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. :)
Monday, January 28, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
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?
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?
Thursday, January 17, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Discipline and Eroticism
So, I tell myself that when I am disciplined, it is something separate, albeit marginally connected to, sex. Spankos who only use spanking for erotic purposes cannot seem to believe that spanking between adults can be anything other than sexual. I still believe that it is different.
However, they do clearly go hand-in-hand for me. For the past month, I've been trying to adjust to a new birth control. The old one had me feeling weepy and hormonal all of the time. During the time I was on it, I was desperate for discipline. The new birth control seems to have had the opposite effect on me. I do not feel at all submissive right now, do not feel the need to be submissive, and I have no interest in discipline. I also have very little interest in sex.
Like it or not, it seems that my need for discipline increases and decreases in direct proportion with my libido.
So, I clearly cannot claim that the two are completely separate. But when I'm being disciplined, there is so much going on that I simply do not associate with eroticism. I experience a lot of guilt and remorse. I frequently cry. I'm often scared and consumed by anxiety. I hate making mistakes. I can't say that I ever feel horny during these times.
However, when I'm over Red's knee getting the squirmy, fun kind of spanking, I end up practically humping his leg like a desperate puppy.
I was thinking a few nights ago about the connection between discipline and sex. The only explanation that I can offer right now is that the end results of both are extremely similar. After an orgasm, I feel completely relaxed, warm, and pleasantly sleepy. All of my cares are gone. I'm able to be in the moment, which is not something that I am frequently able to do.
Discipline is different than sex during the act, but the stress and catharsis of the event leaves me with a similar exhaustion. There are times when I feel the need to be punished, but I've done nothing wrong. I feel a bit crazy during these times. I hate being punished, so why do I feel such a strong need for it? Well, I suspect that it has something to do with the end result.
Sex and punishment are the only two circumstances wherein I surrender control of myself and my body. It is only when I stop trying to control things that I'm able to live in the moment and my other anxieties fade away. During sex, all of my sexual tension is released during climax. During punishment, all of my fear and stress is released. Both leave me feeling relaxed and refreshed.
I'm not sure I have any major point to make. I'm neither disputing nor affirming the claim that discipline is just sex in disguise. I'm just offering up some thoughts I've had recently for whatever they're worth.
Anyway, the month of December has been chaotic with holiday preparations. I may not post again until after the holidays are over, so I'd like to take this moment to wish you all the happiest of holidays.
However, they do clearly go hand-in-hand for me. For the past month, I've been trying to adjust to a new birth control. The old one had me feeling weepy and hormonal all of the time. During the time I was on it, I was desperate for discipline. The new birth control seems to have had the opposite effect on me. I do not feel at all submissive right now, do not feel the need to be submissive, and I have no interest in discipline. I also have very little interest in sex.
Like it or not, it seems that my need for discipline increases and decreases in direct proportion with my libido.
So, I clearly cannot claim that the two are completely separate. But when I'm being disciplined, there is so much going on that I simply do not associate with eroticism. I experience a lot of guilt and remorse. I frequently cry. I'm often scared and consumed by anxiety. I hate making mistakes. I can't say that I ever feel horny during these times.
However, when I'm over Red's knee getting the squirmy, fun kind of spanking, I end up practically humping his leg like a desperate puppy.
I was thinking a few nights ago about the connection between discipline and sex. The only explanation that I can offer right now is that the end results of both are extremely similar. After an orgasm, I feel completely relaxed, warm, and pleasantly sleepy. All of my cares are gone. I'm able to be in the moment, which is not something that I am frequently able to do.
Discipline is different than sex during the act, but the stress and catharsis of the event leaves me with a similar exhaustion. There are times when I feel the need to be punished, but I've done nothing wrong. I feel a bit crazy during these times. I hate being punished, so why do I feel such a strong need for it? Well, I suspect that it has something to do with the end result.
Sex and punishment are the only two circumstances wherein I surrender control of myself and my body. It is only when I stop trying to control things that I'm able to live in the moment and my other anxieties fade away. During sex, all of my sexual tension is released during climax. During punishment, all of my fear and stress is released. Both leave me feeling relaxed and refreshed.
I'm not sure I have any major point to make. I'm neither disputing nor affirming the claim that discipline is just sex in disguise. I'm just offering up some thoughts I've had recently for whatever they're worth.
