Diagnoses

The past couple of weeks have been overwhelming, but I suppose positive in a way. Red and I have both been diagnosed. His diagnosis has been long-anticipated, as he's been ill for nearly two years now. Mine was quite unexpected. Both are life-long.

Red has been diagnosed with IBS. It took quite a while for our doctors to finally come to that conclusion, one, because IBS is a diagnosis reached through exclusion of all other possibilities, and two, because Red's IBS is so severe that the doctors had a hard time believing that it actually was IBS. I've of course heard of IBS before, and have known a few people who have it, but I've never known that it could be so debilitating. We've spent many an evening over the past few years in the emergency room, and have had many frightening moments when we feared that the symptoms he was having could actually kill him. This illness doesn't just make our sex/spanking life extremely difficult, it makes just living and functioning day-to-day difficult.

As for me, I've been diagnosed as bipolar. I can't say that I'm entirely surprised, as I've been in therapy on and off since I was about twelve-years-old. My psychiatrists have all kind of touched on the idea that I might be bipolar, but for whatever reason have all rejected it. However, no one has ever come to a diagnosis either. I spoke to a psychologist on Thursday after having a meltdown that morning. Red and I decided that I had to see someone immediately, and found someone to fit me in. She, after reviewing the forms I filled out and speaking to me for about an hour, told me that she thinks that I have the "mild" form of bipolar (meaning that I don't have psychotic breaks, just dramatic mood swings). I see the psychiatrist this afternoon to find out what kind of medication he wants to put me on.

I've kind of been feeling in limbo for the past few days. At first, it seemed like a relief to have a diagnosis, a reason for why I feel the way that I do. But then it sunk in that this is a life-long condition, and a thing to be dealt with. I wonder if I'll ever feel normal again. I am hoping that whatever treatment the doctor chooses will help me to be able to be the person who I perceive myself to be underneath all of my irrationalities and idiosyncrasies. On the other hand, I hate the idea that my ability to cope with and interact with the world around me will depend on a pill.

I also hope that I'll have some more fun stuff to post about soon. It's been nothing but gloom at our house lately. Maybe I'll go wake Red up with a shot in the ear from my squirt gun. (Just kidding!)

I Love My Lurkers

Today is the third annual Love Our Lurkers day! In observance of this blogger holiday, I am posting to express my gratitude to all of you who read my blog.

Bonnie, at My Bottom Smarts wrote:
While we may not see your face or read your words, we know you're out there. Even in silence, your return visits provide a gentle affirmation.

I'd like to second this sentiment. While perhaps sometimes I am more of a lurker myself than a blogger, it helps me to know that others are out there listening. To those who feel comfortable commenting and take the time to do so, I am grateful. To those who don't, I am also grateful.

I didn't actually "come out" in the online community until around January 2007. I was a lurker online since 1999. I believe my first blog comment ever was at The Punishment Book, where I posted with much trepidation. After that first step, posting became much easier, and I found that the spanko community at large, and particularly the bloggers, were gracious and even happy about my posts.

So to those lurkers who are out there, I would be so pleased if you would post a message. But if not, no worries. You are always welcome here, and I am grateful that you listen.

Oy, I've been tagged

Yes, Sara, you're right. I generally don't do memes. But since you tagged so nicely...

The Rules-
* Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
* Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog - some random, some weird.
* Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blog.
* Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1. One of the main reasons I don't do memes is that I rarely can think of so many things to say about myself. It's also the main reason that I don't post often enough.

2. I knit. I have a large yarn stash in the basement, and the chilly weather is awakening my drive to go gather more wool.

3. I knitted a dinosaur costume for one of my dogs. (Yeah, I know I'm a dork.) He hates the thing, but I still make him wear it on Halloween.

4. I wanted to be a teacher up until I started college, when it suddenly occurred to me that teaching involved a kind of public speaking.

5. I've sung professionally before, which is really weird, since I hate the spotlight. I don't plan to ever do it again.

6. I'm frequently complimented on my fingernails. I don't bite them, so they tend to grow fairly long and I have "nice nail-beds" as one lady told me. I trim my fingernails when they get long enough to interfere with my ability to type. Right now the colder weather is making them more brittle so they'll probably start breaking soon.

7. I can't cook at all. I'm actually not allowed to anymore. I cooked for Red once when we were engaged. I assumed it was a responsibility that we would share. He very sweetly said that he appreciated my efforts but would appreciate it more if I never did it again. He's a great cook, so this arrangement has worked out well for us, except for when he is away on business.

So now I'm supposed to tag 7 more people, but here's the thing... I'm not gonna, and you can't make me! I'm breaking this rule! (Yay me, finally found a rule to break!) So spank me.

