Inked

There used to be a time, up until very recently in fact, when the word "tattoo" conjured up a plethora of negative thoughts. Nice people equated "body art" (as tattoos are now usually referred to) with evil, menacing people: biker gangs, people in prison, anti-social losers, and sometimes people in the military. Some people are synonymous with their tattoos. Richard Speck, the drifting loser who murdered eight student nurses in Chicago in July, 1966, was tripped up because the lone survivor of his night of murder remembered his tattoo--"Born To Raise Hell". Nasty business. Nice people just didn't sport ink. Fast forward to the present. It seems everyone has at least one tattoo these days. I have seen tramp stamps on soccer moms. Of course, any professional athlete worth is paycheck has armfuls of them. I have seen discreet ink on doctors and lawyers as well. Quite a few people that I work with have tattoos. They are not uncommon in these times and have become an acceptable form of self-expression. When I turned 40 in 2000, I began to contemplate getting a tattoo for the first time. Before that, the notion had been unthinkable. What did I need a tattoo for? Once I got seriously into the spanking scene, I began to see more and more people with tattoos. The more I saw of them, the more I wanted one of my own. But I didn't know the first thing about how to go about finding a reputable tattoo artist. My 27-year-old nephew, Sean, solved that dilemma for me. He has a full sleeve on his right arm and an almost full sleeve on his left. He told me "Aunt Cheryl, if you're serious about getting a tattoo, then I'm taking you to my guy." Now his tattoos aren't something I would want. He has aliens, skulls and killer clowns on his arms. He also has "Juggalo" (a reference to the Insane Clown Posse) on his stomach. I knew I wanted something aesthetically pleasing, that conveyed my love of music and also something that I didn't see on anyone else. So I did a Google search of musical notes and found the first four notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. The notes looked awesome together. I knew my search was over. I had found what I wanted. All that remained was saving the money and finding a time when Chris, Sean's tattoo guy, would be available. On Wednesday, Sean informed me that he was going to be going on Sunday to get some more work done and offered to text Chris and ask him if he would consider doing mine the same day. Now tattoo artists are like any other professional. Their time is valuable. You can't assume that he will be free, much less willing. And he's by appointment only. You can't just walk in off the street and expect him to spend three hours on you. He needs to know in advance what he's up against. So Chris sent a text back telling Sean that he would be able to fit me in. It helped that I already knew what I wanted. I loaded the photo on a flash drive and Sunday afternoon, we headed over to the Big Top tattoo parlor for our tattoos. The place was very interesting. The man who owns it collects old circus posters and memorabilia. But I had a moment of panic because there were clowns everywhere and I have a clown phobia. I have hated them all of my life. When Chris took me downstairs to download the photo of the tattoo I wanted, we found that it wouldn't load on his computer. For whatever reason, it didn't download from my computer. Sean fixed that problem. His ex-girlfriend (with whom he's still on very good terms) lived nearby and he offered to go and download it on her computer. While he was gone, Chris got to work on some sketches he wanted to sh0w Sean. He was an excellent artist. As I watched him, I realized there was a lot more talent involved than I had at first thought. We made some small talk, but I saw how into his sketches he was so I decided not to bother him. When Sean returned, we got the picture downloaded and printed and I showed it to Chris. He asked me where I was planning on putting it. "On my ass," I told him. Well, right there was a problem. He explained that the image was flat, but my ass was round (don't I know it LOL). So he took out some paper and began to draw. He was mindful that this was my first tattoo and I didn't want to be there all day or spend a small fortune. Once he got the design he liked, he presented it to me for my approval. To be honest, it didn't look like much on paper. He must have seen my disappointment because he went on to say that it would look much better once he got it on my skin. Skin is a living medium; one that moves and changes with you. Well, there wasn't much left but to get down to it. He asked Sean to look the door in case someone decided to walk in off the street. I was mortified to learn that he didn't have a private room. He took every precaution to ensure that no one saw us. He motioned for me to take my jeans down. I've been in the spanking scene long enough to know this signal when I see it. The first thing he did was shave the area where the tattoo was going. He explained that this was necessary to keep from getting an infected hair, which might affect the way the tattoo healed and would also be monumentally painful. Then he sprayed something on it which helped the transfer stick. It had alcohol in it so it stung a little. I had to stand there with my pants down while it dried. Meanwhile, Sean is watching the whole thing. You might find it a bit yucky, but I actually felt comforted by his presence. When the transfer dried, there was nothing else to do but go for it. He had a massage table which he moved over to where his equipment was. Then he put a pillow on it and told me, which a grin, to "assume the position". Here I thought I was going to be comfortably lying down while I got my tattoo, but no, I had to bend over the table on my tip toes. I was extremely thankful that I had decided to wear a thong. If I hadn't, he would have seen everything in the position I was in. He dipped the needle in the ink and said "Last chance to chicken out." I bent over the table and said "Let's do it." Sean had warned me that it wouldn't tickle. Getting spanked with nasty, evil implements on a regular basis has come in handy more than once and this was one of those times. It did sting, I will admit. But something funny and amazing happened. I zoned out, the same as I would if I was getting a nice, rhythmic paddling. The endorphins flooded my body and I felt so peaceful and calm that I never once moved out of position. He did ask about the healing wounds from the previous week's funishment session. I told him what kind of scene I was in and he was cool with it. A kink friendly tattoo artist might not be such a novelty though. He told me when we were almost done. I really didn't want it to be over. But it soon was. He had me stand up and he put some ointment on it.He told me I could look at it in the mirror if I wanted to. It reminded me of all the times I had looked at my freshly spanked bottom. Then he covered it in a paper towel and some tape. He instructed me on how to take care of it while it healed. All in all, I was thrilled with the whole experience and with the result:

I wanted to make sure that the tattoo was out of the safe spanking zone. I think it may serve as a guide to the safe places to spank; keep it below the tattoo. So now I have my own identifying mark. Everyone who sees my bottom from now on will know it's mine from the tattoo. But I have no regrets. This is something to cross off the Bucket List (if I had one).

