboring since first reading that book in the dentist’s waiting room.
After years of feeling alone with my twisted, disconcerting thoughts (and with everything I’d done to try to ‘fix’ them) I decided the only other option I had left was to explore them. Perhaps I wasn’t alone…
24. My first ever search on the internet was ‘spanking’; typed into Yahoo in 1998. It took me to a site called Castle Handyman (now defunct) that had a collection of spanking fiction. The first story I read was Barbarism in the 23rd Century, a sci-fi erotica containing sex and spanking:
“He ignored her cries, nor did he feel any remorse, instead Jered savored the bouncing feel of her hot flesh each time his hand connected with her red bottom.
And for her part, Lane was in complete distress as the spanking progressed, seemingly forever! Never had she felt so helpless, never had she been so sorry for her bad temper, and never had she experienced the heat that was fast becoming her entire backside and spreading to her pussy. She cowered her hips downwards trying to avoid Jered’s heavy, even slaps and had a momentary shock of pleasure as she realized how good it felt to grind her clit into the edge of his thigh. Oh, the spanking still was painful, terribly, wretchedly painful, but her pussy was tingling like she couldn’t believe.”
From Barbarism in the 23rd Century, by Ginger
Reading this, and dozens of other stories on the site, made me realize for the first time that I wasn’t alone in my thoughts. That there were many others like me who had spent their lives not only dreaming of spanking and discipline but wanting to experience the same things I had:
“Vera lifted her hand with practiced ease, allowing it to hover midair while Jack’s bottom played out a nervous dance of expectancy. When she brought her palm down hard on the boy’s sweet bottom, she gasped with pleasure, relishing the sting in her fingertips, the soft spongy feel of his flesh and the small grunt Jack made of acknowledged contact. A red hand print appeared immediately on the boy’s already pink cheek and Vera struggled with the urge to lean forward and nip the mark with her teeth.”
From Wild Roses, by Ginger
The knowledge that other people wanted to be spanked spurred my confidence. No longer berating myself for being twisted I decided to push myself a little further. I wrote a few short stories inspired by my spanking fantasies and published them on newsgroups. After a few positive comments I wrote more. Then, when I had the house to myself one afternoon, I ventured into a chat room.
Amidst all the strangeness I met a ‘woman’ named Miss Beatrix who understood my unease. She asked me about my spanking thoughts and told me I definitely wasn’t alone; not just in being sexually aroused by spanking, but also of my confusing need for discipline.
For the first time that afternoon I was ‘spanked’:
25. My first cyber-spanking:
Prompted by stories I had told her of my educational experience, Miss Beatrix decided we should role-play a school scenario based on a crime I had committed (when I stole money from a charity collection the class was making). The spanking was administered purely in our imaginations, and however weird it felt to write:
*nervously bends over and grabs his ankles tightly.
*OOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHJESUS OUUCCHHHHHH NOT SO HARD MISS!
*jumps up and grabs his bottom, rubbing at the intolerable pain.
the power it had over me was palpable; releasing pent-up emotions and filling me with confidence.
For three months I chatted frequently with Miss Beatrix . She reiterated the effect my self-hate was having on me and cyber-spanked me on several occasions, sometimes imagined, sometimes in response to real life indiscretions I would tell her about. She would set me ‘lines’ to complete and send to her and became an ear for me to talk to about my unease and shame about this part of my life.
26. Although I had spanked myself in the past, I had always been in control of the action. On one occasion, Miss Beatrix and I spoke over the phone and she directed me to spank myself with hand and hairbrush as punishment for the mistakes I’d told her I’d made at work. Although I enjoyed the sensation, there was something missing that nagged at me; I wanted someone else to do this.
27. One afternoon, whilst chatting, Miss Beatrix issued me the task of writing an essay that described the spanking I’d always wanted to receive and why. For hours I labored over the writing, eager to explain in as much detail I could the emotions and images I’d held in my mind for so many years. Upon reading it, Miss Beatrix offered to play this scenario out in real life – if I was willing to meet in person.
For the first time someone had offered to fulfill my dream, but to my shame, my anxiety got the better of me and I bottled out, never speaking to her again. It was a decision prompted purely from nerves and mental health, and I have always regretted not meeting her. Not only because of how much I wanted it, but because I realize in hindsight how beneficial it would have been.
The Backpacking Years: Backpacks, Booze and Booty…
My failure to meet up with Miss Beatrix prompted something that has become all too common with my life; retreating. Rather than carry on with the exploration of this part of my psyche, I slipped back into the ‘I am wrong’ mentality of my teenage years.
It was a mindset that impacted dramatically on my attempts to boost my confidence through backpacking. Whenever I found myself in a flirtatious situation that could have improved my self-esteem I backed away, especially when spanking was referenced:
28. Two weeks after ditching Miss Beatrix, a receptionist in a backpacker hostel on Skye playfully threatened to spank my bottom for late payment of rent after I got lost on the island.