Void for Vagueness?

Last night Red declared a new rule. I am not to allow one or both of our dogs to remain outside too long, or I will be punished. This rule came about because yesterday morning I let the youngest of our two dogs outside and left him outside for about 15 to 20 minutes. The length of time was not excessively long, but it was chilly and he's a small dog. When I let him in, I apologized for being a "bad mommy" and assured him that "daddy will punish me for it later." I thought Red was napping at this time and had no idea that he'd overheard my little one-sided conversation.

Anyhow, last night while lying in bed, he informed me that he had in fact heard, and that from now on I really would be getting punished for such infractions. I remained quiet and accepted his pronouncement.

I have to admit though, that the compulsively rule-observant part of me immediately started coming up with questions. I like to follow rules - all rules - to a T, and for that to be possible, there must be a "T." There must be a strict definition of the rule so that I can remain firmly within its limits.

How long is too long? I wanted to ask. Is it conditional on the outside temperature? Is there a "relevant range" of sorts within which it is acceptable to leave him outside for "x" number of minutes, or is it directly (or indirectly) proportional to the relative extremity of the temperature? Does time of day factor into this consideration? What is the equation with which I can determine the appropriate amount of time for the dog to remain outside given all considerable conditions?

I know that if I actually voiced these questions to Red, he'd be completely exasperated with me. My compulsive good-girl-ishness almost never fails to stand in the way of him imposing the boundaries and discipline that I claim to want. And I do want them, though I admit that you'd never know it from my behavior.

So I'm not quite sure what to do now, other than resist the temptation to never let the dogs outside at all...

I Got a Licking

I owe you all an apology for my silence lately. But I assure you, I've been truly punished lately.

Several nights ago, I got my first ass licking.

It was on my bare bottom.

On my wet bare bottom.

I was shaken.

I cried.

Hard.

I never want it to happen again.

Which is why, from now on, I will be closing the bathroom door completely when I go for my shower. Because my cat enjoys the shower way more than a cat should. And when I'm not careful, he sneaks in.

The other night I was washing my hair, oblivious to the stealthy little devil. Attracted to the water dripping off of me (he seriously LOVES water - the little freak), he apparently couldn't resist the temptation of licking some off of my ass.

I was so startled that I screamed bloody murder and scared poor Red half to death. And then, for reasons I don't entirely understand, I burst into tears.

So I hope you will all forgive me my negligence. I have been truly punished.

Self Waxing

You know, you can be an educated person and be a complete idiot. I realize most of you probably know that, but for those who may not have known, I am living proof of this.

Like many women out there, I prefer hairlessness. It is not really a sexual thing for me... more of a germophobic, a-bald-snatch-seems-cleaner kind of a thing. The fact that Red prefers me this way is just a happy bonus.

But shaving my lady parts can be difficult. I've cut myself before, and that's not a pretty sight. Plus there is the stubble and the itchiness. I always thought I'd like to try Brazilian waxing, but I had never tried it for several reasons, mainly 1) can't find a place that does it, 2) I fear it would be too expensive for too short a period of hairlessness, and 3) I'm just too darn embarrassed to pay a complete stranger to do something like that.

So imagine my happy surprise when I found that SurgiWax makes a Brazilian waxing kit that you can do yourself in the privacy of your own home. And it was affordable! So I bought the kit and took it home and eagerly tried it out.

Oh.

My.

God.

The government should use this stuff in place of waterboarding. If I had any state secrets, I'd have been screaming them to the four corners of the world.

I've heard great things about Brazilian waxing. But this is definitely something that you should not do yourself. First of all, it is immensely painful, and convincing yourself to rip off a clump of wax (which is what you wind up with - clumps of wax, not nice neat strips) is difficult to do. Taking three ibuprophen in advance did nothing to make it any easier on me. It is difficult to see what you're doing, the wax winds up getting everywhere, and after all of the effort, you still don't manage to get all the hair. You get most of it, sure. But not all.

But, you say, you're not an idiot. Anyone would have thought this was a good idea and tried it. And you're right about that.

But would an idiot have done it three more times after that?

I have got to find a better way.

Spankings Hurt

I know what you're thinking. "DUH," if you're a bottom, and if you're a top, the ever-annoying "Spankings are supposed to hurt." Grr.

I know that they hurt, and that they are supposed to hurt. But lately spankings really hurt, if you know what I mean.

I haven't had many, which is probably a large part of the problem. I know my bottom has basically become virgin again. But spankings now actually hurt worse than when my bottom was virgin for real. Handspankings leave me gasping, and even if they are brief they leave me with at least a little lasting soreness.