Anyway, the month of December has been chaotic with holiday preparations. I may not post again until after the holidays are over, so I'd like to take this moment to wish you all the happiest of holidays.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Outted By My Husband
I'm still here. I apologize for not posting recently. Preparing for the holidays in addition to caring for Red has left me tired and a little depressed, which I generally cope with by being quiet and introverted.
On a good note, though, while the doctors still have not found a diagnosis, they have given Red some medicine that helps him cope with his pain. "This Thing We Don't" is "This Thing We Do" once more. Fortunately I've been good since Red told me that he was ready to be consistent with discipline, so I haven't been punished at all. During the time that we were not using a discipline structure, I started to think that maybe it was all about my libido after all. That what I think of as "security" is really all about having my sexual needs satisfied. But starting up again has dispelled that myth for me. As soon as I knew that consequences were back in place, I immediately relaxed and my obsession with spanking diminished back to its normal level.
Of course, there are times when I feel more submissive than others. When I am at my most submissive, I get frustrated that Red is not dominant enough. But Red surprised me recently by handing me a printed copy of this post by Angie at The Punishment Book.
"What's this for?" I asked him.
"This is just like you," he said. "You're not a real submissive either."
I scoffed. Of course I'm submissive. And if I'm not, it's his fault, I thought, for not being dominant enough.
"I am submissive," I protested.
"Right," Red snorted. "Except when you want to do things your way. God help me if I try to get in your way or tell you what to do then."
He had me there. I am frequently submissive. I'd love to be submissive all of the time, and I wish I were. I feel so relaxed and safe when I'm submissive. It seems like the Holy Grail to be able to stay in that mental space.
But I have to admit that there are times when I get it in my head to do something, and come hell or high water, I'm going to do it. There is no look, no tone of voice, and no paddle that could stop me from doing what I want.
Fortunately Red has never really tried to stop me from doing what I want to do when I'm like this, but I can't help but wonder what would happen if he did. I like to think that I would submit graciously.
But if I'm honest with myself... well, I'll just say that submission will probably be something that I have to work on for a long, long time.
On a good note, though, while the doctors still have not found a diagnosis, they have given Red some medicine that helps him cope with his pain. "This Thing We Don't" is "This Thing We Do" once more. Fortunately I've been good since Red told me that he was ready to be consistent with discipline, so I haven't been punished at all. During the time that we were not using a discipline structure, I started to think that maybe it was all about my libido after all. That what I think of as "security" is really all about having my sexual needs satisfied. But starting up again has dispelled that myth for me. As soon as I knew that consequences were back in place, I immediately relaxed and my obsession with spanking diminished back to its normal level.
Of course, there are times when I feel more submissive than others. When I am at my most submissive, I get frustrated that Red is not dominant enough. But Red surprised me recently by handing me a printed copy of this post by Angie at The Punishment Book.
"What's this for?" I asked him.
"This is just like you," he said. "You're not a real submissive either."
I scoffed. Of course I'm submissive. And if I'm not, it's his fault, I thought, for not being dominant enough.
"I am submissive," I protested.
"Right," Red snorted. "Except when you want to do things your way. God help me if I try to get in your way or tell you what to do then."
He had me there. I am frequently submissive. I'd love to be submissive all of the time, and I wish I were. I feel so relaxed and safe when I'm submissive. It seems like the Holy Grail to be able to stay in that mental space.
But I have to admit that there are times when I get it in my head to do something, and come hell or high water, I'm going to do it. There is no look, no tone of voice, and no paddle that could stop me from doing what I want.
Fortunately Red has never really tried to stop me from doing what I want to do when I'm like this, but I can't help but wonder what would happen if he did. I like to think that I would submit graciously.
But if I'm honest with myself... well, I'll just say that submission will probably be something that I have to work on for a long, long time.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Women, Stress, and Discipline
So last night, after returning from our six-hour visit to a local emergency room, I sat reading one of my favorite spanko stories while my husband blissed out on the morphine that was coursing through his veins.
Instead of horny, I got depressed. I've always had a bit of discomfort with the spanking stories that attract me, because I've worried that perhaps they indicate that I want to be treated like a child. A child is exactly what I don't want to be. But the hints of childishness are certainly present in these stories.
