Positively Spanking

On The Cane And Being Caned

2012-01-26T20:54:00.001-08:00

I will freely admit to anyone who asks me that the cane is my all-time favorite spanking implement. I never refer to the cane as a "toy"; to me, it's the genuine article. The photo above shows three of the eight or ten that I own. The one with the crooked handle is a special favorite. The person wielding a cane knows that they hold a tremendously powerful weapon in their hand. They have a psychological advantage before the first stroke lands. The person bent over for it either looks forward to it with eager anticipation or with such dread that the mouth goes dry and the knees shake. Having been born in America and educated here, my experience with the cane was limited to movies mostly. I say "mostly" because I did have a run-in with a cane as a 14-year-old eighth grader. My homeroom teacher taught Science. He was sadistic sort who, once he found a student's weakness, delighted in exploiting it. My friend, Cindy, blushed easily and he never missed an opportunity to torture her publicly. One day, when I was late for school (having overslept) he removed the doorknob from the door and forced me to stand outside knocking until he came to answer it. I knocked for ten minutes, all the while I could hear him inside giving the lesson to his first class. He was ignoring me. So I began to kick the door solidly and shouting "Let me in!" He came to the door angrily, his face as red as a beet. I went to my desk, where another kid was sitting and got my books for History class. "Just a minute!" he thundered as I headed for the door again. "You're late. What's your excuse?" I told him the truth, that I had overslept. He told me to get going.

Anyway, my run in with the cane came just after we returned from Christmas break. Mr. J. had taken a trip to Australia and the cane was a souvenir of his visit. It was summer in Australia and he rubbed it in that he had enjoyed 15 days of sunshine and warm weather while we had endured a frigid cold December. We were working on balancing equations and Mr. J. had given us an assignment to do some problems, which he now wrote on the blackboard. He was punctilious and a perfectionist--every 14 year olds' nightmare. He took the cane out of the cabinet where he hung his coat and held it out at its full length for us to see. I looked at Cindy and gulped hard. He laid the cane down on his desk next to the dreaded Magic Wand, the well-used wooden yardstick that he used to clear the halls of stragglers. Our classroom was in the gymnasium, which had two levels; the first was the ground floor and then the second floor, which we called the balcony because it resembled one. Anyone incautious enough to be caught bending over the railing of the balcony when Mr. J. was prowling the hall was likely to feel the Magic Wand across their bottom. A bent over bottom was a target too tempting for him to pass on. Kids who stood around outside his classroom between bells were also likely to feel the Magic Wand and hear the words "If you're not in my class, please make a forward motion." Seeing that cane and the Magic Wand side-by-side gave me the willies in a major way. I was a good kid and a good student. I feared physical discipline. He told us the cane was going to get used on anyone who he called up to work a problem on the blackboard who got it wrong because he would assume that they hadn't completed the assigned homework. A couple of my classmates went back to their desks from the blackboard with stinging legs. I was secretly happy that I had decided to wear tights under my dress that day in order to keep my legs warm. Now they would be my only protection against what I saw as an inevitable occurrence. He called me up, holding the chalk out with a smug grin on his face. I immediately recognized that it was something we hadn't covered yet. "Mr. J., we haven't even studied this yet", I protested. "Give it your best shot," he replied as I took the chalk. I did my best, but I got it wrong. He shook his head to tell me I hadn't got it right and made a turning motion with the cane. "Mr. J. this isn't fair," I said. "Bend over," he said, using the cane to point to his desk. What could I do? I bent over and there immediately followed three stinging slaps with the cane to the backs of my thighs. I returned to my desk with my legs smarting and plotting my revenge for this injustice.

As I said, aside from that one incident, my only other experience with the cane came from British films. I saw movies like "Great Expectations" (which featured a cane called Tickler), "David Copperfield" and especially "If..." I saw the latter film when I was in my 20's. For those who haven't seen the film, it's highly regarded as one of the finest films about life in a British boarding school ever made. It was released in 1968 and catapulted its star, Malcom McDowell, to stardom. McDowell played Mick Travis, a young man who returns to school with a mustache. The hierarchy of the school places the "Whips" at the top and the "Scums" at the bottom. The Whips are cane-wielding senior students and the Scums are the juniors who must either obey them or risk the cane. Mick, meanwhile, is determined to be his own man. He and his two cohorts become the scourge of the house. The head of the house is a senior student named Rowntree. He sees the three as a definite threat to the stability of the house. After one of their capers, he decides enough is enough and has them summoned. The three go rather nonchalantly to the office where three or four Whips, Rowntree heading them up, are gathered. He tells them they must surely know why they were summoned and the three profess ignorance. Rowntree explains that it's because the three off them have become a nuisance. It's not any one thing they've done, it's their general attitude. He tells them they're going to be beaten. The other two are smart enough to realize the hot water they're in and dutifully shake their heads when asked if they have anything to say for themselves. But Travis is different. If he's going to be beaten, then he's going to get his money's worth. He tells Rowntree all the reasons he hates him. Without responding to Travis' nasty comments, he tells them to go to the gymnasium, followed by a terse admonishment to wait outside. The trio marches off, still not overly concerned with what awaits them. Rowntree and the other Whips arrive shortly after and summon the first lad, who's name is Wallace. Travis and the other boy listen as the caning gets underway and, hearinf that he only got four strokes, breathe somewhat a sigh of relief. Wallace comes back in and the next boy is called. Now realizing that they are saving him for last, Travis relishes what he thinks will be a battle of wills between the two of them. Wallace drops his trousers so Travis can see his marks. Then the other boy comes in, having taken his four strokes. He rubs his bottom with a grin on his face. Travis almost doesn't wait to be called and in fact, is opening the door and going in as they call him. There is a large bar in the room. He's directed to remove his coat and lay it over the bar. Then he's told to bend over. He does so, spreading out his arms and appearing to make himself quite comfortable. Rowntree takes a run-up and brings the cane forward with all his might, savoring the satisfying swish as it flies through the air and then the sinister crack as it connects with the seat of McDowell's trousers.

I sincerely hope that he wore some sort of padding for this scene because, twenty-five or not, this had to be painful. Biographies of McDowell tell of how he was either caned or slippered every Monday at his school because he was so wayward and his familiarity with "assuming the position" shows. After taking four incredibly hard strokes with hardly a whimper, he stands up and picks up his jacket. But no, he's told they aren't done with him yet. He now knows he's going to be made a severe example of. The Chinese have a saying: "The nail that sticks out must be hammered down." Not only will he get more strokes than his cohorts, but the entire house is congregated so they can hear the punishment he receives. He puts his coat back over the bar, then nestles himself back in position for the rest of it. In all, he receives ten strokes. When the tenth stroke is delivered, he tells Travis to get up. He stands and we see him from behind, gathering his dignity and standing erect. But when he turns back around, his boyish blue eyes are wet and his face is tear streaked. A look of defiance is still there. He can hardly be blamed for the homicidal fantasies he nurses throughout the remainder of the film. Like Leonardo Di Caprio would do in "The Basketball Diaries", Mick dreams of shooting up the school. Di Caprio's character, Jim Carroll, tells the priest who paddles him (making him assume a humiliating position on all fours) that "in the next life, I'm gonna have the paddle!"

As Travis turns around and faces his tormentor, the look on his face is unmistakable: you may have broken my flesh, but you will never break my spirit".

I remember when I first saw this film how outraged I was by the barbarity of the system; one that gave an elite group of students authority over all the others. It was a system that encouraged abuse of power. There was no Internet in those days but I was able to get my hands on films that weren't being shown on TV because I had worked at the local library once and I was still friends with the guy in the AV department. I'd heard that McDowell took a vicious caning in that scene and I had to see if it was. As someone who has been under the cane (granted, only for play, my run in with Mr. J. aside) I know the damage it can do in the wrong hands. I have been caned before where blood was drawn (though not purposely) and also had them break on me. I've been given upwards of 80 strokes and had to call it a night because of the damage. Those of us who love the cane love it for just that reason. The cane isn't for the squeamish. I still remember the fear and trepidation I felt the first time I was caned. I wanted to experience it. I got six strokes, only two of them were hard. But they were hard enough to put a lump in my throat the size of an onion and make me squeeze back tears.

Do I love the cane? You bet I do. It has a long and elegant history and a well-deserved reputation. The cane has been THE symbol of parochial discipline for 200 years. Ask almost any British rock star or professional athlete over 40 and they probably have a cane story.

So the cane will always have a place in my toybag. And Malcolm McDowell is always have my awe and respect for the thrashing he took (padded though he probably was).

Happy Songs...Happy Memories

2012-01-23T19:52:00.000-08:00

I can just about guarantee you that tonight's entry has almost nothing to do with spanking. Every once in a while, I have a vanilla thought (though not very often). A few days ago, someone started a thread on one of the Fetlife groups I belong to asking about songs that make people happy. I had to think about it before I answered because I know that I'm a dinosaur with absolutely no knowledge about what's out now. People were mentioning songs I never heard of by bands I never heard of. So I mentioned that I always get a smile on my face when I hear "Cecilia" by Simon And Garfunkel. Of course, thinking of the song made me want to hear it and, of course, I don't have it so I Googled it hoping someone would have downloaded it on YouTube and, happily, someone did. I had a friend named Cecilia back when I was a kid and we used to sing this song to her to embarrass her. It never failed to do the trick (oh, kids can be so mean). I liked going to her house because her parents ran the snack bar at a local bowling alley and they always had pizza and snack bar food there. But her dad was very strict. I can remember him yelling at us for waking him up (he was lying in the hammock and I guess we were making a little too much noise). Funny how kids can do that.

Anyway, listening to "Cecilia" made me think of other music that I love because it puts a smile on my face. One of those songs is "Little Black Egg" by a group called The Nightcrawlers. They were a Daytona Beach, FLA garage band back in the 60's. The song was released sometime in 1967. We had a 15 year old neighbor girl back then who played this record incessantly. Either she would have her little record player out on the patio or she would be playing it on her room full blast. Since our rooms faced each other, I heard it a lot.

I remember a few of my friends with older brothers who had garage bands and "Little Black Egg" was always on the play list. It has a chimy, jangly almost hypnotic guitar signature, strange lyrics that have never been fully understood (but a lot of people have tried) and the nasal, southern drawl of the lead singer. Also, I have no proof, but his may be the only rock record to feature the quaint southern phrase "gol durn".When I did a Google search of this record, I was surprised to see that it had not only been covered a number of times on vinyl but that it also enjoys current popularity with modern garage and bar bands. The Cars recorded a demo of he song for their "Shake It Up" LP back in 1981 but for some reason, it was left off. It did appear on their mid-90's "Anthology" collection though. The Lemonheads also did a nice version, but they chose to slow the tempo. The Rattlers also did a nice cover on their LP "Rattled" (which features a somewhat disturbing photo of a man with a detonator where his head should be).

And just to add a little spanking to the mix, I recall one of my friends whose brother had a garage band, tormenting them during practice one day until the drummer (the guy who delivered our evening newspaper) got off his drum stool and spanked her bottom until you could see how red it was. I just sat there stunned. I remember this event to this very day because, while he was still spanking his band mate's sister, he turned to me and said "Do you wanna be next?" I shook my head emphatically, though I nursed a healthy crush on him for the rest of the summer. I may have been nine or ten at the time. Hearing this song, either by the original group or as a cover, never fails to make me smile with wonderfully happy memories of listening to my friend's brother and his garage band, of the cute drummer spanking her and of how much I loved music even then.

Fast forward about 25 years. In my early 30's, I was listening mostly to country music because rock and roll had lost a lot of its charm for me. In late 1993 (a year that goes down as one of the worst in my life because I lost both my parents that year and only a few months apart), a group I'd never heard before released a CD that featured another one of those songs that just never fails to make me smile. The song was called "What A Crying Shame" and the group was, of course, The Mavericks. This song has the same sort of jangly guitar that "Little Black Egg" has, which may be what attracted me to the song at first. Then when I saw the video, I was struck by how much lead singer Raul Malo looked like a guy I dated a few years previously. He had that stern, serious look in the video as my old boyfriend. The lyrics sound slightly scolding and I can even picture my ex-boyfriend saying some of the things that were said in the song.

This guy was another of the many boyfriends I had in my younger years who I couldn't get to spank me. He did come close though. We were arguing about something silly (going to the movies or staying home) and I got sort of belligerent about it. He looked up from the paper (where he was looking at show times) and told me "You're acting just like a silly little girl". I scoffed at him and told him "Yeah, whatever...anyway, you won't do anything about it." He told me "Don't be too sure." Well, this was progress, I thought. There was a chance, no matter how small, that he might do something so I had to go for it. He was all ready in a bad mood because of my childish behavior. I had been the one who wanted to go to the movies and had raised such a stink about it that he had left work early so we could go. Now I said I didn't want to go. I wanted to go out to eat instead. With an exasperated sigh, he tossed the paper aside. "You're asking for it", he said, the expression on his face dead serious. "You bet" I said sticking out my chin. "In about two seconds, I'm gonna turn you over my knee. Is that what you want?" "Yeah, that's what I want", I told him. My candid response shocked him to inaction and he simply sighed again and told me to make up my mind. No, Cheryl did NOT get a spanking that night. However, this same guy DID spank another girl at a club a few nights later. She was drunk and coming on to him. He knew she was underage and shouldn't have been there in the first place. He grabbed her wrist (after she threw a drink at him), sat on a nearby chair and put her across his knee. It was the single hottest thing I ever saw him do. He paddled her little underage butt until she howled and her boyfriend threatened to call the cops. Needless to say, the theatrics cut the night a bit short.

When I hear "What A Crying Shame" I think back to that time, not just when the song was out, but five years previously when my boyfriend so much resembled the guy who sang those scolding lyrics that my breath got taken the first time. I also think of my dad, who died the year the CD came out. "What a crying shame" had been a pet phrase of his. He used it a lot. He usually said it sarcastically.

For me, my love of music predates my love of spanking, but not by much. It's amazing how closely the two are fused in my mind and memory. In my childhood, the radio was always on and someone was always getting a spanking, either me or one of my siblings or one of the neighborhood kids. It happened over 40 years ago, but I can still see that cute drummer in my mind's eye, his blond hair tossing off to the side as he came off his stool and lunged at my friend in one motion. He was young, probably no older than 16 or so, but to me, a mere 9 or 10 year old, he seemed mature and wise. Boy, did he ever spank my friend, Trudy. After the spanking, she ran in the house and told her mother. I remember she came out of the house drying her hands on a blue dishtowel and telling the drummer, who's name was Mike, to never cross that line with her child ever again. She told him "If Trudy needs a spanking, her father will give it to her." I remember her older brother, the guy whose band it was and who played a nice lead guitar, saying "Yeah, sure he will." Later that night, Trudy and my sister, Carol and another friend, Julie were having a sleepover at Julie's house and the spanking was THE topic of conversation. Julie was fascinated by the whole story and asked a lot of questions (some of which seem inappropriate now that I think of it). Maybe seeing that cute blond drummer spank my friend is what really fueled my spanking fantasies all those years? And maybe it's why "Little Black Egg" has haunted me all these years? The boys sure played it well considering the equipment they had. The song is heavier on guitar than it is on drums, but I always watched the drummer. He was so cute. I wish, when he had asked me if I wanted to be next, I had had the gumption to say "Yes". Who knows h0w differently things may have gone had I done that?

It's funny how a song will evoke a feeling, a memory...of garages and drummers and summers spent listening to songs that have gone by the wayside. Maybe this is what happens when you get older? Maybe you really do spend more time looking back than looking forward.

Happy Accident

2012-01-05T19:16:00.000-08:00

As someone who doesn't drive, I spend my share of time in cabs. When the weather warms up, I will be back to walking (that is, if I haven't been able to get my car up and running), but for now, cabs are a reality for me.

Tonight, I had a very fortuitous experience in a cab. I had to stay late at work. Anyone who works in retail or has worked in retail or is familiar with the strange ways of retail knows that January means inventory time. When my boss came to me and asked me if I would stay an hour late, I knew it would mean missing a ride with the person that I carpool with and having to call a cab. I was a little bit miffed because one girl had been allowed to leave early. If they can send cashiers home early, how come I had to stay over? I was working on the customer service desk (and had been there since 8:30 that morning) and I just wanted to get home before my mouth got me in trouble. My boss was afraid we were going to get busy and the other girl 0n the desk hated being up there. I don't mind staying late if there's a real reason but I didn't want to babysit someone who didn't want to work. Anyway, I called my cab in advance of the time I was getting off and he said that he would be there on time. This is a man who I have known for years. He has driven cabs all over this area for a long time. Because of how long I've known him, I feel a bit freer to talk to him about subjects that are a bit "touchy". He was talking about quitting smoking and, knowing that I had successfully kicked the habit, he asked me what methods I'd tried. I told him about all the ways I tried. I mentioned that I'd had a disciplinarian for a short time. Now I expected him to ask me what all that entailed. All he asked was "Did you have a safeword?" This threw me somewhat for a loop. He told me that he had been looking online at BDSM groups. All of his experience so far has been online, nothing real time. But he was thrilled to find a real person he could talk to about spanking. And it was even better that it was someone he allready knew well.

I made the offer to him that if he ever wanted to spank a woman in real time, I was available. He said he never had me pegged as a spanko. But then, neither had I pegged him for one. Funny how small the world is. I will keep you updated on how this works out. I just consider this one of those happy accidents that sometimes happen in life. Since he has spent a lot of years looking at spanking-related material online I have to believe that this is more than a passing fancy for him. He's an attractive guy about ten years younger than me (aren't they all now it seems?). We'll see what happens.

Adios, 2011

2011-12-31T17:45:00.001-08:00

Don't get me wrong about this. The year had some good moments. There just weren't enough of them to make me look back too fondly on the year. It was leaps above 2010, but still could've been better.

Maybe the fact that New Year's Eve is my birthday makes me feel that the end of the year is a bit more emotional than it might be for the average person (whose birthday isn't New Year's Eve). I still miss my twin and am missing her today. I guess nothing will ever change that. I got a great spanking today from a man I consider a friend. I've known him for years. The day could have been a complete wash otherwise.

Whatever you, my readers, are hoping for, I wish you a New Year filled with health, prosperity, and the joy of friends and family.

It's time to turn the page.

"How Would You Like It If I Spanked You?"

2011-12-05T18:05:00.000-08:00

The wonderful question that comprises the title of tonight's entry was spoken in a movie. It wasn't spoken by Cary Grant or James Cagney or Gregory Peck or any of the classic actors who made films back in the days when spanking was more common. No, it was spoken by an English actor named Clive Owen in a 2007 film called "Shoot 'Em Up".
I had seen a few of his films and knew of his reputation. I even knew that "Shoot "Em Up" had a spanking scene. The best thing about this particular spanking scene is that it was done in a completely vanilla context. There was no real hint of kink about it (except that the actress he spanks was reportedly very excited about the prospect of being spanked by Mr. Owen).
The movie centers around a man named Smith who must care for a newborn after its mother is killed. But this is no "The Pacifier" or "Daddy Daycare". This is an unbelievably violent film. In fact, it's so violent that it borders on camp. And, spanking aside, the kinkiest moments in the film involve breast feeding and the use of vegetables as a murder weapon. The spanking scene is almost a throwaway, but very well done. Smith is at a museum and comes upon a mother--one of those professional soccer moms, no doubt--threatening to spank her whining little boy. She's on her knees in front of him, in order to make eye contact, and shakes him a few times. She tells him "If you don't behave, I'm going to spank you!". Before the kid can do anything, she gives him a few age appropriate swats on the butt, still on her knees in front of him. Apparently, this little scenario serves twin purposes for Smith. First of all, he hates parents who hit their kids and second, he needs to create a quick diversion. Smith stomps over to her and grabs her wrist. Then he hauls her to her feet, telling her he hates parents who hit their kids. She tells him "Let go of my arm! I will discipline my son the way I see fit!". He tells her "How would you like it if I spanked you?" Now, to a spanko like me, my first response to Mr. Owen's query would be "I would love it" or maybe, in a brattier moment, "Is this a trick question?" But the lady in the museum is indignant. Before she can respond to his question, he brings his arm back and smacks her on the backside, pretty smartly, too I might add. He taunts her as he continues the spanking, saying "Yeah, it doesn't feel so good now, does it?" All the while, the woman goes hysterical, screaming "Help! Help!" while her son gets a good laugh at her expense. Finally alerted by the woman's screams for help, a security guard comes over and asks Smith what he thinks he's doing. His answer comes in the form of a hard fist to the face.
All in all, a very cute scene. And not bad for a modern film. I will not begin a discourse on whether or not spanking children is good or bad. I will save that for another entry. I would also question whether spanking a total stranger in public (and in front of her child to boot) is advisable. But the film is total fantasy and so the characters are all free to indulge in behavior that would get us in the real world arrested.
The spanking the mother gives her little boy isn't exactly earth shattering. It looks like the kind of public discipline people in my generation got all the time; a few quick swats over clothes followed by a firm promise of more and worse when the scene moved home. It happened all the time in church, in restaurants and, especially, in the grocery store. I guess a museum isn't that far fetched. The boy is whining because he wants to go home. To me, the most amazing part of the spanking scene is how fast this kid goes from heartfelt sobbing to laughing his ass off. Mom got it a lot worse than he did and he's pretty happy about that. There is a scene earlier in the film where someone cuts Smith off in traffic and he totals the guy's car for him. So we're led to believe this character is pretty much a hothead. Grabbing a woman he's never seen before and spanking her is just another day at the office for this guy. And not the most violent act he'll commit in this film by a long shot.
For a spanko, the brief spanking scene might or not be worth sitting through the whole film (with its buckets of blood and gore) for. My only real disappointment with the scene is that Smith didn't have the time or the inclination to put the woman across his knee first and make her humiliation complete. That would have made the scene a Class A spanking scene in my book. And Mr. Owen looks like he knows how spank a woman's bum, too, always a plus.

Playing Ketchup

2011-11-21T16:39:00.000-08:00

So...where to begin? For one whole year, I allowed myself to be denied access to my computer and, hence, my blog, my groups, my photos and everything else that connects me to my kinky way of life. Up until three months ago, I had been out of work for almost a year and a half. I had no money and was basically at the mercy of the those I lived with. Needless to say, for someone with my personality, this was an intolerable situation and one that couldn't go on indefinitely. Once I got a job, I began to vaguely think about getting my old computer out of the crawlspace and firing it up. Then, however, a nagging feeling started to creep in. How about just buying a laptop and joining the rest of the world in the 21st century? I began to squirrel away money whenever I could. This past Saturday, I put my plan into action. I went and bought a shiny new laptop. I didn't go top-of-the-line, but I went with the features I felt I needed. Once I got the thing home, I began to read all of the unnecessary warnings (Do not drive nails into the battery pack. This could result in serious injury!) and waited for my brother-in-law to enter the password so I could get online. This guy is a piece of work. He didn't want me to get online in the first place. It was alright for him and everyone else in the house to have a computer, but not me. As soon as I got in the driveway with my shiny new possession, he left. He knew I needed him for the password. Great. Well, at least I could play solitaire and watch DVD's. However, I didn't get this thing so I could watch movies, nice though it is to be able to do that. When he came home, I asked him if he would please enter the password for me and he said "I wouldn't worry about it." What does THAT mean? If he had no intention of putting the password in for me, why did he let me spend two weeks' pay? I did indeed watch a movie ("The Conspirator", which I had purchased months before but had never been able to watch because I wasn't allowed to hook up my DVD player either) and then my brother-in-law said he wanted to look at my computer when I was done with my movie. When I took it in to him, he said he didn't know if he could put the password in. Fine, whatever. At least try. It took all of ten seconds to get the password entered and, voila, here I am online. I think he realized that he couldn't keep me offline anymore.

The first place I went to was Fetlife, where I soon realized that the job of getting caught up was going to be more than I could handle. I left a note letting my Fetlife friends know that I was back online. Of course, they were happy to see that I was back (and not just for a day or so). Something I wasn't expecting happened though. This sad feeling crept into me that things had changed a bit while I was away. My friends had gotten used to not seeing me online anymore. Sure, I could call them when I really needed to talk. But it's like new friendships got made and with people who weren't at the mercy of their family where Internet access was concerned. Now don't get me wrong here. I'm not the kind of person who feels like, if you're friends with me, then you can't be friends with anyone else. It was just a sort of fleeting unhappiness. It was the realization that my nice, shiny new laptop wasn't going to make me happy. It was going to be seeing my friends online again, joining in the merriment and the lighthearted banter that made it so much fun for me in the first place. THAT was where the happiness was going to come from.

I'm still not finished playing ketchup, but I'm getting there.

My blog isn't going to be ignored anymore either. I'm going to post here as often as I have something to say. It really saddens me that I didn't have my laptop after the CM party so I could have posted a report. I had a great time. My Cardinals won the World Series (and I was in Chicago...oh, to sock it to those Cub fans again was sweet!) and I celebrated by getting spanked by a couple of gentlemen who did a more than adequate job of blistering my bottom until it was Cardinal red.

So get used to seeing your intrepid writer back here a lot more often. I feel awful to have been away for so long.

"True Grit"--More Ruminations

2011-01-29T13:23:00.000-08:00

It has occured to me now that the previous entry makes it look like many of the scenes from both films do not follow the book. I apologize for this. Of course, in the book, LaBoeuf DOES say "Now we will see what tune you sing!" I called this scene wholly unbelievable, maybe leading some people to believe that the line was only spoken in the movie and not in the book. It was; but I found it then and still find it, wholly unbelievable. Probably because I disliked Glen Campbell as LaBouef and as I read the book after seeing the movie, I could only picture that particular man saying it. Ugh! I'm certainly glad the new version doesn't have that line in it. The new version works much better for me as a spanko. Also, in the book, when he gets her on the ground, he tries to pull her trouser leg up over the top of her boot so he has some bare skin to work with. He tells her "I'm going to strip your leg good!" Matt Damon says something similar in the new version. In those days, a girl (and one of that age to boot) would have received this type of punishment; a stick taken to the baclks of her legs. Of course, he begins by hand spanking her but quickly changes tactics.

Actually, in the book LaBouef tells her "If you do not go back now I am going to whip you!"

Maybe the Coen brothers felt the word "whip" would be far too strong a word and opted to use the word "spank" instead even though "whip" would have been more in keeping with language used at that time.

Many of the words used in both the book and both versions of the film are perplexing. Try fitting words like "hooraw", "waddie", "Texas brush-popper" or "jaybird" into a conversation today. More than likely you would get a look of confusion from the person you were talking to. Language was very different then. If you don't believe me, pick up a volume of Poe or Dickens or Thackery. People simply don't speak this way anymore. It's one of the most lovely things about the new movie--the Victorian language. Everyone uses it. Also you could tell there was attention to detail in almost everything, including the wardrobes of the people, the way the town looked, the warm and geneal atmosphere of the Monarch boarding house and the abandoned mine where the robbers are holed up. I love attention to detail.

OK, so enough about "True Grit" already. It has received 10 Oscar nominations so we'll see if it wins any in this era of computer generated fast action films.

"True Grit"

2011-01-19T17:05:00.000-08:00

Well, the new year is upon us and that can mean only one thing: that Cheryl had her birthday. This birthday was special for a couple of reasons. First of all, I turned 50 and second, it was my first birthday without Cigi. Believe me, I felt bad when I awoke on New Year's Eve and realized that, for the first time, she wasn't going to be there to share it with me. But it wasn't a total loss. In fact, I had one of the nicest birthdays in many years due to a spanko friend who invited me out on January 2nd for a day of good spanking, good food and a good movie.

I used to be a huge movie fan (back in the days when Hollywood made movies with acting). I used to love character studies and coming-of-age films the best. One of my favorite movies was "True Grit". I first saw it as an 8-year-old in 1969 with my dad and my sisters. My dad was probably the world's biggest John Wayne fan. As I have mentioned in other entries, he was a Marine and most Marines were John Wayne fans. At the time, the movie was way over my head. The only scene that actually resonated with me was the spanking scene (much, much more on that later!). I first read Charles Portis' excellent novel of the same name when I was, ironically, 14 (the same age as Mattie Ross, the teenage protagonist in the film). My parents were very picky about the kinds of books they let us read, but my dad figured I had already seen the movie so reading the book could do no harm. I expected the book to go the way the movie had and was surprised that it didn't. The book is written from Mattie's point of view and so it's somewhat stilted and pious sounding. The language and unusual syntax was very hard for me to get my 14-year-old brain around. But I read the book until, at last, it fell apart. And I began to wish that Hollywood would come up with a better version of the story.
The original film isn't a bad film, necessarily. It reflects the time in which it was made. After reading the book, I realized that the actress who played Mattie Ross was too old for the part. No way could Kim Darby convincingly pass herself off as a teenager. It was rather like the 17-year-old Judy Garland trying to convincingly play the 12-year-old Dorothy Gale in "The Wizard of Oz". Miss Darby was petite and did try to speak the way the girl in the book did, but her short haircut wasn't appropriate given the era. The girl on the front of my copy of the book had long braids (like Laura on "Little House On the Prairie") and that was what I thought would look better for a newer version of the film. Imagine my surprise when the new version was released! This girl has braids! Braids that would make Wednesday Addams jealous.
The original film looked and sounded (thanks to Elmer Bernstein's score) like a big Hollywood movie. Nothing subtle here. The soundtrack is so totally bombastic that I always end up having to turn down the sound on my TV when I watch it. The soundtrack to the new film features mainly traditional hymns (like "Leaning On The Everlasting Arms") and folk songs. Really haunting and atmospheric.
The characters were also painted somewhat differently. Wayne's Rooster Cogburn is pretty much the same character The Duke played in every movie he ever made. And there's nothing wrong with that. He won an Oscar, for crying out loud. But Glen Campbell as La Bouef? Who's idea was it to cast a singer in the role of the Texas Ranger? I can picture some suit sitting in a conference room, a deadline bearing down on him, saying "Let's get Glen Campbell!" Not exactly a stroke of genius. But for 40 years, that was what we had. As a child, I had instantly disliked his character due to one line early in the film. A man seated at the table with him (at the Monarc boardinghouse) tells him that the chicken and dumplings will hurt his eyes and he calls the man a "squirrel-headed bastard". No need to swear just because the man told a bad joke. In the new movie, when we first see LaBouef, he's sitting on the porch of the boarding house, his feet resting on the porch railing and lighting his pipe. Mattie walks past him, saying nothing, and then learns that he has taken the only available room and she will be doubling up again.
I don't want to give away the movie for those of my readers who haven't seen it yet, but many of the scenes we loved in the original find their way into the new version, including the snake pit scene, the Stonehill scene (where Mattie haggles over the price she will accept for her father's horse), the river crossing, and of course, the spanking scene.
When I heard that a remake was in the works, I automatically assumed that any modern movie director would be much too PC to include it. In old westerns, children (or women) who acted too big for their britches were often taken down a peg or two with a well-applied licking. In the original, when Mattie refuses to turn around and go home, but puts her horse right into the water and fords it without the benefit of a ferry, the marshal and the Texas Ranger ride off, hoping to lose her and discourage her enough to make her turn tail and go home. As she's riding past them, Campbell grabs her off her horse and tosses her on the ground with the unbelievable line "Now we'll see what tune you sing!" He breaks a switch off a nearby shrub and takes it to her until the marshal intervenes by drawing his pistola on him. In the new version, the marshal and the Texas Ranger simply sit there on their horses and watch her cross the river. The marshal looks grim but slightly amused. LaBouef looks furious. He gets off his horse, walks over to her, grabs her off her horse and says it's "time for your spanking!" Then he puts her over his knee and smacks her backside a few times before realizing that a switch would do the job better. I believe he even pushes her coat tail out of the way.
In the original, after the spanking is over, Mattie jumps off the ground and says "This has given me an idea!" In the new one, no such thing happens. Tearfully, she gets back on her horse (which, just as it was in the original, is called Little Blackie) and the trio rides off.
The movie doesn't have the "happy Hollywood ending" as my spanko friend called it. But I won't spoil it for those who haven't caught the film yet (what? there's a spanko who hasn't seen it yet?).
Jeff Bridges does an awesome job with the Cogburn character. He doesn't spend even one second trying to imitate John Wayne. He gives his own interpretation of the character. And Bridges has played some memorable characters. The crusty sea captain in "White Squall" comes to mind. His first words to Mattie when she goes to the courthouse to see him are "What do you want, girl?" He isn't a lovable drunk in this film. He comes off in some scenes as rather pathetic. But when the chips are down, he's there.
Matt Damon's LaBouef is so far above Glen Campbell's that it's like comparing apples to oranges. I admit I was never a Matt Damon fan (although I loved him in "Good Will Hunting" and was happy when he won an Oscar for writing the screenplay) but it was refreshing to see what a professional actor would do with the part of the puffed up Texas Ranger. He spanks Mattie, not because he dislikes her, but because no child would speak to an adult the way she speaks to him and not get something for it. Not in that era, anyway. A young girl was easily disregarded in those days. Even Cogburn tells her to go home as "they'll need help with the churnin'".
As Mattie Ross, first timer Hailee Steinfeld hits the nail on the head. She turns in one of the best performances of the year in her first film. Working with a bunch of A-list actors and two directors would be daunting for anyone. But her portrayal of the tough but vulnerable Mattie Ross is so good and so endearing that I can't picture anyone else ever playing her.
Doing what amounts to a cameo, Josh Brolin as the murderer Tom Chaney, is both dark and somewhat comical. "I know you...little Mattie the bookkeeper!" I waited the whole movie for that line. I wish they had fleshed his character out a little, but Chaney is destined to be a minor character.
Barry Pepper takes the role of Lucky Ned Pepper (played by Robert Duvall in the original) and hits it out of the park. Pepper does great with characters. I loved him as Roger Maris in "61*". And, of course, he was great in "Saving Private Ryan". I hardly recognized the good-looking actor under all the make up they had on him for the role.
So if you haven't seen it yet, do yourself a favor and go. This is one of those "big sky" pictures that deserves to be seen on the big screen. Maybe, just maybe, this will spur Hollywood to start making good westerns again.
And when Oscar time rolls around, don't be surprised if a few actors from "True Grit" walk away with statues.