Red has given me a couple handspankings, and one evening about a week ago, he ordered me to pull down my pajama bottoms and panties for a spanking. I was less than thrilled by the prospect. He was digging around in our toy box and emerged with a London Tanners strap that I had mercifully forgotten that we owned.

I didn't want the spanking. I wasn't afraid of it. He'd made it clear that it wasn't punishment and I wasn't in trouble. But I knew it would hurt and not in any kind of good way. But I also wasn't going to argue with him. I agreed to submit to spankings whenever he decided they were necessary. So I stood up and began to lower my pants.

But then he stopped me. He could see the truth in my face - that I didn't, really didn't, want the spanking.

I apologized to him, which he insisted was unnecessary. I don't know if it is hormones, or stress, or what, but spankings don't feel the same to me right now.

I want spankings. At least, I want to want them.

I don't know what is going on with me right now.

Good surprises

Sometimes my wonderful husband really amazes me. Sometimes I am actually shocked by how generous, understanding, and accepting he is. Sometimes I wonder what on earth I did to deserve him.

Red and I have certainly been having our share of ups and downs lately. Even though we've been married more than five years now, I guess I still react to our difficulties as if they were conflicts happening between my parents. My parents (whom I love very much) were disasters as parents, and as a married couple. (By "parents" I'm referring to my mother and the stepfather she was married to during my teen years. He was the only one of her husbands with whom I developed any kind of father/daughter relationship. He passed away suddenly several years ago.)

My parents were drunks. I remember one time, early in their marriage, they'd been out all night drinking with friends. They didn't come home, and my stepdad's kids (who were younger than me) were at the house with me for his visitation time. I didn't know where they were. I was trying not to panic because his kids were there and I didn't want to frighten them. I was always hyperaware of how close my parents were constantly putting themselves to death.

Finally, somewhere around 10-11 the next morning, I got a phone call from my stepdad. He was drunk again/still. He and my mother had apparently argued, and she left. The only thing he said when I answered was "Tell your mother I said GOODBYE." To me, it was clear that he meant permanently. Now, they didn't divorce. But I, knowing that I was basically at his mercy, had already accepted homelessness and packed up my car by the time they both arrived home. Mom had begun packing too by the time he settled down and agreed to talk about the situation.

I tell this story only to explain that to me, needing another person is dangerous. You never know how easily you can be thrown away. That wasn't the only time my stepfather threw me out of the house. Because he was always drunk, it took literally nothing from me to make him angry. I know now that he was basically making up reasons to get angry with me so that he could justify his drinking to himself. But there were times when I'd literally be woken up in the morning by his rage. Sometime during the night he would have found something I'd done (like parking the car crookedly in the driveway) that would send him into a rage.

I think one of the major reasons why I am so attracted to the idea of discipline in my marriage is that it gives a structure for dealing with conflict that is predictable. It has boundaries. It helps me feel safe that I'll never be thrown out of my own house, that Red will never break down the bedroom door at night because I parked the car wrong. I know how conflict will be handled now. It will be handled by talking, and possibly by discipline.

However, I fear sometimes that this is asking too much of Red. I feel like I'm telling him, "You must deal with your emotions on my terms. And then once discipline occurs, you must let it go forever." I know that I would have an extremely hard time if he told me how he wanted me to deal with my emotions.

Earlier this week, Red and I were in the car together on a long drive to a business meeting that we both had to attend. I told him about this concern and how I'm not sure what to do about it. I mean, this predictability is a major benefit of domestic discipline for me, and if I cannot rely on it, then I don't think I'd want to continue down this path.

As I explained my feelings to him, I was bracing myself for him to say something like, "You're absolutely right. It's completely unfair to me. You are asking way too much of me. How dare you try to dictate how I deal with my feelings with you."

Instead, Red shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and said, "I know. It's okay. I accept it."

I admit to expressing disbelief at this point.

Then he explained, "Look, it is what you need. And to be honest, exercising the authority you've given me will help me. I've been sick for a year and a half. Having control in our relationship helps me to feel like I have some control over my own life."

And that was it. No explosions. No arguments. No tossing me out of the car on the side of the highway. Just complete acceptance.

I've never experienced this before, but I like it. I hope I'll be able to get used to it.

Question for Other Bloggers

I've been getting some seriously creepy emails. I've gotten some that are clearly just looking for me to link to their websites and probably have never actually read mine at all.

I've gotten others, though, like one I got today, that are particularly creepy. I find them particularly creepy because I can't tell what the author is looking for. It may be that it is just some pervert looking for details about my sex life, but the email I got today also talked about Christianity and DD. Somehow the author has gotten the impression that I am submissive to my husband because of my religious beliefs, which simply isn't the case.

I should probably blow this off, but it is just so icky. Any suggestions as to what I should do?