I tend to most enjoy stories about women who are taken in hand by some powerful and confident male suitor. The women are all used to doing everything for themselves, being mistreated by past men in their lives, and have come to resent being told what to do. The men are all apparently enormous and strong, while the women are all tiny.
I've always found traditional romance novels ridiculous because of how completely unrealistic they are. Yet in the corner of my mind, I do realize that the spanking romances are equally unrealistic... so why do I love reading them so much? I think it is because, no matter how exaggerated they may be, they do reflect certain emotional needs of mine, and probably of many other women too, given how many of these stories exist.
While I hate that these women are all tiny and the men all huge, to me it seems to be an outward expression of an internal feeling. It bothers me because as a feminist I recognize that women are starving themselves out of existence in order to meet this unattainable ideal of being waifish, while men are shooting up with steroids in order to become almost cartoonishly strong and muscular... It is as if as a society we're saying that, while men deserve to take up as much space as possible, women are worthy of very little space and therefore should strive to take up as little as possible. It is even reflected in how we tend to sit... men often lean back in a chair with their legs spread out in front of them, while women cross their legs, or even sit on their legs.
But the fact of the matter is, I do feel tiny, even though I might not be so physically. I feel much too tiny to master this giant world that is constantly throwing obstacles in front of me. I, like so many women, was taught to be a caretaker growing up. Now that I'm married, and my husband has been sick for nearly a year now, I've realized how overwhelming this role can be. It is not that I didn't understand what "in sickness and in health" meant when we took our vows... I vowed to be here in times like these, and I always will be. But it is incredibly difficult. And it isn't so much the catering to him, or the trips to the ER, or any of those things that make it so difficult - those are the things you'd fully expect when caring for a loved one. It is that he is so emotionally absent for me. I suddenly find myself feeling single within my marriage. Only, unlike when I was actually single, I'm single with a full-grown adult man to care for in addition to myself, and with no one to care for me.
On top of that are all the other responsibilities I have - I must be the sole homemaker, since Red is generally unable to help with chores or errands. I must work to fill in the financial gaps that his illness has left (he is able to work much less than he used to, leaving us with a lot of financial stress with the decreased income and the mounting medical bills). Also, I am still working on my graduate degree. As much as I've been wanting children, I am so glad that we do not have any yet. I simply can't imagine how I'd be able to take care of a needy child in addition to all of these other things.
I guess I should mention that I've been sick for the past month and a half too. My doctor has plainly stated it is because I'm under too much stress and my immune system is suppressed because of it. I'm exhausted and feel yucky all the time now, which only makes it more difficult for me to take care of my responsibilities.
I've heard so much about how domestic discipline is a reaction against feminism, that women are realizing that they just weren't made for equality and they need a man to take care of them. I respectfully disagree. Okay, perhaps a little less than respectfully... I think that is complete and utter bullshit. What women have now is not equality. Equality would be men taking on more responsibilities as home-maker and caretaker as women take on more responsibilities in the workplace. Men are simply stepping aside in the workplace to make room for their female colleagues, and then coming home and expecting their wives to do all of the work at home. (Of course, this is all MHO, and is not meant to apply to all men, just many.)
When I read about a strong man feeling completely justified in taking the woman he loves over his lap and spanking her silly because she is working too hard and not taking care of herself enough, it speaks to the part of me that is feeling overworked and overwhelmed. It seems to me that as a woman I'm expected to be an endlessly self-renewing font of caretaker energy. This just isn't possible. And when my doctor looks me in the eye and tells me that germs are bludgeoning my defenseless body because of stress, it makes me strongly desire someone who will step in and confirm to me and everyone else that my responsibilities actually are unreasonable. I work hard. I don't have the opportunity for a break, and I've had it ingrained in me that I don't deserve and shouldn't need one. I feel guilty for ever wanting one.
Nothing sounds so good to me right now as a lover who will step in and say, "not only should you not have to work this hard, I'm not going to allow you to do so because it is harming you. I care for you too much to sit idly by and watch you work yourself sick. Not only am I willing to take on some of those responsibilities, I am willing to take them from you against your will if need be, thereby relieving you of your automatic I-should-be-able-to-do-it-all-myself guilt response. I demand that we share responsibilities equally."