Also, on a personal note, I just passed my third blogoversary. It's hard to believe that I've been telling you folks my experiences and dreams for this long. Hopefully, I will be able to continue for many years to come.

The Fetish List

Those of us who congregate on Fetlife (that wonderfully kinky social networking site) all know at least one person with a ridiculously long fetish list. You know the kind I mean; the kind that gives you a writer's cramp scrolling through it. Many of the so-called "fetishes" listed in these "War And Peace"-sized lists have nothing whatsoever to do with kink. I'm talking about things like bacon (and believe me, I have a lot of friends who list bacon as a fetish so I'm in no way saying there's anything wrong with it), zombies chasing them, and other things that don't tell you anything about what they're into, but do say a lot about their attitude towards life in general.

I have a few non-kink fetishes listed, too. I list "The Young Ones" as a fetish, although it's really not. I loved the show back in the 80's and feel nostalgic for the characters (Mike, Ric, Neil and Vyvyan) but it's not a true fetish. I also list 60's and 70's music as a fetish. I love it, yes, but if you look at the normally accepted definition of a fetish, if it were a true fetish, I would have a real problem. I list a lot of things I enjoy but they aren't real fetishes. But most of my fetishes that I list do turn me on in some way.

I list "having my spanked bottom photographed" as a fetish. This was one I created because I didn't see it listed anywhere. I love to have my bottom photographed, whether spanked or not.

There was a time though, when just the thought of having my bare bottom photographed (much less looked at) would have mortified me. I was conditioned to hate it because it was big. Then I got into the spanking scene and discovered that big butts were desired and sought after. Huh, who knew? So for me, posting photos of my bottom on my profile, knowing others will see them, is a fetish because I like that thought a lot.

Another fetish I created is "getting cool comments on my photos". I love to get comments on my photos, especially from people I've played with. Let's face it, we're all a bit on the conceited side to think that anyone is even remotely interested in looking at our photos. But of course, the short answer is that people ARE interested. If they weren't, there would be no photo option and no need for the comment button. Seeing "This pic is awesome!" under one of your photos is an instant ego boost. It makes us feel desirable, at least to someone out there in the ether. However, I don't post photos for shock value. I know a lot of people do and then they take exception when someone makes a comment they don't like. Also, by posting intimate photos of yourself on a public forum, you risk the unwanted sexual comment. There's nothing worse to me than posting an innocent photo of me getting spanked and having some horny idiot make a comment like "I'd f***k that!" If a person posts photos of their genitals, then they should expect comments like that. But spanking photos should, in my opinion, provoke comments that are spanking related.

I also created a fetish called "big tall guys with big hard hands". This is truly a fetish for me. Since I'm a big girl, I love to play with guys who are bigger than I am. That's not to say that I haven't had satisfying spanking scenes with men who are smaller than I am. That happens a lot. But my ideal spanker is over 6'4". I used to get together with a guy who was 6'6" and I loved playing with him. I loved the thought that I fit over his knee comfortably. Another guy I get together with at parties and privately is 6'8". I think he might be even taller than that because he has to duck in the doorways of our party hotel. When I find a tall, well built guy in the scene, believe me, I'm all over it.
I also list public play at parties as a fetish. Again, this is the exhibitionist in me coming out. I've always been a bit of a show off, even in my vanilla life. Playing in public gives me a charge like nothing else. I love private play, too, but nothing is as much fun and speaks to who I am more than getting spanked with people watching. At Crimson Moon parties (and most other spanking parties) the hotel usually provides a banquet room or conference room for people to use. Most groups use these rooms for eating, socializing and, most importantly, playing.
This photo was taken at the October, 2007 Crimson Moon party. I'm being strapped with a London Tanner strap (though the name of the strap escapes me). The party room was full of people and I recall that most of them enjoyed seeing me strapped over my black lace panties.



Which brings me to another fetish--pretty panties. Before I got active in the spanking scene, panties served a practical purpose. I wore them because something had to go between my flesh and my outer clothing. I usually wore the packaged kind offered by Hane's Her Way or Fruit of the Loom. I never shelled out money for expensive panties. After all, who was going to see them besides me? When I got active in the spanking party scene, I knew instinctively that pretty panties were a must. No one had to tell me.I like to go with colors that are outside what you normally see (white, pink, black and red). Lace can be tricky because it's delicate and can tear easily. All it takes at a party is one overeager top to yank those expensive panties down and they become an expensive dust cloth. I've blogged about panties before and the importance of "wrapping the package". But some guys just aren't into panties. They might say "yeah those are nice but they're coming down now." Some guys love panties. They love to look at them, touch them and spank over them. A well chosen pair of panties can sometimes make or break a scene, and I'm speaking from experience here.

A fairly new fetish for me is having my temperature taken rectally. I understand that this activity isn't everyones' cup of kinky tea. I started noticing that it was turning up in spanking videos and not just by one company either, but by many well-known spanking video producers. I became very curious about this activity, but finding someone willing to do it proved challenging. Eventually, though, a top was found who was willing and I finally had my curiosity sated.I suppose this could be considered "branching out" because it isn't really spanking, although it IS spanking related, like figging or plugs. A lot can happen with your pants down and sometimes spanking is the least of it.

Cane marks is another fetish, for me, is very real. I love the feeling of those "tram lines" after a good, hard caning. Many times I've been disappointed because there were no marks and this was often after a caning most would consider severe. The truth is, I just don't mark like I used to. It takes a lot to put marks on me these days.