With Deepest Apologies

2010-11-26T18:27:00.000-08:00

I feel compelled to offer my sincerest apologies to those of you who faithfully follow this blog. As many of you know, my life has been unsettled for the past couple of months. Out of necessity, I'm now living with my older sister and her family and, because of circumstances I won't go into, I don't have access to my computer at this time. I know it's been a very long time since I've offered my readers anything new. However, I had a play date today and the gentleman very graciously offered me the use of his computer in order to catch up on things. Boy, did I have a lot to catch up on! I had 875 emails in my AOL mailbox, many, many messages in my Fetlife inbox and several friendship requests. I have managed to get everything caught up but lest you think that today was only about being on the computer, I offer the following photo for your enjoyment:

Today has been a day to catch up on things, including the spankings that I have been going without lately. Although trips up north for Crimson Moon and Our Need And Desire parties did a lot towards making up for lost time in that area, too.

I want my readers to know that this laps wasn't due to laziness or disinterest. It was just me not having access to my computer. When I get myself settled somewhere permanent, then please know that regular entries will be forthcoming. Again, my sincerest apologies.

Cardinal Red

2010-09-07T19:11:00.000-07:00

Most of the people who know me (even those who don't know me well) know that I'm a die hard St. Louis Cardinal fan. I've been a fan for as long as I can remember. My dad packed us up and took us to our first game in the summer of 1964. Cigi and I were three years old. Can you imagine driving for five hours with twin three year olds? My mother was at home with my older sister and brother, both of whom were down with something; don't ask me what. The game was against the Los Angeles Dodgers and was held at the old Sportsman's Park. Then, as now, baseball managers liked to set the rotation so that their best guy was pitching when the other team's best guy was pitching. The Cardinals had their ace on the mound, the imposing and intimidating Bob Gibson. The Dodgers started with Sandy Koufax, who was maybe the best left handed pitcher of his time (or any time). Unfortunately, I have no conscious memory of this game. It's enough for me to know that I stood in the same ballpark with such greatness. The Cardinals went on to win the World Series that year, beating the Yankees. Cardinal broadcaster, Mike Shannon, still lists his home run off of Whitey Ford (the Chairman of the Board) as one of the highlights of his career. After attending my first game, I was hooked. My dad patiently taught me the rules and also how to keep score. Back then, very few games were on television. You mostly heard games on the radio. It's one of my sweetest memories; sitting at the table eating ice cream while a game played on the radio and my dad cleaned his golf clubs. I developed a lifelong love of Cardinal baseball and their great players and traditions. Now don't panic. Among all this baseball talk, I will get to the spanking portion of this entry, I promise.

Over the years, I began to investigate my spanking kink. Oh not actively, of course. I was still too young for that. But I began to have spanking fantasies about some of the players, all of whom were older than I was back then. One of my first was Tommy Herr, the second baseman for the 1982 World Series champions. Tommy was just a doll in my eyes and had a stern sort of countenance that I found very exciting. When the Cardinals won the World Series, Tommy was a 27-year-old cutie. His position was second base and he played it to the hilt. I can still remember the post game footage of that World Series: there was Tommy (whom my sisters and I had given the nickname "Sweet Cheeks") waving his jersey and with his glove tucked into the waistband of his pants.
I kind of remember thinking it was odd that I didn't imagine what it would be like to make love to him. I thought about what it would be like to be spanked my him. At the time, I was trying to get my boyfriend to spank me and he refused. Oh, Tommy, where are you now?

The years progressed and my spanking fantasies continued unabated. Even though the players were now my age and even a little younger, I still thought about it. Oh don't get me wrong. I still cared if they won or not. I was still glued to my television (when they were on) or my radio (when they weren't). For some reason, over the years, my spanking fantasies have been confined to pitchers. I think it's probably because most pitchers these days are big guys and I have a thing for tall guys--mostly because they have nice laps. The Cardinals always seemed to have their share of big, strong pitchers. I had spanking fantasies about another Cardinal pitcher later, in the late 90's. His name was Matt Morris and I once saw a picture of him with a Space Ghost T-shirt on that said "Don't Force Me To Use The Spank-Ray" on it.

Matt, or Matty Mo as he was better known to fans, might just be one of us. Who else but a spanko would wear a T-shirt like that? I mentioned in my "Celebrating Life" entry that my nurses knew what the "whole house looked like". The first person I heard use that phrase was Matty. He was being interviewed on TV and he was going to be flying back to St. Louis for shoulder surgery the next day and he was asked about it. Matty was one that I thought for sure would probably spank a girl. He stayed with the Cardinals for six years until he was traded to Pittsburgh. It was one of the saddest days of my life when he was traded. I knew it was time to concentrate on someone else now. I found him pretty quickly, but not in a pitcher. My next "spanking fantasy guy" was a catcher named Mike Matheny (another guy with MM initials...hmmmm). Mike had a reputation for being tough and no-nonsense. He didn't coddle pitchers like many catchers do. He wasn't the type of catcher to spend a lot of time visiting the mound either. His specialty was throwing out anyone incautious enough to try to steal a base off him.When he caught Matty Mo, he sometimes had to slow him down because he liked to pitch fast; just get the ball back and throw the next pitch. Sometimes, he wouldn't even wait for the sign. He would throw. And then Mike would peel his mask off and glare at him. I actually got to meet Mike in 2004 when a spanko friend and I attended a game in St. Louis. It was September and the Cardinals had a chance to clinch the division that day. I'd spent the previous night (it was an afternoon game) being tawsed by the guy I'd come with. Anyway, we got there way early and sat and watched batting practice. So many people were there, already cheering and chanting loudly, that they decided to open the wagon gate (the door to the bullpen) and let us out on the warning track (the dirt area that lets an outfielder know that he's about run out of real estate and hit the wall) to meet the players. The pitchers stayed in the dug out but most of the other players came out to meet us. Now Mike is a Christian, a quiet unassuming guy who would rather talk about his wife, Kristin and their kids than about his own accomplishments. Anyway, he put his hand out for me to shake and I was awestruck. He had the hardest hand I've ever felt. Thus, a spanking fantasy took hold. After the Division Series, Mike got a hunting knife as a gift and wasted no time in slicing his palm open, so we didn't have him for the Playoffs or the World Series. That put a series of events into motion and the Cardinals didn't resign him. Again, I was heart broken to see him go off to San Fransisco to finish his career.

The following year, the Cardinals signed a left-handed pitcher who had previously played for the Oakland Athletics. Cigi told me he was a "babe" and showed me a pitcher of him. I never doubted her again once I got a glimpse of the oh-so-hot Mark Mulder (again with the Double M's).

Now I know it's hard to tell from this picture, but trust me, Mark was a dyed-in-the-wool babe. The real deal. At 6'9" he was one of the tallest players in the game. Like most left handed pitchers, Mark was a flake. He had the quirky personality that most lefties have. My fantasies about him started when I saw him scold a female reporter for asking a question he felt was out of bounds (because it didn't happen on the baseball diamond). Oh my...hello, Mark. Because of the way he pitched, line drives often came right back at him. He once took a line drive off the bat of one of the National League's hardest hitters right in the ass and later, jokingly gave his post game interview standing up. I still have that game on tape and that hit had to have stung. Mark was such a hunk that he sometimes did some modeling during the off-season. Unfortunately, Mark didn't last too long. He was often injured and the last one ended his career. Oh, I was sorry to see him go. He fed a lot of my spanking fantasies while he was in St. Louis.
With the departure of Mark Mulder, I soon found another pitcher to concentrate on. It was Chris Carpenter, the Cardinals' Cy Young winning pitcher. I've described him in another post as a man of few words. He just has this special quality that thrills me. Last month, he got suspended for two games for participating in a bench clearing brawl. He plays to win and is a gritty competitor. However, he cleans up nice.Mike Matheny also caught Chris in 2004. When those two worked together, my little spanko brain worked overtime. Chris another big, strong pitcher, one of many the Cardinals have had over the years. However, Carp is special. He's one of the most dominant right handers in the game. Even though he's now 35, his skills haven't diminished noticeably. It might take him longer to warm up and he might have to exercise more in order to keep in shape, but then who doesn't? I know that Chris can't pitch forever. I will have to find someone else to fantasize about. Most of the guys who play now are young enough to be my nephew (and some are young enough to be my son). I wonder if I will ever close the book on my spanking fantasies that involve baseball? There is one guy that might fit the bill. He's an outfielder and pretty hunky.

Matt Holliday came to the Cardinals last year at the trade deadline. I was attracted to him from the very beginning. Look how small that baseball looks in his hand. He's a genial guy and usually has a smile on his face. Plus look at those thighs. It looks like he has a very sturdy lap.

I guess time will tell if I continue to fantasize about Cardinal players. I've done it for so long that I don't know if I could stop, no matter how young the players get. That's the fun of fantasy.

My Spanking Life

2010-09-06T11:46:00.000-07:00

Yesterday's post really got me thinking about my past. I look at pictures of myself as a teenager and as a young woman and I just have to shake my head. That girl just doesn't exist anymore. But, if we're being honest, how many of us can say we're the same people we were thirty or more years ago? I'm sure not. I've changed in ways that are incalculable and mostly for the better. I owe most of it to my upbringing. I think I pretty much hit the jackpot when it came to the kind of parents I got. I didn't see this at the time, though. At the time, I was envious of many of my friends, whose parents were better off than mine. I was envious that they got to do things my strict mom and dad just wouldn't allow. My girlfriends got to dress way more provocatively than I did. My dad often made sure we "passed inspection" before we left for school--dresses not too short, shirts not cut too low, no make up, etc. Once, when I protested these inspections because my brother was never subjected to them, my dad's answer was a curt "Boys don't end up with a fat belly." My dad had three daughters and he knew he faced a tough battle. The 70's were a time when a lot of kids, mostly ones from good homes like mine, were throwing off the conventions of their parents. My dad knew that even a good kid like me could end up in trouble. My mother and father both were determined that we were going to grow up to be good, solid citizens. This photo of me, with some of my mother's irises, was taken on May 25, 1979 according to the note on the back. It was taken the day before I graduated from high school. The road was wide open back then. I had my whole life ahead of me, which my mother often told me. The funny thing is, at about this time, I had a boyfriend who loved to photograph me. I think he took this photo. I had been trying for almost a year to get him to spank me. I'd tried everything, including come right out and telling him that was what I wanted. He was 20 at the time and a college boy. "Your dad did that to you" he told me. "I didn't know you were a psychology major," I quipped. "I thought you were majoring in business?" "I am," he said as we stood in my mother's pantry (for privacy). "Well then why don't you mind your own?" I asked. Now think about that ridiculous situation. I was trying to get him to spank me and at the same time, I didn't want him to analyze the reasons why I wanted one. To my shock, and with strength I didn't know he had, he grabbed me and bent me over at the waste. At the last minute, he lost his nerve and stood me back up. I was breathing hard, but not because of my asthma. I was about as turned on as I had ever been in my life. Then the prize was snatched away. He turned on his heel without even saying goodbye and left. The following week, he broke up with me. I couldn't understand why I wanted him to spank me. I had hated my dad's spankings as a child. But I did commit some thoughts to my diary that night, making my first attempt to confront my kinky side. I wondered what was the matter with me. Why couldn't I just be a normal girl? Of course, outwardly, I was. I could never be sure if this ex-boyfriend ever told anyone about my need to get spanked. I had no problem replacing him though. I wasn't promiscuous, mind you. I was just a normal, hot blooded girl.

This photo was taken in June, 1977 at my grandparents' place in Missouri. They had retired there in the early 70's. My grandfather built their beautiful home on Table Rock Lake. In the photo, I'm sitting on my grandfather's woodpile, giving the thumbs up. A few days earlier, I was caught by my grandmother necking with a boy on this very woodpile. He was a boy that my grandparents had approved of; a good, clean Christian boy. She was forced to change her mind about him when she caught him with his hand in my shirt and his tongue working my mouth. She was shocked to put it mildly. I think she came pretty close to having her second coronary. I was 16 and he was 17. I was jail bait. My grandfather was told and he reacted predictably. He pulled the kid off of me, took him by the collar and literally booted him off te property with a warning not to come back unless it was to apologize. My parents had gone to Berryville for the day to shop for walnut bowls. But they would have to be told. My grandmother lectured me about the dangers of not valuing my reputation. My grandfather threatened to make my bottom as red as the shirt I was wearing. I couldn't remember him ever laying a hand on me. "I'm not a child," I said. "Well, you're not a grown up either" my grandfather replied. These were my mother's parents. She had been their cherished only child. She'd been slightly spoiled and pampered growing up, but she had never for a moment deviated from the way she was raised. My grandmother was scandalized by the incident. I sat dejectedly on the front porch, waiting for my parents to come back. When their car pulled up, I felt sick to my stomach. I knew my dad would be furious with me. This was the beginning of my rebellious period. When my dad was told about my escapades on the woodpile, he was confused. This was so unlike me (actually, it WAS like me...it was just unlike me to get caught). As I said, I was 16 when this happened and well used to my dad's belt. But he surprised me this time. He made me get over his knee and he used his hard right hand to drive home his point. It was a childish punishment that I highly resented. When I told the boy about it, he was amused. His blue eyes danced with mischief. Good God, I was in love with him. Too bad we were going back to Illinois in five days. He was a country boy and took delight in referring to me as a "spoiled city girl". What? I was a spoiled city girl because I preferred indoor plumbing? Anyway, he actually did come over and apologize to my grandparents for disrespecting their property. My grandfather knew his dad well. I did see him one more time before we left but there was no hanky panky (unfortunately). He was a sweet kid and a great kisser. Those country boys usually are.

It's amazing to me how much spanking has been a part of my life. From the time I could remember, it was present. Either someone was getting it, or it was on TV or I was reading about it in my brother's comic books. I had gotten into the habit by the time I reached my late teens of trying to get my boyfriends to spank me. I just had the feeling it would be fun coming from anyone but my dad.

By the time I was 21 (when this photo was taken) I was quite a bit more experienced where men was concerned. I had learned that most men didn't appreciate subtlety. They needed to be hit over the head with a 2X4. At the time this picture was taken, in March, 1982, I was dating a guy who worked at his dad's auto glass business. I had no idea how much pressure he was under working for his dad, who was very demanding. I had wanted him to spank me for as long as we'd been dating. At that time, Bradley was playing in the NIT (a tournament they would win with a great game at Madison Square Garden) and since the boyfriend was an alum, we got tickets to the games that were played at home. You can just see the little apple sticker on my shirt. Those were sort of like a rallying thing with fans. We'd had a heated argument the day before this photo was taken and, I'm ashamed to say, that he'd blacked my eye with a hard slap. I'm using make up to cover it in the photo. I felt very confused by him. I couldn't get him spank me, but he had no problem hauling off and slapping me in the face hard enough to give me a shiner. I found out later from a mutual friend who also dated him that his father had beaten his mother on a few occasions. I knew I wanted no part of a relationship with a man like that. So I began to think of ways to extricate myself from this situation. I wasn't sure how I felt about him at that point. It's been so many years that I'm not even sure I can remember what I was feeling. I remember a few days later he actually did spank me. But it wasn't the kind I wanted. We'd been invited to a couple of friends' place for a little party to celebrate Bradley's NIT win and we had been to the grocery store to pick up some cold cuts and beer for the party. We actually got into an argument because I wanted to keep the stuff at my house until the party and he asked what was wrong with his place. "Nothing" I said. "Here, take the stuff to your place. Jeese, like I give a shit! You make a production out of everything." He stood there, shocked to inaction, I thought. The look on his face was familiar. I'd seen it right before he'd hauled off a slapped me. I wouldn't say I was afraid. I told him if he ever hit me again, I would knock him on his ass. I was strong from playing sports and I had no doubt I could do it. I had broken the nose of a boy I was dating when I was 19 when he did nothing more than grab my wrist. Anyway, he stood there steaming and said "Are you finished?" I shrugged. I didn't know what he meant by finished. "Just get outta here" I said. "Go and leave me alone. Take that crap with you it means so much to you." Now at this time, I wasn't as big as I am now. But I was still a pretty big girl. I was 5'9" and weighed about 150 at the time. This guy was not small. He was about five inches taller than I was and outweighed me by about 60 pounds. Maybe I wouldn't be able to drop him after all. But I let him know that he was never going to hit me again without me doing something about it. My father had a chair he liked to sit in and it had otoman that matched it. My boyfriend took my arm and marched me over to the ottoman and sat down on it. Then he jerked me over his knee so hard he almost pulled my arm out of the socket. Then he spanked me. "You wanted this, remember" he said as he pummeled me. "Not this way" I said. "Oh I doubt that," he said. "I think this is exactly how you wanted it." So now I was even more confused. The spanking had hurt and I guess I didn't know what to expect. All I had to go on was fantasy. Had I been pushing his buttons? Anyway, he left taking the cold cuts and beer with him. The funny thing is that I still ended up going to the party with him. I made sure no one saw my shiner or found out about the spanking. One of our friends commented on how quiet I was and I was about to say something when he volunteered "Oh, I had to straighten her out a little yesterday. She's still pouting." That NIT party was the last time I saw him. I made up my mind after that to put my spanking needs out of my mind. I figured it wasn't healthy and I didn't enjoy the spanking I'd actually gotten from him. Best just to leave it as a fantasy than to risk that again. Of course, this was long before there was even a spanking scene. I'm sure people spanked each other, but there was no organized scene. It wasn't until I'd given up looking that I actually did receive a spanking that was more in line with what I wanted. In December, 1985, I turned 25 years old. I went to a New Year's Eve party given by some friends I bowled with. When we were bowling that Satruday, we were bowling against a pretty good team. On the team was a married couple named Ben and Norma. Ben was a big left hander who had the nickname Captain Hook because of the way his ball broke when he threw it. He had the biggest hook I'd ever seen. Anyway, they mentioned to me that another couple we bowled with, Jeanette and Dennis, were having a party on New Year's Eve. "Oh, it's my birthday. Sure, I'll go." As soon as Ben heard it was my birthday, he began to taunt me. He said, when I came back from bowling a strike (my forth in a row) he said "I'm going to put you over my knee and spank you in front of everyone." "Sure you are, Ben," I laughed. I noticed that Norma, his wife, didn't like this talk. "He'll get drunk and forget," she assured me. Oh, I hoped not. Anyway, the night of the party came and I got dressed with care, deciding to wear a pair of gray snakeskin pumps I'd been saving for a special occasion.
That's my friend, Jeanette, next to me and the lap belongs to Ben, the man who actually did spank me that night. We'd been eating a lot and drinking a fair amount when someone suggested a game of Trivial Pursuit, still all the rage then. I belonged to a group that played regularly so I was all for it. We played guys against the girls. It was a spirited game and we took it very seriously. However, no one wanted to see the evening disintegrated because of a silly game so we decided there would be no bragging or rubbing it in from the winning team. So a compromise was reached. Dennis, Jeanette's husband, suggested that if the ladies' team lost, the captain of the team (me) would get a spanking by the captain of the other team (Ben). "I already promised her one coz it's her birthday," Ben said. "She'll get spanked either way." The other ladies--Jeanette, Norma and my friend Rhonda--protested. What if the guys lost? "Yeah, think you can handle getting a spanking, Ben?" I asked. No way. The spanking was only for the ladies. If the guys lost? "We'll do the dishes," Dennis volunteered. There was a mountain of them in the kitchen, so of course, the bet was on. Well, it went down to the last question and we lost. It's been 25 years and I still think that Rhonda missed that question on purpose. Who doesn't know that Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin? But I was a good sport. I settled myself over Ben's ample lap and he counted out 25 pretty good spanks, plus one for good luck. I had on gray pantie hose under the winter white slacks I was wearing but I still felt it. So did Ben. "You have the hardest ass I've ever felt," he said. "Yeah, my dad said the same thing," I shrugged. "Must be all that horseback riding."
Anyway, that was the last spanking I got for a long time. I remember Norma was sort of looking on with a jealous expression the whole time her husband was spanking me. He was obviously enjoying it. I was 25, young and firm. I so wish I had been getting spanked for fun back then. Oh well...I've made up for lost time. And then some.

Picture Day

2010-09-05T19:05:00.001-07:00

In my post yesterday, I related a story about the last time my father spanked me. My post was actually about the situation between Lindsay Lohan and Jerry Lewis. Apparently, the comedy legend thinks that Ms. Lohan could benefit from a good spanking. I told the story to sort of demonstrate the differences between the home I grew up in vs. the way she was raised. First of all, I was raised in the 60's and 70's. It was a vastly different time. Fathers still had final authority in their homes. Jimmy Carter was President. The Bee Gees occupied the top five positions on the American Top Forty. I was 17 that spring of 1978. I had just attended my Junior Prom. You might think I was a little old for a spanking. You might be right about that. However, my dad didn't think so. He was a Marine (I don't say ex-Marine because, as Gibbs often points out on "NCIS", there's no such thing) and he felt perfectly justified in expecting his kids to obey him. Up until my junior year, I had. I had been a perfect kid--and A-B student. Don't let the innocent smile fool you. I was in the middle of a big time rebellious streak. I had let my grade in History (a required course) fall to a low C because I hated the teacher. That had never been a problem before. I was listening to KISS music, which really worried my parents. I was also beginning to drink and smoke pot at this time. However, my parents saw this for what it was--my attempt to show them that I was going to make my own decisions from now on. They didn't sit around wringing their hands and wondering what they had done wrong. My dad was very no-nonsense about the whole thing. He told me "You'll either snap out of it or get tired of standing up all the time." I was determined to tough him out and he was just as determined to reign me in. To do this, he used his favorite weapon, the leather belt from his Marine Corps uniform. Here's a pic of my mother and dad when he was on leave. Yes, that's THE belt he's wearing.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not going to start crying about how bad I had it under my dad's roof growing up. I knew I was loved by both he and my mother. It was just a different time. I think my mother was very wise. She knew that the less of a big deal they made out of my little rebellion the quicker it would pass. My dad had other ideas. He knew I was smart; probably the smartest of all his kids. He didn't want me throwing away a a chance to make something of myself. As a Marine he'd learned to value honor. What did it say about me when I was lying, stealing and drinking under age? I remember him once standing in front of me, hands on hips, trying to talk some sense into me while I sat there at the table looking bored. By this time, I was smoking cigarettes (a habit I would continue until I was 45), having sex with boys I hardly knew, ditching school and, when I was caught, ditching detention. In fact, my dad knew I'd had a detention on this particular night and demanded to know why I wasn't at school serving it. That's what had precipitated the little pow wow with Dad. He wasn't the kind to beg or try to make me feel guilty about it by telling me how hard he was working. What he did was lay it out for me. There would be no more cutting class. I was to bring that History grade back up to a B (at least). I was to stop listening to "that God forsaken" KISS. I was going to buckle down and keep my nose to the grindstone. Six months previously, I had been so enthusiastic about my grades that I had been gunning for early graduation the following year. "You're gonna settle down and fly right," he said, shaking his finger at me for emphasis. "Before you blow the whole thing." He knew my life's ambition was to be a writer. I'd wanted to work as a newspaper writer from the moment I knew that such things existed. I remember how he sighed heavily (as he usually did when he was really steamed) and paced back and forth in front of me. I looked at my feet, trying any way I knew to avoid having to look at him. I knew, deep down, he was right. He was always right. "I know one thing for sure," he went on. "You're grounded, young lady, until that C comes up. You can do better than that." I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head at me, indicating that it would be wise for me to keep my mouth shut until he was done talking. "I mean it. You're not leaving this house except to go to school. You're gonna learn to snap shit!" "Snap shit" is a Marine Corps expression. It means to stop messing around and start doing what you're supposed to be doing. He sat down next to me and said "Do you think life gets easier when you get older? It doesn't. It gets harder. It's a lot harder without a high school diploma." "I'll get my diploma!" I snapped. "You make a C sound like the end of the world." "When your brother would get C's I'd be happy," he told me. "But you're better than that. You think I want you waiting tables your whole life? You're gonna get that C up, little girl. And you're gonna stop cutting class and ditching detention. If you get another one for ditching this one, then you're gonna serve 'em both. You're gonna take what you've got coming. You hear me?" Boy, did I hear him. Then he left for work. Three nights later, I snuck out of the house and stole his bottle of Jim Beam. I knew, even as I was doing it, that it was wrong. I had a very strong conscience back then and still do. I sat glumly at the park with my friend, Lucy as we emptied the bottle. "My dad's gonna skin me alive," I told her. She had known me a long time and knew my dad well. "Yep, when he finds out, I wouldn't be you for nothing." Some friend. The previous year, Cigi had wanted to go to Chicago with her boyfriend, Tony to see KISS. They were playing the Aragon Ballroom that winter of 1977. Dad said absolutely no way. "You're too young!" Long story short, they went anyway. They would have made it back in time but Tony's car, a small red Datsun, broke down on the way home and Cigi had no choice but to call and ask someone to come and get her. Dad sent my brother. I can still remember him tossing my brother the keys and telling me "Go with him." I was terrified. My brother drove too fast and would race anyone, no matter how slight the provocation. Before we left, Dad handed me a $50 bill. "Tony will need money to get his car towed. Give this to him." He knew if he gave it to my brother, he would spend it on pot. My brother was 18 at the time, 15 months older than Cigi and I. Tony gave my brother good directions on where they were and we found them with no problem. Both of them were drunk. "Dad's gonna kill you" our brother told Cigi knowingly. Brother offered to take Tony home so that he wouldn't have to face Dad. When we got home, it was about 4 o'clock in the morning. Dad had been up all day and he was mad. As mad as I'd ever seen him. He was waiting for us when we came piling in. He'd whittled a switch, which he held in his right hand. He looked at me and my brother. "You two, get to bed." Grateful that everyone was home safe, I went to bed. Dad drove a lesson home to Cigi with that maple switch. I could hear it in my room with the door shut. I never heard a sound out of her though. She was tough. When she came to bed, she vomited into the trash can and fell into bed still in her jeans and black KISS T-shirt. Alcoholism would haunt her until she was 27, when she went sober.

Even though I despised being disciplined by him, I knew he did everything out of love for us. He would have walked through fire for us and protected us with his life if he had to. Next to my mother, we were the most important things in his life. He made sure that we knew we were loved. He would never refuse to hug us or let us sit on his lap. Some of my happiest memories of him was sitting on his lap after I had just gotten out of the tub. I would have wet hair and my pajamas on and I would sit close to him, him teasing me about my freckles. He would always start to count them and make a great show of losing count. God, I loved that man.

I feel sorry for Lindsay Lohan, who recently sent a letter to her father via her lawyer. It was a cease and desist letter telling him to stop trying to contact her. That's the saddest thing I can think of; for a girl to hate her father so much. If he had disciplined her when she was young, if he had established his authority in his home (in a loving way and not as a tyrant), she would have felt that sense of security that I had growing up. All the acting out and crying for attention would never have happened. I wouldn't trade places with her for anything.

Does Lindsay Need A Spanking?

2010-09-04T20:42:00.000-07:00

The two people pictured here are separated by 60 years in age. The young lady on the left has made a career out of being a troubled young actress. The man on the right has a career that has spanned more than 50 years. He's not only a talented comedian, but also a great humanitarian, whose Labor Day Telethon has raised billions for kids with muscular dystrophy. So why are they suddenly linked in the press? Allow me to enlighten you.

Jerry Lewis, in preparation for his yearly telethon, was being interviewed by Inside Edition. The talk was general at first. What did he think of today's young stars? He responded like a lot of old men might. These kids don't know who Al Jolson was. They don't have any respect for the people who came before them and paved the road for them. Then, the interviewer mentioned Lindsay Lohan. Lewis' answer was an honest one. A bit too honest for some. He said, quite candidly, that he was smack her in the mouth if he saw her. He said he would probably get arrested for abusing a woman. Then he added that if she wasn't satisfied with a mere smack in the mouth, he would turn her over his knee and spank her and then send her off to rehab.

I didn't see the interview so I don't know how the interviewer responded to this. I heard the story on a local afternoon radio talk show. The interviewer was a man who spun records as a disc jockey back in the 70's. Now he's a conservative talk show host. He took calls, as he always does, and of course, the good people of Peoria are backing the old man. At first, there was the usual amount of laughing between the host and his producer. But it soon turned serious. Did the listeners think this was too outrageous or does Jerry have a point?

Here's my personal opinion on this issue. Since this is my blog, I don't have to be careful not to offend anyone. I think Lindsay should have been seen to years ago, preferably by a big, strong male relative. Of course, this begs the question of whether it's appropriate for an 84-year-old man to advocate spanking a 24-year-old woman. My opinion is that I'm sick and tired of hearing about Lindsay Lohan. Whatever she does wrong, she goes to court, gets her slap on the wrist, whines about how unfair the world is, and then goes right out and does whatever it was that got her in trouble in the first place. I've seen far too many photos of her tripping drunkenly out of a club surrounded by her posse. Her movies aren't good and she's not a good actress. She should have been relegated to a reality series years ago. Surely, there are nice, decent, clean living actresses out there who are worthy of some ink. Why do the tabloids concentrate on Lindsay Lohan? Because misery loves company and that sells magazines. A lot of young people can relate to her and that in itself is telling. I think it says something about young people in general. But I'm not going to hate on young people. Just her. For some reason, young women think it's very glamorous to reel out of a trendy club with a cell phone on their ear with body guards on both sides. They think it's oh-so-kewl to leave a club in the early morning hours with their mascara running and a shoe missing.
From what I know of Ms. Lohan, she has been disruptive and unprofessional onset before, putting movies behind schedule and over budget. She would show up to work late, in no shape to work. You know, she's over 21. What she does on her own time is her business. My mother told me 30 years ago "Cheryl, you're a grown woman. I can't tell you what to do. But no matter how late you stay out or how much you drink, you'd better be able to get up and work in the morning." Of course, I was still living at home because I didn't make enough money to live on my own. And therein lies the problem. Add money to the mix, and these young celebs feel no one can tell them what to do. Ms. Lohan has been in trouble for public intoxication, driving under the influence and other outrageous behavior that would have landed a no-money working stiff like me in jail. I get the feeling that Ms. Lohan thinks she's above the law. She thinks her celebrity entitles her to do whatever she wants, regardless of the consequences. She's 24 going on 6. A spanking might be appropriate. Does Jerry Lewis have the right to say she needs one? Well, we live in a free country where people pretty much have the right to say whatever they want as long as it's not libelous. I think she should have been spanked a long time ago. She has thrown her career in the trash can. She's been warned to stop drinking and smoking so much. She's apparently been in rehab for drug and alcohol dependency. What does she think this is doing to her body? I had a heart attack three weeks ago today, after spending years disregarding what I was doing to my health by smoking, eating an unhealthy diet and not exercising. I was lucky. I don't think Ms. Lohan would be that lucky. Sadly, I think she's going to end up like River Phoenix and Heath Ledger: dead before her time. Someone who really cares about her ought to sit her down and talk to her straight. She's surrounded by yes men, whose job is to tell her what she wants to hear. But she needs to hear some hard truths that she may not want to hear. Yes, I think she's spoiled and I think a good, hard spanking would benefit her immensely. But it's not going to happen. So I would be content to see her get some sense talked into her. I don't care one bit about her fame. She's a fellow human being and a tortured one at that. Her bad relationship with her father is well documented. To me, that's a shame. She never seemed to have that loving paternal influence in her life. If she had, hopefully she would have been lovingly disciplined. She might have grown up to be one of our finest young actresses, a positive influence on other young, aspiring actresses. Instead, she chooses to self-destruct. She chooses to piss away a career that might have meant something. With coaching and hard work, she might have turned into another Audrey Hepburn. She made the decision not to work at her craft. Of course, she was an adorable, freckle-faced youngster. I thought her future was bright. Then I began to hear things about her. She stole a boyfriend from a friend of hers. She was engaging in screamfests with the press. She dissed actor Jim Caviesel (one of my favorites) by saying with a heavy sigh "He's so last year!". She had no respect for others. Then I started to hear about the drinking and the carousing. She became a poster girl for the Bad Girl's Club. At the time, she was about 19 or 20 and she began to look incredibly skinny. So then the speculation began that she had anorexia. She began to garner sympathy. But instead of embracing it and turning over a new leaf, she got worse. While working on one film, she received a letter from the head of the studio rebuking her for her behavior and exhorting her to concentrate on her work. Now think about that. If you were working somewhere and messing up and you got a letter, not from your immediate supervisor, not from the store manager, but from the CEO of the company warning you to stop screwing up and get to work, how would you respond? I think it's safe to say that most of us would be highly embarrassed that a person as busy as the CEO of our company felt the need to write us a letter about our behavior. Most of us would also probably be sufficiently contrite that we would do just that: buckle down and do our job; what we're being paid to do. At the time I learned of the letter from the studio head, I told Cigi "I can picture her balling the letter up, tossing it into a garbage can and saying 'Who does he think HE is?'"