I'm in a book

I'm in a book. I can't believe I forgot to mention that. It's called Being Virtual, by Davey Winder.

A while ago, maybe a year or so ago, someone posted on ASSville about their friend who was writing a book, who was interested in interviewing people from the group. So, I contacted Mr. Winder and ended up exchanging emails with him for a while. I was under the impression that there would be more spankos in the book, but I'm half way through reading it, and so far, I'm the only one.

I had a panicky moment when I realized that the book had been released. Contacting Mr. Winder was totally out of character for me. Although I insisted that he use a pseudonym for me in the book, I still felt like I outted myself to the world. Not to mention, I gave him a TON of personal information. I had completely trusted him to not hurt me... not something that I do easily.

But it paid off. Mr. Winder handled my portion of the story, as well as all the other stories that I've read so far, with grace, insight, and compassion. He didn't make me look like a twisted pervert. He even made me look at myself a bit differently, more gently.

He also made me realize how incredibly lucky I am to have an online community like this... The other bloggers and forum members with whom I established acquaintances have given me a great deal of comfort. You've all helped me feel like a "normal" person. You've helped me to see that I'm not alone in a world that tends to ignore people like me... I'm an introvert, an abuse survivor, a sexual deviant (for lack of a better term)... I don't easily make friends. I don't easily trust people.

So, thank you, to all of you who have reached out and made contact with me. It means more than you know.

Desperate Measures

As they say, "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Various issues have kept Red and I from engaging in the kind of play, or the kind of discipline arrangement, that we both seem to want. I've gone back and forth between having a sense of humor about my frustrations and feeling totally hopeless and angry.

Back when I had a better sense of humor about the attention that I was not receiving, I made this tshirt:



Only to discover that Red was not wearing his glasses that day and could not read it.

Then, a couple weeks ago, Red and I were perusing our local Target store when I saw these:



and was reminded of this post, by Sparkle, in which she talks about using socks as a signal. I put the socks in the basket and quickly explained my thinking to Red. He agreed, apparently grateful to have some indication of when he should spank me.

I wore them the next day, for a couple of hours. I propped my feet up on the couch, and wiggled my feet when Red was near me. I swear he looked right at them once. But alas, they didn't work either. There was no spanking that evening, and when I later talked to Red about it, he explained that he simply hadn't noticed the socks.

I suppose it is for the best, though. Both times, I felt wrong about trying to signal him in that way. It is extremely important to me that I feel he is in control when he spanks me. I need to feel like it is his decision. Signalling feels like I'm topping from the bottom, which takes an important emotional element away for me.

Still, I feel like there are times when I need to be spanked. I wish there were some way that I could trigger a spanking without having to be in control of the situation.

Update/Confession

Again, I'm still here. I've been quiet lately. I don't exactly know why. I have been sort of depressed lately. Red's illness had been getting better but then worsened again lately. Nothing fatal or anything, but he's experiencing a lot of pain. We're working with pain doctors now to try to come up with something that can help to eliminate or at least manage his pain.

Honestly, though, I haven't been writing much because I just feel like I don't have anything useful to say. I don't want my blog readers to get bored by listening to me whine about my problems and my insecurities, so I've stayed quiet. There has been no spanking around here lately. Red and I have talked about it some, but I'm starting to think that maybe this isn't something that will work out for us in the long term.

My spanking mojo seems to have disappeared, as had any inkling of a desire I might have had to be submissive. Lately I've been frustrated as hell that I can't be the dominant one in this relationship. The other day I told Red from between clenched teeth, "Are you sure you don't want to be the submissive one in the relationship? Because I sure as hell can think of plenty of reasons to spank you." Frankly, if he isn't going to be dominant, then I just want him to do what he is told!

One of Red's issues is that he apparently can't think of any reasons to spank me. He can, apparently, think of plenty of reasons to be annoyed with me, but he never spanks for anything anymore. When he does want to spank, it seems like all he wants to do is play at it. As much as I love play spanking, lately it just grates on my nerves because I'm not getting what I need emotionally from it. I don't get any kind of emotional release from it. It doesn't make me feel submissive. It doesn't make me feel more connected to him. It just makes me feel like an ass to spank.

I get jealous sometimes when I read my favorite blog writers. I know you all have problems of your own. But I feel alone with my problems. I feel like Red and I have lost a major part of our connection. I haven't felt submissive in a long time. I haven't been properly spanked in a very long time. I hate myself because whenever I open my mouth (or my keyboard, actually), I end up sounding like a whiner, and I say negative things about Red. I don't want to bash Red. He's a good man.

But I find myself thinking... why can't we be more like Sara and Grant, or Sparkle and Chris?