These marks were the result of not playing for five months and then playing very hard to make up for it. Some of the welts are bruised but that's mostly because the strokes were to the thighs, very sensitive territory on me. I love the look of a few well-placed cane welts. Those vicious, bloody caning pictures aren't for me. There's no way I would endure that.

Basically, everything on my fetish list is important to me in some ways. And almost all of them are scene-related. What's on your fetish list? Is it time to add to it or pare it down a bit? Whichever answer is relevant to you, the most important thing to remember is to have fun with it, but don't get carried away. Or you just might end up with a fetish like "if the zombies chase us, I'm tripping you."

Rating Classic Spanking Scenes

My last entry was one in which I opined on modern spanking scenes. I lamented that Hollywood usually gets it wrong these days. But there was a time when Hollywood got it right, and in some cases, very right. Tonight's entry is all about those classic scenes. There was a time in Hollywood's Golden Age when spanking a woman was considered par for the course, no one got upset over it and you certainly didn't see women's' groups picketing outside the gates of the major Hollywood studios. Usually, the way it worked in these films was there was usually something about the girl that wasn't quite right (usually her attitude) that needed to be corrected. Sometimes, the spanking would turn the girl into a suitable mate, sometimes not. But they all shared one thing: both the spanker and spankee were always reasonably attractive. The man was usually macho to some extent and the woman was almost always extremely feminine (unless it was one of those tomboys that needed taming). Please note that I'm rating only the spanking scene and not the film as a whole. There are other sites for that. This is a spanking bog and that's what I'm concerning myself with. So, dear readers, it's time to enter the Way Back Machine and go back to a time in Hollywood when men were men and women were spanked.

I'll give the name of the film, the names of the people involved and then give a small description of the scene followed by a photo. I'll give the film the number of stars I think it merits (between one and four). Instead of dredging through the myriad pages of stills to find decent ones, I'm using screen captures from my Cinema Swats DVD collection. Apologies if the quality of the photos is lacking.

"The Naughty Flirt" (1931) ***

Paul Page, Alice White

Silent film comedienne Alice White plays Kay Elliot, a young woman who falls for a man (Paul Page) who works in her father's law firm. She's quite a flirt, as the title suggests and he wants nothing to do with her. In the scene that precedes the spanking, we see him standing in a roomful of men, all of them laughing at him because she has done something to embarrass him. He goes and finds her (actually, she's right outside the door) and without a word, puts her over his knee and spanks her. White, ever the comedienne, plays the scene for laughs. When Page stands her back up, he tells her "There you go. You're just man crazy!". He storms off, leaving her rubbing her bottom.

I gave this film three stars because the build up was very nice, with the long-suffering Paul Page finally getting tired of Kay and giving her her just desserts. Alice White is adorable as the spoiled Kay Elliot. The spanking isn't particularly hard but we see all of it and we see his hand actually hitting her bottom (something Hollywood rarely gives us these days).

"The Footloose Heiress" (1937) ****

Craig Reynolds, Anne Sheridan

The lovely Anne Sheridan plays a spoiled socialite who makes plans to elope with a man her ad executive father disapproves of. When the match is unwittingly thwarted by a penniless hobo, nicely played by Craig Reynolds, the girl's father is so grateful he gives him a place to stay. He also encourages the man to spend time with his daughter. She loathes him from the beginning and makes plans to expose him for what she thinks he is. In reality, he's a college educated man (who ultimately writes a winning ad campaign for her father's agency). But he has enough he-man in him that he doesn't put up with anything from her. Before she can put her plan into action (at an ultra-ritzy party) he takes her by the wrist and marches her outside for a spanking, with a pack of onlookers trailing.

This film gets four stars from me because it's about as close to a perfect spanking scene as you're ever going to get in a mainstream film. Both leads are extremely attractive (and he looks great in a tux) and the spanking was certainly deserved. The spanking itself isn't really that hard, but then it doesn't take much to teach a lesson to a girl this spoiled. She's presumably never had a hand laid on her in her life. As with "The Naughty Flirt", whole spanking is shown, with no annoying cutaway shots.

"Love, Honor and Behave" (1938) ***1/2

Wayne Morris, Priscilla Lane

The early days of a young couple's married life are examined in this film. Priscilla Lane plays the bored housewife whose husband refuses to assert himself. Even his father picks on him for preferring tennis to football. She decides to make plans to see another man but when hubby finds out, there's a knock-down drag-out fight, during which they both end up with a black eye. But she gets something extra--a spanking while her family and in-laws watch through a french door. When they bust in, she demands to know why a man can't have any privacy in his own home. Obviously, the spanking hurts but she's thrilled that her man is showing a side of himself that he hadn't previously.This one gets three and a half stars, mostly because of the violence that precedes the spanking (he punches her in the eye but we don't see it) and because of a couple of cutaways, where the various witnesses discuss this state of affairs. The two leads have good chemistry and the build up is pretty good. All in all, a very good scene.

"Look For The Silver Lining" (1949) ***




Gordon MacRae, June Haver



This musical is a biopic of singer and dancer Marilyn Miller. In the scene in question, the two leads are arguing over whether or not she should take a part in a play being put on by Jerome Kern. During the argument, she slaps his face because she thinks he's insulted her. Whereupon he does the manly thing and takes her over his knee and paddles her until she promises to come to her senses and do the show.
This movie gets three stars from me. It's a great scene and the two leads are lovely to look at. MacRae is certainly handsome and has a beautiful baritone. But it's hard to take a man seriously in pajamas. Also the scene is interrupted by the appearance of the maid, whose eyes are as big as silver dollars. Her cries of "Excuse me, Mr. Carter!" take away from the scene for me. Physically, the spanking seems half hearted to me, but the dialogue during the spanking, where he holds his hand over her bottom pending her answer to his questions, is very good. The scene is perfectly framed and shot, which is a plus.