I can't be the only person who, on one hand, thinks a good spanking is long overdue for this little diva and also thinks that that would be too little too late. When I was 17, I wanted to go out cruising with my friends. Unfortunately, I got a C on my report card and I was grounded until I bought this unacceptable grade back up. My dad worked second shift (3-midnight) at his job and I thought I could circumvent his rules by just waiting until he was gone. I had what we called Tenth Hour Release, meaning I had study hall last hour and was free to go home after ninth hour. So I got home about 2 in the afternoon, before my dad left for work. It was Friday night and he asked if I had homework. I held up my books and said, "What do you think these are for?" Yes, I was going through a rebellious stage. He warned me not to get smart with him and that I had better crack the books. It never occurred to him that I might sneak out once he left. I was the perfect daughter before that. It was beyond his comprehension that I might disobey him. Well, I did. I waited until he left for work (my mom worked the same shift so I was on my own) and I went out with my friends. Not only did we cruise down the Bradley to try to get into a frat party. Of course, they could see we were underage and they told us to get lost. This happened at every house we tried to get into. In fact, we went to the sports fraternity, Hassler Hall, and tried to get in. One of the guys there (a baseball player, I think) told me to go home "before your daddy spanks you." After this humiliation, my friends and I gave up on trying to get in to a frat party and went about trying to get some booze of our own. I volunteered that my dad kept a bottle of Jim Beam on top of the china hutch. My friend, whose name was Lucy, drove a 1966 Pontiac Catalina that we'd christened the Gray Ghost. We piled into the Ghost and drove over to my house. I went in furtively, making sure no one saw me take the bottle. No one did. I went out to the car, holding it up triumphantly so my friends could see that I'd gone through with this dangerous mission. We went off to a nearby park and drank this bottle of Jim Beam, which I'd ruthlessly stolen from my hard-working dad. My dad who loved me unconditionally. My dad who made countless sacrifices for me. We had to watch the time because I had to make sure I beat my parents home. So we sped home and I ended up in bed with just minutes to spare. The next day, Saturday, I felt awful. I was hung over because I was used to beer, not bourbon (or whatever Jim Beam is). I had a crushing headache that convinced me I was going to have a cerebral hemorrhage. I was awoken by a hand shaking my shoulder and was met with the angry countenance of my dad. "Where is it?" he asked. This happened in May, 1978 and I will never forget this exchange if I live to be 100. I tried to clear the cobwebs. "Um, what?" I asked, rubbing my eyes and sitting up in bed. "You know what!" he said. When his brow knit, I knew he was displease, bordering on furious. "Dad, I was dusting and I broke it. I'm so sorry," I told him. I was shocked at how easily I was able to lie to him. But he saw it for the ridiculous lie it was. Needless to say, I ended up over my bed while my dad used his Marine Corps belt on me. At least my sore ass took my mind off my headache. He tacked on two more weeks to my grounding. This was my last spanking until 25 years later when I attended my first party. I tell this story to illustrate a point. In the home I grew up in, bad behavior had consequences. I knew as soon as I snatched that bottle from its resting place on top of the china cabinet that this was how I was going to end up. I had that sense of the certainty of my dad's justice. If Lindsay Lohan had grown up in the house that I did, with a tough, no nonsense Marine dad, this blog entry would never have been written. She would have been brought to heel a long time ago. I did bring my grade back up to a B and I never, never stole from my dad ever again. Even after over 30 years I still feel incredible shame for this incident. I doubt Ms. Lohan has ever been acquainted with that emotion...nor the business end of a Marine Corps belt.

Coming Clean

2010-08-31T19:06:00.001-07:00

I've been in the spanking scene for many years and have always thought that I'd reached the point where I didn't care who knew. But the point has come when I feel I'm going to have to let my doctors know what I'm into. How can I expect my doctors to advise me or protect my health when they are unaware of the fact that I get spanked hard for fun? I'm especially worried about being on blood thinners (Plavix and aspirin). I have seen the bruising that can result from just taking an aspirin before playing. So I've come to the crossroads: if my doctors know, how many other people will find out? I guess, since this is my health we're talking about, it doesn't really matter. It's not as important as life and death.

When the question of telling medical professionals ahead of time about TTWD, I could always afford to be so cavalier and say "Tell your doctor. He's a professional. He won't judge you." So easy for me to say at that time. Now the proverbial shoe is on the other foot. Now this is me we're talking about. Things don't seem as cut and dried as they were. It's going to be difficult for me, but I feel it has to be done. I will just file it under "sex" even though spanking isn't sexual for me. But I need to know if getting a spanking is going to jeopardize my health. And if it might, then how do I give it up? Could I give it up if my doctor advised it? These are questions that need answering and, unfortunately, only I can answer them. If anyone out there has experience with this (and not just because of blood thinners...it could be any kind of medical thing that prevents you from playing) I would love to hear from you.

Saying Goodbye To Things I Can't Have Anymore

2010-08-24T16:26:00.000-07:00

When my buddy, Zelle, posted the above photo to her Fetlife profile, I was reminded that things like this are now on my "no" list. Too much salt and too much cholesterol. However, I could probably have a small portion of that once in a while. Zelle reminded me that they want moderation of those things; they don't expect 100% compliance. I think I miss these kinds of breakfasts: the kind that include eggs, hash, hash brown potatoes, and toast. Now, my breakfasts consist of low-fat yogurt, one slice of whole wheat toast with a little Promise spread and juice. Sometimes, I'll have cereal because on the diet I'm on, fruits, vegetables and whole grains aren't limited. I can have all of those I want. While I'm happy to limit myself to one glass of soda these days, I really miss certain things. Like popcorn. I used to love to microwave a bag of kettle corn, plop down on the couch with a Coke, and turn on "The Golden Girls". It used to be a ritual with me. But I can't have kettle corn anymore. Yes, I know they make low salt Orville Reddenbacher's, but come one. Have you tasted that stuff? Better to just give it up outright. Now my evening treat consists of a pudding cup (low fat) or a juice bar (no sugar added). I'm not complaining. If making these changes will keep me from having another stent placed (or, God forbid, bypass surgery) then I'm happy to make the sacrifice. Yesterday, I went to lunch with my big sister and she wanted to go to Long John Silver's. I knew they offered a light menu so I said OK. As soon as I walked in, I wanted chicken planks, hush puppies and a heapin' helpin' of crumblies. But I knew, realistically, I'd be ordering the grilled salmon and steamed vegetables. The salmon was lying on a nice bed of brown rice. I love rice and if brown rice was all I could have now, so be it. I was happy to pass my first restaurant test. But my dietitian told me if I wanted to go out for a burger and fries once in awhile, then that was OK. So I made a date and circled it on my calendar. On that day, I'm treating myself to Burger King. At least their burgers are charbroiled and not fried. I can still even have Chinese as long as it's off a buffet, where I can control the portion sizes. Of course, since I'm trying to lower my triglycerides, I have to be really careful because most Chinese restaurants use MSG. I know you can order your food without MSG, but how do you know that's what you're really getting?
I guess I'm not really saying goodbye to things like ice cream and brownies and the occasional steak, I guess I should just say I won't be stopping by as often. I've never been moderate about the things I really love. That's how I have ended up being as fat as I am. When I really like something, I eat it as often as I want to. Like potato chips. I had three bags in my cupboard that I gave to my neighbor. I know I might as well give them up because I don't know moderation when it comes to chips. I love them. The baked no-salt kind simply won't do for me. So chips are out the window.
I know I can do this. It will just take a lot of dedication on my part. The exercise is coming along a little more slowly due to my internal injury. Walking isn't a problem but the pain seems to be worse when I stop walking, even if I cool down. But I do it anyway. I'm hoping at the October Crimson Moon party I will be slimmer. Wish me luck, friends.

Celebrating Life--Continued

2010-08-21T06:57:00.000-07:00

While I was in the hospital, I had plenty of time to think about things. I took mental inventory; trying to decide what things to keep in my life and which things to toss out. Lucky for me, the nurses didn't allow me to feel sorry for myself. They were compassionate and caring about what I had been through and the pain I was in, but they didn't allow me to wallow in self-pity. I was told it was detrimental to my recovery. Of course, I knew I was lucky. I could have had a massive heart attack and been on life support. I also came to grips with the fact that what had happened to me had been mostly my own fault. I knew my diet was bad. I ate red meat, cheese, eggs and butter as much as I wanted to. I was basically a couch potato. Oh sure, I worked hard. And my jobs had all been pretty strenuous. But working hard isn't aerobic. It's not doing anything to help my cardiovascular health. Well, it got my heart rate up at times, but not in a good way. I also knew that I had smoked for more than 30 years before quitting in 2006. It was good that I had quit, but the damage was already done. I knew my weight had long been a problem, too. But I had always vowed I wasn't going to be a "slave" to my body. I wasn't going to be one of those "salad and a glass of water" women. I kidded myself that all the bad tickers in my family belonged to men. All the women were healthy as horses so I thought I had nothing to worry about. But I had to wake up to the fact that my lifestyle had put me where I was. It's hard to do that in this culture; where everything was someone else's fault. No one force fed me the diet I had been eating all of my adult life. When my dad had his heart attack in 1989, I saw how hard it was for him to make the adjustments necessary to live healthier. He had the added problem of being diabetic, something I don't have to worry about (and hopefully never will). At the time, I was 28 years old and wondered how I would respond to the order to eat healthier. I said "No doctor's gonna tell me I can't eat bacon if I want to!" Well, when it's your life, it's amazing the stuff you'll give up. I can give up bacon easy. I'm on a sodium restricted diet because I'm taking blood pressure medication. Who knows how long my BP was allowed to run rampant, damaging my arteries. I used to think that doctors made too big a deal out of things. Like if a slice of white bread passed your lips, you would explode from the inside. Or if I didn't live off lettuce and grapefruit I would sentence myself to an early grave. I don't remember the man's name, but he was the guy who started the jogging craze back in the 70's. This guy told people they could live longer and be healthier if they jogged everyday. This man dropped dead at 57 and when they autopsied him, he had four arteries that were completely blocked. So much for jogging. Now doctors and nutritionists know that jogging and exercising, while it's good for your heart, will not break up plaque in the arteries nor will it prevent it. Only diet and heredity does that. So now I have to live with what I did to myself. I shake my head now when I think of how arrogant I was. My friends, who were coming to grips with the fact that they were aging, were making changes like stopping smoking, cutting back on sweets and salt, and reducing their alcohol. I poo-poohed this, saying "I can eat anything I want. I'm healthy." I wish my friends had insisted that I see a doctor to be sure. I think the truth is that I didn't want to know. I was going to live my life on my terms and not obsess over things like my weight. If people didn't like my size, they could go to hell. I made the typical remarks that I would rather be the size I was than one of those walking coat hangers. "How could those skinny girls possibly be healthy?" I asked. I neglected to think "How could I be healthy at this weight?" But I was in denial. Well, no longer. All I had to do was look at the machine I was hooked up to and all denial was wiped away.
My room was right by the nurses' station. There was a lady in sterile clothes whose job was just to watch the monitors of all the patients. She had two screens to watch: ICU patients and the ones on the floor. She didn't have to see patients or fill out paperwork. Her sole job was watching those heart monitors. I felt very safe with her on the job. I began to think of her as a lifeline. I never said a word to her, but she was very important to me.
When they moved me back onto the floor, I was pushed in a recliner (more comfy than a wheelchair). As we rolled past the nurses' station, all the girls there clapped and cheered. It was, I was told, a tradition to do this for people who made it out of ICU. It was a special little "you go, girl!" after all I had been through. I knew a lot of patients probably didn't make it out of ICU, unless it was to go to the morgue. While I was on the floor, the nurse told me I would get Fentynal for only about 8 more hours. Then they were changing my pain medication to Percocet. I think, at first, they were afraid I was drug seeking. But I think it finally did dawn on them that I was an actual patient with actual pain. Before I left ICU, a nurse removed the Foley from my bladder. It hurt more coming out than it had going in. Of course, I was so out of it when it had been put in that I couldn't be sure about that. From now on, when I needed to use the bathroom, I would have to get up and walk to the bathroom. Of course, they wanted me to call them if I needed help. When I went into the bathroom for the first time, I saw that there was a little pan there to catch and measure my urine. Urine, I knew, was gold in hospitals. Every drop was caught, measured and studied. I guess you can learn a lot about a person's health by looking at their urine. Anyway, I filled that thing the first time. Funny, but it felt so good to pee on my own. It also felt good to finally have a bowel movement. Of course, with the tear, it hurt a little. But they didn't want me straining and maybe causing the tear to start bleeding again. I didn't see any blood so I figured everything was cool in that department. My stomach sure felt a lot less bloated and painful. I was healing fast and beginning to feel a bit anxious to get back home. "Not until you can do stairs" my doctor said when I asked when I would be going home. Right, I never thought of that. I had some hellacious stairs at my apartment. No way I would be able to tackle those in my present state. Just getting up and walking to the bathroom exhausted me. These folks were the experts. I would have to take their word for it.
Of course, later that first day on the floor, I got my last dose of Fentynal. I savored the floaty feeling it gave me, knowing I was going to get Percocet next time. I remembered Percocet. My mother took it for her back and sometimes, when my cramps were especially bad, I would take one. Yes, I know. Very foolish. I could have ended up addicted to it. Unfortunately, the first time I needed something for pain (after the Fentynal was stopped) was during the night when the 3rd shift nurse was there. When she finally got to my room and I told her my pain was about an 8, she offered me a Tylenol. "Tylenol?" I said. "For a peritoneal tear? You're kidding, right?" She looked put out. Yes, I know it's harder to get narcotics; there's more procedure involved and she probably didn't want to go to the trouble. But I was in pain here. I couldn't have cared less that she didn't want to go through the procedure of getting me a narcotic pain reliever. I needed something for my pain NOW. When she finally did go to get it, she left me waiting (sweating and crying) for over half an hour. By the time she brought the pill, I was ready to tear it out of her hand. But I had to wait until she put it into a plastic medicine cup. There's some kind of federal law about taking medication directly from someone else's hand, even a nurse. She shoved it at me and gratefully swallowed it without checking to see if my water pitcher was full. It wasn't. The nurse got me a glass of water from the bathroom faucet. What a sweetheart she was. I would have washed that beautiful pill down with my own pee if I'd been forced to. It made me think of James Caans' character in "Misery": a poor person in pain at the mercy of someone who didn't care if they were in pain. I probably interrupted her break or something. Well, I'm sorry but my pain isn't on a time clock. Needless to say, I was glad when she left and another nurse replaced her. She was really great. Yes, I sometimes had to wait for her after I'd hit my call button, but she always apologized for the delay. I wasn't under any illusion that I was the only patient on the floor. I'm pretty sure most of the beds were full. I knew that I would have to wait for things.
There's only so much recuperating a person can do in a hospital. Sooner or later, it's time to leave and get on with your life. The first time I tried to do the stairs, I got dizzy. I attributed this to the fact that the stairwell was very hot. I was only dizzy for a couple seconds, but five people came running. I really was embarrassed. One of the nurses who was helping me said it would be better for me to wait until I can do the stairs alone than risk ending up back in the hospital, maybe with a broken neck this time. So it was determined that I should stay in the hospital for one more day. I was discouraged, but my sweet, understanding nurse told me that I would have setbacks. Come to expect them, she told me. You'll have times where you're discouraged, where you're frustrated. But you'll also have victories. But those will be hard won. She told me I would get well. The peritoneal tear was just going to make it take a little longer. She had me out walking the halls twice that night. Since I would be going home the next day, I would need to be as strong on my feet as possible. And there was still those pesky stairs. I wasn't going anywhere until I could master them. So I called forth my grit and made up my mind that I was going to whup those stairs. After the disappointment of failing the Stair Test, my nurse tucked me back into my bed with a Percocet. I was so disappointed. I was sure I would do well. I'm a very competitive person. I like to win. But not even being able to do a flight of stairs was such a stark wake-up call for me; a tangible reminder what my body had been through. "You'll do it tomorrow" my nurse said rubbing my shoulder and giving it a squeeze.
The next morning, my doctor came in. He was dressed in a suit this time and he looked gorgeous. He announced that I was being discharged today. He said if I had lived in a ranch-style house I would've gone home the day before. He asked me if I'd had any chest pain or if the pain was just in my tummy. Yeah, just there. No chest pain at all. He was happy to hear this. However, my tummy was still extremely tender and I reacted appropriately (something doctors call "guarding"). I asked him how long it would be that sore and he shrugged. It was all up to how fast my body healed the tear and how fast it reabsorbed the hematoma. He said until then, expect pain. But it would decrease as I healed. Pretty soon, he assured me, Tylenol will take care of any pain I was having. Just to be safe, when he gave my nurse my discharge papers, there was a prescription for Oxycodone. It was the small ones but it would work, he assured me. Cigi had had the big ones and had a Fentynal patch on top of that. Now I had some kind of perspective on how bad her pain must have been. Yet, I never once heard her complain or feel sorry for herself. I found myself admonishing myself when I felt like pitying myself.
I had to watch a movie called "Going Home Following A Heart Attack". All of the people in it were in their 60's. There was no one my age in the film. When I thought about it, there was no one my age on the floor. My nurse told me it was rare to see someone under 50 who didn't have a congenital heart disorder; unless they were drug addicts. One nurse told me everything about my case was atypical. Hey, what can I say? I was never one to do anything by the book. An internist was also seeing me regularly in order to track my overall health; his job was to make sure none of my new meds were interacting, that I was eating and "voiding" the way I should have been. He listened to my bowel sounds and continued to watch the area where the bruising was. The bruising, where the blood just pooled up under the surface of my skin, was horrific. It still stuns me to look at it. To think I lost that much blood just floors me. But the doctor told me that, as my body absorbs it, the bruising would fade. It would just take a long time. The trick now was to limit my physical activity so as not to tear it again. This is in direct opposition to what they want you to do after a heart attack. Most cardiologists want their patients up and moving as soon as possible. So my cardiologist knew not to expect any cartwheels from me just yet.
When the lady from physical therapy arrived to take me on the steps, I knew it was the moment of truth. My nurse went with me "just in case". I went up the stairs slowly but steadily. It had been coming down that had proved my undoing the day before. So I took it a little more slowly going up than I had before. Coming down, I felt good. I was wearing a device called a grab belt that the physical therapist could use to help me balance. When I hit the bottom of the staircase, I knew I'd aced it. I knew I would be going home that day. I was excited but scared, too. I'd been in the hospital for five days. It was time to continue my recovery at home.
So I say to all of my friends out there: don't ignore your health. Don't think it can't happen to you just because you eat a healthy diet, get enough exercise and your weight is normal. It can happen to anyone. Heart disease, I learned, is the Number One cause of death among women, beating out all cancers combined (even breast cancer). It's the Number Three killer of women in my age bracket (45-55) in the world. You only have one heart. Take care of it better than I did mine.

Celebrating Life

2010-08-19T19:24:00.000-07:00

Author's Note: This entry addresses a very serious subject and has nothing (or very little) to do with spanking. If you can't handle a little reality please don't read on.

On July 4, 1939 Lou Gehrig, the Yankee's beloved first baseman gave a moving speech to a large Yankee Stadium crowd. Although he was by then terminally ill with the disease that still bears his name, he described himself as "the luckiest man on the face of the Earth."

Allow me to put in my bid for the feminine record.

On Saturday, August 13, 2010 my life changed forever. Like many, I ignored the pains when they first came. I had been under considerable stress (which I've already talked about in other entries) and I was pretty sure the chest pains I was feeling were from anxiety. Like many who had partied in Chicago at the July Crimson Moon party, I returned home with a viral infection. I've had these most of my life and they usually pass without much discomfort. But this time was different. At 5 am, a squeezing pain woke me from a sound sleep. The pain radiated across my chest to my left arm. I'm ashamed to say that the first thought that went through my mind was that I was unemployed and uninsured. How was I going to pay a hospital bill? I laid back down and waited for the pain to subside, as it always had before. This time, it didn't. It was getting worse. The other thing I worried about was that my legs were stubbly. I didn't have time to shave them. I barely had time to get some clothes on. I ran across the hall to my neighbor, Terry, a retired cab driver and travelling salesman. I told him I was having chest pains and I needed to go to the hospital. He said he couldn't; he'd sprained his ankle the previous day and could barely walk, much less drive. Feeling increasingly panicky, I borrowed his cell phone and called a friend of mine from church, who was a nurse. I described my symptoms and asked her if she thought I should go to the hospital. The tone of her voice took on a serious tone. "Do you need a ride?" she asked and I could hear her grabbing clothes in the background. I said I did. She lived in a town about ten minutes away and told me she would be there soon. But if my pain got worse or if I felt faint or short of breath I shouldn't wait for her, but call 911. She must have broken a speed record to get there as fast as she did. I was outside waiting for her, apologizing profusely, when she arrived. Since she hadn't worked that night, she didn't have her stethoscope in her car as she usually did when she'd worked. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure she would have given my heart a listen. She reached over and took my pulse. "Your heart is racing, Cheryl. Try to calm down and breathe normally."

Yeah, calm down and breathe normally. I'm picturing myself lying on a gurney with a sheet over my face. I loved Cigi and I miss her terribly, but I'm in no hurry to meet her. Luckily for me, the hospital was only a few blocks from my apartment. It was Saturday morning and I was sure the ER would be packed. Mercifully, it wasn't. My friend and I walked to the door and the security guard offered me a wheelchair. I told her I was having chest pains and she took me immediately to the nurses' station and announced "chest pains". Before I knew what was what, I was in a room being told to take off my clothes. The ER nurse asked me if I needed help and she also guarded my modesty as a male nurse came in while I had my shirt off. I was allowed to keep my shorts and panties on because it was assumed my chest would be all the doctor would be interested in. While I was getting in a robe and lying down on the gurney, she asked me to rate my pain on a scale of 1 to 10 (a question I would be asked literally 50 times during my stay). I felt silly because, as I had been moving around, the pains were subsiding. Yeah, I'm at the hospital now and my pain was going away. Pain serves a purpose in life. It was telling me that something was wrong and once I got it through my head, I didn't need it anymore. I told her it was about a 6 by that time. By another stroke of luck, the male nurse knew me because I came to the ER with Cigi so many times and he knew she had recently died. He knew the stress I was under and wondered if I wasn't having a anxiety attack. He started an IV and blood was drawn (the first of dozens of blood draws I would have while I was in the hospital). Then I was given an EKG. The blood sample was to get a reading on my cardiac enzymes. When these are elevated, it could mean a heart attack. While they waited for the test results to come back, the male nurse sprayed a nitro spray under my tongue and gave me four baby aspirin. Meanwhile, the doctor hadn't been in yet. When he did come in, I observed an exhausted, overworked doctor. He asked me to describe my pain, its location and how long I'd been having it. I admitted I'd had it for several days, after recuperating from a viral infection. He informed me that my blood work and EKG were normal, but that they always did three tests to be absolutely sure. He listened to my heart and lungs and checked my feet and legs for swelling. He asked me the usual questions such as whether I smoked or drank, how much stress was in my life and how old I was. This doctor was young and trim and he asked me what I thought was a totally unnecessary question: "How long have you been overweight?" He didn't believe I was having a heart attack, but he took the time to ask me about my weight? I told him most of my adult life. He ordered another blood draw and another EKG. While they waited the 45 minutes for the results, he had the nurse give me some Atavan. His reasoning was that, if it was an anxiety attack, the Atavan would help. While it did help calm me down, it did nothing for my chest pain. He gave me some Dilaudid and left me to rest. Half an hour later, he was back. telling me that again my blood work and EKG were normal. He said he was going to give me some time to rest and then he would be sending me home. I was aghast. The drugs had barely touched my pain and it was getting worse. I told him, in begging tones, that my pain was increasing and that I was pretty sure I needed to be admitted. He looked at me like he wanted to bring in a psych consult. I'm pretty sure he thought I was drug seeking. But he did have me admitted to the cardiac floor. They took me upstairs and settled me in a bed, then a 12-lead (a monitor that shows cardiac activity) was put on me. My gown had a special pocket for the device.

It was similar to carrying a Walk Man or a transister radio. The adhesive that attached the wires to my body made my skin itch. But I was relieved to finally be in a room with cardiac nurses. Unfortunately, I wasn't seeing a doctor anywhere. I asked the nurse if I could have something for pain, she asked me, as so many would, to rate my pain on a scale of 1 to 10. I told her it was a 7 and getting worse. She said she would ask the doctor for an order. Meanwhile, another nurse came in a put a plastic bracelet on my left wrist. She also attached a yellow bracelet with FALL RISK on it in large black letters.

I asked the nurse "Why am I a fall risk?" Now I was a total klutz and have tripped and fallen plenty of times over the years, but the bracelet was somehow insulting. She said "Hon, you've had Atavan and Dilaudid. You may not feel lightheaded, but if you should try to get up and walk, you would probably hit the deck. It'll just help us take better care of you." She smiled at me reassuringly. I liked her immediately. She would take wonderful care of me over the course of that night. A little while later, she advised me to order some dinner. It was after 4 o'clock and I had not had any food all day. I picked up my phone to order and the operator had to check to see what kind of diet the doctor had ordered for me. She told me I was on the cardiac diet. I ordered an open faced roast beef sandwich, mashed potatoes, green beans and some pudding. Also a Sierra Mist, which I drank the whole time I was there. I laid there and rested while I waited for my tray to arrive. The pain dissipated somewhat as I ate. I made sure to eat slowly though because I didn't want to puke it all up. Being sick is the thing I hate and dread more than anything in the world. Shift change had happened but my friendly nurse was still there for some reason. When I asked why she was working over, she said the third shift nurse had called off and she had volunteered to stay. Later, I would be glad this angel of mercy was with me. She was in my room every half hour asking "How's your pain,Cheryl?" I had to admit it was getting a lot worse and I was beginning to feel short of breath. She went to report this to the doctor, who I still hadn't seen yet. The doctor was ordering pain medication without even seeing me. She returned swiftly with a hypo which she told me was Morphine and asked if I'd ever had it. Yes, I had it after my hysterectomy. In fact, I had a pump where I could hit a button and get a hit every half hour. I'd loved it because it had taken away my pain without making me sick the way Demerol did. She began to push it slowly into my IV so that I wouldn't have that dreaded "head rush" which I hate so much from pain meds. She told me the lab had been alerted and someone was coming down to take two vials. One was to check my cardiac enzymes again and another one for a test called a dedimer. This test checks for blood clots. The dedimer test wasn't conclusive, however, because you can have an elevated level just from having an IV, which I did. Twice she had given me this awful tasting concoction that was supposed to help raise my potassium, which was low. The guy from the lab arrived and, without much preamble, found a vein and drew the required two vials of blood. I was aware now that I'd had a lot of blood draws already and the needles now stung as they went in. I admitted to my nurse after the lab guy left, that I was afraid. I didn't want to have a blood clot in my heart or lung. She told me to just relax. A STAT order had been placed on my test and the results would be back in minutes. When they arrived, the news was bad. My cardiac enzymes were elevated and my potassium was still low. By this time, there were five people in my room, including, finally, the doctor. He was tall and trim, just like the ER doctor. He was attractive and efficient. He spoke to me like a person. "Cheryl, your cardiac enzymes are elevated. Not a lot, but enough that I'm concerned based on how long standing your pain is." He listened to my heart and took my blood pressure, which was very high. He asked me if I knew what an angiogram was. Sure, I knew. It's where you inject me with radioactive contrast, thread a catheter through my femoral artery and look at my cardiac arteries. Cigi had had one a few years ago and so had my roommate before his bypass surgery. I took care of his wound (because he's diabetic). I knew how risky and painful they were. He wanted to do one. He said he wanted to see what my arteries were doing and if there was any damage to the heart muscle. I said "OK" and the doctor gave me a consent form and a pen. Saying a silent prayer, I signed it. He told me I would be going to the Cath Lab shortly. I'd never been inside a Cath Lab before but I was so scared and in so much pain I didn't care what they did to me as long as, when it was all over, I was out of pain. Two men, one of them ruggedly handsome, came into the room with a metal table on which was resting a plastic yellow sheet. I asked what the plastic was for and the handsome one said that sometimes, when the dye is injected, people pee themselves. The plastic sheet makes it easier to clean up. Wow. This was good to know but I was mortified by the thought of peeing in front of a good looking doctor and his ruggedly handsome assistant. They got me on the table, which was freezing cold, and began to wheel me to the lab. All the while, the doctor is giving me the odds of certain things happening. One of them, an arterial bleed, was given as 1200 to 1. When I arrived in the lab, I understood why the table had been so cold. The room was freezing. It was so cold that my teeth were chattering and my legs and arms were shaking. The doctor explained that the room was cold due to all the sensitive equipment and because I would become really hot when the radioactive dye was injected. I would be grateful, he assured me. He asked his assistant (the handsome one) to give me some Verced. A female nurse was there, too, helping the doctor put plastic sheeting over the flouroscope (the X-ray machine that would allow him to see my artieries). The handsome guy pushed the Verced into my IV. "I'm giving you some Verced, Cheryl," he told me. "It's to put you into twilight sedation. You won't care about too much after I give you this." Before it hit, the doctor asked me where the scars on my pudendum had come from. Because I'm in the spanking scene, I keep my hoo haw shaved. Otherwise, he would never have seen the scar. I explained that I'd been born with a hernia and had had it operated on when I was two years old. He numbed the area on my groin that he was going to go in through. I felt nothing and didn't care. Verced was the best stuff in the world. The nurse patted my shoulder and let me know that she was going to inject the dye now. I would feel it and it would feel cold at first, then really hot. It felt like ice water going in. By the time it hit my heart three seconds later, I felt like I was on fire. The doctor said "You have a blocked artery, Cheryl. It's being a bratty artery, for sure." I was praying because I thought I'd just heard the doctor say I had a blocked artery. I asked "Just one?" and he said "Yep, all the others look beautiful. You have very large arteries." He explained to me that he was going to insert a stent into the artery to open it up. It was the right coronary artery, which carries blood to a large part of the heart. And it was blocked. Terrific.I saw the doctor remove the stint from its packaging. It looked huge. I thought 'That's going in my heart?' He said he had done balloon angioplasty on the artery, in which a balloon catheter was put into the artery and then inflated in order to push the plaque build up against the walls of the artery, moving it out of the way for the stent. A stent is a plastic tube with cobalt chromium wires criss crossing it. The stent was top of the line, he told me, given only to the healthiest patients. As soon as the stent went in, every bit of my chest pain disappeared. I was so relieved, tears began to fall from the corners of my eyes. The ruggedly handsome guy said "You OK, hon?" I told him I felt a thousand times better and was so relieved to be out of pain. The doctor said "Well then, you're gonna hate me. I'm inserting a collogen seal into the artery. That way, you only have to lie flat and motionless for a couple hours instead of six hours. But it's gonna make you feel like your leg is on fire." When he inserted the seal into the artery, the pain was the worst I'd ever felt. I cried out for real and shed new tears. The ruggedly handsome guy, who I acertained by now was the anaethesiologist, advised me to breathe in deeply through my nose and then out through my mouth. "Slow deep breaths, Cheryl", he coaxed. Little did I know that my pain was about to get a lot worse. I was still crying from pain and the doctor asked Mr. Ruggedly Handsome to give me some more Verced. I was in pain again, but at least it wasn't my chest. The bratty artery was now unblocked.

However, despite how relieved I was that I wasn't going to need bypass surgery, I continued to be in severe pain as I was wheeled back to my room. My sweet, caring nurse was there waiting for me. She smiled and applied a wet wash cloth to my forehead, knowing that I was still hot from the dye. Another nurse applied a heavy sandbag directly to the wound. The pain incresed again. OK, I lied before. This was the worst pain I'd ever felt. Suddenly, I began to feel very strange. I said to my nurse "I'm gonna be really sick!" She went to get one of those vomit bags they give you and, because I couldn't raise my head (I still had to lie flat and still) she bunched up a blanket around the side of my head. "Go ahead if you need to, honey." I lost my lunch all over the place. Then I lost my bladder. The bed was soaked under me. I felt like I was going to pass out and I said so. I felt so weak. Lucky for me, my ministering angel didn't leave the room during this time. Something in how I looked made her grab the blood pressure cuff and check it. "She's crashing!" she said. I heard footsteps running away. I didn't feel THAT bad. The doctor charged into the room. It was like a scene out of "ER". "What's her pressure, Janet?" he asked. "90 over 65" she said. The doctor whisked my sheets off without ceremony and shoved up my gown, exposing my in all my sick, suffering glory. Then he did it. He pressed on my stomach. More pain washed over me like a wave. I was sure I was dying. This doctor had killed me. He wanted a CT of my belly. I was so out of it that I couldn't even sign the consent form. I had to raise my arms over my head for the scan and, for some reason, it made me feel a lot better. I was able to follow the directions I was given. The tech injected me with the contrast and I felt like I'd wet my pants again. But I knew this was the effect because Cigi had had a number of CT's. The effect didn't last very long. Neither did the test. It confirmed the doctor's worst fears: I had bled into my abdomen and the resultant hematoma (pool of blood) had ripped a hole in my peritoneum, the lining of the abdominal cavity. I heard the doctor curse under his breath and ask a nurse to get me "type and crossed for two units." I knew what this meant, too. I was going to get a blood transfusion to replace what I'd lost. I was informed of the bleed and the tear and told that I would be moving to the Intensive Care Unit. Terror gripped me and I began to cry again. The nurse patted my arm. "It's OK, sweetie. You'll be OK. They have the best people over there." I wasn't stupid. I knew that it only took a few minutes to bleed to death from an artery. They moved me swiftly to the ICU and the blood was waiting for me when we got there. We were met by Jennifer, a young ICU nurse and a man from the blood bank. He read the number from the red bracelet I'd had put on before I even got out of the CT tube. I began to think of my blood type--B postive. I told myself to do that. Be positive. It was close to midnight by now and things were quiet, except for the nurse hooking up my blood transfusion. In the ICU, I was given Fentynal for my pain every two hours. No one was asking me to rate my pain anymore. They knew it had to be bad and it was. Every movement was torture. I thought I had a high pain threshold. Everytime the young nurse lifted my gown, I whimpered because I knew she was going "appreciate" how hard my abdomen was and I knew it was going to hurt a lot. A foley was inserted into my bladder and immediately my abdomen felt less full. Getting rid of the urine took a lot of pressure off my belly. The nurse who catheterized me told me it might hurt but that she would be as gentle as possible considering what I'd already been through. At another time, I might feel self-conscious having a woman spreading my lips open and fingering my pee hole. But I was so sick I didn't care. They could have injected me with Draino and I wouldn't have cared at that point. She came in at the wrong angle the first time and it stung. She rubbed my leg. "Sorry about that, Cheryl. I'll get it this time." It slid in easily this time and immediately urine began to fill the attached bag. I let out a sigh of relief. "Better, hon?" she asked. I nodded and was rewarded with a nice shot of Fentynal. A blood pressure cuff was attached to my arm and it took my blood pressure every fifteen minutes. It was coming back up but still low. "This takes awhile," Jennifer told me. "Just rest and hit your button if you need me, OK?" Again, I just nodded. She was concerned enough to ask me "Cheryl, can you speak?" "I can but I'm so tired," I told her. Again, she patted my arm. I couldn't tell if this was respect afforded an elder or if she just empathized with her patients. "Is there anyone I can call for you, Cheryl?" she asked. "Your family?" I looked at the watch. "Not at this hour," I said. "My big sister will be here at 5 o'clock and she'll wanna see me. She'll spread the word." There weren't any phones in the ICU but the nurses would make calls for patients. The way it works in ICU is that every patient has a nurse assigned to them. That nurse is your nurse only. Unlike out on the floor, where there might be four or five nurses for 15 patients. I saw the room number on the wall--271 and noted with irony that that was the very same room I'd been in when I had visited my roommate just a month before. I never thought in a million years that when I was visiting him I would be in the exact same bed. This was one for "Ripley's". Sure enough, at 5 am my sister came into the room. Apparently, someone knew that she was my sister and had told her when she came in. She hadn't wanted Kathy to see my name on the board when she came in to clean the rooms. She wanted to make sure I was OK. My new nurse told her I was stabilizing but not out of the woods yet. My big sister, who's so stoic that her childhood nickname was General Patton, was crying. "I just lost my other sister" she said quietly. "I know" the nurse said understandingly. They brought me Fentynal and ice chips at regular intervals. I couldn't have any solid food (as if I wanted any) just in case another test was ordered. My memory is a bit hazy but I remember having pillows placed under me and being turned so they could see the lividity my internal bleed had caused. Because I was lying flat, the excess blood settled in my back and bottom. Just being breathed on, let alone moved, was excrutiating. When I would cry out from being handled, the nurses would rub my shoulder and say "There, there, sweetie. It's almost over. We just have to see how bad the bruising is. I know it hurts to be moved but it has to be done." When they were done with their examination, one of the nurses came back with some warmed up baby lotion and massaged my back and bottom (yeah, I got aftercare in the hospital). The pampering was nice. For five years, it had been all about Cigi and what I could do to make her clean and comfortable. Then I had been caregiver for my roommate, an assignment that never should have fallen on me in the first place. Now it was about me for a change. I know this sounds selfish, but I relished the attention and made no secret of the fact that I ate it up. I never got pampered like I did in the ICU.Unfortunately, the vampires were still coming to draw my blood every four hours, no matter the hour. Most were gentle but some weren't. When the pain overwhelmed me, I cried. I had been through the wringer so I thought I deserved to indulge myself. I'm not a crier by nature, but I defy anyone to go through what I'd been through and not shed a few tears. Between the pain and the fear that I might die, I did a lot of silent crying and praying. Later that morning, I was resting quietly, waiting for my pain meds, when the doctor who had wanted to discharge me walked by. When he saw me, he did the double take of all double takes. He pushed the glass door aside and came in. "What happened to you?" he asked. "I had a blocked artery," I said. "I had a heart attack and then an arterial bleed and then a peritoneal tear. I'm feeling pretty miserable." He didn't come right out and say it, but the expression on his face said "I screwed up big time." "Are you gonna be OK?" he asked. I shrugged. "I hope so." He was clearly uncomfortable so he said he hoped I felt better soon and left.