What a terrible thing to think, when I have wonderful man at home. He's good to me. He's honest, honorable, and trustworthy. I really do love him so much. So, why am I so unhappy?

I'm ashamed of myself, and I don't like exposing the ugliness in my head to the world. But I know I've been MIA, and an email this morning from a fellow blogger made me realize that I probably should post something to let everyone know that I'm still alive.

I'm still alive.

Grumble, Grumble

Red says that I can't stay in bed wallowing in depression. He says I can either get up and do something or I can get spanked.

So, I'm up and doing something. I'm grumbling about what a butthead he is.

I'd rather be in bed right now.

But I'm not in bed right now, and do you know why?

That's right. Because Red is a butthead.

I'm still here...

Hello all... This is a "Don't worry about me, I'm still alive" post. I'm not sure why I've been so quiet lately except that I've just not been feeling inspired to post. There have not been many spankings around here, although things look like they'll be picking up again soon, as Red seems to be feeling more comfortable with the power that I've given him. We'll see what happens...

I have read the (in)famous Wakeman article. I, too, should be posting a response to it. I put the article aside so that I could do some mental processing. I'd like to reread it one more time before I formulate a response. Here's hoping I can quit being so damn lazy about posting!

I've received some comments on older posts lately. For those who've commented, I've finally managed to post responses to you. Please don't think that I'm ungrateful. I really am so happy to have readers who find something that they can relate to here and/or about which they feel inspired to comment.

So, I guess this is it for now. I hope all of you are doing well. I hope to be posting again soon. I certainly plan on it! I guess this is as good a reason as any for Red and I to start fooling around more... Wish me luck!

_____ and Punishment

I hope that this post makes sense. Not only am I confused about the topic myself, but I'm awake earlier than I should be thanks to a kitten who decided that nibbling on my fingertips was an absolutely irresistible idea.

I've had this internal debate going on in my head for a while. Sometimes I wonder if spanking is a healthy thing for me. The thing is, I have this guilt that builds up in me that is unattached to any real crime. I'm not sure where this comes from except for a desire to be perfect that I cannot possibly fulfill.

Sometimes, an intense desire to be punished creeps up inside of me. When I tell Red how I feel, he always asks me if I've done something wrong. I never really have an answer to that... Oh, it's a bunch of things. Maybe I ought to have stayed awake just a little bit longer the day before so that I could have unloaded the clean dishes from the dishwasher. Or maybe I forgot to return a phone call to someone. Little things that happen more because I'm human than because I'm bad.

I've heard that so many people experience guilt relief after they've been punished. I can't say that I ever have. I'm not sure if this is because I'm a black hole of guilt and no amount of punishment could ever balance it out. Or maybe because Red never really punishes me, so I can't reach that elysium.

Red tends to shy away from punishing me for a few reasons. The main one being that he is afraid of reinforcing my unreasonable guilt. He doesn't want it to be an affirmation to me that I am "bad." He also has trouble getting upset with the things that I feel guilty over because he believes that I am just being too hard on myself.

I get angry with him sometimes over this. A while ago I asked him, "Are you waiting for me to murder someone?" I am generally a good girl. I can't help that. And I don't feel like I should be forced to purposely do something bad in order to be punished. I've been tempted, but I just can't bring myself to do so. So, I'm left unable to experience whatever benefits punishment might ultimately offer.

On the other hand, I share his fear. My guilt is so bad now... What if it got worse as a result of punishment? What if he punishes me just as hard as he safely can, and I just end up feeling more guilty than before because now he thinks I'm bad too?

Is there a guiltless elysium waiting for me just on the other side of a thorough punishment? Is there relief to be reached on the other side of all these raging emotions?

I've grown up feeling like I needed to put a cork on my emotions because life was already too unpredictable and I couldn't afford to rock the boat (which was already leaking and sinking quite fast). Sometimes it makes a hell of a lot of sense to me that I'd feel so much better if I could safely allow all of this fear and anger and guilt (reasonable or not) to come flooding out of me, and that I'd be so much safer in doing so with Red's support. It would be a new experience to have someone there who would love me and take care of me through all that.

On the other hand, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I am an endless pit of anxieties and ugly feelings and no matter how much pours out of me, there will always be that much and more still there.

Is it really even fair to ask Red to take all that on?

Testing?

Ok, I'm still fairly new to blogging so I could be doing something very very stupid...

I've posted comments on others' blogs today, but when trying to post a comment on my own to reply to someone else's, it isn't letting me! I'm wondering now if it'll let me post a regular post. If anyone knows what the heck is up with this, please let me know.

ARGH!