"Stagecoach Kid" (1949) ****



Tim Holt, Jeff Donnell

Cowboy star Tim Holt had a rather interesting Hollywood career. He spent part of his career making B-westerns at Republic Pictures and part of it working with A-list directors in movies like "The Treasure Of The Sierra Madre", "The Magnificent Ambersons" and "Stagecoach". He also made the very interesting cult film "Hitler's Children" (with screen brat Bonita Granville). In this film, he plays Dave Collins, a stagecoach driver with a load of gold to deliver. There's a young woman on board, Jesse, who father is taking her in the opposite direction from the man she loves and so she goes AWOL and disguises herself as a boy. It's a not-too-clever ruse and it doesn't fool Collins for long. In the spanking scene, she's walking off to find a stage to take her to her boyfriend. Holt is a fine rider and roper and we see both talents put to good use here. He ropes her like he would a stray calf, puts her over his knee and spanks the dust out of her jeans.
This spanking scene gets four stars from me for a number of reasons. First, I love Tim Holt. Second, almost never in the annals of Hollywood was a spanking more deserved than this. Jeff Donnell as Jesse has a voice that grates my nerves, she's annoying and whiny and there's just nothing endearing about her. The spanking takes place in the middle of the desert, where there are no people around for miles but, as Holt takes her over his knee, she cries "I'm gonna holler!" How lame is that? Physically, the spanking is pretty brisk, even though Holt keeps his gloves on. The locking down of her legs is something most of us bottoms can identify with. But it's beyond me how a man can look at that girl's bottom and not know it's a girl. We see the entire scene without cutaway shots.



"Captain Lightfoot" (1955) ****



Rock Hudson, Barbara Rush



Rock Hudson plays Michael Martin, an Irish rebel forced to turn highwayman in order to finance his rebellion. In the course of this, he is befriended by a man and taken under his wing. The man has a daughter, Aga, who hates him on sight. The lovely Barbara Rush plays a girl engaged in a rebellion of her own, one Martin is determined to put down himself. The girl's father is called away and puts him in charge. He becomes aware that Aga is spending time with a man of questionable character and he forbids her to see him. She laughs at him, calling him a "bogtrotter dressed as a gentleman". He doesn't take kindly to the insult and turns her over his knee for a hard spanking. When she says "You wouldn't dare!" he replies "A bogtrotter would dare!"

The spanking scene in "Captain Lightfoot" gets four stars from me because it's a perfect spanking scene. The buildup, beginning with Aga listening at the door to the conversation in which Martin says he will speak with her about her relationship with the unsuitable Captain Hood, to the argument, where she tells him it would be a pity to see him die so young (assuming that Captain Hood would challenge Our Hero to a duel) is priceless. Aga goes from haughty to humiliated in the time it takes Martin to get her over his knee. The spanking is surprisingly hard and Hudson looks like he's laying it on with gusto. I'm not a big fan of either of these actors, but I'm a huge fan of this scene. We see the whole thing, with only one or two cutaways, but the action is always close by and the cutaways don't really detract from the scene."

"Holiday For Lovers" (1961) **1/2

Gary Crosby, Carole Lynley

This movie centers on the romantic entanglements of two sisters, while the older one is working in South America. It's the relationship between the younger sister, played by the delightfully spankable Carole Lynley, and an American GI, played by Gary Crosby, that provides the spanking scene in question. Crosby plays Paul, a lonely Army private studying for the sergeant's exam who falls for the lovely Carole, even though she seems a bit young for him in my opinion. Somehow, he loses contact with her, but he's so smitten with her that he goes without food and sleep and blows the sergeancy to find her. When he does, he tells her that he wants to marry her, to which responds that she can't marry him because she has to have more education and doesn't want to give up water skiing, the only thing, admittedly, that she's really good at. On being rejected, he takes her over his knee and spanks her.

This is my least favorite spanking scene of the films I'm rating here. The delightfully spankable Carole Lynley deserved a much better scene than this. First, the positioning is a disaster. He puts her over his knee as though he's going to spank her left-handed, but spanks with his right hand anyway. This is terribly awkward, not to mention aesthetically displeasing. Second, the camera focuses on her facial reactions so we don't really see much of the spanking. Not that it's much of a spanking. The blows are obviously pulled and then, when it's over, he shakes his hand like her bottom hurt it. This is more along the lines of how most spanking scenes would go in films.

So there you have it. This is all I'm doing for tonight. I'll post another review some other time...when I have the patience for it.

Modern vs. Classic

For me (and many other spankos of my generation) my introduction to spanking as something exciting and titillating came via movies. There was no Internet in those days and no uncut and unedited films anywhere but the theater (at least until Home Box Office came along). And of course, only network television had series in those days. As I cut my teeth on movie spanking scenes, it should come as no surprise that I still like a good movie spanking. However, modern films offer us precious little compared to those "old standbys" from my youth--"Kiss Me Kate", "McLintock!", "Blue Hawaii" and others.

So tonight, I'm going to critique a few modern scenes. I will note when I haven't seen the entire movie. On some of them, I don't know anything beyond the two characters involved. But on most I've at least read a synapses of the plot. So here goes. First up, the movie I believe opened the floodgates."Secretary" (2002) delves into the ugly private lives of two people--Edward, a perfectionist lawyer (played by James Spader) and Lee, his very troubled secretary (well played by Maggie Gylenhall). In the spanking scene, I feel the scene is well set. Lee makes many typing errors and one day Edward calls her into his office. He asks her to bend over the desk and place her elbows flat, which she does. Then, he spanks her as she reads the error-laden letter aloud (and more than once). The spanking scene, with its build up, is very well done except for Spader's hand. As the spanking progresses, it looks more like he's doing some kind of martial arts than spanking a bottom. This movie also sends a negative message: only someone who's as psychologically damaged as Lee is would be interested in having a man spank her. I was a newbie in the spanking scene when this film came out and I was disappointed in how it portrayed us.