29. A few months later, in a nightclub, a gorgeous woman I was dancing with playfully slapped my ass with a comment about how she’d like to spank it “properly”.
30. A short while later, a conversation in a hostel smoking lounge turned to spanking and S&M and our opinions of it.
31. In Canada, Annie threatened to spank me for leaving her house/car keys on the front seat of her car whilst the window was wide open. She followed it up with “but you’d probably enjoy it, so what would be the point?”
In the first instance I was too nervous to flirt back, the second prompted a major severe panic attack whilst the third saw me remain tight-lipped and offering no opinion whatsoever. As for the fourth, I would have sacrificed a limb to play that fantasy out!
No amount of positive self-talk could convince me I was anything but ‘wrong’ for enjoying spanking. Cue even more irrational self-hate.
The Louise Years: Early experimentation…
It was only when I entered into my first relationship that was I able to share my kink with another real-life person. The hope was it would help increase my self-confidence, instead, it annihilated it.
32. During a playful sex session where I tied Louise up to ‘tease her’ I playfully slapped her delicious bottom causing her to squeal with surprised delight. Apparently “no-one had ever smacked her like that before” and it wasn’t long before she was raising the spanking question. Rather than back out I told her everything as best I could; that I’d thought about spanking for as long as I could remember, that I’d wanted to be spanked since I was a child and loved the idea of spanking others, as long as it was consensual. She looked at me as if I was completely and utterly insane and I seriously expected her to dump me then and there; especially after she told one of her friends had warned her to stay away from me because he believed my fantasies made me “dangerous”.
33. The first spanking I ever gave:
Two weeks later, with Louise’s permission, I was able to give my first spanking. She lay naked over my lap on the bed and whilst masturbating her, I playfully slapped her a dozen or so times. After she’d orgasmed she told me the spanking had “kinda really turned me on”.
Over the next couple of months she asked questions along the lines of was I ever spanked as a child or did I know why I thought like this, both of which I answered honestly. When she asked me why I wanted to be caned or paddled at school, I had nothing that made sense other than it would have taught me a lesson that other punishments had failed to teach me.
Although she did her best to understand, I couldn’t shake the belief she thought I was abnormal.
34. One morning, out of nowhere, she wanted me to spank her again; over my knee, harder than I’d spanked that first playful time. It was partly to appease me, partly to understand. I can still remember how delicious her bottom felt as I massaged it in the moments before I started spanking her, how she gasped with each smack. After her bottom had been turned a beautiful shade of pink we made love (which she claimed at the time was the best of our relationship thus far) and I walked her to work. When she got home we talked about the spanking and she told me “she hadn’t minded it at the time, especially feeling so close to me” but “hated having a sore ass half the day” and questioned why I wanted one.
After this, spanking was rarely mentioned, aside from on two occasions:
35. Spontaneously one weekend morning she began scolding me for not doing the dishes and told me I should be spanked for it (I had mentioned in the past my fantasy about this) and she took me over her knee on a chair in the middle of the room. For a few minutes she tapped her hand on my behind, pausing only to order me to fetch her hairbrush. After returning I was ordered to drop my jeans and underwear and she again tapped the brush on my bottom. Both hand and brush taps were no harder than if you were to drop a feather to the carpet. Whatever arousal I felt during the scolding and being in this position was negated by the frustration of not actually being spanked.
36. She told me my spanking fantasies were evil and abusive and she thought I needed help to cleanse myself. From here on in, spanking was not allowed to be mentioned or discussed in any way, shape or form.
All this statement did was reinforce the fears and doubts of my teenage years and further fueled my belief I was ‘wrong’.
The Abuse Years: You are evil…
For years I reenacted my teenage years of refusing to acknowledge my desires. I didn’t read anything, watch anything, talk about it or explore my desires in any way, shape or form. I buried a part of my personality that had been around since I was six, and my confidence paid the price. After the end of Louise and I’s relationship I was lost; convinced that in any further relationship I should bury these fantasies and keep them hidden for all time.
37. After being with my new girlfriend for a few months I trusted her enough – and believed her to be non-judgmental enough – to tell her about my spanking fantasies. She was immediately angry I hadn’t told her about them sooner.
38. Following a three-hour conversation trying to explain my fantasies my girlfriend declared that it would never happen and I should never think such horrible thoughts again.
39. Two weeks later during an abusive tantrum she told me “if you’d been beaten regularly as a child, you wouldn’t think such disgusting and evil thoughts”.
All of which reinforced the fears I’d held since my childhood, teenage years and relationship with Louise that I was evil, abhorrent and needed to be ‘fixed’ with great urgency.