Jesus, what I want is a man who is so adamantly feminist that he'll stand up to the woman he loves at all costs in order to make sure that the two of them are equal...
Instead of horny, I got depressed. I've always had a bit of discomfort with the spanking stories that attract me, because I've worried that perhaps they indicate that I want to be treated like a child. A child is exactly what I don't want to be. But the hints of childishness are certainly present in these stories.
I tend to most enjoy stories about women who are taken in hand by some powerful and confident male suitor. The women are all used to doing everything for themselves, being mistreated by past men in their lives, and have come to resent being told what to do. The men are all apparently enormous and strong, while the women are all tiny.
I've always found traditional romance novels ridiculous because of how completely unrealistic they are. Yet in the corner of my mind, I do realize that the spanking romances are equally unrealistic... so why do I love reading them so much? I think it is because, no matter how exaggerated they may be, they do reflect certain emotional needs of mine, and probably of many other women too, given how many of these stories exist.
While I hate that these women are all tiny and the men all huge, to me it seems to be an outward expression of an internal feeling. It bothers me because as a feminist I recognize that women are starving themselves out of existence in order to meet this unattainable ideal of being waifish, while men are shooting up with steroids in order to become almost cartoonishly strong and muscular... It is as if as a society we're saying that, while men deserve to take up as much space as possible, women are worthy of very little space and therefore should strive to take up as little as possible. It is even reflected in how we tend to sit... men often lean back in a chair with their legs spread out in front of them, while women cross their legs, or even sit on their legs.
But the fact of the matter is, I do feel tiny, even though I might not be so physically. I feel much too tiny to master this giant world that is constantly throwing obstacles in front of me. I, like so many women, was taught to be a caretaker growing up. Now that I'm married, and my husband has been sick for nearly a year now, I've realized how overwhelming this role can be. It is not that I didn't understand what "in sickness and in health" meant when we took our vows... I vowed to be here in times like these, and I always will be. But it is incredibly difficult. And it isn't so much the catering to him, or the trips to the ER, or any of those things that make it so difficult - those are the things you'd fully expect when caring for a loved one. It is that he is so emotionally absent for me. I suddenly find myself feeling single within my marriage. Only, unlike when I was actually single, I'm single with a full-grown adult man to care for in addition to myself, and with no one to care for me.
On top of that are all the other responsibilities I have - I must be the sole homemaker, since Red is generally unable to help with chores or errands. I must work to fill in the financial gaps that his illness has left (he is able to work much less than he used to, leaving us with a lot of financial stress with the decreased income and the mounting medical bills). Also, I am still working on my graduate degree. As much as I've been wanting children, I am so glad that we do not have any yet. I simply can't imagine how I'd be able to take care of a needy child in addition to all of these other things.
I guess I should mention that I've been sick for the past month and a half too. My doctor has plainly stated it is because I'm under too much stress and my immune system is suppressed because of it. I'm exhausted and feel yucky all the time now, which only makes it more difficult for me to take care of my responsibilities.
I've heard so much about how domestic discipline is a reaction against feminism, that women are realizing that they just weren't made for equality and they need a man to take care of them. I respectfully disagree. Okay, perhaps a little less than respectfully... I think that is complete and utter bullshit. What women have now is not equality. Equality would be men taking on more responsibilities as home-maker and caretaker as women take on more responsibilities in the workplace. Men are simply stepping aside in the workplace to make room for their female colleagues, and then coming home and expecting their wives to do all of the work at home. (Of course, this is all MHO, and is not meant to apply to all men, just many.)
When I read about a strong man feeling completely justified in taking the woman he loves over his lap and spanking her silly because she is working too hard and not taking care of herself enough, it speaks to the part of me that is feeling overworked and overwhelmed. It seems to me that as a woman I'm expected to be an endlessly self-renewing font of caretaker energy. This just isn't possible. And when my doctor looks me in the eye and tells me that germs are bludgeoning my defenseless body because of stress, it makes me strongly desire someone who will step in and confirm to me and everyone else that my responsibilities actually are unreasonable. I work hard. I don't have the opportunity for a break, and I've had it ingrained in me that I don't deserve and shouldn't need one. I feel guilty for ever wanting one.