When the blood transfusion was complete, they gave me some medicine in my IV that would help it circulate better. I was getting saline wide open as well. Because I was right by the nurses' desk and the nurses had Report before every shift change, I heard the litany of what had gone wrong with my stent placement a number of times. The nurses talked loud, it seemed. The charge nurse was a caring lady; every bit an old-fashioned nurse. Alot like my mom, I thought. I remembered being in the same hospital 17 years earlier for a hysterectomy and many times the nurses would come in to check my catheter, simply spreading my legs and looking without so much as saying anything. Nowdays, I think the nurses do a better job of guarding patients' dignity. If the nurse had to come in to check something, they would always say what they were going to do before they did it. Hospitals aren't good places to sleep in. Even at night, they're very noisy. The doors stay open much of the time and the curtains stay open so that the nurses can spot a patient who might not be able to reach their call button. But if something private was about to be done, they would take great care to close the door and draw the curtains.

I was starting to feel much better by mid-day on Sunday. Blood tests and examination of my belly showed that the bleed had stopped. The blood would be reabsorbed by my body. But the peritoneal tear will take a long time to heal. I was continuing to have severe pain due to the tear but I could now move my leg and only experience moderate pain. Before I was told I could order my dinner, the nurse came in and gave me a bed bath. I had thought those had gone the way of white starched hats. "Not in the ICU" the nurse said unsnapping the snaps on the shoulders of my gown and gently pulling off my robe. She covered me with towels, both to guard my modesty and to keep me from getting cold. The warm water felt so good I just laid there and let her bathe me. It hurt so bad to move my arms I couldn't even wash my own crotch (and I didn't even try). She was a professional, doing her job. She took special care with my belly, back and bottom. They were (and still are) badly bruised. The blood was just puddled up under the surface and as I was moved, I could feel some of it moving with me. It's not like to went over to the other side or anything, but I definitely felt it moving. When I'd been bathed and put into a clean gown, the nurse brough the menu to me. I was starving. "You're on the cardiac diet so stick to that, OK?" she said. I ordered a chicken stir fry with brown rice and some orange sherbert. My throat was so dry, despite the steady diet of ice chips I'd received during my transfusion. I was on a sodium restricted diet because I was now on meds for my blood pressure, but I could still have soda so I ordered a Sierra Mist. When my tray came, I couldn't raise the bed high enough to sit up to eat. Sitting up put too much pressure on my belly. So I left the bed down and grabbed the food with my fingers. Pathetic, I know but I was so hungry I would have eaten it off the floor if need be. The nurse brought in my pills that had to be taken with food and offered to feed me. I passed, wanting to keep what was left of my dignity.

Time passes slowly in the ICU. Even though there was a clock on the wall, I had no real sense of time because I was drugged much of the time. The Fentynal served a two-fold purpose. It managed my pain and kept me relaxed. Because my potssium had been so low, they were worried about me developing muscle cramps, which would have been very painful. People from my church came to visit me and I barely remember it. My world consisted of being prodded and moved and Fentynal. And blood draws. This was my life. But sooner or later, it was time for me to go back onto the floor. Again, I got a bath first. But I had to do it myself this time. And I had to get up and walk to the end of the hall. I was shaky but I did it. The real pampering was over, I knew. Now it was time for me to start recovering. That meant doing as much as I could for myself. I bathed myself with wash clothes that had been microwaved. I also got something called a shampoo cap. This thing looks like a shower cap but inside is some water and shampoo. You put it on your head and rub it around as best you can. I was aware that I had severe bed head. Before I took my bath, a nurse came in and removed my foley. Removing it proved more painful than inserting it had been. But I was glad it was going away. Instead of being moved on a gurney, I was moved in a recliner. One nurse pushed me to my new room and another followed behind with my bags of belongings. I bid all of my nurses a fond farewell and went to my new room. I was told I was still going to get Fentynal for another 8 hours or so but then I would be given Percocet for pain. Obviously, I was healing fast. The move had exhausted me and I slept for three hours after being made comfortable. When I awoke, I had to go to the bathroom really badly so I hit my call button. I had been used to not having to wait more than a few seconds for my nurse. I had to wait almost ten minutes before the nurse came. I needed help to the bathroom I told her. I was a fall risk, after all. When I got in the bathroom, I noticed there was a little plastic pan to catch my urine. In the hospital, urine is like gold. Every drop is caught and measured. But I was worried because I hadn't had a bowel movement since before I'd gone to the hospital on Saturday. The nurse told me not to worry. My bowel sounds were good and I hadn't had that much solid food. Plus, most narcotic pain killers cause constipation. I learned that cardiac patients weren't given laxatives or enemas because it would cause problems with the heart. The best I would get, if I didn't go soon, was a stool softener. I was a very dignified person and the thought of being helped in the bathroom rubbed me the wrong way. Having to have my ass wiped because I couldn't reach back far enough galled me. There was some comic relief though, when one of the cardiac nurses came in and told me that, because I'd had blood and because I was having good bowel sounds, I was going to start releasing a lot of gas. She was going to show me how to do that without hurting myself. I looked at her incredulously. "Farting lessons?" I asked. She shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah." She had me turn on my right side, facing her and told me to tell her when I felt one coming. I was mortified. I thought nothing of farting while playing, but the thought of farting in front of a nurse who was going to coach me, well, it was bizarre beyond words. But I got through it and was later glad she'd taken the trouble to teach me the safe way to fart.

Since I'm really tired now, I will continue the rest of the story tomorrow.

About Doms And Masters

2010-08-12T18:07:00.000-07:00

Today on Fetlife, someone started a thread concerning BBOTK (which is spanko shorthand for bare bottom over the knee). There's really nothing unusual about that. Those kinds of threads get started all the time. And there are a couple of reasons for them. A lot of these kinds of threads are started by doms or masters who are trying to find out who actually "likes" spanking and who just tolerates it because it's part of their service to their "sir" or whatever she feels the need to call the one in charge of her. Sometimes they're started by bottoms, who think they're the only one out there who likes it (despite the fact that Fetlife has a predominant number of members who list spanking as a fetish). The reason why this thread was started is really not as important as one of the responses. The lady said she wished her master could help her with this because it's something she really enjoys. That got me to thinking. Why would someone choose to be in a relationship with someone who refuses to or can't meet their needs? I understand that a lot of doms or masters (mainly those who are sadistic) routinely withhold the very thing their sub or slave wants in order to reinforce their control over them. You would probably see this in a relationship called TPE or total power exchange, where one partner has complete control over the other. In most of the D/s relationships I've seen, the dom is more than happy to give the sub what she wants and saves the nasty stuff for punishment. I have to say that if I were a sub, I wouldn't stay in a relationship where I got continually got the opposite of what I wanted. I'm not a masochist in that way. I do love pain but I don't like to never get what I want.
I know it seems like I hate on doms and masters a lot. I don't hate them as much as I just don't understand them. Nor would I really want to. Many doms can understand the needs of a pure spanko at a play party, but would never entertain the thought of a relationship with one. This is because if I were to enter into a relationship with a dom, his need for obediance and servitude would just never get met. Sure, I like to make sure my man is happy. And I would do everything in my power to make that happen. But not at the expense of my own needs. I would hate to have my own personality overshadowed. I know plenty of ladies (and guys for that matter) who can role play a scene like that; where it's all about what the dom (or domme) wants. But they could no more live that kind of life than I could. Another master posted to a thread about spanking wishes that his was to have two naked slaves chained together at the foot of his bed. Well, good luck with that. It's been my experience that most masters were guys who, in high school, sat at home on Saturday nights watching reruns and wishing they could get to first base with a girl. Years later, they read a book or see a website about BDSM, put on a black T-shirt, buy a flogger and spend endless days in the front of a mirror repeating "I'm a master" over and over. It seems like they have to convince themselves before they can convince someone else. Of course, I know this isn't true of all doms or masters. It just sure seems that way. Most simply can't deal with a woman who has her own mind and her own opinions (although they always say they admire these traits...just not in a sub apparently). At the recent CM party, we were having dinner in the public room when a dom came over to my friend, grabbed her hair and said "Someone wants to see you...NOW!" while she had her fork to her lips. Of course, she really had no choice but to go. I said to another one of our friends that that would the day I'd put up with that. I hate having my hair grabbed anyway and someone who did it while I was eating would probably find himself missing one of his balls. The friend said, somewhat derisively, that I was "only a bottom" and that my friend was a sub. I argued that even subs ought to be allowed to eat a meal in peace. I mean, seriously, we were at a party and she wasn't even in a relationship with this guy. I guess I just don't like blowhards, whether they are dom or top. I cut my hair short for just that reason; I got tired of guys pulling even after I asked them not to. But many doms (and most masters) have an "it's all about me" attitude. Of course, they will swear on a stack of Bibles that they love their slave (or pet or whatever they choose to call her) and seeing to her happiness is all important to them. But this is bull puckey. They care about getting their needs met, no matter how outrageous they are. That's great if the sub or slave needs to be treated this way. But what about an inexperienced one who doesn't yet know what she wants? What if she falls under the spell of one of these guys and then can't figure out how to get out of the deal once she figures out this isn't her cup of tea? Most of them read a book like "The Loving Dominant" and think this fairy tale is what life will be like. They are led down the primrose path that has no bearing in reality. I was led down the same path and I'm not even a sub. I was told that all the men I would meet would be gentlemen and that I would be safe with them. There were a number of times when this wasn't true and the guys turned out to be total doms (after assuring me they could be whatever I needed them to be). I did play with one dom at the CM party and I allowed him to flog me. He said "I know this isn't your cup of tea". But he did give me a nice cool down flogging. But it still didn't whet my appetite for floggers. I knew that I wasn't allowing him to give me the kind of flogging he wanted to give me, but there was nothing else I could do. I'm determined to be true to myself. This guy has known me long enough to know that I will never be a sub. You simply cannot turn a person into a sub if the raw material isn't there. With me, it definitely isn't. Most of the people I play with are cool with me just being a bottom who loves to get spanked. A few have said they would like playing with me more if I were a sub, but they understand that this is never going to happen. So I go on in the scene, trying my best to make heads and tails out of the different personalities I encounter. I think I will never fully understand the D/s or M/s dynamic. I have a certain respect for people living their lives the way they want (within SSC) but that doesn't mean I have to do it that way.

Making A Move

2010-08-08T17:27:00.000-07:00

At the end of this month, I'll be moving out of the town I grew up in. All of this is happening because of circumstances beyond my control. My roommate isn't going to be returning to work anytime soon due to a stroke suffered after open heart surgery. So his mother is taking him back to Arizona to live with her. When she told me this, I went into severe panic mode. I pictured myself as one of those homeless women I see: ragged, dirty and pushing all of her meager possessions in a stolen shopping cart. I don't have any family that can put me up. Plus, I'm still jobless. This is what mostly prompted the move. Luckily, a scene friend has a spare room that he's willing to rent to me. I have some savings so I'm not totally broke. The area where I will be moving to is more affluent than where I live now so the job market is probably better. I can more than likely get hired at the Lowe's there (the nice company that fired me).
However, my main fear is leaving the place where I was born and grew up. I'm excited but scared at the same time. This could be the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'm going to think positively. This move will put me closer to parties as well so that helps. The loss of my twin, my best friend leaving for Arizona and my lack of family really all sort of combined to make me realize that there's really no good reason for me to stay in Peoria. My older sister wasn't happy to hear the news. She wants me to put in my application at the hospital where she works. Yeah, I really want to spend my days cleaning up "Code Browns" and scrubbing puke off the floors. I hate hospitals and have no intention of working in one. I think it's time to make a clean breast of it. I'll be 50 in four months and, aside from getting active in the spanking scene, I've played it safe all my life. It's time for me to find out who I am and to see if I can make a life away from Peoria. Now starts the arduous task of letting people know I'm moving, filling out change of address forms, informing the phone company and the electric company and all the other unpleasantness associated with moving. The last time I moved was about four years ago when Cigi and I decided to put our house on the market and move into an apartment. We had decided it was time to move. And I had her to help me. She was always way more practical and knowledgeable about things than I was. I'm sure I depended on her too much and that's why, when she died, I felt so totally lost. I mean I do have help, but this time, instead of moving across town, I'm moving upstate. I know the city fairly well, having attended a number of parties there. In fact, it looks a little bit like Peoria. Well, it looks like the nicer part of Peoria. I have quite a few scene friends there, too. I'm not too sure who I can count on at this juncture, but I think this is going to turn out well. I just need to get past the butterflies and be confident. Yeah, wish me luck on that one.

Crimson Moon Spanking Party Review--Day Three: Good Wood

2010-08-05T13:32:00.000-07:00

I awoke on Saturday morning feeling somewhat sore from the day before. Because of this, I was worried about my tolerance. Of course, I started worrying about my tolerance as soon as I knew I was going to this party. I didn't think I played that hard and so I was perplexed about how sore I was. Nass was already up, having fallen back to sleep on the couch with a book still in her hand. I woke her gently and asked her if she wanted to go get some breakfast. She did. We threw on clothes and went downstairs, looking like something the cat drug in. I felt really grungy. My hair wasn't combed, my clothes were wrinkled, and I had bags under my eyes. I must have looked horrendous. But, as usual in the morning, I was starving. This hotel's breakfast isn't very good to be honest. They offer cold cereal, different breads and bagels for toasting, yogurt, muffins and not much else. If you want eggs or something hot, you have to pay for it. They should call if a "continental" breakfast. Anyway, I got myself a bowl of Frosted Flakes, a glass of tomato juice and a bagel and sat down to eat. We saw some of our cohorts from the night before, but most seemed to be still in bed or had already eaten and were out and about. The vendor's fair was going to start at noon and I wanted to get down to the party suite and get my stuff set up. Granted, I didn't have very much to sell. But I also didn't want to be stuck with nowhere to show my stuff. MrZia had trusted me to sell these things for him and I had accepted. So I ate quickly and decided to go up to our room and get my party clothes and get things set up. I decided to wear a pair of pink stone earrings and they turned out to be problematic. I managed to lose one, not once but twice, in two different rooms while playing.So while I can truthfully say I didn't do much bratting that weekend, my earring couldn't say the same thing. It was constantly falling out of my ear at the worst times. I didn't think I moved around that much when I played, but apparently either I do move more than I thought or there were other forces at work.

When I got down to the party room, I let one of the board members know that I needed a table to show my stuff and he happily pointed me to a table that wasn't being used. I ended up sharing the table with two other people. One was a delightful lady who had floggers, wrist restraints (which doubled as bracelets), and hand paddles for sale. She used one of those hand paddles on my bottom and it was wonderful. MrZia used to make them but found them awkward and stopped. I'm going to have to convince him to start making them again. The other person was a guy I've known for many years who had pictures of Bettie Page for sale. They were from the original negatives and came in packets of 10 for $10. They were all nice photos, some of them very well known. One of the ladies at the party came and sat with me to keep me company. I only had about 7 or 8 paddles for sale and most of them sold out in the first fifteen minutes. The curly maples and the curly purple heartwood went first. I had one mesquite and three African pearwoods also and those sold, too. Plus the thick stack of business cards he'd given me disappeared, too. All in all, I think people were very impressed with the paddles. And I actually got to feel some of them in the hands of a very capable top, Suburban Spanker.

MrZia messaged me later and told me he was happy my behind had gotten such a thorough going-over with the maple spoon paddle and he was happy to see how well the shape of the paddle fit the shape of my bottom. He's thinking of making some of these spoon paddles out of other woods like mango. That should be interesting. He also told me he might do some of the hairbrush paddles in yellow wood with purple heartwood handles. I would love to see this combination. If I end up going to the October CM party, more paddles are coming with me.Now with all of my paddles sold, I decided to look around and see what everyone else was selling. A gentleman approached me, asking me "What would you like me to beat you with?" I didn't quite understand what he was saying at first. Then it dawned on me that I had put my message for Suburban Spanker in this guy's message slot. I didn't realize until later, when I looked, that Suburban Spanker's slot had been labeled with his nickname, McScoldy. I didn't want to disappoint this guy and I did agree to play with him. But I let him know that the message had been intended for someone else. He asked me if I wanted to back out of playing with him. Well, of course I didn't want to back out of playing with him. He ushered me over to one of the spanking benches and I got comfortable. He worked me over with an assortment of different implements, mostly straps. It was a lot of fun and I certainly did feel I'd gotten beaten to my satisfaction. I'm going to have to make a note to play with this guy again. He had a very good technique. The vendor's fair ended at 3 o'clock but people sort of hung around until about 4 o'clock. Then they began to start kicking us out so they could start getting the food ready. I decided to head back upstairs to either my room or Morgan's if the door was open. Turns out, the door was open and Suburban Spanker was apparently looking around for someone to play with. I was a little sore, but I wanted to play with him. Who am I kidding? I always want to play with him. I was admiring a cane that Morgan had (which was a wangee cane from Canes4Pain). I'd long wanted one of these canes but I was afraid to buy one because I was afraid it would be too severe even for me. As with the previous day, Morgan advised me to "see his arm". Well, Suburban was happy to demo the cane, and a few other things, on me. This was a public scene and, as a spirited discussion was going on, I thought I would chime in, which made Suburban tell me to hush. Normally, I don't get into being told to be quiet, but it occurred to me that my conversation was distracting him. It had nothing to do with him being mad at me for talking while he was spanking me nor was it an attempt to control me. He caned and strapped me for awhile, until I was feeling nice and floaty. He's never said no to me when I've wanted to play with him. I'm sure there are women he won't play with. We all have people who are on our "no" list. I'm just incredibly happy that I'm not on his. I would never want to do anything to make him add me. After my strapping and caning was over, I was sitting with someone I knew pretty well (I'd purchased things from him at vendor's fairs past) and he happened to be holding a single tail. I mentioned I was afraid of them and really didn't want to try it. It was too BDSM for me. Suburban heard this and invited me to do a small scene with him. It's not like he tried to coerce me nor was he trying to convince me to change my mind. Since I can never say "no" to him, I tugged on my courage and went over to the bed. My knees were shaking and I admitted to him that I was petrified. He asked me if my fear was general or specific. All I knew of whips was watching the drovers at y uncle's cattle ranch in Texas. They used whips that sounded like rifle shots when they were cracked. He stacked all four of the pillows on top of each other and had me lie over them so that my butt was way up in the air. Then he put another pillow across the backs of my legs and said that, because he lacked practice, he was going to do this over my pants. I was wearing leggings, not heavy denim. He started light, like you do with canes until you get your stroke down. It actually reminded me of being birched. The popper on the end of the single tail felt like bees stinging me (just like the birch). As he upped the intensity, the single tail began to make the more recognizable sounds. I'm pretty sure he checked in with me but my head was gone so I can't be real sure. I was very surprised at this. I thought I required heavy play to reach that "zone" that I sometimes go to. When he was finished, I was so out of it, that he thought it would be a good idea for me to lie down and come back to my senses. I did get up and look to see if I had any marks. I did have some but they faded before I could get a photo of them. I thanked him for the wonderful scene and for getting me past my fear of single tails. I told him I don't think it's something I will want all the time, but that it might be a fun thing to add occasionally. By the time I got my bearings back, it was time for supper. The food was OK, nothing special, but I was hungry as I had had nothing since breakfast. This happens a lot at parties. I just lose track of time and forget to stop and eat. I knew we were having court that night and I had been told I had a charge against me. I tried to think back to what I could possibly have done, but couldn't think of anything. I figured it was probably a made up charge. That happens a lot. So I ate and watched the Roleplay Demo, which was interesting but not really my thing. When court rolled around, I waited and waited for my charge to be read, but it never was. The Judge threw out any charges he couldn't read, so I have a feeling that my charge was one of them because nothing happened. The man who wrote up the charge told me later that it seemed to him that only the "favorites" were getting called up. Most of the young, cute and desirable bottoms had multiple charges brought against them. Now I harbor no illusions about myself. I'm neither young nor cute nor desirable. But it sort of frosted my cookies that all of these old men were running around after these young video stars. So I looked up one of my favorite tops and asked him if he wanted to play. Sure, he did. He's another one who's never said "no" to me when I've asked him. We had an adventure on the elevator going up to my room. The elevator was pretty full and as it came to a stop on the sixth floor, it bumped really hard. I sort of screamed. I hate elevators and, for many years, I did the stairs rather than go in one. But I've come to the realization over the years that I'm just not able to do six flights of stairs anymore. I was still shaking from the elevator adventure when we got to my room. This top lives close by and doesn't get a room at the hotel so he always has to either go to the lady's room or play publicly. He put his bag on the bed and took out his laptop. "Do you like mood music?" Well, not really but if you want it, go for it. It was some kind of New Age/House Music stuff. He didn't have it too loud our anything. He laid out his toys and I laid down on the bed. He's had the same toys for years so there was nothing new in his bag. We had a fairly hard session, not anything I couldn't handle. But I have certainly played harder with this particular top. The scene was great for me because I know I can just lie there and trust him not to do anything I don't like or go harder than I want to. I was incredibly sore when we finished so he rubbed some arnica on my bottom. I know a few tops (doms mostly) who won't do this. They took all the time and energy to inflict the pain (pain they argue that the bottom wanted) why on earth would they want to soothe it then? But this guy likes to give aftercare and i was really sore so I needed it. When we went back to the elevator to go back downstairs, he asked me if I was going to scream in his ear again. I told him as long as the elevator behaved his ear would be fine this time. When we got back down to the public room, my blogging buddy, Dr. Ken was there. I wanted to play with him very badly but knew I was done for awhile. So I tried to keep him in my sights until I was ready to ask him. In the meantime, I got asked several times to play, but had to pass because I was toast. It was Saturday, after all, and the gloves were off. After about 45 minutes, I asked Ken to play and, of course, he said yes. I always try to play with Ken before I'm really sore but that didn't happen this time. But I wanted to play. We went up to his room and the elevator actually behaved this time. So Ken didn't get his ear screamed in. When we got to his room, I immediately got bare bottom over his knee. At least, I think I did. I can't remember if he pulled my panties down or not. He probably remembers though. He had to see that I was still sore so he started lightly. Although Ken is a hand spanker, he had a few toys, including his famous hairbrush, sitting on the night stand next to the bed. I made the mistake of handing him the hairbrush. I'm not quite sure how this happened. But I got some good whacks with that brush just because I was so curious. Ken isn't what I would call a "bruiser" by any stretch but he does know how to bring it when the situation warrants it. Apparently, this time, it did. But it wasn't done maliciously or to get a reaction out of me (although I did react...it was a hairbrush after all). One thing Ken really appreciates is a lady who likes to get spanked. And I think his favorite ladies to play with are ones who sort of convey that sense of playfulness. I couldn't play with someone who was so serious all the time and who lacked a sense of humor. So Ken is awesome to play with. He kind of reminds me of Tony Elka. He has the same kind of sense of humor. When we finished, instead of me going back downstairs, I ventured over to Morgan's room to see what was shaking. I wanted a caning from my friend, Sarahnade's "daddy". He had some nice cane photos on his Fetlife profile so I had to find out what he could do. Since we were in my room, we used my canes. Sarahnade warned him which ear was my deaf one because he doesn't talk very loud. He left some lovely marks on my bottom and then proceeded to play tic tac toe on Nass's bottom.

I think that takes real creativity and, of course, a cold bottom. A warmed up bottom just isn't going to leave those lovely marks that this kind of scene requires. I'm not sure how this happened, but I knew I had to get a pic of it. Nass really enjoyed it. But, sadly, it was time to call it a night. I absolutely hate the last night of a party. I'm so sad knowing that I will be leaving all of my friends until next time.

We got on the road at about 8:30 the next morning and I was home by 11:30. Back in my lonely apartment, suffering post party drop, I was miserable. Now I have the next party to look forward to.

Crimson Moon Spanking Party Review--Part Two: Dressed Alike

2010-08-04T10:16:00.001-07:00

Day Two of the Crimson Moon summer party dawned clear, bright and warmer than the previous day. And Nass and I almost slept through half of it. Because of a shift change at her job, Nass had been experiencing trouble with her sleep cycle. So the night before, when she retired for the night, she took a sleeping pill. I woke up at about 8 am to see if she wanted to go down to the lobby and avail ourselves of the free breakfast. But she was sleeping so soundly that I didn't have the heart to wake her. Then I got sleepy again myself and went back to bed. Before I knew it, it was 11 am and I realized we had missed breakfast. I think this hotel stops serving it at 10 am or so. Nass and I quickly decided to go somewhere and get something to eat. Surely, there was a fast food place nearby where we could grab a burger before the lunch rush. Not my favorite kind of breakfast, but all we could get considering the hour. While we were walking through the lobby on our way to Nass's car, we ran into our friend, Jolyn. She's a very dear lady and she and I have a lot in common. She lost her husband to cancer in December and I lost my sister in May. So we knew what the other was going through. She had told me that she would drive Cigi and I to Valorie's party just the day before the party was due to start. It was very generous of her and I'll never forget her kindness. Anyway, Nass asked Jolyn to join us and she eagerly accepted. When we got in the car and were trying to decide where to go, she said she knew where there was a Denny's close by. That sounded good to me (actually, anything would have sounded good to me at that point because I was famished). So we drove a short way to Denny's for some food. I still was undecided on whether or not I was going to get breakfast or a sandwich. But when we got inside and I saw all the people with these marvelous omelets on their plates, my mind was made up. We had great food and great conversation. I felt a little bit left out when Nass and Jolyn began to talk about their children since I'm childless. But otherwise, we had a great time. Now that my stomach was full, I was feeling a bit tired. This, despite all the sleep I'd already gotten. Let me say right here that I have never slept this late at a spanking party. I've always been too afraid I would miss something.

When we got back to the hotel, Nass asked me if I wanted to go to the Ikea store with her and a friend, but after first saying yes, I changed my mind. I didn't want to spend two hours walking around that enormous store and having nothing to show for it because everything was too expensive for me. After Nass left, I kept the door barred open in case anyone wanted to visit. Morgan, the unofficial MC of CM had his room next door and a lot of times my room took the overflow. It never fails really. No matter what party it is, Morgan is either right next door or across the hall from me. Not that I mind. Morgan's room is always a nice escape from the public suite for me. I don't hear very well and many times, when the room is packed full and everyone is talking at once, I miss most of what people say. Morgan's room, being smaller, is better for me. He has great food and drink there and, of course, his toy stand, featuring every leather toy that Ian, the London Tanner, has ever made. A scene using a variety of these implements is referred to as a "Tour Of London."

I have about half of these toys myself and love them all. Depending on who's conducting the tour, it can be a bruising experience, as one first timer discovered (to her delight!). However, Morgan himself doesn't play at these parties. He prefers to see to the hospitality and comfort of his "guests". There is one top whom he refers to as his "arm", that Morgan sends ladies to when they actually as him to play. I found this out firsthand. I had always wondered why Morgan never asked me to play after all the parties we've attended. So I worked up my courage and asked him. He pointed to this top and said "See my arm." Now don't get me wrong. This particular top is probably my favorite. I adore playing with him. But he's becoming extremely popular was kept very busy at this party. If I can't get enough of being spanked, this guy can't get enough of spanking willing ladies. He goes by Suburban Spanker on Fetlife but his brattier acquaintances know him by his nickname: McScoldy. I've been seeing and playing with him at parties for a few years now and he's truly coming into his own. He's building a very good reputation at the parties. His nickname led to a case of mistaken identity on my part which I will relate in part three.

When Nass returned from her shopping trip, she had a bottle of Mudslides, which she offered to me. Now I hadn't had alcohol in over six years and was somewhat leery. Nass assured me you could barely taste the booze in it. I filed this under "life's too short!" and allowed Nass to pour me a glass. As soon as I took a swig, my eyes began to water. Clearly, my days of drinking alcohol were over. A little while later, her shopping companion came in and they sat an drank sangria. I wish I could just sit and social drink--enjoy a glass of wine with dinner or something. But I obviously can no longer handle alcohol. The lady who was visiting us is not in the scene. She's the caregiver of the man who paid for our rooms. But she enjoys the parties a lot and thinks we're all really cool because we have an interest in something and we live it out. But she's non-judgmental about what we do. So many vanilla people turn up their noses at us and call us sick and perverted. But she's cool with it. When she left, Nass and I thought it was time to get ready. She showered first. I was impressed with how fast she got in and got out. Then it was my turn. I had thought ahead of time, while I was packing, what I would wear on what particular night. That way, I would spend less time thinking about what to wear. It turned out that my decision was an auspicious one. When we were ready and arrived in the party suite for supper, my friend, Sarahnade, was there. She walked over to me and hugged me and at first I didn't notice that she had on the same shirt as I did. But once it did, I heard all the people in the room laughing and clapping. I had a hard time convincing some people that this had been a total coincidence. The photo of the two of us is at the top of the this entry. I just had to get a picture of it. Anyway, I doubt it will happen again. But being a twin, it just appealed to me nostalgically. Cigi and I dressed alike until we were in about seventh grade. I ate pretty quickly and looked around the room for someone to play with. Luckily, I found McScoldy and asked him if he wanted to play. I was anxious to really see how my tolerance would be and I knew he was someone who could test me. So off we went to his room. He wasted no time in getting me over his knee. I hardly ever get a hand spanking from him, but this time, he gave me a very nice warm up. He has a very heavy hand; just the kind I like. He spanked me and strapped me over my panties. It's been my experience with him that he's not really an "on the bare" kind of guy. At least not all the time. He got me over the bed and asked me if he'd ever taken his belt to me and I had to think. I was pretty sure I had never felt his belt so he whipped it off and told me it was about time. I laughingly told him when he got to my dad's level, I would let him know. My dad was a Marine (as I've mentioned more than once here) and he liked obedience. To ensure he got it, he had the belt from his Marine uniform, which I hated. When I first started in the scene, I just couldn't do belts. It brought back too many unpleasant memories of my meetings with Dad's belt. I discovered that McScoldy is just about as proficient with a belt as my dad was. But, unlike whippings from my dad, I had no negative feelings with him. Endorphins were washing over me. I knew he was really letting me have it, but it didn't really hurt that bad. At least, not in a bad way. When we finished, he rubbed some baby oil on my sore bottom and we sat and talked for a bit. Then I headed back to Morgan's room, knowing that it would probably be an hour before I could play again. I saw Sarahnade in there and that was where the picture was taken. Sarahnade is kind of special to me. She's a fellow Christian and someone I met (and rescued) at her first party. Unfortunately, I never get to spend enough time with her. This time, I got to spend more than I have with her previously. I had a couple of people ask me to play during this time, but I had to pass because I was beginning to get some feeling back in my bottom and it was really sore. I really do hate having to tell someone who wants to play with me that I can't. Even if I'm resting, I would much rather be playing. But I've learned over the years to pace myself better. The urge to play is pretty strong, even when I'm sore. But I had to resist the urge to run off with whoever asked me.

As soon as I was recovered, I looked for my buddy, Michigan Headmaster, and told him I wanted a hard spanking. He was happy to oblige me. We went to his room, which he was sharing with his "little girl". There's a huge difference in their ages, but they seem to be good together so I guess that's all that counts. This guy is someone I got off on the wrong foot with two years ago. But I guess he's grown more than almost anyone I've seen at parties, except for maybe Suburban Spanker. Anyway, first he spanked me with his hard hand. I love hand spanking and don't seem to get enough of it. Since this guy used to be a cop, he has a very authoritative air about him, but not bossy. He just had a commanding confidence that I really liked. Some of his toys were incredibly nasty but, of course, those were the ones I loved best. We talked and laughed and had one of the best scenes of the weekend for me. He's into a lot of things I'm not into, but as long as he enjoys spanking a willing bottom, he will always have a taker in me. Of course, once this scene ended, I was out of commission for another hour. And it was getting late. I thought for just a few minutes about making this my last of the night, but decided not to. I wanted to play at least once more. Yes, I was sore. But that's part of the allure. I love to play when my bottom is sore. I already knew I'd be sleeping on my stomach anyway. What could one more scene hurt? So I went back down to the party suite and looked around. One thing we had new at this party was a message board. Everyone who registered for the party had a little slot where people could leave messages for other party goers. I wrote a note letting Michigan Headmaster know how much I enjoyed my scene with him. Then I saw another slot and grabbed a piece of paper on which I wrote "Please BEAT me!" along with my name. Little did I know that I put that paper in the wrong slot and that the next day I would realize this. I never did find anyone else to play with so I watched some public scenes. There were a couple of spanking benches available and people were using them. I found them very comfortable. So after watching some more play I decided I was tired enough to hit the sack. I knew the next day was going to be the last and I planned to make the most of it. But I had to save some bottom for it. I went back to my room and turned on the TV. It was the trade deadline in Major League Baseball and I was interested in seeing who had been traded and acquired. To my consternation, the Cardinals traded one of my favorite players. I went off to sleep trying not to think too much about this. I wanted to be rested for Day Three.