Well, sorry for the boring post, but I'm trying to figure this thing out. Oh, and I guess just so that I can save the text of this response somewhere, I'll stick it on the bottom of this for now.

In regards to comments on "Men in Uniform:"

Sparkle and Chris,

Please forgive me for taking so long to respond to this... my own embarrassment over it has made it difficult.

Sparkle - I'm utterly tickled that out of 741 posts, my blog stood out enough to be worth a read through. That made my day. :)

Chris - Thank you for your understanding. This little issue of mine has been particularly concerning to me because I've recently learned that my neice is also afraid of firemen. A fireman came to her school and she was fine when he was out of uniform, but had a meltdown when he put his uniform on. Also, she's autistic, and from what I've heard, a lot of autistic children tend to hide in closets and under beds during house fires because all of the chaos is too overstimulating to them. So it is really really important to me that she knows to run toward a fireman instead of away. So I know that I need to get this problem under control NOW. How can I help teach her not to be afraid when I so clearly am?
Anyway, thanks to you both. :)

Rose

Kinky or Vanilla?

So, Red and I had house guests this past week, who just left this morning to return home. Our guests were a man who has been one of Red's best friends for about twenty years now (whom I will call "A."), and his wife (whom I will call "M.").

As far as we know, this couple is entirely vanilla, so before they arrived I carefully made sure that our toys were all put away and out of sight. After having spent the past week with these people, Red and I are left wondering whether our discretion was really necessary.

On separate occasions over the course of the week, Red and I each witnessed A. deliver a playful spanking to M. When I witnessed it, M., who is much smaller than A., was climbing onto A.'s lap. He was sitting in our recliner chair, and she is tiny, so it took a little effort on her part to do this. Before she could sit down, A. wrapped his arm around her, pulled her OTK (well, OTL, really) and delivered several firm (but not really hard) swats to her bottom. She wiggled and whined, and he let her up. And that was that.

Apparently Red witnessed a similar event later in the week, as well as being a part of an interesting exchange in a local store. Red took them both to a local Walmart-type store to do some shopping. As they were walking through the kitchen section, A. apparently pulled a spatula down from the display.

"Do you know how I know this is a good spatula?" A. asked Red.

"No... how?" Red asked.

A. slapped the spatula hard against his hand. M. jumped and again protested. A. laughed and put the spatula away.

Things like this, along with some other general toppiness that occurred, has both Red and I wondering if these people are spankos (or at least the guy, anyway).

So, what do you all think? What clues do you look for to tell whether someone is kinky or vanilla?

Vanilla Spankings: Part 3

So, during my senior year of high school and freshman year of college, one of my closest friends was dating a guy whom I will call C. C was very tall and very slender - the kind of guy who, even though he was much bigger than me, I simply couldn't see as physically imposing because he looked like he was all skin and bone. I spent quite a bit of time with my friend and C, during which I learned that there was definitely more to him than skin and bone.

During this time, my favorite way to deal with stress and insomnia was to go for long walks. It didn't matter to me what the weather was like, or what time it was. When I felt I needed to walk, I walked.

C hated that I did this. In fact, Red hates that I do this too. It seems that I most want to walk when I can't sleep at night. Only last night I was told that there was NO WAY that he was going to let me go out for a walk in the middle of the night. He said it in that grumpy voice that makes me think I'd better listen.

I remember one weekend night I'd gone out for a walk. It was sometime around midnight or 1 a.m. C was driving home from his job as a dishwasher at a restaurant and happened to spot me. He slowed his truck to a crawl and barked at me through the open passenger-side window.

"I'm fine, C," I called to him, trying to wave him off.

Suddenly the truck was parked and I walked into a wall of C. My nose literally hit his chest. Suddenly I was airborne. He'd lifted me off my feet and tried to put me into the passenger seat of his truck. I struggled, and got a hard smack on the behind for my efforts.

"What the hell was that?!?!" I remember asking. He'd slapped my butt so hard that I thought he'd managed to make a paddle materialize out of nowhere. But it was just his bony hand. My butt ached for a while from just that one smack.

I remember that he scolded me the whole way home and made veiled threats about what would happen if he ever caught me out walking by myself after dark again. I pouted and tried to argue, but didn't push my luck.

Later, after I complained to my friend about what a Neanderthal her boyfriend had been, she confided that he'd spanked her once after she'd done something he found particularly frustrating.

I suppose that C is probably a spanko, though that was the last time my friend ever mentioned having been spanked. He was certainly always a toppy kind of guy. But I guess I'll never be sure about him though.

Vanilla Spankings: Part 2

My memories of high school and my antics with my friends are a blur of random ass-slappings. No proper spankings, mind you, but one or two of these events had a similar feel.