Next up, spanking as a diversionary tactic. British actor Clive Owen spanks a woman in a museum in "Shoot Em Up" (2007). I've already blogged about this film but I felt I need to include the scene here. Because both participants are standing, it's bad from a positioning standpoint. We never really see his hand strike her bottom. Aside from that, the movie is unbelievably, orgiastically violent. This is one of the movie's lighter moments.

Next, a British film that's so dark and depressing it makes "Secretary" look light and breezy. In "Fish Tank",(2009) Michael Fassbender (the oh so lovely Michael Fassbender) takes his girlfriend's bratty, foulmouthed daughter, Mia (well played by Katie Jarvis) over his knee and spanks her for insulting him. Unfortunately, he also sleeps with her so a creepy element comes into play. The scene is realistically brief and Mia's overreactions to the moderate spanks is adorable. Obviously, no one has ever done this before. I haven't seen the complete film but it looks like a fairly sordid film.

Another teenager who endures a spanking is Hailee Steinfeld in the Coen Brothers' remake of "True Grit" (2010). This is another film I have already blogged about but I felt it worth a mention. Matt Damon as the puffed-up Texas Ranger LaBouef takes the stubborn Mattie Ross over his knee and spanks her, then decides a switch would work better. I liked this scene, all in all and liked the film as a whole. It was duly reported that Miss Steinfeld wore padding and didn't feel a thing. But at least we can actually see him spanking her.

Now on to a television show. I have to admit that I have never watched "Weeds". It's not the kind of thing I would watch. But in the scene in question, Nancy (played by Mary Louise Parker) is taken over the knee of (I guess) a guy she's doing business with and has her dress pulled up for good measure. Now, Miss Parker is no ingenue. I first saw her over 20 years ago in "Fried Green Tomatoes" so it does my heart good to see an older lady in this position. Probably the nicest, most well-filmed spanking I've seen in many years, even if I don't like the show.

Next, a movie I know very little about. Jessica Alba has her bare bottom whipped with a belt by Casey Affleck in "The Killer Inside Me". Of course, all this whipping leads to sex. But we never actually see what's supposed to be happening. Rumor has it that a body double may have been used for the scene. Not a very good scene in my opinion. When I watch a spanking scene, I want to see the spanking, thank you.

Last, and probably least, the much maligned "A Dangerous Method" (2011). In this film from director David Cronenberg, the relationship between Sigmund Frued (Viggo Mortensen) and Carl Jung (the yummy Michael Fassbender) is explored via the study of one of Jung's patients, a woman named Sabine (played by Keira Knightley). Sabine is a nymphomaniac and also has issues stemming from beatings administered by her cruel father. Again, the spanker is Michael Fassbender. But unlike "Fish Tank", where the spanking of a bratty girl makes the scene enjoyable, there's no real build up here. Also the spanking is rather stylized. In another scene, she's tied to a bed while Fassbender uses a belt on her backside. However, we never actually see the blows land on her bottom (the same problem I had with the previous film) and there are also Ms. Knightley's ambivalent comments about filming the scenes.

All in all, not too bad for modern movies. I don't think Hollywood will ever again give us a spanking scene as delicious as the one in "Blue Hawaii", where the whole thing is seen and no tricks were pulled. I think modern actresses are less likely to agree to a scene like that (at least not without a lot of restrictions). Most have the same attitude as the very uptight Keira Knightley: I'll do it for art's sake, but it better not be real. This is a shame. I also think that most leading men would be hesitant to do a scene like that because it might reflect badly on them. When "True Grit" was released, I remember seeing interviews with Matt Damon where he makes sure to mention that he doesn't spank his kids, lest anyone think otherwise and his stock in Hollywood plummets. By the way, I deliberately left out the one-smacker in "The Descendants", in which Damon's pal, George Clooney, smacks the bottom of his teenage daughter once for taking badly about her mother while she lays in a coma. Like a lot of modern scenes, you don't actually see his hand connect with her bottom. It's like modern directors think we won't notice that we've been ripped off. I was especially disappointed in Cronenberg for the completely faked scenes in "A Dangerous Method". I always thought him a tough and uncompromising filmmaker. A guy who can film a scene like the tragic ending in "The Fly" is too scared to show an actual spanking in one of his films. Maybe he has mellowed with age. At any rate, modern tastes will dictate what kinds of movies will get made. So even when Hollywood does give us a spanking scene, expect it to be within the context of modern times--either darkly vicious, leeringly sexual, or completely fake.

They Made Me A Spanko

The photo that sits atop this entry is real. It has not been Photoshopped or doctored in any way. How do I know this with such certainty? I was present when it was taken. The man holding the paddle was my Biology teacher, Mr. Stevenor. The boy he's paddling is named Mark (I had behind the wheel with him the previous year). This is a real paddling. It was photographed surreptitiously by a kid in my class who happened to be on the yearbook staff. The photo was taken without a flash, probably using high speed film. This grainy photo actually did appear in the yearbook in 1977. Let me set the stage for you. Mr. Stevenor was a rather old-fashioned guy as you can no doubt guess from his greased back hair. Not many teachers paddled at PHS, but he did. The paddle he's using is actually a hall pass, which you had to have in your possession (be carrying) if you were out of your room for any reason (except when you had a call slip to go see the dean). No, Mr. S. never paddled me. He didn't paddle girls. He gave girls detention. I use this photo to illustrate a point--corporal punishment was still prevalent in the 70's. People can say it was dying out and falling into disuse if they want to, but anyone who says that wasn't there. Granted, here in Illinois, there weren't many high schools that paddled. If you look at the photo closely, you can see that Mark is bigger than the teacher. And that's the problem. By the time a kid reaches high school age, they are less likely to just go submissively to their punishment. Most, if not all, resent being treated this way when they want to be treated like young adults. The sin that young Mark committed is lost to my memory. But his protest isn't. He was decidedly against being paddled. He didn't want to be treated like a child. Mr. Stevenor's reply? "Act your age and not your shoe size, young man, and you won't get paddled."