Crimson Moon Spanking Party Review--Part One: Getting There

2010-08-02T18:11:00.000-07:00

The party actually started a little early for me. I told you in my previous post that my friend, Nass, was coming from Wisconsin to spend the night with me. I spent the earlier part of the day getting the apartment cleaned up and doing my laundry, which I didn't particularly want to come home to. I also colored my hair. I had done it just a few weeks earlier, but I tried a different color and wasn't thrilled with it. So I made the decision to change it back to my usual color. I was very pleased with the result but I think I should've gotten a haircut. I have a pixie cut and when the hair begins to grow over my ears, it starts to bother me. But I opted not to get it cut. It still looked good.

Once I had everything ready, it was starting to get close to the time Nass had told me she would be there so I called her to get a progress report. She told me she was about an hour out so I spent some time watching TV and also watching as some ominous storm clouds moved in. I was worried about Nass because there looked to be a line of storms. She told me later that the bad weather had followed her the whole way here. There's a saying among us Midwesterners: "If you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes". But that wasn't going to be the case today. She called me when she was about a half hour late and asked me for directions since her GPS had just died. Oh, that poor girl. She had no idea that I'm terrible with directions. I managed to get her royally lost and then, to make matters even worse, her cellphone died so she couldn't call me to let me know she was lost.

Lucky thing for me my neighbor across the hall is somewhat of a busybody. He came over and knocked on my door and told me that he thought he'd seen someone pull into the parking lot and park next to my car and just sit there. He asked me if I was expecting anyone and I told him I was expecting a friend from out of state. I didn't bother to ask her what kind of car she drove and she never asked me what my apartment number was. It was pouring rain. In fact, as I watched it begin to rain, it was so hot that I could see steam rising off the bran new asphalt of our parking lot. My neighbor had been sitting on his balcony when the rain started and had seen her pull in and park, then leave. Pretty soon, he came back and knocked again.

"I think your friend is here," he told me.

Our building manager had just had locks installed on our entry doors, but as yet, there was no buzzer system in place where she could buzz me and let me know she was here. I grabbed my key and headed down the stairs but my neighbor had already let her in. She was soaking wet and her eyes were red from crying. I got her up to my apartment and got her a towel to dry off with. She told me a harrowing story about a rude gas station attendant and how the rain had followed her. The plan was for me to take her out for Chinese food. But between the weather and the fact that she had had enough driving in our fair city, I thought a dinner at home would be better. I asked her if she liked pancakes and she said that's exactly what she had been thinking while she was trying to find my place. We were hungry so we each ate two good sized pancakes. I also showed her the DVD we'd made to show at Carol's memorial service. She enjoyed looking at all the family photos, especially the baby pictures.

Now maybe it was a coincidence and maybe it wasn't, but that day my computer keyboard decided to die. I had a Fetlife inbox full of messages and no way to answer anyone. Nass suggested a visit to Wal-Mart, as she had a list of things she wanted to buy. We both found some very cute panties and bought them. I was over packed as it was but I can never resist the lure of cute panties. I also bought a new keyboard. Te old one had been one Carol had bought the previous fall. It was cordless and really, now that I think of it, nothing but trouble. So the new one was a regular corded one. But it was spill resistant and that sold it to me. I can't name the number of keyboards I've lost because I insist on having a 32 oz. glass of soda sitting right next to it. Plus, I'm a klutz. So it happened a lot. We returned home, both of us complaining that we had spent too much money. When we got home, we tried on our new panties and critiqued them for each other. It was really a fun evening considering what she had gone through previously. I tried to make it up to her in every way I could. I got out my queen size air mattress and got it set up for her so she could stretch out. We decided to get up at 7:30 so I set the alarm. I had my usual night-before-a-party excitement which made it hard to relax and go to sleep. I was really keyed up, but tired from all the housework I'd done and the long walk around Wal-Mart had wreaked havoc on my legs. Before long, I must have drifted off. When I awoke, it was 6:30 and Nass was already up. I wasn't sure if I should get up or go back to sleep but soon opted to do the latter. I was still pretty tired. It dawned on me that I had an hour left to sleep so I took it. Of course, at 7:30 the alarm went off and I drowsily headed for the kitchen to get something to drink. Nass informed me that she had already had a shower and helped herself to a glass of iced tea. She asked if the shower had woken me up but I told her it hadn't. I don't hear very well anyway so she could have made all the noise she wanted to and it probably wouldn't have made any difference. I once slept through an earthquake.

I made her some whole wheat toast and had some myself. I was busily packing up my last minute things while she took a phone call from her son. Then we decided we needed to make another trip to Wal-Mart because we'd both forgotten things the night before. I needed to get some Mountain Dew and Nass needed to buy a new GPS. So we headed off to the store. We made quick work of our shopping. Nass went to the customer service desk to exchange a bra and the lady behind the counter, a lady I knew well, mistook Nass for my mother. I was beginning to wonder if things could get any worse. When we returned to my apartment, having to take a detour due to a broken water main that was being worked on, I popped a button off my shorts. Oh, Lord, I thought, please not now. Nass decided to stay down in her car and do her nails while I headed upstairs to sew my pants. Not only did I pop the button off, but I had torn the fabric, too and needed to sew that before I could sew the button back on. I said in my previous post that you never know when someone might lose a button so I remembered that I'd wanted to pack my sewing kit. I was trying so hard to get done quickly that I forgot to pack it. I would later regret this because a friend of mine would need something sewn later in the party and I wouldn't be able to help her.

Finally, it was time to get on the road. Nass had opened the new GPS she'd purchased and programmed our destination into it. We had beautiful weather for the drive up. We drove without stopping and reached the hotel at about 2:30. We met some friends for lunch at a restaurant next to the hotel. It was cool and breezy and I couldn't help thinking how much hotter it had been in Peoria. The party at the restaurant included our good friend, Pris and her boyfriend, Bill. Bill had paid for the room Nass and I would be occupying for the weekend. Bill is a very generous person and I made a point of telling him more than once how much I appreciated his generosity. When we got done eating, we got settled in our room, then went next door to talk to Bill and Pris and another friend, John, who had driven (yes, driven!) from Maryland for the party. We actually got some play in and then I decided I had better get a shower. I'd been in a car all day and I smelled like it. I've mentioned before in other entries that I'm somewhat obsessed with making sure I smell good and that I look as good as I can when I'm at a party. I actually soaked for a bit, letting the hot water soak the ache from my knees and hips. My feet were pruning up so I figured it was time to get out. For some reason, the rooms are always freezing cold when we first check in. I had a robe with me so I grabbed it and wrapped it around me. I chose my clothes, panties and sandals, having already determined what I was going to wear each night.

The first gentleman I played with was someone I have known for many years. I messaged him and asked him if he would do a scene with me on Thursday night. I was sort of precise about what I wanted and he was more than happy to oblige me. I enjoyed the scene very much, although not a lot of spanking was involved. I didn't really need to wait too long for my next scene. It was with a switch I have known since my first party. He and talked quite a bit first since this was my first party since Carol passed and he wanted to make sure my head space was good before we got started. I'm glad for that. He spanked me by hand, as is his custom and we had a great time. But I was getting hungry and it was about time for dinner to be ready. I had spaghetti with homemade meat sauce and it was wonderful. They also provided bread and butter and salad with it. I ate my fill while spending some time talking to my table companions, one of whom was a new lady who had messaged me with first-party questions. I'd had to wait until I replaced my keyboard to answer her. She seemed to fit right in and we had a nice conversation.

Believe it or not, I only played three times that first night. The last one was a public scene with my buddy from Texas, Tubaman. He had emailed me before the party and offered to give me a shoulder if I ever felt overwhelmed with Carol's absence from the party. I climbed up on the spanking bench and he went to work on my bottom with an assortment of straps and paddles. I forgot how hard he could spank. It was a wonderful scene with him but I was about ready to call it a night.

My biggest surprise of the party was appearance of my friend, Queenie, who three weeks earlier, had lost her husband to cancer. She and I had some very tearful hugs during that party. She had told me she was going to start attending functions again and told me she might make CM in October, all the while she knew she was coming to this party. She had sworn the group leaders to secrecy so I was completely shocked to see her there. I hadn't seen her at a party in over two years due to medical problems she was experiencing. But it did my heart good to see her and also to see her playing with gusto. I think it was just what the doctor ordered.

I went back to my room and took my make up off. I'd had to borrow a jar of Pond's cold cream from Pris because I had forgotten to pack mine. It happens every time--I always forget something. As I was going next door to return it, I saw my new friend, Zelle, coming up the hall. Even though it was one o'clock in the morning, she looked fabulous. I looked like something the cat had dragged in. Now I wish I had waited to take my make up off. I had the paddles that MrZia had sent up from Arizona and she was anxious to have them. I took her into my room and removed them, still wrapped in paper, from my toy bag. Oh, they were gorgeous. We talked a bit about the paddles and she paid for them. Her "Doublemint Twin" was with her and we chatted a bit about how they were enjoying the party. But I think they both sensed that I was fading fast and excused themselves. I drifted off to sleep knowing the party would be in full swing the next day.

A Friend Indeed

2010-07-27T12:19:00.000-07:00

One of my best friends in the spanking scene, Nasserine, is coming down to Peoria to see me before the Crimson Moon party. Since she lives in Wisconsin and the party is in Chicago, she's coming down the day before to rest up for the drive back up North.
I've met some wonderful people since I've been in the spanking scene but a few are special. Nass is one of them. If we lived closer together, I have a feeling we would always be at each other's homes. As it is, I have some special things planned for her. I'm taking her out to dinner tomorrow night at my favorite Chinese buffet. She's a vegetarian but I'm sure she won't have any problem choosing from among the delicious meatless dishes they serve. Thursday morning, I'll make us muffins for breakfast and we can take the ones we don't polish off with us on the road and munch on them when we feel a little hungry. She's taken care of my hotel room, too, once we get there. So I feel obligated to do as many nice things for her as I can.
I'm also going to meet my Fetlife buddy, Zelle, for the first time. She has such a bubbly personality and she's so beautiful I'm sure she will be a big hit at the party. She lives in the South so she's coming a long way to attend this party. I hope it lives up to her expectations. She attended her first party in Florida last month and had such a good time that she decided to attend Crimson Moon, too. The Florida parties are fancier than ours. They have a beautiful beach side hotel; or at least, they did. I guess they aren't going to do those big summer parties anymore. Anyway, I would hate to see her disappointed because the hotel isn't 5-star. She doesn't strike me as the snobby type though. Just the opposite, in fact. I'm looking forward to meeting her and giving her the paddles I have for her from MrZia. She's really excited about that. She might be more excited about the paddles than she is the party.
Professional baseball player, Jeff Kent, once said (whether he was serious or not I don't know) that he wants to retire from the game not having made a single friend. I can't imagine being in the scene without friends. First of all, having friends to share your experiences with just enriches them. And having friends to lean on when things don't go the way you planned also helps. Friends will also give it to you straight. When you're being a jerk or a ninny, your friends will tell you. I admire people who shoot straight. Sure, they'll occasionally sugar coat things or tell you what they think you want to hear, but for the most part, REAL friends will give it to you straight. Especially if it's something you may not really want to hear. Being friendless would be the loneliest existence I could think of. If you're going to lead that kind of life; where you just shrug and say 'I don't need anyone else. I have myself.', you had better be able to stand your own company. I don't particularly like my own company that much so friends are paramount to my existence.
Because my roommate (and best friend of more than 40 years) is in the hospital, I have been alone in my apartment for almost two weeks. Because of that, I'm looking forward to Nass' visit even more than I normally I would otherwise. I like peace and quiet, don't get me wrong. But it's one of those good things you can get too much of. Talking on the phone helps and chatting is nice. But they are no replacement for face to face visits from friends and family.
This will likely be my last blog until I get back from Chicago. My faithful readers will have one of my famous post party reports to read when I do get back.

Bearing Gifts...And Baring Bottoms

2010-07-26T10:26:00.001-07:00

These are s0me of the beautiful wood paddles that are coming with me to the Crimson Moon party in Chicago this weekend. I'll identify them from left to right:

African Pearwood Narrow Bat Paddle

Curly Maple Narrow Bat Paddle

Curly Purple Heartwood Narrow Bat Paddle

New Mexico Mesquite Wide Flared Paddle

Mimbres (Native New Mexico) Walnut Hairbrush Paddle

A price list and business cards are also coming with me. And, of course, I would be more than happy to let anyone who's interested in buying test drive it on my bottom. I worked in sales long enough to know the value of doing what you have to do to make a sale. I'm getting a commission, but I would happily do without it because I believe in these paddles. I believe once you feel one in your hand (or on your bottom) you will want one. Wood fans will especially love them. The workmanship is first class, the sizes are realistic and the prices are what you would expect for this kind of quality. The prices seem really reasonable to me. I've seen paddles similarly priced that didn't have this kind of attention to detail and they certainly didn't use these native/exotic woods.

The paddles make my toy bags very heavy so I'm hoping to have all of them sold before the party is over. In fact, I'm hoping to have them all sold before Saturday's vendor's fair. Because MrZia didn't put this proposal forward to me until just last week, there wasn't time to purchase a table for the vendor's fair. It wouldn't be fair for me to sit around showing these lovely paddles off when I haven't gone through the proper channels to get a table. So I will only be showing them in my room. This is also for security reasons. I'm not saying anyone would steal them but it has happened to others so I'm being cautious here.

MrZia also tucked a special gift into the parcel that arrived this morning. It's wrapped (like the rest of the paddles were) and the instructions state that it isn't to be opened until I arrive at the party. I'm fighting the impulse to just tear off the paper and see what he sent. It just says there's one for me and one for Zelle. There are also two other paddles which she expressed an interest in buying so those are still wrapped as well.

I'm probably going to take more wood at this party than I ever have before. And that's OK because this is all for a friend; a friend who was nice enough to send me six paddles and asked nothing in return except for me to see if there was a market for his work. If craftsmanship and quality counts for anything, I expect my toy bags to be much lighter by the time the party weekend wraps up.

For those of you who are going, I will see you all Thursday, paddles in tow.

Be Prepared

2010-07-24T19:41:00.000-07:00

This is the suitcase I'm taking with me to the Crimson Moon party. You can see that there are actually clothes in it since it's not closed yet. This is because I keep finding things to toss into it "just in case". This is my first time ever packing for a party where it's just me. But, of course, like your typical woman, it takes a lot to make me beautiful and all of the beauty aids are also making the trip. I'm also taking two bags of toys but they are always packed so nothing to do there. It's the clothes that I have a hard time with. It's not like it's March or October and I don't know how the weather will be and need to pack for that situation. It's July in Illinois, for Pete's sake. I know what the weather will be like. So I've packed plenty of cropped pants and Bermuda shorts. And sandals. And so many pairs of panties that I'm hoping to have a chance to wear even half the ones I'm packing. But you just never know what kind of day it will be---a skinny one or a fat one. And whether it's a skinny day or a fat day will determine what kind of panties I wear so I have to have a contingency plan in place. I've also got my first aid kit with me. I never go to a party without it. Not that I expect an accident to happen, but it's just one of those things that I learned to prepare for years ago. My first aid kit pretty much has the spanking party basics--arnica cream, Neosporin, Q-Tips, Band aids and surgical gauze in case something REALLY bad happens. I usually also bring tweezers, safety pins, nail files and a host of other "emergency" items that someone might need and not have. And just in case you don't think a nail file is an emergency item, I once saw a lady at a party cry for 20 minutes over breaking a nail and not having a file. I felt terrible for her because I didn't bring one that I could've lent to her. So I learned my lesson on that one. My mother always carried Scotch tape and paper clips in her purse because, in the days when ladies wore dresses and skirts, she was constantly catching the hem of hers on her office chair (this was in the days when she was a bookkeeper, before she went into nursing) and needing to fix it in a hurry. She always told me that nothing existed that couldn't be temporarily fixed with tape and paper clips. Because I don't like to improvise, my small sewing kit is also coming along. You never know when you or someone else might lose a button or tear a seam. And because you never know what the weather will do (aside from being hot as a sauna) my umbrella is coming, too. I know it seems like I over prepare for these parties. But I'm the kind of person who likes to be ready for anything. I don't do well in situations that call for something and I don't have it. I'm not good at ad-libbing.

I'm so excited about this party. I will be meeting a number of people for the first time and I love meeting new people. But I'm also a bit apprehensive because I wonder what they will think of me. I want to make a good first impression. I'm not one of these people that says "who cares?" when it comes to that first meeting. We have all been in situations where we've met someone for the first time and weren't at our best. I remember once when a boy I had an insane crush on but had never actually met surprised me at my locker one day. Feel free to laugh about this. It was 1975, after all, so I've gotten over my mortification (mostly). This kid I liked was named Chris and he was on the wrestling team. I was a wrestling timer and went to all the meets to help time the matches. I was a pool timer as well so I travelled with the swim team, too. Yes, I did it to meet boys. Anyway, this day had started out bad and was about to get a lot worse. Picture Day was three days away and I was having the break out to end all break outs. Between bells I decided to stop at my locker and get my art supplies so I wouldn't have to make the trip back up to the third floor (where my locker was) all the way back to the annex (where my Art class was). I had a little mirror, the kind with adhesive on the back so you can stick them up, on my locker door and decided I had to do something about the zits that were covering my face. I took my tube of Clearasil (medium tone) out of my purse and began to dab it on the nasty looking pimples that were sprouting on my face by the second. Just as I'm doing that, Chris walks by. "Hey, Cheryl". Because I was so intent on what I was doing, hearing my name startled me. When I'm nervous my hands tend to shake so I gripped the Clearasil tube tighter so I wouldn't drop it. Of course, I squeezed too tightly and a bunch of Clearasil Medium Tone gushed out of the tube straight at him. It was like something out of a bad dream. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole at that moment. But he was so cute and so sweet. "I'm sorry" I said trying to wipe the spots off his face where it had landed. He assured me it was OK. "I use the same kind". Later in the week I learned he was transferring to a class of mine. Thankfully, he never mentioned it again. However, someone must have seen it happen because that night on the bus Cigi asked me "Did you squirt Clearasil on Chris Y.?" I told her "Not on purpose" and then told her I didn't want to talk about it anymore.

So now I go a bit overboard when it comes to making a good first impression. You never get another chance, after all. Maybe if I hadn't been such an idiot in high school Chris might have asked me out. Of course, there could have been a lot of reasons why he never asked me out. I heard later there was a rule about wrestlers dating timers (who were all girls). But I knew it got broken all the time. The moral of the story is to have control over as many aspects of that first meet as you can. If you have to carry Tic Tacs in your purse, do it. I get out the "big guns". I carry a small bottle of Scope in my bag (in a Ziploc bag in case the lid comes off). At a spanking party, where that first impression might mean the difference between that gorgeous new top asking you to play and sitting in the corner with the wallflowers, you can never be too careful.

I was never a Girl Scout but I firmly believe in being prepared for anything. I don't want my good time spoiled because I failed to plan ahead.

A Woman My Age

2010-07-23T19:21:00.000-07:00

According to many of my vanilla friends, I'm an old woman. Now I'm not saying that they call me this. But they almost universally agree that it's time for me to act "my age". 'What does this mean?' I ask. Well, they respond, it's time for me to stop running off to Chicago all the time, for one thing. I go to Chicago (for spanking parties) only two or three times a year. And what's wrong with that? Because I'm going to turn the Big 5-0 this December, I should sit at home and knit? I should see my friends? Which usually causes them to ask why they never get invited on these jaunts. I tell them, as diplomatically as I can, that they wouldn't enjoy themselves if they went with me. They also think I don't dress appropriately for "a woman my age". You know, I think I'm one of the more conservative dressers that I see, especially in the scene. I buy the bulk of my clothes come from Wal-Mart for crying out loud. What's wrong with the way I dress? Or do they think I should stop wearing jeans and start wearing those polyester stretch pants that my mother liked when she hit middle age? In fact, looking at pictures of her, she started wearing them when she was younger than I am. In fact, my mom looked older than me when she was ten years younger.

The fact of the matter is that, because I didn't marry or have kids, I don't look my age. Most of the women my age are grandmothers. But I chose not to go the wife and mother route. So if I look and feel younger, why shouldn't I accentuate that? My twin sister has already died. I've learned firsthand that life is too short not to live it.

Now I'll be the first to admit that it was a lot easier for a mature woman like me to be in the scene when I first started. Most of the men I played with were still older than I was. Some of the men were so much older than I was that, even at 42, I was a sweet young thing.

Now days, I find more and more that the men are at least my age or a little bit younger. Now there may be a couple of reasons for this. Seven years after I first started, some of those older guys have probably retired from the scene. Also the advent of places like Fetlife, who attract younger members. When I first started, we had Yahoo groups and that was about all. Believe me, when I first started in the scene, I never envisioned getting spanked by someone more than 15 years younger than I was. One of my favorite tops was born the year I graduated from high school. And you know what? My age never comes up. In fact, the young men I've played with never make my age an issue. Some of the older guys are, in fact, looking for younger girls because they want the Daddy/little girl dynamic and that would definitely not work with me. I mean, I'm not going to wear a plaid skirt or suck on a pacifier. I actually had one young top tell me he prefers to play with older women because the young women he's met are mostly "head cases". Maybe as older women, we've had time to exorcise our baggage. Whereas the younger women are still lugging theirs around or trying to get rid of it. Many of the younger women are looking for a father figure and it's pretty easy for them to find it in the scene. Any man who was going to be a father figure for me would have to be in his late 60's or 70's.

The big Crimson Moon party is coming up this weekend and I'm psyched up like I haven't been in a long time. Yes, I know there are men who don't ask me to play because I'm to old or too heavy for their fantasy. And that's OK. Everyone is entitled to their preferences. But I plan to go to Chicago and have a mind blowing good time...for a woman my age.

A New Interest

2010-07-22T11:40:00.000-07:00

It was bound to happen. I've been over seven years in the spanking scene and it has finally happened: I've found a new interest to add to my interest in spanking.

I'm not quite sure how it happened. I've watched a lot of videos and read quite a few spanking stories and this act seems to happen in them a lot. I'm talking about getting your temperature taken (and not orally). When we were very small children, there were two reasons you would get your pants pulled down: either you were going to get a spanking or you were going to get your temperature taken.

It's hard to decide which a kid would dread more. Spankings, while not necessarily embarrassing, were certainly painful. Having your temperature taken, while not painful, was certainly embarrassing. So I can understand how the two could become melded in a spanko's mind. I'm trying to figure out where the interest lies for me. I'm not into power exchanges so it's not being dominated that seems to pique my interest. My theory is that, somehow, this act has become eroticized for me. Probably from watching it happen in all those videos. From all the videos I've seen and the limited number of websites I've visited, it seems that the old-fashioned glass and mercury thermometers that us baby boomers remember with such trepidation from our childhoods are favored when it comes to using rectal thermometers in scenes. Those new, fast-reading digital thermometers just don't seem to do it for most of us. I haven't tried it yet, but I plan to soon. I was a pretty sickly child and remember many of my rectal temps being taken by a nurse in a doctor's office. So I will probably do a quasi-medical scene for my first time. All of this is still sort of percolating in my brain. Maybe players who have experience with this can give me some pointers. Whatever the case, it's something I'm very much looking forward to.

It's funny though that I still consider myself a pure spanko. It goes back to what I said before about spanking and rectal temperature taking being closely linked for many of us. However, the interest is a new one for me. I don't remember any time during all my years in the spanking scene that this was something I just "had" to try. In fact, I found it quite gross for a long time. But there are a lot of tops who do this so I have a feeling I won't have a problem finding someone to do this with me.

Wish me luck, folks. And don't think I'm gross, OK? :)

They're Heeeeerrrrre!

2010-07-21T09:07:00.000-07:00

This morning, my new wood paddles from my friend in Arizona arrived. I knew there was no way that the package he sent them in would fit in my mailbox and would have to be hand delivered to me. To this end, because I don't hear real well, I sat on the couch by the door and waited for the mailman to knock. Sure enough, he knocked. Well, he didn't so much knock as pounded. He pounded so loud on my door that two of my neighbors came out to see what was going on. I assured them I was just receiving a package. Their curiosity satisfied, they returned to their apartments and I took my new treasures inside.

There were five paddles all totalled. He had wrapped them lovingly in paper and labeled them with what kind of wood they were. Oh, they were beautiful. Just like the pictures on his profile. I couldn't wait to unwrap them and look at them properly. They felt rather hefty, especially the white oak paddles. I was especially drawn to the mesquite paddle (the one that's pictured at the top of this entry). I gave myself about a dozen whacks with it. Man, the sting was just perfect. Not too much and not boring at all. I'm expecting to have a great time at the Crimson Moon party and I think these paddles will figure into that.

The man who made the paddles goes by the name MrZia on Fetlife. If you're a member, have a look at his profile. His talent is amazing and his dedication to putting quality paddles into the spanking marketplace is to be commended. The man does some of the best work I've ever seen. Everyone who knows me knows I love and appreciate quality toys. I have a major disdain for cheap toys, especially so-called "pervertables". Everyone knows what these are: household items that are used to things like cooking and games, but are converted (or "perverted") into spanking toys. This includes things like ping pong paddles, bread boards, rice paddles, even hairbrushes. The problem with these toys is that they weren't designed and made for the purpose of spanking. As a consequence, they tend to be easily breakable. However, a ping pong paddle is easily replaced. As a beginner, before I knew where to look for quality toys, I was guilty of this myself. But thankfully, someone turned me on to the exquisite experience of REAL spanking implements; that is, implements designed and made for the express purpose of being used on someone's willing bottom. At first, there was an aire of secrecy and illicitness to ordering something from one of these people. The packaging was always discreet, like I had ordered porn or something. But pretty soon I just adopted the attitude that I was helping to keep reputable spanking implement manufacturers in business.

So if you're attending the Crimson Moon party next weekend, I'll be there with my new toys. Stop by and say "hi" if you see me and I will be more than happy to show these toys to you. And maybe also let you demo them on my bottom.

New Toys Arriving Soon

2010-07-19T21:23:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, a chat is just a chat. And sometimes, a chat turns into something. I was chatting the other day with a gentleman I met on Fetlife. He had a wonderful profile and this profile contained four or five pictures of wonderful wood toys. Turns out, he makes them himself. Now he's not some guy who buys some cheap culled lumber, uses an old paddle as a template and then cuts a new one out of this cheap lumber. No. He uses beautiful wood, some of it is pretty exotic. His toys come in purple heartwood, padauk wood from Africa (which has a beautiful orange color), bubinga, mesquite and other beautiful woods. He uses many of the same woods that my favorite woodworker from Texas uses. However. this guy lives in the Southwest; in Arizona to be exact. I left a comment on one of his pictures complimenting his work. He sent a friend request (which I accepted) and I asked him to look me up on Yahoo for a chat.

We had a lovely chat and he offered to send me a box of toys with no obligation to pay for them. This was a very generous offer and I told him so. I let him know how grateful I was for his generosity. So many times people do things (like make toys) simply to get something in return. But he simply wanted the satisfaction that comes with knowing that someone is enjoying the fruits of his labors. So now I eagerly await the arrival of the lovely new toys he's sending me. Of course, I'm planning on taking them to the Crimson Moon party with me and hopefully, a few people will notice the new toys and ask me where I got them. So I guess part of him giving me those toys is to drum up some business for him. But I don't fault him for that. I can't expect him to give me a bunch of expensive toys and then not get anything for his work. Now I know that he offered me the toys. But I still think he should receive something in exchange for sending me all those toys. Plus he's sending three other paddles to see if I can get anyone to buy them. This puts me in somewhat of a bind because Crimson Moon is having a vendor's fair. Everyone who's showing their wares at the party paid for a table. I'm going to go to the party and show his paddles to friends without participating in the vendor's fair. Is this fair to those people? Of course not. Now I realize I'm not selling a whole bag of toys. It's three paddles. But it's the idea. It makes me feel a little dishonest. I will only be able to show these paddles in private. Even though I highly doubt the board members would say anything about me selling three paddles; especially since it's in exchange for getting a whole bunch of paddles for free. I doubt they would blame me.

There are few things I love more than getting new toys. Buying them directly from the vendor is nice, of course. But buying them online and then having to wait for them to arrive just adds to the excitement. Cigi loved getting new toys, too and would act like a kid with Christmas approaching whenever she ordered something.

This was a photo I took of her just after her new purple heartwood paddle arrived. Look at the excitement on that face. She could hardly hold it in. This is how I feel about new toys, too. This is mostly due to remembering her excitement whenever anything new would come in the mail. I can only smile as I reflect on how she would feel if she were still here and knew that new toys were on their way. She would be checking the mail everyday. She would be pestering me at work with "Did they come?" every few minutes. But that was part of her charm.

Anyway, the Crimson Moon party is going to be more than the usual party for me. I'm going to be hawking paddles. When I post my party report, I will let everyone know how I did with this. I consider my selling skills to be above average. And, of course, making my bottom available for demos can't hurt. So keep your fingers crossed for me. I've suddenly found myself in the position of paddle vendor.

I've Decided...

2010-07-03T17:28:00.000-07:00

I have made the decision to attend the Chicago Crimson Moon party at the end of this month. I just feel that Cigi would want me to go and be among my friends. I gave it a lot of thought. In fact, earlier this week I was considering leaving the scene. I was sure that there was no way I would have fun at a party without her so what was the point? However, some very good friends convinced me to think twice about leaving the scene. Grief serves its purpose, they reminded me, but it can't go on indefinitely. So I made the decision to go ahead with my plans to attend. A good friend of mine is going to drive down the day before and spend the night with me. This serves a twofold purpose: first, since she lives in Wisconsin, she'll be nice and rested for the drive to Chicago and second, she will get to see my lovely home (LOL...it's far from lovely but I do what I can). I was overwhelmed when this friend made the offer. I had been trying to get a ride for some time, with no luck and had actually made up my mind that it wouldn't be a big deal if I missed the party. I was under the illusion that I probably wouldn't have a good time if I went. Now this wonderful friend made a very generous offer and so I felt there was no way I could refuse her. Of course, I'm going to make sure that her gas is paid for. I'm going to do whatever I can to make it up to her. This lady has been one of my roommates at parties for about three years now and I've gotten pretty close to her, despite the distance between us. I've made great friends in the scene, I know this now. But grief had sort of blinded me to it. Grief tends to make a person focus on the negatives and not the positives in their life. I have so many positives. Yes, Cigi was taken from me. Yes, I miss her (and probably always will). But it has been my wonderful friends who have convinced me that there is still fun to be had and I need not feel guilty about enjoying myself. Maybe guilt, more so than grief, has been what has been keeping me from enjoying life since Cigi passed away. I feel like I'm being disloyal or that she will think I've forgotten her if I go and enjoy myself occasionally. But it doesn't have to be that way.

So I've made the decision to stay in the scene, to attend parties when I can and see if there isn't something good out there. I'm not too sure what my head space will be like at this party. I'm pretty sure I'll probably cry a few times. But as long as I have my friends with me, I'll be OK. Besides, I know that Cigi will be with me in spirit. I'll probably hear a few "I remember the time Cigi..." stories, too. And that's OK. The memories we have of her part of what she left behind for us. She was such a big part of Crimson Moon and the parties. I will feel a bit sad for those who will be attending their first CM party who never got to meet her. The only thing I can do is make sure they know her through me.

So wish me luck :) This first party without Cigi scares me, but I know I have to go and I know she would want me to.

Things I'll Miss

2010-06-16T20:18:00.000-07:00

There are many emotions that I've been feeling lately--sadness, anger, fear, relief, and confusion. But I've also been feeling very lucky for the things that my twin, Carol, brought into my life during her 49 years on this planet. I realize that I'm going through the so-called "seven stages of grief" and that I'm feeling many of them at the same time. I actually have days where I function pretty well, but I also have days where I stay in bed, hugging her pillow for comfort. The fact of the matter is that I have never had to live alone. I've always had my identical constant companion; my partner in crime (as my dad used to call her) with me. And there are things that I miss terribly now that she's gone.

I miss watching baseball games with her. She could always be counted on to see something I had missed. Home runs aren't as much fun without her predictable reaction---a fist pumping in the air and an ear-splitting howl. She sure did love her Cardinals. Now watching their games I can only imagine what her responses are to home runs. Probably not the same.

I miss talking about the scene with her. Her number one "thing" was safety. She would preach on the subject to anyone who would listen. To her, if you were unsafe, you had no business spanking anyone. I even miss watching spanking videos with her. The things we always shared might have seemed mundane to many, but to me, any time I spent with her, especially toward the end when I knew she would be leaving soon, was precious.

I will miss her beautiful smile and her positive energy. She had what one friend called a "500 watt smile" and it was true. Carol, if you can believe it, was somewhat ashamed of her teeth but it didn't stop her from giving that toothy grin when the situation called for it. At the Crimson Moon and OND parties she attended, her warm personality won people over. I remember when her cancer was diagnosed six days before Christmas, 2005. We must have gotten 20 phone calls from Crimson Mooners asking how they could help and offering prayers and good wishes. At the following months' January party, a card was left in the public room and it seemed everyone signed it. I still have it. It's very precious to me. I don't know if our scene friends ever fully knew how much their love and support meant to us over the years, but it meant so much.