I can't say I was a part of the in-crowd. I wasn't really a part of the out-crowd either. I spent most of my time in the fine arts department, participating in extra-curricular activities. I was in theatre and in multiple choirs. The other students were a mixture from all different cliques, with the exception of jocks because their practice times always conflicted with the practice times in fine arts. So I was friends with almost everyone in high school. I can't really remember having any enemies. If I wasn't friends with a particular student, it was only because our conflicting schedules kept us from getting to know each other.

The fine arts department was a particularly friendly place at my school, as I recall. I've even continued to be friends with the teachers from that department. Anyhow, my point is that within my circle of friends, we were all fairly free with our bodies. It was not unusual to receive a random goose from someone in passing. A bunch of horny teenagers, we were.

I couldn't possibly recount all of the ass-slappings that occurred during my high school years. There are a few that stand out in my mind, though.

I remember rehearsing a scene on stage after school with a few other friends. I was always extremely afraid of being on stage, so silliness became a method of coping with my anxiety. My friend Brandon was good to me though. He was very comfortable on stage, so he made sure that we were always paired together in theatre class. He became my support system in the class and coached me through each scene to help me feel as comfortable as possible. Anyhow, during this one rehearsal period, we'd let the silliness get out of hand. It was around 6pm, so we'd been rehearsing for more than three hours for a scene that was supposed to be less than ten minutes long. I was giggling with a girlfriend of mine who was also in the scene, when all of the sudden I felt a sharp slap on my bottom.

"Pay attention," Brandon growled. And with that, I was completely focused again.

I also had other male friends who were frustratingly chivalrous. Now, in my late twenties, I recognize chivalry for what is is, and most of the time I think it is sweet even when I think it is annoying. Back then, however, I just found it annoying.

Again, in the theatre, I was working after school to prepare for a play. I was carrying a large box of props back to the prop room. My friend Jason appeared next to me and tried to take the box from me.

"I can do it myself," I protested.

"That box is too heavy," he insisted. "You're going to hurt yourself."

I rolled my eyes. He slapped my backside and took the box from me.

"Bully," I muttered after him.

You know, now that I'm writing about this, a bunch more examples are coming back to me. I don't know if perhaps I was somehow releasing spanko pheromones wherever I went, or if I just attended a school full of spankos. Or perhaps I just frustrate everyone around me into becoming temporary spankers.

Red would probably think it is the latter. But then, he's a bully too. :)

Vanilla Spankings: Part 1

A recent Sunday Brunch at My Bottom Smarts got me thinking about this topic. I've decided to break this post up into parts because I know I tend to be extremely long-winded. I really am trying to be more reader-friendly. :)

Bonnie cites a statistic from the game show The Power of Ten that says that 13% of Americans admit to having been spanked as adults. Participants in the brunch discussed their scepticism about the accuracy of the statistic and the variability in the definition of what constitutes a spanking.

This made me think of my experiences as a teenager and an adult. I've been threatened with spankings multiple times by people who I believed to be vanilla, and who did not know that I am a spanko. Most threats were never followed through on, but only because I managed to wiggle out of the situation somehow.

I am generally a good girl, but somehow I manage to frustrate people enough that they threaten to spank me. I've often wondered if somehow my spanko thoughts are being broadcasted to others without my knowledge.

One of the first examples that spring to mind was when I was eighteen years old. I was a senior in high school, and I was very active in extra-curricular activities. I'd been injured in a car accident so badly that I could barely move. I had severe back pain. My doctor had ordered me to take at least a week off of school and spend the time in bed recovering. I refused. I simply had too many important things to do. So I forced my way through my usual activities.

At an after-school meeting, I was working away diligently on a project when a teacher and one of the mothers approached me and insisted that I go home. I argued that I was perfectly fine and didn't need to rest. The mother then looked me dead in the eye and said, "If you don't go home and rest right now, I'm going to put you over my lap and spank you." Shocked, I stared at her for a moment and then decided that she couldn't be serious. I was a student, so she couldn't spank me. More importantly, I was an adult, and you can't spank an adult... right?

So I ignored her and went back to what I was doing. A little while later she spotted me working and came charging down the hallway after me with a look on her face that I hope I never see again. I hobbled away as quickly as my wounded body would carry me. I hid behind a friend of mine who was a football player and begged him to protect me. He scooped me up over his shoulder and carried me out of the building, and put me into the driver's seat of the car that I'd borrowed from my mother. He told me that if I didn't go home right then that he wouldn't protect me from the spanking next time. I decided to believe him and drove home.

That certainly was not the last time I was threatened with spankings. It always freaks me out, though, when someone other than my husband brings up the "s" word. I can't help but worry... do I have a neon "spanko" sign on my forehead?