The Sammi Months: You are not evil…
The only real-life person to accept my spanking fantasies was Sammi, because she was a spanko herself. She would tell me via email that she’d suspected it the moment I’d slapped her ass that night in Adelaide and mentioned spanking about eighteen times throughout my infamous monologue.
40. Although I don’t remember it in its entirety, or knew it at the time, the first spanking I gave to someone who loved spanking was that one night in Adelaide.
It was only after we reunited on Facebook later that year that Sammi began her campaign to change my thinking once and for all. She hated the way I talked about myself on the blog, hated the control my abuser had on my life and saw absolutely nothing wrong with wanting spanking and discipline to be part of my life. “After all,” she would say, “other than sitting, what the hell is the arse for?”
She broached the topic by messaging me a request for a blog post titled (Some) True Confessions of a Spanko (a play on a post I once wrote about self-harm). When I asked her how she knew, she responded with a simple message that stated: Seriously? Get your ass onto MSN ♥
41. The moment I did she proceeded to cyber-spank me for being a complete idiot and then chatted with me for nearly seven hours about everything and anything, at the end of which taking great pleasure in pointing out I’d forgotten to put my trousers back on after the cyber-play.
42. Over the course of several months we spoke regularly about my (and her) spanking fantasies, all the while Sammi trying to get me to understand they were nothing I should be ashamed of; it was just another part of my personality and I should accept it else I’d go insane.
43. The first cyber-spanking I gave:
The first time I cyber-spanked Sammi was between Christmas and New Year. It descended into a session of such naughty filthiness it would make most grown adults blush so I will speak no more of it.
When I returned to the UK in early 2008, I sent her an email playfully warning her to watch her ass otherwise I’d come spank it for real. She emailed me back and promised to never speak to me again if I didn’t.
44. The first hard spanking I gave:
In April of that year, after a crazy afternoon in Glasgow, I gave Sammi the long, hard, proper spanking she had fantasized about her entire life. Afterwards, we curled up with My Neighbor Totoro and ate ice-cream.
The following morning she picked up the hairbrush I’d used on her (to great effect) and offered to return the favor. I could tell her heart wasn’t in it as she was still lost to the pleasures of her own spanking the night before so I declined, saying next time.
Alas, courtesy of an accidental drug overdose, there wasn’t a next time.
The justdoitalready months: Teasing…
To honor Sammi’s death, I vowed to continue pursuing my dreams of spanking and not fall back in on myself. After getting a new job and beginning a new life after years of pain and mental health, I fell for a beautiful woman. Only this time, it wasn’t me that brought up spanking, but her.
45. After meeting my third girlfriend I was lying in the bath one night and, out of nowhere, she told me “I’ll spank you if you want me to, you’ll just have to tell me how hard”. When I questioned ‘how hard?’ she said “the harder the better in my opinion!”
46. Following my answer of ‘yes please’, every time spanking came up she told me she “wasn’t going to do that because I would enjoy it” and “it wasn’t her job as my girlfriend to do things I would enjoy or want to experience. However much she wanted to spank me”.
In all honesty I’ve never understood why my girlfriend said these things. If she didn’t want to, why offer in the first place? Why deny the person you love an experience you’re (a) willing to give (b) know he wants and (c) that he’s dreamed of his whole life? It served to trip me backwards into thinking I didn’t deserve the things I desired and that I would never meet someone who loved me enough to spank me.
The Now: Will it ever happen…?
Since becoming homeless three things have happened. One, I’ve come to accept I will never have certain things other people take for granted (friendship, love, affection, support); two, if spanking is what some people consider ‘evil’ they really need to start living in the big bad real world; three, I no longer give a rats arse about what people think about me.
47. In 2009, whilst forced to earn money through occasional prostitution due to my homelessness, one guy gave me three very hard smacks on my ass to ‘get me going’.
48. In 2010, a slightly crazy rooming house landlord threatened to take a wooden spoon to my behind if I was late paying rent again. At the time, the corporal punishment debate was in the news once more and it had “inspired him”.
49. In 2012, I joined Fetlife, in the hope of finally getting the spanking(s) I’ve yearned for my whole life.
Are my spanking cravings normal? No. Not according to society’s definition of normalcy.
Is it strange? To want to be spanked and caned and disciplined, I guess so. But so what?
Is it evil? Personally I think Masterchef is evil, but each to their own.
Is it all that I am? Hell no. it’s just one small thread in the multi-coloured tapestry that is me.
Sure, I worry about being judged, criticized, scrutinized and humiliated – that’s part and parcel of social anxiety – but I’m tired of living my life ashamed of who I am when spanking, in the grand scheme of things, is nothing to be ashamed about. I love spanking. I always have. Deal with it.
50. [Left intentionally blank until I receive my first adult spanking]