More than anything, I will miss her companionship. I do things alone now that we used to do together and somehow, it's not the same. I know I'll adjust, but for now, it seems like a lot of the joy has gone out of my life. I'm planning on attending next months' Crimson Moon party even though I've never gone to a party without her. I wonder how I'll feel. I considered leaving the scene altogether but thought better of it. I still have a life to live, after all. As much as I miss her, life has got to go on. And the spanking scene is part of my life; a part I can't see myself ever going on without ever again.

I'll miss her spot-on observations and the sensible advice she always gave. To me, she was the epitome of practicality. I tend to get somewhat frivolous and I could always count on her to bring me back to reality. She always knew how to gently deflate my ego if it got too big.

I'll miss her laugh. It was deep and throaty and completely spontaneous. It was also sometimes inappropriate. But it was always genuine. She never forced it. I can still hear it if I close my eyes and sit really still.

I'll miss watching her with her cats. She was so sweet with them. She had a special voice she spoke to them in, which she never used at any other time. She would sit and caress them, even though I knew she felt miserable. Toward the end, when the pain and nausea never let up, she was too weak and too ill to pay them the attention she always had before. But her cats stayed on her bed with her, each one in her usual spot, even though she was oblivious to their presence. They miss her as much as I do.

I'm grateful that the Lord gave me the years I had with her. Do I wish there had been more? Of course. We both planned on living to be 100. One thing I've learned about cancer over the years---it always seems to win. Even people who survive it seem to live with the fear of it coming back; coming back to claim what's theirs. So in a way, there's no real life after cancer. Not the way it was before anyway. A lot of survivors say that cancer taught them to count their blessings and to live each day to the fullest. Maybe this is true. But it seems small recompense compared to the things cancer robs you of. Not just the person who has it. But their loved ones as well. I will not miss the feeling of helplessness that always seem to come over me with each new hurdle. I will not miss the fear, unspoken, but always there, that came with each new finding. Watching her decline was the hardest thing I've ever done. Watching her go from a vibrant, vital and active woman into a shell of what she had been caused me so much anger and sadness I almost can't describe it.

I always said I didn't want to have regrets. But I have them. I regret that I didn't see the signs of impending death in her until a hospice nurse gave me a book to read which laid them out for me. If I had known how close she was to the end, I would have done a few things differently. All that really matters now is that she is beyond cancer's grip now. It can't hurt her or rob her of anything ever again. She has been made whole and has been healed. She has gone on to a place where there's no cancer, no CT scans, no needle sticks, no waiting for test results.

As much as I would like to have closure, I don't think I'll ever close the book on her entirely. I think I will always have a place in my heart for her. A place that only she was ever able to touch or knew about. I present a tough, no-nonsense facade to the outside world, but she knew where my vulnerabilities were. I never allowed anyone else into those places. There were hurts that only she understood and only she could soothe them. More than anyone in my life, she knew the "real" me. I don't think anyone will ever know me like she did.

So I guess it will take time for me to come to grips with my "oneness". I've always been used to being part of a pair. I know it's hard for singles to understand, but multiples know what I'm talking about. When Carol passed away, the very moment her last breath escaped her, I felt something slam through my soul like a sledge hammer. It's a feeling I couldn't describe if you gave me a hundred chances at it. I feel a part of me died that day. What a beautiful presence she was. And how much sadder the world is now that she's gone.

In Memory of Cigi

2010-05-29T22:32:00.000-07:00

Carol Ann "Cigi" Grant
December 31, 1960- May 28, 2010

This is the saddest posting I will ever make. My beautiful twin sister, Carol, known to most of you as Cigi, passed away on Friday. She fought a long, brave battle with cancer, which she documented in her blog. She was 49 years old.

Goodbye, friend, until we see each other again.

Your loving sister,
Cheryl

Unwrapping The Package

2010-05-16T10:08:00.000-07:00

I'm not exactly sure why, but most of the women I know in the spanking scene (the ones who are bottoms anyway) are obsessed with panties: with shopping for them, wearing them and of course, getting spanked in them.
Before I got active in the spanking scene, my attitude toward underwear was one of viewing them as a practical necessity. I wore mostly cotton because I wanted to be comfortable. Cigi found some really comfortable (but hideous) cotton panties called Love Pats that we wore for the longest time. Or we would just go to Wal-Mart and buy the six packs of Hanes For Her or Fruit Of The Loom. Who cares what they looked like? Who else besides me was going to see them? I still value comfort more than almost anything. That hasn't changed since I got into the spanking scene.

What HAS changed is the fact that I now look for cute and pretty panties to wear to parties or on play dates. I still wear the plain ones to work though. And this is just really to keep my nice panties in good shape.

I really think a lady can't have too many cute or sexy pairs of panties. It's sort of hard to gauge what kind any certain top you play with will like so it's best to have a large assortment.

These photos in no way show all the panties I have. They're merely a representation of what I have in my collection. I've spoken on this topic at length with a lot of tops I know and almost without exception they tell me that spanking a woman over nice panties (and eventually taking them down) is one of the great joys of spanking. Many tops have told me that they compare taking down a pair of beautiful panties to unwrapping a Christmas present. Of course, I know a few who just don't care for panties. They prefer to get right down to business without even taking a minute to admire your choice of panties. This is OK, too. To each his own. But it disappoints those of us who like to savor the moment and wait anxiously for the moment when the guy gets that first glimpse of the panties we've so painstakingly chosen. Some guys like cute cotton panties with floral prints; the kind that remind them of little girl panties. Some like the kind with something funny or bratty printed on them. Some prefer a specific kind of cut (like boylegs, cheekies or bikinis). And some go wild over those sheer, lacy ultra feminine panties, which were called "dainties" in my mother's day. I have some of just about every type of pantie there is, but I admit I only look good in a limited number of types. Whatever kind a guy likes, it's almost universally understood that "granny panties" aren't among spanko guys' favorite. Some like that old-fashioned cut but most hate them with a passion. There also seems to be a love/hate dynamic when it comes to thongs. Guys either love them or hate them. I have yet to find someone who doesn't have a passionate opinion of them one way or another. I actually like them. I wore them a lot in my newbie days because I was very modest and didn't want my girlie bits showing with strangers. Even after all this time in the spanking scene, I'm still modest. I don't wear thongs much though unless a guy professes a liking for them. I find them pretty comfortable but sometimes have trouble finding nice ones in my size.

I know this is a topic that almost everyone has covered on their blog; heck, I've even covered it before. But I think it's one of those topics that we love to revisit. Like it or not, panties are as much a part of the scene as implements and arnica. I just can't imagine a bottom getting ready for a play date or to go to a party and not giving any thought to what kind of panties they're going to wear. I bet even male bottoms think about it. I think it's just something that adds to the anticipation of a scene. And also adds to a girls' pantie drawer.

An Older Woman's Opinion

2010-05-04T10:52:00.000-07:00

With some free time on my hands today, I started browsing other blogs here and found a phenomenon I thought was a bit surprising. Many of the people who blog about spanking are young (under 30) female bottoms or subs, some of which work as models for the plethora of spanking oriented websites and video companies. They grew up in a time when women were far less repressed than in my time. Many of them have the attitude that sex and spanking are the same thing; interchangeable. As I continued to browse, I realized a lot of the men think the same thing. So, for what it's worth, here's the opinion of an older woman:

First of all, let me say right here that there's nothing wrong with sex. I've had lots of it over the years. I'm currently going through The Change (that nice phrase we oldsters use when referring to menopause) so that affects my libido, though not much. I'm not a frigid old woman. I still enjoy attention from men and pride myself on still being attractive to a certain type of man. Most young men wouldn't find me attractive. I don't have tattoos nor do I have multiple piercings (unless you count my ears; each are pierced three times). My hair isn't dyed dark blue or purple. I'm not goth so black lipstick isn't in my make up bag. I'm just your ordinary, garden variety, run-of-the-mill 49 year old woman. Except that I'm better preserved.

To me, sex and spanking are two totally separate things. Yes, I would concede that spanking is part of my sexual make up. However, I'm a totally straight woman and I get spanked by both sexes. For me, it's the physicality of the act that does it for me. I like the pain of spanking. I like knowing that I can take a hard one. And yes, I admit I like knowing that my male spankers think I have a nice bottom. But sex? With all the men I play with? No way. I reserve sex for the man I'm in a relationship with. I have taken heat on Fetlife for holding this opinion. Everyone else says "Get over it!" and "Just do it!" But I can't. It might be OK for women and men who were raised that sex is OK no matter what to indulge in sex for sex's sake--it feels good so do it. But not me. I have way more respect for my body than that. To me, passing myself around like a butter dish would leave me feeling empty inside. I remember one night stands I had in my late teens and 20's that I still hate myself for. By the time I hit my mid-20's, AIDS had become a real concern in the hetero population and me add most of my girlfriends held the opinion that no man was worth dying over. So we became, for better or worse, much more selective. At the time, it wasn't even known for certain how the virus was spread (that's when sneeze guards started to show up on salad bars and smorgasbords). Better to be safe than sorry. So, like it or not, most women in my age bracket are careful who they have sex with. When I became active in the spanking scene, I pondered what I would do with any sexual energy that might build up during a scene. Before I ever played with anyone or talked to anyone about this, I knew this was going to be something to be dealt with. I've been called a "prude" and "frigid" by others because I don't allow my loins to rule the rest of my body. I have also been advised to get with the program and realize that this is the 21st century, where we do whatever we feel like and damn the consequences. Back when I was younger, people who had control over their passions were respected for it. Today, let a young person say 'I'm saving myself for marriage' and that young person will be ridiculed all over Facebook and Twitter. "So and so is saving herself!! Ha! Ha!" I admire a person who makes that kind of personal decision and then doesn't allow peer pressure or ridicule to sway them. Young people will say 'I have the right to have sex with whoever I want!' Yes, you certainly do. But you also have the right to live with the consequences of acting foolishly or in haste.

So, for me, spanking remains totally separate from sex. I engage in erotic play from time to time with men I trust. But actual sex? Not gonna happen. Not with men who are just friends. I've done that a time or two as well with men I was playing with. I felt really bad afterwards. So I guess you could say that I have arrived at my present situation having seen how the "other half" do it. And I would have to say no thanks. I'm not knocking people who feel that sex is an integral part of the spanking experience for them. Or that spanking is merely foreplay. I've met a lot of people like that, too. Most of them are in a committed relationship with each other.

I know that my attitude probably puts me in the minority as far as younger players in the spanking scene are concerned. But I would be willing to bet that for women in my age group, I'm probably the norm. Whether I'm right or not, this is just an older woman's opinion.

Classic Scenes?

2010-04-17T09:05:00.000-07:00

This morning, being a lazy Saturday, I spent part of the morning trying to find stills for some of my favorite movie spanking scenes. Now just let me say for the record that I detest having to slog through all that porn just to see a still from "Professional Sweetheart" or "She Wrote The Book". Usually, for me, Saturdays are spent at work.But today was the exception so I thought I would see if there was anything new out there. I was surprised at how hard it is to find good, high quality stills or captures from classic spanking scenes. I used to love going to Arild's Movie Spanking List and mentally checking off the movies I'd seen. But these days, when you click a link to this site, there's a blind link that takes you to, that's right, a porn site. Of course, the "Cinema Swats" page is always good for perusing spanking scenes. But it hasn't changed much in the five or so years that I've been looking at it. The best site I've seen recently is the Spanking Facts and Research site, which as a very good movie spanking page. They list the movies alphabetically, so knowing the name of the movie you're looking for is a must. I've found some very good stills and captures here. Without further ado, I'll show you some.

Note: if any of the photos below are copywrited and you own it, please let me know so I can properly credit you.

First up, one of my all-time favorites; the spanking scene in "Blue Hawaii". Elvis spanks spoiled brat Jenny Maxwell for running off and scaring everyone. He finds her attempting to drown herself in the ocean and carries her ashore, where after some perfunctory scolding, he spanks her.

I'm not sure why the picture didn't post properly but this was the best I could do. This also looks more like a posed still than an actual scene from the film, but it does depict the action nicely. Ms. Maxwell was 19 at the time "Blue Hawaii" was made and sadly, was gunned down 20 years later with her husband outside their Beverly Hills condo during a botched robbery. If you go to Findagrave.com this photo is the one they have posted of her. Wikipedia's list of American murder victims also mentions the spanking in "Blue Hawaii". Ah well...I guess there are worse things to be remembered for.

Next up, the absolutely breathtaking Paulette Goddard is spanked by the elegant Ray Milland in "Reap The Wild Wind". She is in love with John Wayne's character in this epic and has been playing up to Milland's character in order to secure a captaincy for her boyfriend. Milland had intended to announce their engagement at that evening's party, however, he decides to spank her instead.

Next, another favorite scene, though the two actors are far from favorites. It's the spanking scene from "Captain Lightfoot". Rock Hudson spanks the daylights out of Barbara Rush (the actress who would later gain fame as Della Street, the paralegal on "Perry Mason"). Apparently, she's seeing a man the captain disapproves of and, because her father has asked him to look after her in his absence, feels obliged to let her know about his dislike over the man she's seeing. She argues with him over it and he takes her over his knee and spanks her hard for it.

The next movie also has a very believable spanking scene. I admit that I haven't seen the whole movie, but the spanking scene is awesome. In "Bunker Bean", Owen Davis, Jr. spanks the haughty Louise Lattimer for daring to laugh at his attempts to order her around. Like the scene in "Captain Lightfoot", the spanking is preceded by a scene in which the male character (sufficiently bolstered by some Dutch courage he's sampled while reading a book on Napoleon) attempts to tell the female character who she can and cannot see socially. She laughs at him derisively and accuses him of being drunk. He tells her he thinks she needs a good spanking and then proceeds to give her one.

As I've said many times before, I feel the most important part of any good spanking scene is that the person giving the spanking (in my case, the male) should look like he knows how to give a spanking. We've all seen movies where the build up is excellent, the bratting superb and the spanking a huge disappointment because the spanker lacked technique. The movies I'm siting here today all have this quality---the spanker knows what he's doing (or at least looks like it!)

Up until now, all of the scenes I've included have been hand spankings. This one features a switching. I first saw "True Grit" in the theater with my dad when I was eight years old. Just a few months previously, John Wayne had won an Oscar for his portrayal of federal marshal Rooster Cogburn. In the early part of the film, Glen Campbell gives Kim Darby a whipping with a switch for not turning back as ordered. He simply grabs her off her horse, pulls a switch from a nearby shrub and goes to town. As an 8-year-old whose father sometimes used the switch, I remember cringing in my seat during this scene.

I'll post more scenes soon. Today, with it being a lazy Saturday and all, I just don't feel like doing any more work. So spank me!

A Play Date Not Exactly From Hell

2010-03-25T11:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, I got together with a guy to play. It was the first time we'd met, although we'd chatted extensively. He had wanted to take Cigi and I out for our birthday last New Year's Eve, but we'd both been down sick with bronchitis and so we opted out. This had been the first time that my schedule had cooperated enough for him to come down and play. He lives in the Chicagoland area (like so many of the men I meet and play with) so there was some travel involved. For me, the preparations were much more involved.
First of all, yesterday was y first day off in more than a week. Because of that, the apartment needed some attention. I worked until 11 o'clock Tuesday night so I couldn't do my housework then. With Cigi and our roommate both sound asleep, I thought it would have been rude of me to run the vacuum at that hour. So I got up around 8 am on Wednesday and went and got a haircut first. I hadn't had one since January and needed one badly. I got my usual pixie cut and then went to a nearby grocery store to get some quarters for the laundry. I had to have something clean to wear, after all, and laundry, along with vacuuming, dishes, dusting and the cat boxes all showed signs of my neglect. I got busy with the dishes first and then vacuumed in preparation for using the steamer on a couple of areas on the carpet. I wanted the place to not only look good but also smell good. I'm accustomed to the smell of four cats living in my two-bedroom apartment but someone else might notice an odor that I don't detect. So the carpet got shampooed.
After getting a load of laundry and the cleaning done, I had to color my freshly cut hair. I'm passed the point where my hair could be considered salt and pepper. It's more like mostly salt now with a little pepper left over. To be honest, if my play date was someone I knew well I might have skipped this step in the beautification process. However, I was meeting this guy for the first time and I wanted to look my best in order to make a good first impression. While I was sitting with hair color on my head, he called for the first time. He wanted to let me know he had gotten on the road late and that it would be later than we'd agreed on when he arrived. I wasn't too upset about that. I still had other things to do so this was actually advantageous to me. It seemed all of my play plans go like this: I spend part of the day getting the apartment cleaned up and the rest of the day getting myself prettied up. Of course, this part didn't take as long when I was younger.
About three o'clock he arrived. We sat on my well worn couch and talked for awhile--about things in general and Cigi's illness. She had decided not to join us that afternoon. She was having chemo the next day and wanted to rest up. She would join us later for dinner though. He was OK to talk to but his spanking technique was a major disappointment. I like the spanking to have a nice, brisk rhythm at some point, but he never got there. His philosophy, apparently, is to keep the rhythm choppy and "unnatural" (as he put it). His thinking is that if the spanking gets into a predictable rhythm then the bottom will anticipate the spanks and tense up. I explained to him that I had found the opposite to the be the truth. At least, in my own experience. Secondly, he didn't like to use toys. He considered himself a hand spanker. I really have no problem with this since some of my favorite spankers only use their hand. But his technique was just so unorthodox that I thought a toy might help. So I picked a nice leather paddle from the London Tanners and he did sort of develop a rhythm. But then he would stop spanking me and talk. I enjoy good conversation with my spanking but please don't stop spanking me. All in all, I was disappointed. But you have to expect that not every play date will go off without a hitch or be the stuff you dream about. There was nothing wrong with him that a little practice wouldn't help.
Play dates happen this way sometimes. I think I was a disappointment to him as well. I' not his preferred type, first of all. He likes subs (and small ones at that) and I'm about as far from that as you can get. I think my apartment was a disappointment to him, too. He lives in an affluent suburb and my threadbare little apartment probably didn't measure up. In fact, he told me that one of his townhouses is bigger than my whole apartment (and had a basement to boot). When we went out to dinner (to my favorite Chinese buffet) he wanted me to sit on one of the hard chairs that the restaurant has. But Cigi, quick thinker that she is, settled us in a booth with nice soft seats. Now the reason I didn't want a hard chair, as I pointed out to him, had nothing to do with having a sore bottom. I have arthritis in my hips and the cool, damp weather was wreaking havoc with it. He smiled knowingly, as if to tell me he knew the REAL reason I'd opted to sit on a soft seat: his spanking had simply been too much for me. Yeah, right. I think my pain tolerance disappointed him, too. I think it was much too high for his taste. I expect he wanted to hear me "ooching" and "owing" instead of acting like I wanted it harder, which he did his best to accommodate (with a large number of mishits as a consequence). I think he was more accustomed to playing with subs, who were less likely to point out the fact that some of his spanks missed the mark, than a bottom like me who's going to let him know that one or two were on the tailbone. In fact, he argued with me once, telling that one of the spanks I pointed out as a mishit was "nowhere close" to my tailbone. I told him I knew where it was and he'd hit it. I've had it broken before by a clueless top who didn't care. I wasn't in the mood for another trip to the emergency room. I think he sensed we just weren't compatible. He wasn't going to give me the kind of spanking I wanted and I wasn't going to be the kind of spankee he wanted. He did, however, get our car started. So I'm grateful to him for that. However, I don't think I'll be getting together with him again any time soon. It's not that I dislike him. It's just that our styles don't really mesh. He's one of the few men that I've just had no chemistry with.
Doesn't it sometimes just go that way when it comes to play dates? You spend a certain amount of time thinking about what it'll be like, you spend a lot of time getting your space and yourself just right and then things just don't go how you imagined it. I wouldn't label this one a disaster but it wasn't a success either. Ah well...live and learn as I always say.

Smackdown!

2010-03-18T20:20:00.000-07:00

I've been a wrestling fan for many years now. Since before the days when it was called "sports entertainment". I'm talking about the mid-70's when the AWA (out of Minnesota) used to hold a monthly card at one of our local high schools. The AWA was run by former NCAA champion Verne Gagne. His son, Greg Gagne and his tag team partner, Jim Brunzell, were my first crushes. They were aerial artists of the highest order; meaning you would see a lot of drop kicks from them. Greg would use his father's signature move, The Gagne Sleeper, on opponents who had been sufficiently softened up. The guys were physical and knew how to get things done in the ring. But alas, there was never a spanking. Probably because there were no women around back then. At least, not in the AWA. That came later.

In 1981, the late David von Erich gave a quick, no nonsense spanking to Sunshine, the valet of his opponent, Jimmy Garvin. This happened in Texas in the old World Class promotion. After that, the floodgates opened. Women were getting spanked left and right it seemed. At least in the South they were. In November, 1989, after World Class had changed its name to USWA, Billy Joe Travis gave what was probably the first bare bottom spanking in wrestling history to Toni Adams, the then wife of Gentleman Chris Adams. At the time, Adams had a protege named Steve Williams, who would later change his name to Steve Austin and become one of the most popular wrestlers of all time. Billy Joe was a man ahead of his time. As far as I know, no unedited version of this spanking exists (except maybe in the safe at the home of the person who was the production manager). I've seen the edited version and it looks like it was a pretty good one. Billy Joe had taken the trouble to handcuff Toni's hubby to the ropes in order to keep in out of the way while he got his mitts on the gorgeous Toni. A few years later, after Toni and Chris had divorced and Toni had turned heel, Billy Joe's former tag team partner, Jeff Jarrett, spanked Toni himself while she was wearing a maid's outfit. Jeff also had a great reputation as a spanker. But the man who, in my opinion, stands head and shoulders above the rest in terms of spanking is Sandman. This guy has spanked every woman you can name (and a few you can't) in wrestling.

I've seen literally dozens of pictures of this guy spanking women. He must hold some kind of record. Now, when it comes to the other side of the coin, I don't think any woman has been spanked more than Francine has. The Queen Of Extreme has been over the knees of almost every wrestler in ECW history.

In this photo (and it's poor quality to boot) Rick Rude does the honors. But Francine got spanked a lot--usually for turning on her man and allowing him to be cold-cocked by his opponent and then strolling off on the arm of said opponent. This woman had no loyalty. Faithful ECW fans took to making up cheers about her.

Unfortunately, male on female spanking seems to have gone the way of two-out-of-three falls matches. It hardly exists anymore. Most of the spanking these days is girl on girl; mostly to titillate wrestling's major demographic, males aged 18 to 34. It's really too bad that this happened. Wrestling is more boring for this change. Where once we were treated to Diamond Dallas Page spanking his wife, Kim, on national television, now we're more likely to get two women who look more like they belong in porn films than in a wrestling ring spanking each other. Sorry, but that just does nothing for me.

I've lost interest in wrestling these days. My Monday nights are no longer taken up with Raw is War or Smackdown. Gone are the days when The Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin passed the title belt back and forth between them. My main disappointment was never getting to see the delightfully spankable Stephanie McMahon (the daughter of WWE head Vince McMahon) get spanked. It would have been awesome but, alas, it never happened. At least, not that I know of. If it has, would someone please let me know? I so miss those days.

Photo Ops

2010-03-15T12:47:00.000-07:00

I was having a pleasant chat the other day with a gentleman that I admittedly don't know very well. He happened to see my Fetlife profile and commented that he liked looking at my pictures "very much". Now I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "Very much" has a number of connotations to it, especially here in the spanko world. It could mean exactly it says. Of course, it could also mean that the person is (and I say this delicately) gratifying himself while he looks at your pictures. I was afraid to ask which one he meant so I just said thank you and left it at that.

When you put a profile on Fetlife, anyone can see it. It's not like the Yahoo groups, where you have to be linked to the person whose profile you want to see. I could never understand why they did that. How on earth are you supposed to know if someone interests you unless you look at their profile. I mean, what happens? You come across a member and say "I'll bet she has an interesting profile. Think I'll email her and ask if I can see it." Then, as the lady who gets the request, how do you respond? Do you write the guy back and hope he's not an axe murderer? Do you ignore him and then hope he wasn't the man you've been looking for? The whole thing is very hit or miss to me. At least on Fetlife you can see each other. Of course, there's a drawback to that. People may see you that you don't want to see you. For this reason, you have to be careful about what kinds of photos you post. I admit I have pictures of my spanked bottom on my profile but those pictures serve a two-fold purpose. First of all, it shows that I'm who I say I am. And second, that I really do get together with people and play. It's really important for me that people know that I'm "real" and not just someone who does everything cyber only. In fact, I pretty much hate cyber anything. My least favorite are men who write to me requesting to be my "cyber dom". They tell me how I will be required to dress at all times (a few have said that, while we're chatting, I will not be allowed to wear clothes!) and how I must address them and so on. I just laugh at those guys and tell them that they're barking up the wrong tree. I actually had one guy tell me that he thought I was submissive because, well, I let people spank me, don't I? Of course, you nitwit. But I get spanked because I enjoy it. And the more you try to tell that to some guys, the more they become convinced that you're just in denial about what you "really" want. In fact, I once had a guy send me a message saying "Why don't you list what your REAL fetishes are? All the things you listed are vanilla, sweetheart!" I was annoyed, to put it mildly, but wrote him back telling him that spanking is my REAL fetish. He said he was disappointed by that. That he thought his excellent powers of domination could just somehow make me "want" to change my fetishes to "please" him. Can you believe how egotistical some people are? I actually had another dom (this guy was obviously a master!) who wrote me a very stern message telling me that he found my photos "unacceptable" because I was "hiding from him". When I asked him what he meant by that, he wrote me back saying that he "needed" to see my private parts and breasts, the parts I'm most "ashamed of". Then I would not be withholding anything from him. I laughed and told him to have a nice life. If he didn't find my photos acceptable he didn't have to look at them.

I should've seen this guy coming. But living here in the Midwest, where we have a lot of tornadoes, I should also have remembered that sometimes you don't see the twister until it's right in front of you. The truth of the matter is that I was having such a good time going back and forth with this guy that I didn't see that next part coming.

In fact, this guy at least had the decency to cover his horniness in dom speak. You know, when he was telling me "Let me see it all and don't hide yourself from me". Other guys have just said "Boy, it sure would be nice to see what's between those legs you keep closed so tight, honey." At least they're being honest. They just want to see it because they're horny guys. They don't couch their desires in that idiotic "don't hide anything from me" dom crap.

Photos can be a lot of fun. A great way to remember the fun of a party, a play date, a memorable session. It's just a matter of being careful what you show and being careful about what you decide not to show. Someone will always take exception to either scenario.

RIP Parnell Roberts

2010-01-28T08:51:00.000-08:00

I was saddened earlier this week to learn of the death of Parnell Roberts. For those of you who are too young (or don't remember), he played Adam, the oldest Cartwright son on "Bonanza" from 1959 to 1965. He left the show to pursue movies and make a return to the stage (he won a Tony in 1955 according to the press release). He also starred as Trapper John McIntyre on "Trapper John, MD" from 1979 to 1986. The show was a spin-off of "MASH" and followed the Trapper John character after his return from Korea.

Now the reason I mourn Mr. Roberts isn't just because he was a fine actor and a gentleman. But he gave us one of the greatest spanking scenes ever filmed. In an episode called "Woman Of Fire", he gave a memorable spanking to Joan Hackett.

Adam was normally a pretty easy-going guy (unless, of course, there were rustlers or other bad guys to tangle with) but this woman got on his nerves. Essentially, the plot revolves around this woman not wanting to marry the man her father has chosen for her. Her younger sister, meanwhile, has two suitors vying for her affections. If any of this sounds familiar, it's because it closely resembles "The Taming Of The Shrew" in plot. Her father, a friend of Ben Cartwright's, is wanting to marry his daughter to a respectable gentleman but her temperament makes her impossible to live with. She's feisty and opinionated and likes things done her way. The scene that leads up to the spanking is a little sketchy but it involves her attempting to brain someone (either one of her sister's boyfriends or one of the other Cartwright brothers, not too sure as I haven't seen the episode for some time) with Adam's guitar. He takes it away from her and, without a word, proceeds to spank her bottom with gusto. I think I was about 12 the first time I saw this episode and it made an indelible impression on me. I thought the spanking was pretty hard but seeing it later as an adult, it wasn't all that severe. However, the placement of the spanks was wonderful. No mishits here for the professional stage actor. For me, one of the hallmarks of a great movie spanking is whether or not the man giving the spanking looks like he knows how to give one. He sure did. Of course, being a stage actor, he may have just been very good at taking direction. I'm not sure if he had any real life experience or not. The scene is sure good though, both from an entertainment standpoint (who doesn't like to see a brat get theirs?) and also from the perspective of someone like me, for whom spanking is endlessly fascinating.

Roberts was the last surviving original cast member of "Bonanza". He was 81 years old. Rest in peace, old friend.

"All right, Miss Vanessi!"

2010-01-17T12:24:00.000-08:00

Many of us who are into being spanked can remember the days before we made the decision to act on the things that, before this, had been simple fantasy for us. For a lot of us, movies and TV were a good outlet for living out those fantasies.

In the days before "The Feminine Mystique" and Womens' Lib, women were often subjected to spankings in the movies. The not-too-subtle sexism of the era drove many of the situations in these films. If that silly little gal would just get it through her head that I'm a man and I run the show here, things would just be so much easier. It was usually women who insisted on doing things their own way that ended up OTK in these old movies. There always seemed to be something about the woman that needed to be changed and then she would be "acceptable" as a companion or girlfriend. Despite some misgivings about the situations that occur in these films, when I was a kid, these movies were what was available.

The picture at the top of this post is from what I consider the "Daddy" of all spanking films. This film is so famous that if you asked a hundred people who weren't spankos to name a movie with a spanking scene in it, most would probably name "Kiss Me Kate". The spanking scene is so famous, that it often appears on posters and playbills for productions ranging from motion pictures to off-Broadway plays to high school musicals. But let's be clear about one thing. I consider this the most famous spanking scene in a main stream film, but not the best. This blog entry isn't about what I think the best spanking scene is. I'm just talking about the most famous.

Let's face it. The scene is cute. The beautiful, sweet-voiced Kathryn Grayson poking, kicking and slapping the hapless Howard Keel until he threatens to give her "the paddling of her life" right onstage. The practically dares him to. What choice does he have but to avenge his wounded pride (not to mention ribs)? Most of the people who know me well know how much I hate seeing anyone humiliated, and make no mistake...she IS humiliated. The audience gets more than it bargained for and laugh it up until the curtain drops. The scene is cute, as I said. Miss Grayson fits adorably over Keel's knee and appropriately overreacts to the smacks (which I sincerely doubt she felt through the heavy dress she was wearing). Ordinarily, I'm not a big fan of MGM musicals, but "Kiss Me Kate" has enough nice moments apart from the spanking scene to make me actually sit and watch the whole thing. At the end of the film, the fiery Miss Vanessi is appropriately contrite and encourages her fellow females to "meekly put your hand beneath your lord and husband's foot (not my favorite part of the film)".

Something about this film stands the test of time. The bickering exes, the Cole Porter score, the costumes, all come together to create a film experience that has become, dare I say it?, iconic?

Well, it is to spankos anyway.

The Cult Of Spanking

2010-01-15T20:26:00.000-08:00

Having been in the scene for a number of years now, I was shocked to learn recently that I was a member of a cult. Yes, you heard that right; a cult. Like the Unification Church or the Branch Davidians...those kinds of cults with charismatic leaders and brainwashed followers. You may ask yourself "How did this happen and why didn't I know it?" Well, here's the story.

I have several vanilla friends who know what I'm into. One has even seen my rather extensive toy collection. Anyway, I was talking about the spanking party I attended in November and this one friend acted (or I should say REacted) like I had been drugged, wrapped in a bundle, thrown into the trunk of a car and then driven off to a secret location where men had their way with me repeatedly against my will. He said "When will you wake up and realize that you're just doing it because society expects it from you?" Now I have to tell you this friend of mine is so liberal he makes Nancy Pelosi look like Glen Beck. I would have thought that having control over the way I practice my kink would have his approval, but, no. In his estimation, any woman who subjects herself to "correction" from a man is throwing womens' rights back a hundred years. I had to correct him on that score. I told him I don't get spanked for discipline or so that a man can have control over me or influence my behavior. I do it because, to me, it's fun. I told him it was harmless amusement. He begged to differ and that's when he dropped the "C" bomb.
"The entire thing is a cult. Think about it. The men get everything their way. If a woman disagrees or disobeys, she can expect to be made an example of. "
I asked him how long he'd been in the scene that he knew so much. He said it was just observation based on mass media exposure that BDSM has had over the years. Oh yeah...the odd mention of BDSM on "CSI" or "Law And Order" is really an accurate representation of the scene. I assured him that no one forced me into the spanking scene. I got into it for the same reason many others do--I had a strong desire to be spanked and sought out a group where that could happen. He argued that that's the exact definition of a cult; a group of people who fulfill a need for other members. He went on the talk about the "secret activities" that go on behind closed doors; activities the public is largely unaware of. Most people know the sad story of the Branch Davidians or how the Reverend Jim Jones somehow got over 900 of his members to drink poisoned Kool-Aid. In fact, the mass suicide at Jonestown has become ingrained in our language. Anytime someone is accused of "drinking the Kool-Aid" the connotation is that that person has done something that's against their better judgment because everyone else is doing it and they don't want to seem to go against the tide. Was he serious? He's comparing the tragedy that happened in the jungle that horrible November day back in 1978 to what we do at spanking parties? He rather smugly told me that the women "don't really want to be there; that they're just trying to snag a man and they think being obedient is only way to do it." He was out of his mind and didn't have a clue. If he hadn't been a friend, I might have laughed at him. Instead, I made a grave error. I attempted to change his way of thinking by educating him about the realities of the spanking scene. I explained SSC and the "no means no" philosophy. He shook his head dismissively. Mere rhetoric, he assured me. He told me that, like Jim Jones, the people who run the various spanking groups and clubs have simply put the poison in something that anyone would swallow. He said they usually discourage individuality. You're expected to think the way the rest of the group thinks. I told him I had never gone with the flow. I had questioned and investigated and come to my own conclusions. He told me flatly that I had been brainwashed just like everyone else.
I guess he just can't get his mind around a woman who made a conscious decision and then acted on it totally independently. According to my friend, the people in the scene are all just a bunch of brain dead zombies doing what their puppeteers tell them to do. His comments almost made me question why I have him for a friend. I have known this guy for many, many years. Long before I got into the scene we and several others had spirited debates over long games of Trivial Pursuit. We had discussed every subject under the sun over endless plates of nachos at our favorite Mexican place (until, alas, they went out of business). He seems to forget all the things I taught him how to do. I taught him how to eat with chopsticks, how to load a 35mm camera, how to make homemade spaghetti sauce (from my own recipe) and many other things that I'm sure enriched his life beyond measure. OK, so I might be over dramatizing here. But my point is that he seems to trivialize the things I know. What does knowing how to use chopsticks amount to in this world anyway? Apparently, this guy knows the secrets of the universe. He knows what every person is thinking and what their intentions are. He really came across as arrogant. I had never seen him in this light before. It was eye opening to say the least.
I guess what shocked me the most was the fact that we had discussed my love of spanking many, many times over the years without him ever mentioning the "C" word before. Now, I guess, because I'm active in the scene, it just HAS to be a cult. To him, the scene is a place where chauvinistic men with a warped sense of entitlement hurt women with impunity. I asked him about the men who get spanked by women. He seemed a bit lost there. He stuttered and puffed his chest. Real men, he told me, don't get spanked. Personally, I have no opinion on men who get spanked. But I was shocked again by his reply. It was as if I was talking to him for the first time. This wasn't the guy who helped me change my first tire. This person was a stranger. A cult? This was what he thought? The more I talked, the more adamant he became that he was right. I was just too "indoctrinated" to know any better.
And so it goes. I thought I was pretty open minded when it came to most things spanking-related. But I guess I'm not open minded enough to deal with someone who calls a group of people I've had nothing but fun with a cult.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have a tall glass of Kool-Aid.