Men in Uniform

I apologize for being off the radar lately. I've been in a bit of a funk, and frankly I have not been feeling the least bit interesting lately. Even when it occurs to me to talk to people, call a friend, or whatever, I have not been able to come up with a single thing to say. So, I've stayed quiet.

I learned something about myself yesterday that I've been mulling over, and I thought perhaps it might have a place on this blog. It isn't really about spanking (well, maybe it is, but only marginally), so if you're here for spanking, skip this entry and go down to my last post.

A few weeks ago I got a traffic ticket. I made a turn in a residential area that I did not know was prohibited. In fairness, it should not be prohibited because there is absolutely no reason for it to be. I was pulled over. I gave the officer my license and registration, which he took back to his car to check. When he returned, he handed them back and said, "Your driving record is impeccable." He then proceeded to apologize for having to give me a ticket for such a ludicrous thing (even he thought it was), but apparently the residents had been bitching and his hands were tied. "If you have time, call and schedule an appointment with the District Court to fight this. It'll be taken off your record." I thanked him, and did just that.

My hearing was yesterday. I should not have been nervous. There was no reason for me to be - the cop himself told me that he would speak to the prosecutor for me. But I was terrified. So much so that I only managed to sleep for a couple hours the night before.

There are times when I think I have two of me inside my mind. One half of me is perfectly logical and rational. This is the me I wish I could be all of the time. But then, there is also the other half. This is the hysterical me, the one who embodies all of my fears and phobias, the one who overanalyzes and reads way too much into everything. This is also the me that controls all of the responses that I have to things which I don't understand. This is the me who was up all night worrying for reasons I could not explain.

Sitting in the courtroom the next day, with Red by my side, Rational Me kept trying to convince Irrational Me that there was no reason to fear. Irrational Me was bouncing up against the sides of my skull trying to flee for her life. Rational Me had plenty of evidence to support her position. Irrational Me had none. Still, Irrational Me was the dominant one at the moment.

I've mentioned in the past that I'm a rape survivor. I've also talked about how rape didn't traumatize me in and of itself, but was traumatic because it taught me lessons that I was not prepared to know. As a child I'd been taught that there are people in this world who can always be trusted to protect you. Both cops and firemen had been to my elementary school to talk to us about what to do in emergencies - don't talk to strangers, stop drop and roll, call 911, and all of that. I trusted them implicitly.

Once the police found out about the rapes, I learned differently. Most of the professionals I encountered were not outwardly mean to me (with the notable exception of my rapist's defense attorney), but I did learn that protecting me was not even on their radar screens. I no longer trusted the police officers who came to help me, the judge who heard the case, and certainly not the lawyers involved.

I don't know if all children think this way, but I am learning that as a child, and even as an adult sometimes, I thought categorically. I didn't just stop trusting those police officers, I stopped trusting all police officers. Actually, I stopped trusting all of the people whom I'd been taught to trust. They were now all unknown and unpredictable entities to me.

Rational Me understands how this could happen to me as a child. What I can't seem to figure out how to do is reverse this distrust as an adult. Sitting terrified in the courtroom, I simply could not figure out how I could override my ingrained fear of these individuals. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how this fear has been limiting my life. After September 11th, I wanted to be able to stop by my local police department and fire department as so many other people were doing to thank those individuals who risk their lives to protect the lives of people whom they don't even know. I never managed to do it. All I could do was write donation checks to various police and firefighter associations and say some quiet prayers. Even when the firemen stand in the intersections with their boots to collect donations, my heart pounds and my breath quickens. For no logical reason at all, I'm afraid of these people.

Now for the silliest and most embarrassing part of this confession - I've realized that I'm even afraid of a certain Fireman Spanko who I don't even really know and who lives almost all the way across the country from me anyway. One of the blogs that I enjoy reading on a regular basis is Chris' Firehouse. He seems like a really wonderful person, and I've exchanged emails and blog comments with his wonderful wife Sparkle several times. When I decided to become active with the online spanko community, I decided to contact those blog writers whose blogs I most enjoyed to let them know how much I appreciate them. To date, I still have not managed to do this for Chris (although I'm proud to say I've managed a couple of brief comments on his blog). Rational Me knows he's not going to fly across the country and strangle me with a fire hose, but Irrational Me is wetting herself right now and trying to convince me to delete this paragraph.

So, Chris, if you're reading this, I love your blog. I'd like to be able to send you a proper message the way I did with Sparkle and others, but for now I'm only comfortable hiding behind my own blog readers and waving from a distance. I don't know if I'll ever have the opportunity to meet you, but if I do, please don't take personally my uncontrollable shaking and inability to speak. It really has nothing to do with you. I'm just Irrational.