Nothing sounds so good to me right now as a lover who will step in and say, "not only should you not have to work this hard, I'm not going to allow you to do so because it is harming you. I care for you too much to sit idly by and watch you work yourself sick. Not only am I willing to take on some of those responsibilities, I am willing to take them from you against your will if need be, thereby relieving you of your automatic I-should-be-able-to-do-it-all-myself guilt response. I demand that we share responsibilities equally."
Jesus, what I want is a man who is so adamantly feminist that he'll stand up to the woman he loves at all costs in order to make sure that the two of them are equal...
Saturday, November 10, 2007
This Thing We Don't
This week has been a rough one for me. Between my husband's illness and some added responsibilities over the past week, I've found myself feeling hopeless and desperate. When the world feels out of control to me, I need my husband to prove his control even more in order to feel secure.
That just hasn't been happening. What is even harder for me to handle is that he hasn't even been showing any interest lately in maintaining a discipline relationship.
Red has told me in the past that he feels a bit insecure because he isn't sure he knows what he's doing. So, I did everything I could think of to help him. I bought him a book about domestic discipline, suggested websites to read through, and got him signed up for a few different forums. Whenever I've done these things, he's responded gratefully and said that it will be a big help to him. But then he completely ignores them. I don't think he's visited any of the forums since his introduction posts. Nor has he visited any of the websites. He only read the book I bought after a couple months of nagging.
I'm feeling incredibly hurt right now. We met online in a chat room that was geared toward discipline relationships... so he knew from Day 1 that this is something that I was looking for in a relationship. He indicated to me, and continues to indicate to me, that it is something that he wants as well. But he isn't doing anything that makes me feel like it really is.
A couple days ago I had a meltdown. I screamed at him about how hard I've been working to be supportive to him and to fulfill his needs. I told him how I felt he'd neglected me. I told him that I was revoking my consent, and that "I'm not following any fucking rules any more."
I have always taken our rules very seriously, and I experience quite a bit of guilt when I screw up and break one of them. When he doesn't follow through with discipline, or gives what feels like a half-hearted effort at discipline, I feel like all of the effort I put into respecting the rules and taking care of his needs doesn't mean anything to him. I feel invisible, like I don't matter.
When I screamed these things to me, I told me that he understood my feelings and that they were justified. He said once again that he really does want to have this structure in our relationship. He promised to start visiting the websites and forums, and to have a topic of discussion for the two of us everyday, so he can begin to feel more secure in his role. He asked me to trust him to do these things, that they were entirely up to him.
And I've heard nothing about it since...
That just hasn't been happening. What is even harder for me to handle is that he hasn't even been showing any interest lately in maintaining a discipline relationship.
Red has told me in the past that he feels a bit insecure because he isn't sure he knows what he's doing. So, I did everything I could think of to help him. I bought him a book about domestic discipline, suggested websites to read through, and got him signed up for a few different forums. Whenever I've done these things, he's responded gratefully and said that it will be a big help to him. But then he completely ignores them. I don't think he's visited any of the forums since his introduction posts. Nor has he visited any of the websites. He only read the book I bought after a couple months of nagging.
I'm feeling incredibly hurt right now. We met online in a chat room that was geared toward discipline relationships... so he knew from Day 1 that this is something that I was looking for in a relationship. He indicated to me, and continues to indicate to me, that it is something that he wants as well. But he isn't doing anything that makes me feel like it really is.
A couple days ago I had a meltdown. I screamed at him about how hard I've been working to be supportive to him and to fulfill his needs. I told him how I felt he'd neglected me. I told him that I was revoking my consent, and that "I'm not following any fucking rules any more."
I have always taken our rules very seriously, and I experience quite a bit of guilt when I screw up and break one of them. When he doesn't follow through with discipline, or gives what feels like a half-hearted effort at discipline, I feel like all of the effort I put into respecting the rules and taking care of his needs doesn't mean anything to him. I feel invisible, like I don't matter.
When I screamed these things to me, I told me that he understood my feelings and that they were justified. He said once again that he really does want to have this structure in our relationship. He promised to start visiting the websites and forums, and to have a topic of discussion for the two of us everyday, so he can begin to feel more secure in his role. He asked me to trust him to do these things, that they were entirely up to him.
And I've heard nothing about it since...
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