Spanking Music

2009-12-19T09:54:00.000-08:00

My old buddy, Jerry, used to have a saying: "If we all liked the same thing, we'd all like Adam And The Ants". Truer words were never spoken.

All I know is I get another chance to indulge my love of both spanking and music.

For those of you who don't know or aren't old enough to remember Adam And The Ants, a little background is needed. Adam Ant (born Stuart Goddard) formed his group, The Ants, in the late 70's. They were famous for a couple of things. First, they were one of the few bands I'd seen (apart from the Alman Brothers and .38 Special) with two drummers. Secondly, they were what used to be called a "costume band", with outfits that were 18th century meets 80's New Wave.

Adam certainly had the BDSM penchant for costuming and leather. My first exposure to this rather interesting English band was through MTV in 1982. I loved the video for "Stand And Deliver" so my friend, Jerry, got me a copy through an import record shop in California. The day it arrived, I ripped open the package and put it on my turntable (this was before CD's mind you). Once I played the song a few times and looked at the gorgeous picture sleeve, I flipped the record over and played the B-side.

In those days, English bands had a habit of putting a song on the B-sides of their records that wasn't on the LP so it was a nice bonus. The song was called "Beat My Guest" and from the first line, I knew it was about spanking. Or, more accurately, beating.

"Well, tie me up, punish me with a stick."

Oh, this was interesting. I was 21 and in no way was I yelling to the world about my love of spanking. Not at that time. I played the song on headphones so my parents wouldn't hear it. Then I heard the refrain:

"Well, I'm black and blue, baby, I love you.

Be your dog, just don't flog.

Yes, and hear me plead, make me bleed."

I knew Adam must be into some pretty dark things. I began to buy up whatever I could get from this band. The fact that Adam, with his patrician features and high cheek bones, was pretty easy to look at made it all the better. I bought their two best knows albums, "Kings Of The Wild Frontier" and "Prince Charming". Then I was lucky enough to find their first LP, called "Dirk Wears White Socks" (a nod to British actor Dirk Bogarde). On that very first LP was a song called "Whip In My Valise". The entire song is about spanking, caning and whipping. My gosh, Adam even says the word! Although, the British use the word smacking and not spanking. Maybe he wanted to sound more American? Not too sure. I'd known for awhile that spanking existed in music. I'd heard "Bad Boys Get Spanked" from The Pretender's second LP. I was suitably scandalized. Didn't Chrissy know that boys DO the spanking, not get them? At least Madonna got it right with "Hanky Panky", about a woman's need to get spanked. But back then, hearing "Beat My Guest" for the first time, I was so shocked. Someone was actually singing about something I longed to do (although I didn't want to bleed, thank you). I suppose nowadays, it's much more accepted and mainstream to sing about being into spanking or BDSM. But back then, it was totally new, at least to me.

I'd be glad to hear of any songs my readers might want to discuss on this topic. Not time to write more unfortunately. Have a spanking good day, everyone.

Our Need And Desire Party Report Part II

2009-11-26T08:06:00.000-08:00

When I awoke the next morning, my first concern was for Cigi. Because of some of the meds she's on, she has what I call "morning sickness". The nausea is worst when she first wakes up and then fades as the morning progresses. By nine A.M. she felt good enough to go get some breakfast. Like most hotels, this one offered a free breakfast until 10 o'clock. There were all the usual items---eggs, bacon, cereal, bagels, yogurt, etc. To be honest, the eggs were probably powdered institutional stuff and not all that good. But I was famished so I ate them (with ketchup on them, my usual condiment) and some bacon. I also had some cranberry juice to drink. I always drink cranberry juice at parties if it's available. This is to cleanse my system and also it's nice to drink something healthy after a night of drinking nothing but soda. When I first started in the scene and was attending my first parties, I almost always woke up on the second day with a little blood in my urine, an indication that I was playing way too hard. I have never taken a blow directly to my kidneys, but I think they have absorbed the "aftershock" of some very hard hits. I know I'm still a hard player, but I feel I have toned it down a little bit over the years. People have called me a pain slut and I usually bristle at it (I bristle at being referred to as a slut in any context anyway). But I have to admit that pain is my thing. I love knowing that I can take, process and enjoy a very hard session. So someone told me years ago "If you're going to play like that, drink plenty of cranberry juice." I started that at the first party where we stayed in a hotel and it's a habit that I've continued to the present day.

After a filling breakfast, Cigi and I went back to our room. I had grabbed a free newspaper off the table and was working the crossword puzzle. We were just sort of having a lazy morning. It had felt so good to see my buddy, Purple Angel, after almost a year, but it also felt good to see other friends I had missed from the previous month's CM party. Added to my good mood was the fact that Cigi was going to have another good day and I was a pretty happy girl. But the biggest surprise was yet to come.

We went to the party suite to see if anyone was there yet. To our surprise, there were quite a few people sitting around, still snacking on the left overs from the night before. An older gentleman came over to me and asked me if I would like to accompany him to the spanking bench. Those were his exact words. Well, I thought, why not? I hadn't played yet and I sort of wanted to so I said OK. I went over to the bench and got comfortable. He was whispering some things to me, but since he was on the side my deaf ear is on, I couldn't hear him. I'm pretty sure it was the typical dom stuff like "Are you being a good girl?" and all that stuff I really don't want to hear at my age. He's a good spanker, but a little "touchy-feely" for my taste. He's the kind that likes to rub your back and legs and stroke your hair. All that stuff that I lose patience with very quickly. I politely instructed him to stop doing those other things and just spank me. With that, he removed his belt and began to whip me. I was somewhat shocked because it seemed like he was punishing me for not letting him give me a spinal adjustment. I'm sure, in his mind, he was really bringing it. But for me, the blows were nothing I couldn't handle. When he finished with the belt, he hand spanked me some more. He does hand spank well when he's not engaged in all those other activities. I was beginning to feel a little sore so I asked him to wrap it up, which he did. There were wipes to clean off the bench and I grabbed one and wiped it down, which we had been instructed to do. He thanked me for a good time and I returned to my seat next to Cigi. I told her about what had happened with the guy and she poo-poohed the notion that he had punished me. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it (especially if I was wrong) so I let it drop.

Now I have to stop here for just a moment and give you a little background on Cigi. Back in the 70's I had some pen pals. One lived here in Illinois, one lived in Canada, one lived in England and one lived in Scotland. I looked forward to their letters as much as I hoped they looked forward to mine. Cigi became interested in the stamps that came on the envelopes. This led to becoming a stamp collector. It was a hobby she engaged in for a number of years and in fact, she still has her whole collection, in tact, just as it was so many years ago. She developed a rapport with a local stamp dealer, whose office was housed on the ground floor of a downtown office building. On one side of him was a deli that sold the best pastrami I have ever tasted and on the other side was the Nut House, a place that specialized in nuts. They had roasted pistachios that were to absolutely die for. Cigi joined the American Philatelic Society and, once she got her stamp with her APS membership number on it, began to receive approval sets. These came in a box and what you did was, when you found a stamp you wanted to buy, you would remove the stamp, then stamp the box with your APS stamp to indicate that you had purchased it and not stolen it. You sent a check or money order off to the APS and then mailed the approval set to the next person on the list (usually someone from your area). During the course of conversation, another gentleman discovered that Cigi had once been a stamp collector and asked her if she'd like to go with him to a stamp show at another hotel. She said that sounded like fun. I had some concerns though because we didn't know this guy real well. I wasn't enthusiastic about my cancer stricken sister going off with some stranger (whose last name I didn't even know). But she assured me she'd be fine and PA told me she would trust Cigi with him with no reservations whatsoever. So off they went. Meanwhile, since I now had nothing to do, I was invited to join a group of people who were going to a barbecue place in the next town for lunch. PA was going so I said OK. We were going in the SUV of a married couple and while we waited for him to bring the car around to the front door for us, the guy who was making a nuisance of himself (the one I'd played with the night before and had not wanted me to leave) practically invited himself along. He was looking for another ON&D member to go to lunch with and when we said we hadn't seen her, he said something to the tune of "I guess I can just ride along with you guys." It was going to be a tight squeeze with those of us who were already going. One more person wasn't going to fit in the car. Before we could say anything to him, our chariot arrived and we simply walked away and left him there. I know it was rude. But this guy never seemed to get the point. I hated doing that to him but we were in a hurry and really didn't have time to explain to him that it was rude to invite yourself somewhere. It was an absolutely gorgeous day---warm (for late November anyway) and incredibly bright. The weather in Peoria the preceding two weeks had been nothing but cold and rain so I was enjoying our little excursion even more than I normally would. When we got there, the place was still a little busy, with stragglers from the lunch rush finishing up their drinks and happily visiting. The music was vintage 70's rock (the kind they play on my favorite radio station here at home) and I was really enjoying the atmosphere. The food was really good, but like most restaurants, there was just too much of it so I asked for a to go container, which the waiter brought quickly. It had been a very enjoyable meal. When we got back to the hotel, I was somewhat perplexed to see Cigi lying on her bed resting. I hadn't expected her to be back so soon. She informed me that both she and the man she'd gone with had agreed that there was just too much walking involved (both Cigi and her companion were using canes to walk with) so they had simply come back. I was disappointed for her, as I know she still loves to look at stamps. But at least I knew nothing had happened to her. Even though I had enjoyed the meal tremendously and had participated in the lively conversation, I had had a vague, uneasy feeling about Cigi going off with someone we didn't know, even if he did have the Purple Angel Seal of Approval. It's just my nature to worry and especially to worry about Cigi. As soon as she saw my container of food, she opened it and began to devour what was left of my sandwich and cole slaw. At least it wasn't going to waste.

A little later, we returned to the party suite. It was pretty much barren except for the people who were setting it up for dinner. I knew dinner was a few hours off (anyway, my stomach was still full from lunch) so I looked around to see if I could snag someone for some play. The first guy I saw was a switch, who I remember from last year's party had gotten into some trouble for showing off his knives (the ones his mistress uses on him for knife play) in the party suite. He had had to be talked to more than once about that if I remember correctly. But I think he was feeling a bit more toppy at this party. He asked if I wanted to play and, like the others, I thought why not? It might be fun. First of all, this guy is way into scolding and other things associated with punishing a bad little girl. Ugh! I told him to knock off the scolding, that this was just going to be a fun little spanking session. I also had to specifically tell him that nothing sexual was going to happen and that I didn't want any "accidental" touching of places he knew better than to touch. He let me know he understood all of this. I think he was afraid I would beat him or something. He told me he was a "light to moderate" spanker. Yeah, right. I'm a hard player by most peoples' standards so imagine my surprise when, once the warm up was over, he proceeded to beat the crap out of me. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it because I did enjoy it. But it just surprised me coming from a guy who had just told me he didn't spank hard. He had a nice selection of toys, but like most of the others, his looked somewhat cheap and badly made. He had flown in from out of state (way out of state, if I recall) and had had to make do with just bringing a few. We actually had a really fun session. I was feeling pretty sore and a little floaty so I returned to the party suite. Dinner still wasn't ready yet. A friend of mine from Wisconsin was in the room so I made time to speak with her. She informed me that some people were coming to see the three of us (her, me and Cigi) later. I knew exactly who she was talking about. We had missed them at CM. After the CM party, he actually left a message on my Fetlife wall that his straps had missed us. So I had that to look forward to. We continued our conversation and pretty soon, dinner was served. It was really good. I'm amazed even after all this time of coming to parties how hungry you can get from being spanked or spanking someone. It's a lot of hard work. I ate until I was satisfied and in short order the contests commenced. These were supposed to be all in good fun. The first contest was the Cutest Panties Contest. PA asked who, of us ladies, wanted to come up and model our panties for the audiences' approval. Four of us raised our hands. Me, my friend from Wisconsin, the wife of my first spanker, and another lady who I had been seeing at CM parties for years. The four of us went to the front of the room and, one by one, showed our panties. I had been quietly confident that mine would win. I had been watching the public players and didn't see one pair of panties that even approached mine in the cuteness department. They were white with ruffles and multi-colored hearts. Not something I would wear under normal circumstances, but I thought there was no way I wouldn't win and I was right. I did win. So I got to come up and pick a prize. I took a moment to look over what was there and took away a crooked handled acrylic cane. It had come from Can-iacs, one of the companies that was co-sponsoring this party. I couldn't wait to feel it. The next contest was a Best Panties for the men. Let me tell you, most men don't care if their underwear is cute or not. Most of them don't even care if they have hash marks in them. All the men were older men and their underwear (and what it covered) wasn't even worth mentioning. It was horrifying. I could've gone my whole life and not seen these guys drop their drawers. The guy who won had won at the previous party and had been told he couldn't win with the same attire twice. He had been wearing a red thong and black thigh highs. On a woman, this would've been a very nice ensemble. But on an old man, it was painful. He chose the nastiest toy on the table, a paddle that was rubber on one side and some un-Godly material on the other. It just figured he would choose it. The next contest was for the Nastiest Toy. Three of the four of us who had modeled our panties volunteered for this all-important duty. In all fairness, I think the contest would have been better done if someone willing to swing the toys hard had done it. But I guess they decided to err on the side of caution. Cigi entered two toys--out lexan paddle and a razor strap. Neither of which won, I might add. The winner was this icky little toy that no one had wanted to play with. With the festivities over, I went over and asked my long lost first spanker if he wanted to play. He did so off we went to my room. He showed me the toys he had and it was obviously his taste hadn't changed that much since the last time I'd played with him. He sat on the edge of the bed and put me over one knee, just as he had done on that March afternoon so many years ago. He spanked me on my jeans to start. I could feel some stinging getting through the heavy denim. Finally, he said "Well, I think your jeans have been punished enough." He spanked me over my prize winning panties for a while, using toys that were suited to that position. We tried nearly all of his toys, except for the ones that I wasn't interested in. Next, it was time to go over the bed for some really good strapping. He took some pictures for me.

When I asked why he hadn't caned me, he replied that he hadn't been able to find them after a recent move. Since we were in my room and my toy bags were right behind him, I invited him to use one of mine. I remembered why I had fallen in love with the cane. He had been the one who introduced me to it. After an awesome caning, it was time to wrap it up. I was so sore I could hardly move. That's what had really been missing from this party--someone who could really spank and do it really well. Hard is one thing and I don't knock hard because it's what I like. But there's more to it than that. There's technique and there's communication.

When I was finished playing with him, I went back to the party suite. Cigi was gone, off playing, I assumed. I had played the previous year with a lady top who came with her husband from Wisconsin and they were both here again. I wanted to play with the lady badly. We had had a very good public scene at that other party and I figured having a whole year to improve upon her technique, it would be even more fun to play with her. I went over and asked her if she wanted to play, but she was waiting for her husband to come back to the party from work and wanted to be there when he returned. So I waited. It turned out that I had to wait about two hours for him to come back...his job was in Wisconsin. When I saw him walk into the party suite, she was really happy to see him. I went over and hugged him and asked him how his trip had been. I didn't want to keep him from his wife, but I just wanted to welcome him back. I hadn't gotten to talk to him the previous night. When the wife had had time to see him, she beckoned me over and told me we could play now. So off the three of us went to our room. Cigi arrived soon afterwards so we had a nice little party in our room. The lady top was unwilling to spank me as hard as I wanted her to. She said "but, my love, you're so sore now. It wouldn't be very responsible of me." So we played fairly lightly. Then an unfortunate thing happened. There was a knock on the door. I was lying on the bed with my pants down. It could've been anyone at the door. It was the worst person it could possibly have been--it was that guy who was a pain in the ass. Apparently, Cigi and Purple were supposed to double him. I could see the lady top's face and she was unhappy with him being there and with our scene being broken up. She had wanted to watch Cigi spank her husband. Instead, we were treated to Cigi and PA doubling this obnoxious buffoon. His winy attitude wasn't the worst part of the scene. That would be the fart he let in the middle of the whole thing. It stank up the entire room for a long time. I think if you're going to do that, you should warn others in the room that you're about to let one and it's going to smell really bad. But no, there was no warning. When PA and Cigi got tired of topping him, the lady top took over. Unlike my sister and my friend, this lady had no health problems that kept her from unloading on him, which she did. But I was somewhat jealous. I had wanted her to spank me that hard. She really put this guy through his paces. Finally, he left. I was so happy to finally have him leave. I know this sounds rude. But he was just the sort of person who gets on my nerves. I couldn't wait to Febreeze the room. You have to know that, since Cigi and I live in a two room apartment with three cats, our world turns on Febreeze. To me, it's one the greatest things ever invented.

About that time, there was another knock on the door. It was our friend, Freckles, who had come to see us and our friend, S. She was trying to get her top to come to the hotel so we could all play. Well, when Freckles arrived, she saw the lady top's husband there and they sort of conducted an impromptu belly dancing class, complete with zils (those symbol-like things they wear on their hands). We had a good time watching her trying to exhort him with cries of "pretty hands". It was a riot! She even made a little movie. It was very cute. Then she called S and had her come to our room. It really looked like her top wasn't going to make it. So while we were visiting (the talk ran the gamut from bras to toys) the phone rang. It was her top and he was on his way! She told him he'd better hurry because "you have a couple of twins here that are fading fast!" He got there about ten minutes later. I was really happy to see him. It made the party for me. We decided to go to S's room. Cigi, unfortunately, couldn't join us. Her stomach was in kind of bad shape. The top hugged Cigi and kissed her goodbye, telling her to get some sleep.

The rest of us headed off to S's room to play. This particular top has to whole thing going for him---good looking, sense of humor, listens well and spanks hard. He's one of my absolute favorites even though he's 20 years younger than I am. We spent about two hours getting spanked, strapped and paddled with a frat paddle.

It was the most awesome part of the whole party for me. I know Cigi was disappointed that she'd had to beg off and he regretted it, too. But he understood that she just didn't have the stamina that the rest of us have. But to be honest, I would probably get off my deathbed to play with this guy. By the time I called it a night, I was so sore and so tired I could barely drag myself to my room. How I managed I really don't remember. But I had the satisfaction of knowing that the party had ended on a high note for me. I slept soundly that night (mostly on my stomach, I can assure you) and didn't even bother to wake Cigi for breakfast. I snuck down to the lobby for some quick food and happened to run into my two cohorts from the night before. They asked if I wanted to go to IHOP with them but I had to decline since I had to get packed for the trip home.

I was sorry to see this party end. It was really a great party, made all the better by the appearance of one of my favorite tops. Hopefully, it won't be two months before I blog again.

Our Need And Desire Party Report Part I

2009-11-25T07:03:00.000-08:00

Before I fill you in on all the details of my party weekend, let me apologize to those who read this blog for the fact that I haven't made a new entry in more than two months. I'm so sorry. Maybe I should be spanked for that? Suffice to say that life had taken up more of my time than I wanted it to. But I'm back now and with a party report to boot.

For those of you who don't know, the Our Need And Desire group is run by my dear friend, Purple Angel. She has had some health issues lately so I was really anxious to see her, let alone party. We'd missed Crimson Moon so this was sort of like a make up weekend for that. It was an awesome weekend.

First off, Cigi had a doctor appointment that morning so it was up early for us. It was the whole shebang this time---labs, see the doctor, and an IV drip of Zometa, which they give her for her bones. We expected to be out by noon, but it was almost one before we got home (and, of course, I wasn't done packing yet!). The lady who drove us was my nephew's sometime girlfriend but since she lives with my sister and brother-in-law, they are still on friendly terms. She was absolutely wonderful, carrying some of our bags down to the car for us (our toy bags!) and making sure Cigi was comfortable in the backseat before we took off. Because it was after 2 pm before we hit the road, we did encounter some traffic as we neared the hotel. However, it wasn't as bad going in as it looked like it was going out. I secretly felt bad for her because the return trip was going to be hellacious. But I didn't think about that as we approached the hotel. I was too excited about seeing my friend, Purple, again. I hadn't seen her since she came to stay with us after Cigi's knee surgery the previous December so we had a lot of catching up to do.

I had some catching up to do with someone else as well. About a month before the party, I saw that the man who had given me my very first adult spanking was also attending. It had been almost five years since I'd seen him and I was excited about the prospect of seeing him and, hopefully, playing with him again.

Now I related in my July Crimson Moon report what a hassle check in had been for that party. Here, there was none of that. This was probably due to the fact that I reserved the room personally whereas, for CM someone else had booked the room. When we got to our room, it was perfect. It had two double beds and was clean as a whistle. I love this hotel. It's not fancy, but it's perfect for spanking parties. I'm not one of those people that needs a $500-a-night room to spank in. Cigi and I got unpacked and then I took a bath. With the morning being taken up with her appointment, there simply hadn't been time to do this at home. I go with her to her appointments whenever I can because I don't want to have regrets later that I wasn't there for her when she needed me. But we actually got good news that day--her tumor markers were down for the first time in almost a year. So Cigi and I were both feeling particularly good that day. Since she had been smart and bathed and shaved the night before, she was ready to go long before I was. By the time I got cleaned up and got my face put on, she had already been in the party room for a while. She had seen our friend, Purple Angel, and others who had been worried about her (many people who attend ON&D are also CMer's) since we'd missed the Crimson Moon party. I caught up with everyone, including that man who had given me my first spanking. But he wasn't the first person I played with. The first man I played with was a switch who had come from out of state to attend and was only going to be there for one night. He had come with another woman, who I was meeting for the first time. When he asked me to play, he invited his companion to join us. I had a feeling she would've been jealous had he not invited her. First he spanked me; over my jeans at first, then on the bare. The woman watched his every move. Then she spanked her, using some of my toys, which I'd brought with me. Then she spanked him (he was a switch, after all). I would've enjoyed the scene a lot more if she hadn't been there. Now don't misunderstand when I say that. I have no problem with other people being in the room when I play. It was her jealous eye that bothered me. She literally watched every move he made while he spanked me. I have to admit I was a little uncomfortable with the whole thing and was glad when it was over. Not only had he had to watch his every move he had to be careful about what he said, too. I didn't get the vibe that they were a couple...but she sure seemed to want me to get that impression.

I went back to the party room and got something to eat. We had stopped at an Arby's on the way, but that had been hours ago. I was famished by this time. One thing I'll credit my friend PA for and that is that her parties always have good food. I mean, what's a party without stuff to munch on? It seemed everything was available. I had a croissant with turkey, cheese and lettuce on it. I added mayo myself because I hate dry sandwiches. There were chips and crudites and sweets and almost anything else you'd want at a party, including plenty of soft drinks and water. Purple Angel had called me the day before (when I was at work) and left me a message letting me know that she would have Mountain Dew available because she knew we like it. So of course, I grabbed one. I don't know who catered the food but it was wonderful. I kept an eye on Cigi, making sure she ate something, too. When she doesn't have an appetite, it's not a good sign. She had dropped 40 pounds since the previous year's party. But she was eating and laughing so I figured all was well with her. That helped me enjoy the party even more; knowing I didn't have to worry about her. She calls this behavior "hovering" and it's something she hates so I try really hard not to do it. But there are times when I just can't help it. Like when she isn't getting around as well and needs her cane to walk with or, as I said, when she doesn't have an appetite. Loss of appetite in a cancer patient isn't good. But we weren't thinking about any of that on this particular night. The mood in the party room was happy and joyous and so we got into the spirit, too. There was happy chatter and the sound of food being devoured. Every once in a while, someone would decide to avail themselves of the spanking bench that was set up in one corner of the room. It was the same spanking bench we'd seen and used at the July CM party. It was wide and soft and really comfortable. I made up my mind to play on it at least once before the weekend was up. When I went over to throw out my trash, I got another offer to play. My stomach was full but not dangerously so so I said OK. This guy was someone I had totally avoided at the previous year's party. He looked mean and dirty to me. I think someone must have had a little talk with him because, while he still appeared fairly grubby, his demeanor was much more friendly. He hadn't even approached me at last year's party. I got the impression he expected the ladies to do the asking. But I had made up my mind to be more sociable at this party. I was going to give everyone a chance. I might not play with everyone who asks me, but I was at least going to give them a chance. Looking back, I can see that, at some parties, my behavior was less than welcoming. Realizing, of course, that I have the right to play with whom I want to play with and to refuse those I don't, that doesn't give me the right to be rude. So when this guy asked me to play, I thought "Why not?" and off we went. When we got to his room, he showed me his toys. He was obviously very proud of them. He had flown in so he hadn't been able to bring all of his toys, so he said he'd brought a little of everything. We talked about his medical infirmities (caused by advancing age) and about Cigi's issues. He asked what toys I wanted used on me. There hadn't been a lot to choose from. All of them looked cheap and a few looked very poorly made. Probably hand made. But I didn't want to insult him. Maybe just paying the party fee, buying a round trip plane ticket and paying for two nights in a hotel had been all he could afford. I picked a few of the less dangerous-looking toys he offered and we got underway. He was a dominant and made no bones about it. I told him I wasn't a sub and made no bones about that either. He told me, rather condescendingly, that "Young ladies who get spanked are submissive, at least for the time they're being spanked." I tried really hard not to laugh at this uninformed opinion. Instead, I told him that submissives have the desire to serve and be pleasing in their hearts. I don't have any of that. I just like to be spanked. He chuckled and told me I could live in my denial if I wanted to. His dismissive laugh almost made me leave right then and there. Instead I told him he was entitled to his opinion and that it wasn't his fault he didn't know any better. But I told him it was a pity he didn't make an effort to better inform himself before making generalizations. He said "I'm an old dog. I can't learn new tricks now." Well, that was fair enough, I supposed. But that still didn't make it right for him to subscribe to the old "any young lady who gets spanked is submissive" argument. He treated me like a sub in training during the entire scene. He also wanted to see what I could take, obviously. I think I had a higher tolerance than he was used to because he kept asking me if I wanted to use my safeword. I told him no, I wasn't even close to that, which seemed to disappoint him. All I could do was shrug it off. It's not like the scene totally didn't work for me. He spanked hard the way I like it but not too hard. His toys weren't deadly. He did need to improve his caning technique but I didn't say so. When we were done, I was heading back to the party room when another man asked me to play. This guy was a royal pain the entire weekend. I told him I had just finished playing and needed to rest. He then told me he had something for me in his room. I had heard this guy used ruses to get girls to his room, where, once there, they feel they can't refuse his offer to play. Especially once he's gifted them with something. So, in order to get him to leave me alone, I went. The party suite and every one's rooms were on the first floor so it made getting to and from rooms discreetly much easier. The front desk staff had just seen me come out of one man's room and I was now going into another. But they knew what we were doing. When we got to the man's room, he gave me a small box of chocolates. I thanked him and told him to come back to the party room in half an hour and find me. He asked me to stay and talk with him. I really didn't want to. But, like the other guy, I felt it was best to play with him or I wasn't going to get a moment's peace the whole weekend. I sat down on the couch while he sat across the room on the bed. I learned he was married with grown kids. We had a love of baseball in common so we talked about that. I really can't remember what else we discussed but I thought we'd better get this going or I was going to be there all night. He didn't spank half bad, but he kept up a running commentary during which he wanted me to give him feedback on every whack. This isn't how I like to play. I like conversation as much as the next girl, but he never stopped talking and he wanted me to keep telling him how well he was doing. I asked him politely to please be quiet and just spank me. If something was wrong I would let him know. I never got to relax or truly enjoy the spanking. This was the reason I think most women don't want to play with him. Well, that and his whiny attitude. Once he was done spanking me he didn't want me to leave. He expected me to stay and talk to him some more. I told him politely that I had given him an hour of my time and that was more than I gave most people I play with during a party. He pouted but let me leave. I was glad he'd decided to stay in his room (probably to pout some more) and not follow me back to the party room. I didn't even want to be seen with him. He made me so mad. He has to be the most insecure person I've met in the scene. I was glad to let him see the back of me.

When I returned to the party suite, the group had thinned out. People were playing privately or some (like Cigi) had gone to bed. It had been a long and tiring day for her. On the way back from treatment that afternoon, she had vomited while she was driving (the reason she keeps an emesis basin with her at all times) and I feared we were going to miss this party, too. But once she gets sick, she usually feels a lot better. Some of the treatments make her nauseous and I try my hardest to understand what she's going through.

I only played three times that whole first night. I attributed that to the late start we'd gotten and the fact that their were few attractive spankers there. And by "attractive" I don't mean good looking. That's not really even important to me. What I mean by attractive is spankers I would find interesting to play with. That would change the next night.

Clothes Make the Bottom

2009-09-10T17:34:00.000-07:00

Today I went out a did a little clothes shopping, some of which might make it into my suitcase for the October Crimson Moon party. I know it's still early September and the party is more than six weeks away, but because of the circumstances surrounding the July party, I didn't allow myself to get excited about it until the week before the actual party. This time, all of the obstacles have been cleared early and unless something awful happens, Cigi and I will be there.

For me, buying new clothes is one of life's simple pleasures. I'm not a shopaholic by any means (I would have to have an unlimited amount of funds for that) but I do enjoy it if there's a party lurking. I think about what I'll be wearing and how I will look getting spanked in it. Silly, huh? This is especially true for panties but also applies to jeans, skirts and tops. I think my love of new clothes goes back to my childhood. Cigi and I are the youngest of the four kids in our family. As a money saving device, Cigi and I wore a lot of hand-me-downs and homemade things. Now I'm not complaining about this. My grandma was great with a sewing machine. I can still picture her at her Singer, humming softly and the soft snip of her scissors as she cut a thread. I loved to sit and watch her make something. She made both my prom gowns and I had to be there to critique every move. However, as a child, it was different. Grandma even made our Barbie clothes. So getting anything new was a big deal. I loved back-to-school time because (besides Christmas) it was the only time we got new clothes, whether handmade or not. I guess that sort of feeling comes back to me whenever I get anything new.

I know a lot of tops like a woman to dress a certain way. Some favor skirts or dresses that can be lifted for easy access. Some prefer a bottom in tight jeans or pants. I've met all kinds. I guess the way the woman is dressed sort of sets the mood for the scene. I think a bottom dressed in perky "spank me" attire is adorable. I don't go for costuming at all, but I think some women are extremely spankable in just regular clothes, without the roleplay/fantasy aspect going on. Sure, there are plenty of guys who dig cheerleader uniforms. Many like the crisp pleats of a plaid skirt. Others like sheer, low cut blouses to set the mood for them. I once had a top tell me "You walk into the room in your jeans and sweater and you're instantly spankable". It was the highest compliment I've ever been paid in the scene.

So, people, what do you think? Do clothes really make the bottom? Or does it even matter? I have said before that I don't have a separate wardrobe for spanking and vanilla activities. I just don't have the money for it. Anyway, I much prefer my spankers to see me the way everyone else sees me. What you see is what you get.

Good Girls Don't

2009-08-18T20:11:00.000-07:00

In 1979, I was a senior in high school and disco was still king of the music industry. Never having been a fan, I was encouraged to read in the music trade papers that it was dying out. In late spring, while my head was filled with thoughts of graduation, an album came out that got my attention. It was decidedly undisco. Looking back now, it feels very retro mid-sixties. But in 1979, it was a breath of fresh air. The album was released on Capitol Records (the same record company that The Beatles had been signed to) and the LP was the biggest selling debut album for a group on that label since The Beatles. Everyone was buzzing about it. The big hit off the album was, of course, "My Sharona". But the second single was the one that really stood out for me. "Good Girls Don't" had everything in it that was destined to make it a memorable hit--good beat, catchy vocals, and explicit lyrics (a very big deal in the days before rap made cursing commonplace on records). It was all about a guy trying to get "some" from the girl at school he has the hots for. All very high school.
Now, onto why I picked this particular song title as the title for tonight's entry. In the spanking scene, most of us females (the ones who are bottoms anyway) have certain things we won't do under any circumstances and some that we'll only do with certain people. The song serves as a reminder that there are things "good girls" don't do. Of course, it could be argued that "good girls" wouldn't dream of getting spanked because they enjoy it. I know there are women out there who will do anything with anybody, but I'm just not one of them. When it comes to my body, I stick with my principals. The girl in the song may poo pooh this by saying "good girls don't...but I do", but not Cheryl. And while it's been 30 years since I got my diploma and 30 years since The Knack burst on to the music scene with this memorable LP, I'm still a "good girl" at heart.

Crimson Moon Spanking Party Review--Day Three: Taking Care Of Business

2009-08-04T14:55:00.003-07:00

Day Three of the party dawned cool and a little cloudy. Cigi and I had again been invited out for breakfast by the same gentleman who had taken us the previous day. This time, he asked our room mate to join us. Cigi begged off, saying she didn't feel up to going. I, of course, was worried about her. But she assured me, as she always does, that she was fine, just having a little pain. The gentleman who was taking us out suggested that we order something for her and bring it back to her. I thought this was a bit indulgent of him, but if he wanted to, who was I to say no? So, again, we took a cab to the same restaurant we had gone to the previous day. And why not? The food was good and the service was great. We had a fairly leisurely breakfast and then headed back to the hotel to catch some Zs. I know it must look like we nap an awful lot, but this is what a lot of people do at spanking parties in the afternoon. All of the fun stuff would come later.