Now I touched on this in yesterday's entry, but I have given it more thought. Maybe, just maybe, all of the spanking I witnessed growing up did something to me. Maybe it was environment and not genetics that made me a spanko. I always said it was genetics because my twin was one, too. But maybe both of us got our minds warped by the constant, steady stream of corporal punishment in our lives. Except for a handful of times when I thought the spanking was either undeserved or overdone, I have no bitterness about the way I was treated. There were kids who were treated far worse than I was at home. You knew who the abused kids were. They were the ones who came to school with black eyes and fat lips. The kids who wore long sleeves even in warm weather to hide whatever was being done to them. I don't class a spanking given as discipline as abuse. Abuse happens when the line gets crossed. My father used to say that God gave kids nice padded bottoms for a reason--so that when you needed to make a point, you had a place to make it. I knew kids, even in high school, who could have stood a little bit of no-nonsense discipline. Take this scene from "Class Of 1999":

For people who haven't seen this film, it's sort of got a cult following. The film is set in the not-too-distant future, where teenage gangs have terrorized and taken over the schools in large, urban cities. One school decides to hire robots to handle the kids. The History teacher, Mr. Hardin, is a former military robot. One day, a fight breaks out in his class between two rival gang members. Mr. Hardin has a number of options available to him and they flash on the screen as he's deciding what to do. He decides to use corporal punishment. He hauls the boys apart (and I'm very sure these punks are stunned that this little old man has the strength to do that) and pulls them to the front of the class. Once there, he sits on his desk and takes each boy across his knee for a hard spanking, delivered as only a robot can. My sister and I were both impressed with this scene. Now, I'm quite sure those boys thought themselves big men. I'm sure they spent a lot of time bragging about the fights they'd been in and the old people they had mugged. This was a demonstration for the rest of the class. Those boys didn't look so big in that moment when they were squirming under the hand of the new teacher. When he's done with the punishments, Mr. Hardin straightens his tie and asks "Anyone else?" He gets the response he wanted---each desk is placed back in a neat row and the students sit up straight in rapt attention. When I was in school, the teachers who weren't afraid to show the kids that they were in charge and that they meant business were the ones who won our cooperation and respect. There were probably a few exceptions to this, but I'm saying generally speaking corporal punishment got results.
I guess I took it for granted that if I decided to break the rules I would find myself face down getting my bottom spanked. This was both at home and at school. I was a very respectful child, respectful to authority and quite happy to let the adults be in charge. I had enough insight to know that my friend, Robyn (whom I discussed yesterday) was a spoiled brat. A teenage boy had finally had the courage to do what her father didn't and discipline her. It probably wasn't his place, but someone had to do it. I could picture her at home, begging her dad to fire the guy. But he didn't.

Maybe it's because I'm 51 now and feeling a bit old that I've been doing a lot of reminiscing. All that walking down Memory Lane has also caused me to think long and hard about where my spanking kink might come from. I spent a number of years shrugging off the question and saying "Who cares?" when I bothered to answer it at all. Now though, I really do wonder. I wonder if I spend several weekends a year at parties getting spanked, strapped, paddled and caned because I saw and experienced so much of that firsthand? When I got older, I tried to get my boyfriends to spank me, with no real success. I didn't spend much time thinking about sex. But I spent A LOT of time thinking about spanking. I knew I was different. I knew I was weird. I think, in some instances, kids can be much more perceptive than adults. I'm sure they sensed that there was something not quite right about me. My mother used to warn me that I was far too bright for my own good. I had a keen mind and I was always thinking. And when I wasn't thinking, I was writing. I have been writing my thoughts down, in one form or another, since I was old enough to hold a pencil and form words. And I've been doing it pretty much nonstop. I wrote diaries, in which I tried to sort out my feelings (when I was old enough to self-analyze). I wrote stories when I was much younger in which the girl (sometimes a boy) would get spanked. I wasn't sophisticated enough to know that my burgeoning feelings were sexual. I just knew I got a thrill out of spanking and, in those days, it was usually someone else's more than my own. I began to read books that contained spankings (like "A High Wind In Jamaica" or "To Kill A Mockingbird"). I read a lot of Dickens, in which boys got the cane, usually unfairly. And I read and fell in love with Twain's "Tom Sawyer" and the lovable rascal who was the hero of the story. So even at a young age my spanking kink informed the choices I made on what to read, what to write and also how to behave. So if you were to ask me right this very minute if environment or genetics made me a spanko, I guess I would have to say it was definitely environment in my case. I'm pretty sure all of my relatives are fairly vanilla. But it's not something I'm going to ask them. Frankly, it's none of my business. I've had a hard enough time unravelling my own kink, let alone someone else's.

So I apologize if the last half dozen entries have missed the mark. I've spent an awful lot of time thinking about the past and it's sort of rubbing off on my blog entries. With no play dates or parties on the horizon, this is what I've been left with. Hopefully, that will soon change.