We laid down for just a little bit and then headed down to the vendor's fair. For those of you who don't know what a vendor's fair is, allow me to explain. A vendor's fair consists of a group of tables upon which people who make and/or sell different wares sell their stuff. Anything scene related is allowed usually. Some sell toys they made. Some sell toys (usually antiques) that they have purchased and refurbished in some way. Some sell videos and DVD's. Some sell scene-appropriate attire. But whatever the product, we had bunches of tables set up and all of the vendors present did a steady business. We must have all been saving our pennies. Cigi and I purchased some very nice things--a thin lexan paddle (despite my claims that lexan is sick and no one will ever touch me with it), a short OTK cane (rattan of course), a fraternity paddle from Northwestern University, a Baltic birch paddle (small but affective), an acrylic cane in her favorite color (purple, naturally), a small bundle of acrylic rods (I think that's what they are anyway) and several other small and sundry items. We didn't spend a lot this time, money being a consideration and all. Of course, many of the toys had to be demoed before purchase and Cigi gamely bent over for this, even the lexan. All in all, a pretty good haul. One of the group leaders, who runs his own spanking video production company, gave us a copy of one of his DVD's. We had been watching from his table at the vendor's fair and expressed admiration of the movie. So he handed it over with his compliments. Since it was his birthday he may have felt a bit more giving than usual. But Cigi and I were extremely thankful for the gesture. One of our group leaders announced that, upon arriving for dinner that evening, we would all be given a raffle ticket because the vendors were going to be giving some of their stuff away as prizes. With that, Cigi and I headed back up to our room. Boredom was beginning to creep in and, in desperation, we turned on the TV. Cigi and I have long maintained that there's simply nothing worth watching on TV on the weekends; at least, not unless there's a baseball game on. While Cigi napped, I watched something on the National Geographic Channel about Bonnie and Clyde. Being a true crime buff, it was interesting. It beat watching "Mama's Family" anyway.

When the documentary was over, I went and got in the shower. When the hot water hit my bottom, it burned. Man, all that strapping the day before was catching up with me. I was so tender that I had had to decline when it came to demoing at the vendor's fair. When I came out of the shower, the maid was cleaning the room. At this particular hotel, they put a towel in front of the door to hold it open, then when they need something from their cart (which they stash in the hallway) they can pop out and get it without having to keep opening the door. She seemed shocked to see me wrapped in a towel, but she did say "Hello" to me. With the door being open, I was somewhat reluctant to get dressed at that moment, so I sat on the couch and waited for her to leave. She no sooner left than someone came moseying by to see if anyone wanted to play. I wanted to see if my bottom would stand up to some play so I said I did. Now I was still damp from the shower and wearing only a towel. Did I let that stop me from playing? No. I'm normally a very modest person and I normally guard my modesty with my life. But at a spanking party, things are a little different. Besides, this particular guy wasn't the least bit interested in my attire (or lack thereof). He just wanted to get at my bottom. Even though I had already played with him once, it had been such an enjoyable experience that I wanted to do it again. I only play with people more than once when I really like them. And I like this guy. We had a great time, of course. And I was surprised to learn that my tolerance was going to be pretty good after all. I thanked him for the spanking and he went on his way. I got dressed and Cigi worked another crossword puzzle.

When we went back downstairs, the vendors were putting their stuff away in preparation for the room to be re-opened to partiers. I finally did get to play with the gentleman who had so generously bought us breakfast two days in a row. We played on the couch while Cigi played in the bedroom with one of my favorite tops (the one that is so good at strapping). We went back downstairs and left Cigi and that wonderful top to play.

Later that evening, they served us a buffet dinner, painstakingly prepared by our President. He was a master chef, after all. The dinner was wonderful--hot and filling. He always puts so much thought and effort into the food. It was greatly appreciated because I was getting pretty hungry by this time.

Once our appetites had been satisfied, it was time to get court underway. Both Cigi and I opted out of court this time around. It was fun once, but now I really don't like it. It's just a chance for brats to make themselves even more obnoxious than they usually are. I used to participate and could brat with the best of them. Just not anymore. So I was looking around for someone to play with. Bill Sova, the reigning king of movie spankings, happened to be sitting right next to me. I went off to his room where he gave me a very nice spanking. Everyone knows that Bill doesn't spank all that hard. But I wanted a lighter spanking this time. We discussed a glitch on one of the Cinema Swats DVD's we owned and he assured me it would be fixed. He said it was on all the DVD's, not just ours and that he would find a way to eliminate it. And, of course, he said he would replace the other DVD for free. That's what I call a good businessman.

When I returned to the public room, court had adjourned and the atmosphere was relaxed. I went in search of a top I had been interested in playing with for some time. He runs his own website (despite having a public service job) that's spanking oriented and has a sub that keeps him busy. But he smiled broadly when I asked him to play. Apparently, he had wanted to ask me but thought I would turn him down. After telling his sub he was going to the room to play with me, we were off. I liked that he told her where he was going. I thought it was very considerate of him. It's something I haven't seen much of from some people. When we got up to his room, I was shocked at how cluttered it was. Someone was a pig! There was clothing and jewelry everywhere, in addition to soda cans and snack food bags. This guy's sub was very young (around 20 I would say) and the room had the look of a teenage girl's bedroom to it. He showed me his toys, pointing out the ones he thought I would like and telling me little tidbits of information about them. We started OTK, where he gave me a nice warm up. This surprised me, as the previous summer, someone else had had to warm me up in preparation for being caned by him. I thought he had come a long way. He confided that he had been taught by several people how to "do it" at parties. His thing is discipline and he knows now that that attitude needs to be toned down at parties. Once the warm up was over, he had me kneel on all fours on one of the nice leather ottomans that are provided with every room. Usually, I find this position uncomfortable, even on a bed. But the couch and the ottoman were very comfy. He asked if I was stable or if I felt I might fall or sink into the couch. We opted to put a couple of the throw pillows under me to stabilize me. Then he went to work with his straps. A couple of times, he wrapped, but it was inadvertent and not done on purpose. There was also a mishit with the cane, which was partly my fault because I moved just before the stroke was delivered. All in all I enjoyed this session a lot. But I knew it was going to be awhile before I could play again. I also worried that someone else I played with might see the cane stroke that mishit and think that someone had done it on purpose. But I wasn't a newbie. I knew what was safe and what wasn't. Mishits happen and are part of the risk we take. I headed back to the party suite and looked forward to visiting with people while I rested. I saw some nice public scenes. However, I still wanted to play later. It was getting late and I knew the party would soon be over. I began to feel those familiar pangs of regret for the people I didn't get to play with or even talk to very much. I saw my room mate sitting at another table. A new top (the one who had spanked me so nicely before bed on Thursday night) went over and started to talk to her. I watched as he pointed to me and then said something else to her. Then they started walking over to me. I wondered what he had in mind. I didn't have to wait long to find out. He wanted to know if I would like to share a spanking with my room mate. Of course I did! I can't remember too many times when that has happened so I jumped at the chance. We went to our room for this since I had a strap he was fond of. He put us side by side on the bed and spanked and strapped us. My room mate was very happy with his technique. I wondered if this little scene was happening because she had been afraid to play alone with this guy, who sort of looked like the metal head he was. But he was a sweetheart. She was certainly happy that she played with him. He offered to come back the next morning before we left and wake us up with a nice spanking. That sounded great to me. Since we were staying until check out time we didn't have to worry about getting up early. My room mate and I went off to bed. For once, I was more tired than Cigi was. She stayed up again to watch Baseball Tonight while I turned in. I hated the thought that the party was over and I would have to pack everything up and head back to the real world. I did miss my cats though and really wanted to sleep in my own bed. And the next party was only three months away. It's not like the nine months we had had to wait between parties.

The next morning, at 7:40 am, there was a knock on the door. It was him. He admitted he hadn't slept very much. To me, he looked like he hadn't been to bed at all. He spanked our room mate OTK, all the while exclaiming how adorable her bottom was. Then he put Cigi and I over the bed next to her and went to work with the strap again. It was a great way to end the party. When he was done he took some pictures (which both of us posted to our Fetlife profiles). Cigi actually spanked him first, with our room mate getting into the act, too. He's much more of a top, I think, but likes to bottom, too. He enjoyed both I'm sure.

Of course, I was sad that the party was over but what a way to end it. I had called our ride between breaks in the action and she assured me she was on her way. We got everything packed up and then got dressed (yes, we had all still been in our pajamas when the spankings took place). We took last looks around to make sure we hadn't forgotten anything. This happens more than you would think.

As soon as we got to the lobby, we saw our ride. She had brought her younger sister with her for this trip and so I knew my plan to lie down in the backseat wasn't going to happen. As with the trip up, everything was on schedule and uneventful. There were people I hadn't gotten to say goodbye to (this happens a lot, too) and I was already looking forward to the next party. In the meantime, I have some cool new friends to chat with and talk on the phone with until it rolls around.

Crimson Moon Spanking Party Review-- Part Two: Day Of The Strappings

2009-08-03T12:18:00.000-07:00

For whatever reason, I didn't sleep well that first night. Sometimes it's just the first night in a new hotel. Sometimes, the mattress isn't to my liking. I'm not exactly sure what the problem was, but I tossed and turned most of Thursday night. And I had only played four times so a sore bottom wasn't the reason either. Besides, a sore bottom almost never keeps me awake. If anything, I sleep better with a sore bottom. Cigi and I had made plans the previous night with a guy we really like to meet for breakfast on Friday morning so as soon as I woke up (and realized that, no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep) I phoned his room. He must have stepped out because I got his voicemail. I left a message and went about getting dressed. Cigi woke up soon afterwards. Then the guy called. We asked him to give us about twenty minutes to get dressed. He said he would meet us in the lobby. When we got downstairs, he wasn't there yet. However, there were some other CMer's there, one of whom had a camera with which she intended to take pictures. I had no make up on and really didn't want to be photographed fresh out of bed with the marks from my pillow case still on the side of my face. But she's sort of like the official photographer of the group and likes to catalogue the people who attended the party, so we gave in. I will probably have severe regrets when I see the pictures. The man we were meeting came down and, of course, she wanted a picture with him in it as well. He was good natured about it and posed for several with us. He admitted to me later that he'd already had a cup of coffee so he felt there was no real rush to get to the restaurant. For me, there was. I'd had nothing to eat since the previous evening's Lean Cuisine. Unless you count the cheese ball made by a certain brat. She brings several to every party and they have really become a tradition. We began to leave to go to breakfast, thinking that the man was leading us to his car. However, it soon dawned on us that he didn't have a car. He had flown in from New York and we had been driven by a friend. None of us had a car. It was a somewhat embarrassing moment. However, it was quickly salvaged when he suggested we go back inside and ask one of the desk clerks to call us a cab. One of the young men at the desk was happy to do this for us and called a local cab company who said they could have a car there in five minutes. I'm not sure we even waited that long. The cab arrived very quickly. Owing to the fact that I don't drive, I'm very much accustomed to traveling in cabs. And since our companion was from New York, he was also at home in a cab. Plus, we found out he had once worked for a car service. We knew what restaurant we wanted to go to and the driver quickly punched the address into his GPS system. I thought this was pretty cool. Our cab drivers in Peoria don't have these yet. They must rely on good old-fashioned "I know where that street is" technology to get their fares from Point A to Point B. The drive was a fairly short one, as the restaurant was pretty close to the hotel (although not close enough to walk). The restaurant boasts an amazing breakfast menu and I was practically salivating as I looked over what was available. I was really hungry and didn't anticipate eating lunch so I opted for a big breakfast. Cigi also had a large breakfast (for her, anyway). Our companion ordered an omelet that I wish I had ordered. The waitress was very attentive and made sure we had everything we needed right when we needed it. Having once been a waitress myself, I knew a good one when I saw it. We ate our food and made good conversation. We knew we had the whole weekend ahead of us and were all very relaxed and very much in "party mode". Our cab driver returned quickly and even stopped our companion by a local liquor store for some liquid refreshment. The driver, who was Russian, had a fairly good command of English. When we got back to the hotel, it was time for a rest to let our food digest. Almost as soon as we got up, the maid came to clean our room. There wasn't a lot for her to do besides make the beds and pick up the towels. Cigi and I aren't neat freaks, but we believe that, when you are guests, it's common courtesy not to leave the place a pig sty. I was in some rooms that weekend that were an absolute mess. Where is your pride? It takes a couple of minutes to hang up clothes and tidy up if you know people are going to be coming to your room.

As soon as the maid left, I got in the shower. Cigi sat working one of her crossword puzzles. They have long been a passion of mine, however, she just started doing them seriously. When I came out of the shower and had gotten dressed, I started putting my make up on. A knock on the door told me someone had come calling. In fact, it was a couple of "someones". Two of my favorite tops had come to see if we wanted to play. I was in the middle of getting my face put on, but I dropped it so I could play. One of the tops was the man who had strapped me in the public room the night before. He lost no time in getting me in position for another one. Cigi took a couple of pictures of the event and then the top who had just strapped me excused himself. The other top also wanted to play, so while Cigi was in the shower, he spanked me. He told me he was starting a new job on Monday. He had been out of work for over a year (something I could relate to) and I was really happy for him. He spanked me pretty lightly and then left. I told him I would see him downstairs later and that we could have a real session later. For some reason, it never happened. I was a little worried about Cigi. I wondered if she was playing as much as she wanted to. With her health problems, she has to be very careful, even when she tops, not to hurt herself.

About three weeks before the party a dom friend of ours joined Fetlife. He left a message on Cigi's wall and also posted to the Crimson Moon group that he was really looking to unload on someone at this party and who was going to be brave enough to take him up on his offer? Of course, your humble correspondent never misses a chance to take a dare. So I saw this particular dom and I was reminded of our date. I try to never make play promises since anything can (and usually does) happen. This dom had one of his submissives with him and he explained to me that she had never seen someone play really hard before...would it be OK if she watched? It was OK with me as long as the lady understood that this was going to be pretty intense stuff. She was totally agreeable and so off we went to my room. As we were waiting for the elevator, he turned to her and said "I know you're straight and all, but I want you to know this lady has just about the nicest ass I've ever spanked. Take my word for it, this ass is prime!". I was flattered by the compliment. Luckily, no one was using the room. He gave me a pretty good warm up (considering how hard we were going to be playing) and then began to strap me with different straps, some of them mine and some of them his. He has names for all of his toys. One particularly nasty toy, which he calls "Tasty" left some pretty good marks behind. He loves my Crimson FLAIM also and he worked me over with that extensively. I kept looking over at his sub, worried that she was disturbed by the hay makers her dom was hitting me with. But she had a big smile on her face. She said "You're right. Her ass is very nice. It's really tough, too!" When I first got in the scene, compliments like that from women made me very uncomfortable. It made me think they wanted to get in my pants or something. But now I'm very much OK with being complimented by other women. I find myself doing it, too. I hugged them both and thanked the dom for the wonderful strapping and caning he had given me. I still love canes a lot but I now I'm beginning to wonder if straps haven't replaced them as my new favorite? Time will tell I believe.

After the intense scene I had just had, I took myself out of circulation for about an hour or so. I watched others play and talked with friends while I waited for feeling to come back to my numb bottom. I had several offers to play, but had to politely decline. Even after all this time, I still hate having to turn down an offer to play. I almost can't stand the look of disappointment on their faces. I almost never turn down an offer to play except when I'm resting so it doesn't happen very often. One of the switches in the group (a long-time member that I have played with many times) asked one of the other ladies to play. She had been sitting in the public room playing her accordion when he asked her. Somehow, I got invited to come along. I love getting spanked with other people so I was very happy this happened the way it did. I knew the other lady only superficially. We had met for the first time last November at Purple Angel's party. I knew she was a spanko primarily, but dabbled in many other things; things I wasn't interested in hearing about. But she's very respectful of the fact that she was at a spanking party. We laid down on the bed side by side and the guy spanking us sort of knelt between us and spanked us. It was a very good time. He had a new toy he was anxious to try out. It was a Civil War-era cake froster. Or should I say a reproduction. He said it was used primarily in re-enactments. I'm assuming since, to my knowledge, no cake frosters were used as weapons in the Civil War, that the froster is used to re-enact what life was like back then. The toy was made of wood of course and packed a pretty concentrated sting. However, it wasn't intolerable and was, in fact, very pleasant. The scene, like most of the ones involving this guy, was pretty long. Usually, I don't do long scenes like this at parties because time is so limited, but I was having such a good time I lost track of how long we were there. We noticed it was about 8 o'clock. Dinner had been served at 7:30 and we rushed off to the party room hoping there was still some food left. As our luck would have it, there was some food left. Not a lot, but enough. Mild bratwurst and peppers that hit the spot. Good spanking party food.

Someone had been kind enough to bring a spanking bench to the party and to set it up so we could all take turns playing on it. Normally, I pass on spanking furniture. Too BDSM for me. But this one looked very comfortable. The upper part (where a person's chest would normally be supported) had a crescent shaped cut out and the kneeling pad was really padded. I had to try it. So I got one of my favorite tops to spank me on it. It's a good thing I did because it turned out to be the only spanking I would get from him all weekend. Cigi told me later that, while she was watching this top spank me, she had noticed some blood on my panties. I figured that the intense strapping I had received from my dom friend had broken some skin and neither of us had noticed it. He wasn't the type to just continue to pummel someone after he draws blood. In fact, I have played with him at times when he's stopped the scene because a spot had burst open.

A little while later, I watched as Cigi was caned over her skirt by our Fearless Leader. He was very careful and checked in with her often to make sure she was OK. He had been made aware of her health problems. Since she had been caned without a warm up, I was anxious to see the pretty marks I knew she was going to have. She hiked her skirt up and showed them to me. They were very pretty and very evenly spaced, not an easy thing to do when you're wearing a short skirt. A long skirt would've made it easier for him, but he did a fine job nonetheless. I was beginning to get the urge to play again and, wouldn't you know it, my favorite top was in the room. This is the guy who had already strapped me twice, once in the public room and once in my room. This time, we headed off to his room. He has a variety of very nice straps and paddles. I got just about all of them, too. He's my favorite because he laughs and smiles when he plays. I just can't do that stern, serious punishment type of scene. It's OK for people who like that sort of thing, but it's just not me. I wanted to be toasted and, believe me, he obliged. I knew it would be my last scene of the night, so I told him to just have at it. Boy, did he! I would have to say that on this particular day, I took the two most intense strappings of my life. I was feeling very floaty and I hate elevators (and refuse to ride in one alone) so he accompanied me back to my room. "Take care of that butt!" he smiled and grabbed and squeezed it. Man, did that ever hurt and he had to know it. But it wasn't done maliciously.

Cigi was watching "Baseball Tonight" on TV when I went in. The previous night, Chris Carpenter had pitched and won his start against the Houston Astros. I have already blogged about Chris so there's no need to expound on him. Suffice to say, I still love to get spanked by him. Friday was the annual trade deadline in Major League Baseball and we were both interested in what moves different teams had made. Once the program was over, it was time to hit the sack and rest up for Day Three.

Crimson Moon Spanking Party Review--Part One

2009-08-02T21:30:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, Cigi and I returned from the big three-day spanking party hosted by the good folks at Chicago Crimson Moon. This was the party that almost didn't happen for us. I enumerated the problems and pitfalls of planning this weekend in my previous post. After everything we went through, getting to attend this party was particularly sweet. Because of the fact that we didn't know until almost the last minute that we were going to be able to attend, all of the logistical planning was put off until just about zero hour. I had to close the night before and didn't even get to bed until after midnight. I was too excited to sleep once I got to bed but that's another story. We had packed hurriedly and of course, because of this, some essential things got left at home. Namely, hair spray and styling gel; two things that I cannot be without under any circumstances but especially in situations where I want to look my best. I also forgot nail polish remover, although I remembered everything else from my manicure kit. I drove Cigi crazy trying to find someone (anyone) that I could some from, but it never happened and my nails looked a fright all weekend. Cigi said somewhat ruefully "What makes you think anyone is gonna be looking at your fingernails?". She had a very good point, but as I've pointed out on this blog numerous times, I like to look my absolute best at these parties and having nails with the polish chipping off sort of bothered me. Of course, Cigi was right. No one noticed. Not one top said "You really should do something with your nails, Cheryl". But still...

Our ride showed up a bit early and since she's vanilla, we had to hurry up and shut the toy bags before she arrived. We took our usual number of bags--two suitcases (one large one containing our clothes and a small one with other essentials like toothpaste and deodorant and shaving cream, etc.) and two toy bags, plus a 12-pack of Mountain Dew and this time, an 8-pack of Lemon Lime Gatorade. The lady was very kind to help us carry all the stuff down to the car. She never asked why we had so many things nor did she ask what was in the other bags we were hauling. This was her car, after all, and if we got pulled over, the police could possibly search the trunk and open the toy bags. She was taking a pretty big risk (as a divorcee with three kids) and we were very grateful she was doing this for us. When we told her this, she waved her hand and said "It gets me out of the house for part of the day." Before I knew it, we were on the road. Usually, some sort of last minute catastrophe prevents this, but we hit the road on schedule and without drama this time. It was awesome. We stopped for some food but didn't stop to eat it. Now you have to know that I'm about the sloppiest eater on the face of the earth. I end up with food on my shirtfront when I'm sitting at a table so you can imagine how it went in a car doing 75 m.p.h. I ended up wearing a large part of my Whopper. But I didn't let that deter me from enjoying the gorgeous weather we were having or the fact that I was going to my first spanking party in nine months. Aside from seeing a dog that had been hit by a car laying on the roadside, the trip up was uneventful. I would love to be able to say that our arrival at the hotel was also, but it wasn't.

When we arrived, our ride decided to stay until we were checked in. She got to witness our embarrassment at discovering that we didn't have a reservation. Usually, one of our room mates books the room in her name and, because they always beat us to the hotel, there was never a problem. They would simply call the room and confirm that we were sharing the room. This time, there was no room in her name and they hadn't checked in yet. Cigi and I had a terrible moment of panic while the desk clerk (and then the manager) looked to see if the name had been misspelled or if the reservation had been lost. They even called another hotel to see if they had registered there. This was an absurd exercise as I knew we were in the right hotel. Since they had a room left, Cigi and I were forced to reserve our own room. However, the manager offered us the Crimson Moon block price (even though the deadline to reserve a room had come and gone). We had to use our debit card to book the room (even though we were paying cash) and I knew they would freeze our funds and we would be unable to use the card over the weekend. This was a bad situation for us. I was worried about being able to afford to pay for the room should our room mates not arrive for whatever reason. We got registered and said our goodbyes to the woman who had so kindly driven us up there without one complaint. We got a luggage cart and went upstairs to our room. I didn't tell Cigi how worried I was about the situation we were in because I didn't want to spoil her mood. She was pain-free despite the three hour car ride but was tired and needed a rest. We tossed our bags on the modular sofa and flopped on the beds, exhaustion taking over. We had probably only rested for ten minutes or so when the phone rang. It was someone from the desk calling to say that our room mates had arrived and they were sending them up. The mix up was easily explained. The room had been booked under the name of our other room mate's new boyfriend. We had simply not been told about it. But I was so happy they had arrived that I couldn't be angry. One of the ladies stayed in our room with us. The other one opted to stay with her boyfriend in the room they had originally booked for us. In a way (as with the bus plan not working out) I'm glad it turned out the way it did. I was apprehensive about sharing a room with a strange man for one thing. For another, five people in one room is a pretty tight fit even for a room as spacious as the ones this hotel boasted. I was so tired I felt like my knees were going to buckle on me. So Cigi and I laid back down and went to sleep for awhile. The bed was pretty firm but not even that was going to keep me from going to sleep. About an hour and a half later, I woke up feeling very much better. However, we were both now hungry. We always bring Lean Cuisine dinners from home to heat up in our rooms. One thing we immediately noticed upon arriving was that, after the hotel renovated and switched management, the microwave ovens were removed from the guest suites. And there wasn't one in the area where they served the complimentary breakfast. We had to go to the desk and ask one of the desk people to take it back to the break room and heat our dinners up for us. It was a pain in the ass really. We had to take the elevator down to the lobby and then carry the hot meals (which the man at the desk had returned to their respective boxes) back upstairs to our room. It was something we didn't do again all weekend. It was just too inconvenient. We caught up with our room mate while we ate quickly. Then we all put on our party clothes and make up and headed down to the public room. There were quite a few first timers attending and a newbie orientation was planned for seven o'clock. One of the party goers, a top, complained about having over twenty years of experience in the scene and voiced his indignation about being subjected to a "lesson" in how to behave at a party. Crimson Moon has a strict rule--no matter how many years you've been in the scene, no matter how many other parties you've been to, if you're attending your first CM party, you're a newbie to us. And different groups invariably have different rules. Besides, it never hurts to have your party etiquette brushed up on. All of us veterans had to leave the room though while the orientation went on. Most of us opted to wait in a seating area just outside the party room. There were people coming from the nearby pool so I knew that vanillas were close at hand. Our particular room was also close to the gym. Lovely. Back when I first began attending parties, many veteran CM members didn't bother to wear their name tags. After all, everyone knew who they were...well, those who had been going to parties for awhile knew. Now there's a rule that, to get into the public room, you had to have your name tag on. The name tags provided some jokes this time around as they were badly executed. All the tops were designated as bottoms and all the bottoms were designated as tops. To collect your name tags (they give you one for each night of the party) you had to have your e-ticket. This is a print out of the email you receive from management informing you that your party fee has been received. Well, true to form, our computer printer failed to print them up that morning. Because of the rush we were in to get on the road, we hadn't had time to do any troubleshooting on the printer and had had to leave without our e-tickets. But the board members were gracious and said "If we don't know who you two are by now, we're in real trouble." So this was another occasion when some one's graciousness helped us out of a potentially bad situation. Once I had my corrected name tag, I went and found a place to sit down. It felt good (after several parties without one) to finally have a big room we could all meet and socialize in. After several minutes of making small talk with some old friends and introducing myself to some new members, one of my favorite tops came in. He was quickly followed by his girl, a switch. I watched as she paddled and strapped another lady switch, who I had just met for the first time. The lady being paddled added some nice comic touches to the scene. It was enjoyable but I wanted to play. The top (the one who was one of my favorites) came over and gave me a hug and a playful (though still stinging) swat on the butt. He held a strap in his hand---one that I was well acquainted with.

"You want some of this?" he asked holding it out.

What a silly question! Of course I did. He directed me to a nearby chair and had me lean on it. I told him I hadn't played yet and needed a warm up. I was wearing cute plaid shorts and he spanked me over those with his hand. This particular top has a great hand, just the kind I like. After an abbreviated warm up, he got started with the strap. Because this was the first night of the party and because he was the first person I was playing with, he lightened up considerably. It wasn't light by any means but he knows I'm a hard player and he gave me a very nice strapping. Strapping happens to be this guy's forte. He strapped me wonderfully. Not too hard but not soft either. I could feel the heat through the cotton fabric of my shorts. Nice. I rested for a short spell and then across the room, chatting with some other members, I spied my blogging buddy, Dr. Ken. Now when Ken and I usually play, I'm almost always torn up pretty bad and he has to shorten the session with me. So this time, I made sure that didn't happen. I went over and asked him if he wanted to play. Yes, absolutely he wanted to play. So off we went to his room. It was one of the nicest spankings I got all weekend. Because my bottom was in such good shape, he was able to give me a longer, harder spanking. Did he ever! It was awesome. Of course, along with the spanking came some nice conversation, too. Dr. Ken is a wonderful, charming man and I look forward to the time I spend over his knee. However, it had to end sometime and off we went back downstairs to the party suite. The room was fairly full this time. And there was some public play going on. I watched this for awhile since I now needed a rest. Soon after this, a guy I had been chatting with pretty regularly came into the room. I had not met him before and so I was excited to play with him. It was his first party and much of our chats had been taken up with me assuring him that he would have a good time and that he would get people to play with him. He was a switch after all. However, he seems to be more of a top. I talked to him for awhile and then we went up to my room to play. He was pretty nervous I could tell. Now he had told me his spanking experiences had been pretty limited (furtive one-swatters in bars, etc.) but you would never know it. He was a pretty impressive spanker to put it mildly. He spanked me by hand and then we broke out some of my straps. He told me had paddling down pretty good but needed practice with straps. I was more than happy to help him out. He strapped me very nicely and kept a nice conversation going at the same time. He was funny and pretty smart to boot, a huge plus for a top in my opinion. It seemed like we played a really long time. He found one strap he favored among my collection and just sort of tried his best to wear it out on me. It was very enjoyable. His company was also very enjoyable. He had a very nice, somewhat heavy, spanking hand. But the strapping couldn't go on indefinitely so he ended it. I was a little disappointed as I wanted to continue. He told me we could have another session another time, but for now, he was a little tired. I noticed the alarm clock next to the bed and I had to admit it was getting late. So we went back down to the party room where I met a few more new people who had arrived late. The conversation went on for awhile and before I knew it, it was ten o'clock. I hadn't slept well the night before and it was beginning to catch up with me. I went to the guy who had just strapped me and asked him if he'd give me a nice, relaxing spanking to send me off to bed. He was more than happy to. We went to his room this time, where he first showed me his paddle collection. Most were old frat paddles. But they were very nice to look at and, because they all came from Northwestern University, very attractive as collectibles. He hand spanked me until I was completely blissed out and then escorted me to my room. Cigi was already there taking her make up off. I asked her if she was calling it a night. "What's my usual bedtime?" Usually, at home, Cigi is tucked away in bed by ten or so. I had to admit I was tired and feeling very floaty from my spanking so I, too, called it a night. I could hardly wait for Day Two.

Tomorrow, I'll post part two of my review.

Anticipation

2009-07-26T16:59:00.000-07:00

The Crimson Moon spanking party is just four days away! Cigi and I had to skip March's party due to a health issue with her and the January party was cancelled (due to the death of our former president). So we haven't been up to see our spanking friends in nine months. That, my friends, is a long time.

So now I'm giddy waiting for Thursday to get here. There will be a nice mix of old friends and new members. Many of the new members are young people, which I love to see. I love for them to understand that our club isn't just a bunch of older people. Our membership runs the gamut from twenty-somethings to several members in their sixties and seventies. That people from this diverse of an age group are getting together to have fun really does blow my mind. Some of these people I have been playing with since I began in the spanking scene more than six years ago. A few will be completely new to me, but hopefully we'll be friends before the weekend is over.
I haven't given a moment's thought to what I'm going to wear. I will probably just toss a bunch of things into my suitcase and head off. I used to spend weeks before a party agonizing over the perfect outfit. Then it dawned on me. Most of these people are my friends. It makes no difference to them what I show up in. As long as I'm there and I'm getting spanked, they're happy. So now I don't expend so much time on little details like what to wear. Mind you, once I do pick something, I'll make sure it's in perfect condition (no stains, perish the thought, or wrinkles) before I pack it. And panties? Well, I didn't get any new ones this time so the tops will just have to be satisfied with the ones I have. And you know what? They probably will be. None that I have played with in, let's say, the last three or four years, has cared one bit about what kind of panties I'm wearing. I know some guys have a panty fetish and, in fact, most do love unwrapping the package, but as far as lingering over my underwear? Nope. The ladies at the party are more apt to notice and comment on my choice of foundations. It's happened more than once.
Cigi and I had planned on taking the bus up to the party, but that just isn't going to be an option for us now or in the future. For one thing, the bus is prohibitively expensive. Two round-trip tickets would have set us back about $150.00 plus tax. Add to that the fact that it's a long cab ride out to the airport to catch the bus and the fact that the bus doesn't even go to the city where the party is going to be (it goes straight to downtown Chicago) which means another long cab ride and, well, you get the picture. We wouldn't have been able to afford our share of the hotel room. So we asked our nephew to drive us. He was apologetic, but he said he couldn't. He had lost his driver's license because he had let his insurance lapse. I had no idea they even did that. Of course, my nephew probably has the worst driving record in the state of Illinois. So he asked his girlfriend to do it and, since she used to live in Chicago, she agreed. I have to admit I was really disappointed when I realized the bus wasn't going to work out. I hadn't really wanted to spend four hours on a bus anyway. And it wasn't going to leave the airport until 2:30 in the afternoon. It would be after seven o'clock when we got there. The party would be in full swing with no time to rest or freshen up. No, not an option. But what other choice did we have? Once I realized that the bus wasn't going to be an option for us, I thought we would have to miss the party yet again. But, thanks to Cigi's quick thinking, we're in. Unless, of course, something goes wrong between now and Thursday. I'm keeping my fingers and toes crossed.

Just getting the days off I needed was a hurdle in itself. Where I work, you have to give them 30 days' notice if you need a day off. There's a special form to fill out and then you have to put it in your Zone Manager's box. My Zone Manager has never failed to give me the time off I needed for a party. Of course, if he knew the reason I was going it might be a different story. Imagine my surprise when I go to my mailbox and retrieve my forms. I glanced down at the form and saw the NO box checked. Now what was I going to do? I didn't want to act like a spoiled brat over the matter (especially considering this particular Zone Manager had always given me the time off I needed) but getting the days off was imperative. I hated to do it, but I went over his head to the Store Manager, a man who was always sympathetic to the needs of his employees. I offered to take the days as voluntary non-paid days off. I really can't afford it, but it's better than not going. He gave me the days off I needed and a couple of extras (which I will need so I can recuperate from all the spankings I plan to get over the weekend). I sure hope he noticed that I have unused vacation time.

Because of all the hassles, I haven't allowed myself to get too excited about the party. But now, with the last hurdle cleared, I have sort of eased up and let that kid-before-Christmas feeling that I normally get before a party creep in a bit. However, my excitement is checked somewhat knowing that one person will forever be absent--my friend, Lyn, who died of throat cancer last month. Little did I know that when Cigi and I saw her last October at the CM Halloween party, it would be the last time we would see her. I really hope that CM has something special planned for her. She and her husband were long-time members.

So expect a party report when I return next Sunday. I can hardly wait!