Spanking, Spanking Everywhere

If you were in grade or middle school in the 60's and 70's, then the chances are good that you probably had a face-to-face encounter with the Board Of Education. I know I did, about a dozen times. And, as I said before, I was a good kid. I knew of kids who were paddled every week for one thing or another. But I wasn't like I was now. I was a very meek child and afraid of discipline. I saw my friend, Julie, go happy-go-lucky to get paddled and come back with a grin on her face. Once, when we were over at her house on a lazy Saturday (getting into her older sister, Kathy's records) doing each other's hair, I asked her point-blank how she could just go get paddled and act like it didn't bother her. She told me "You can't let 'em see they hurt you. If you show 'em even a little fear, they will go worse on you. They're like dogs." She was right. Now that I think back on it, I saw some very sadistic teachers in my time. I saw sadistic discipline measures turn devil-may-care pranksters into seething, angry young men who hated authority. So I determined from that day on that if I was ever paddled at school again (and I was) I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of knowing it hurt. This conversation happened in fifth grade, when we were bussed to a different school. Busing was very popular in those days. The population of Peoria was growing and there simply wasn't enough room for everyone. Besides, for some odd reason, my school didn't have a fifth grade. I hated this new school with a passion. It was a newer building, right next door to the fire station where my uncle was a fireman. If you went past the Library, the smell of tar would gag you. To this day, I can't smell roofing tar without getting a hitch in my stomach. The warden of this prison was named Mr. Slater. The times were changing, but he didn't. He was probably only in his 40's when I had him as principal, but he was as old-fashioned as they came. He addressed us on the first day of school; ostensibly to welcome us new kids, but also to warn us. He made it known what kind of behavior he expected from every student in the school. Students were to address teachers, lunch room ladies and the janitor as "sir" or "ma'am". Failure to do so would earn you a paddling. So would sliding down the banister on the stairs leading to the upperclassman's' playground. Yes, the playgrounds were divided. There was a breezeway between the buildings where kids would meet to smoke and play cards. But you didn't want to get caught doing either. In fact, I was convinced before the end of that assembly that ANYTHING could get you paddled in that school. Of course, I didn't have to wait long before I put his words to the test. About three weeks after school started, we had a bad rainstorm and our bus got bogged down in the mud. A man from the Superintendent Of Schools came in an official-looking car to tell us that another bus was coming to take us to school. I guess the bus that was in the mud was waiting for a tow. The man warned us all to file off the bus in an orderly fashion. When it came my turn to get off, the girl behind me gave me a shove that sent me sprawling down the steps and face first into the mud. My favorite dress (green with little yellow flowers) was soaked through to my undershirt. I also managed to drop my books and most of my homework in the mud. I heard laughter and I felt my neck get hot. My sister, Carol, came and helped me up. The girl who had pushed me just laughed "Have a nice trip. See you next fall". I wanted to kill her. I was only ten years old but I wanted to kill her. The man from the Superintendent's office asked me if I was alright. Of course I wasn't alright. I was soaking wet and my homework was ruined. He volunteered to take me home to change, but I didn't want to. It would dry once I got to school. But, while I outwardly seemed to take this in stride, inwardly, I was plotting my revenge. That morning at recess, my teacher (a very nice lady with a newborn at home) kept me inside. She knew I would probably go gunning for the girl who had pushed me. Schools did not have a Zero Tolerance Policy when it came to bullying in those days. They expected kids to fight their own battles. Just make sure you do it off school property. My teacher and I spent quite a bit of time in the restroom using the shaved soap to get the mud off my dress. A teacher couldn't do that nowadays. She would not be allowed to touch me or my clothes. But times were different then. Luckily, the mud washed out of my favorite dress. I was still plotting my revenge when we had a chance meeting on the playground a few days later. A couple of her friends were with her, still laughing about my "trip" and making oinking sounds (because pigs belong in the mud). I was only human and could only take so much. I jumped on her and started to swing my fist at her face. Of course, a circle formed around us with kids yelling "Fight! Fight!" She was getting he worst of it when I felt a strong hand pull me away from her. It was Mr. Miller, a sixth grade teacher who was doing playground duty that day. He was blond and somewhat handsome. And his paddle had holes drilled in it. "Is that any way for a young lady to act?" he asked me. "She pushed me off he bus Monday," I told him. "I don't care what she did," he said. "You know the rule about fighting." Yes, I knew the rule about fighting. I knew all the rules because they were all written down for us. I also knew the unwritten ones. Taking me by the back of my jacket, he hauled me away. I knew where we were going. He was taking me to see Mr. Slater. Unlike most principals in those days, Mr. Slater didn't leave the physical discipline to an assistant. He preferred to meet it out himself. He had an ash paddle that was stained red mahogany, which he called the Red Snapper. I was about to meet the Red Snapper up close and personal. I hadn't had my growth spurt yet, so I was still small and terribly skinny. I'm sure I was nothing to pull around in those days, at least for a grown man. When we got to the office, Mr. Slater's secretary, Mrs. Hawk was there. Her name fit her in every way. Mr. Miller explained that I had been caught fighting on the playground and we needed to see Mr. Slater as soon as possible. He was in his office, she said, eating his lunch. But she went in and I could hear a muffled conversation through the door. In a moment, I was ushered in by Mrs. Hawk. When I got inside, I saw Mr. Slater. He had a sandwich and a Thermos of coffee in front of him. The Red Snapper was already on his desk. It looked as big as me. He had me sit down and tell him what had happened. I spilled out the story about how this girl had pushed me in the mud on purpose and was still laughing over it. Mr. Slater wanted to know why I hadn't told him about this when it happened. The way he had heard it, it was an accident. I told him I didn't tell him because I didn't really want the girl to get in trouble. "I don't abide fighting," he said. "No matter what the reason." I looked at my feet glumly and muttered "Yes, sir." Then he announced that he was paddling me. Not because he wanted to, he assured me. But because the rules called for it. "Bend over," he told me. I knew he meant over his desk. I can still smell the coffee from his Thermos as I bent over. I see looking back that the three swats I got that day were delivered with a lightened hand. He could have gone much, much harder on me. Four months later, he would. By February, we were all aching for Easter break. The routine of school had gone on since Christmas with no let up. We were all getting a little restless. Toward the end of the month, we had an unseasonably warm day. If I remember correctly, it was probably in the high 60's. Mischief was definitely in the air that day. Call it Spring Fever for lack of a better word. But something got into me that day that I still have a hard time believing. At morning recess, me and Carol and Julie and our friend, Sally (whose mom dated my uncle, the fireman) decided we had to do something to break up the monotony. Julie suggested pulling the fire alarm. It would be a great way of getting outside and getting some fresh air. I was against it. The penalty would be too severe if we were caught and, because my uncle was a fireman and worked right next door, the odds of pulling this off without getting caught were slim. Sally volunteered to pull the alarm, something that raised her esteem in my eyes. Julie wanted to because if it came time to divide and conquer, she knew she could take the punishment Mr. Slater would surely dish out. But Sally insisted. No one would suspect her. Julie, meanwhile, would be one of the first kids suspected. She had a good point. So it was agreed that Sally would pull the fire alarm. She had Mr. Melvin (a fact I didn't envy her for) and wasn't in my class. Later that day, we were sitting having a reading lesson when the alarm went off. My teacher kept everyone calm as she knew this wasn't a drill. We all walked single file down the hallway and to our assigned area. I saw Sally standing there innocently with her class. Mr. Melvin was an older, Southern man who Brylcremed his hair and carried a fearsome paddle called Billy Boy. Everyone, even the bravest kid in the school, was afraid of him. Within minutes, I could hear the fire engines roaring down the road to the school. I saw my uncle as soon as the truck came to a stop. It didn't take them long to figure out that this was a false alarm. Mr. Slater vowed to get to the bottom of this. The next day, my uncle came to the school in his official uniform and lectured the entire school on pulling the fire alarm when there wasn't a fire. My uncle had lost his daughter in a fire five years earlier (his reason for choosing that profession) and he took fire safety very seriously. He didn't suspect his nieces had anything to do with it. Mr. Slater wanted a list of all the students who had been out of their classes when the alarm went off. It didn't matter for what reason or how long they were gone. It took a few days, but Mr. Slater finally received a list from the different teachers. The names of 14 students were on it. Some of the students were honor students. Some were playing hooky. All were rounded up and brought in to be questioned on what they were doing out of class and if they happened to see anyone hanging around any of the four alarms the school had. When it came Sally's turn, she cracked under pressure. She gave Mr. Slater the name of every kid who had been in on it. Carol, Julie and I were pulled from our rooms and brought in. I knew the jig was up. "We're gonna get it," Carol said flatly. We all put our best innocent looks on our faces, but Mr. Slater waved his hand and said "Don't bother. Your cohort has given you up." I didn't know what a cohort was but if he was talking about Sally, then she was a dirty squealer. She no longer deserved our loyalty. We threw her under the proverbial bus. "It was all her idea," Julie said. "Yeah, we wanted t' do something, but not that!" "You volunteered t' do it!" Sally shot back. Mr. Slater put his fingers in his mouth a whistled, one of those long, piercing whistles you hear at sporting events or when someone is called a dog. The Red Snapper got exercised on the bottoms of four ten-year-olds that day. To the day he died, my uncle never knew that we were involved in that famous false alarm.

Needless to say, we never tried a thing like that again. I had a couple of surface bruises from that paddling. They didn't need permission from your parents in those days so my parents never knew we were involved either. The school didn't see fit to send a letter home telling our parents what dangerous waters we were treading. Of course, we made up with Sally. We couldn't stay mad at her for long. We all skated together on Saturday nights and our parents played bridge together and sometimes went to the movies. Julie's older sister, Kathy, was often put in charge of us at these times. One of those Saturday skating nights provided me with enough spanking fantasy memories to last a very long time. The roller rink where we skated was called Fernwood (long before "Fernwood Tonight" was on TV) and the man who owned it, Mr. Arnold, had a daughter, Robyn, who was my age. To put it mildly, Robyn was a brat. She wasn't someone I would call a friend, but we talked on the phone about boys. She went to a different school. She had an annoying habit of listening in on her older brother's phone conversations. Anyway, Mr. Arnold employed several young men whose job was to get people who were either creating a disturbance on the floor or skating too fast off the floor. They were recognizable by the whistles they wore around their necks. If they blew the whistle and pointed at you, you were to leave the floor immediately. One of those boys was a teenager named Malcolm who we all had a crush on. He worked after school at the gas station a few blocks from my house (where I later would buy cigarettes). I guess he was about 16 or 17. No older because he was still in high school. He had brown hair, which he wore much too long and had the beginnings of a scraggly beard. He was stocky and self-conscious about how tall he was (well over six feet and still growing). Robyn was his nemesis. Week after week, she would do bratty things just to get him to blow his whistle on her. Since her father owned the establishment, there wasn't much he could do if she decided to ignore him. One Saturday, it all came to a head. I remember it like it was yesterday. I had gone to the snack bar to get an ice cream bar when I heard a commotion. Malcolm (or Mal as we called him) was blowing his whistle furiously. There was Robyn and a boy laying out on the floor and people trying to skate around them. They had apparently run into each other and Mal had decided she was at fault. But she wouldn't leave the floor. She skated off while Mal tended to the boy she had run into. Once he made sure the kid was OK, he went after Robyn. He was a first class skater and caught her easily. He took her by the arm and led her, protesting all the way that it was an accident, to where there were some rows of benches where people sat to change into their skates or to take a breather. He led her to a bench and picked her up, skates and all. He put her over his knee and spanked her until she was hoarse from screaming. No one stopped him. Needless to say, my crush on Mal blew into full-blown puppy love after that. For the next week until we went skating again, it was all we talked about. I can still picture her skates (with the pink and white tassels on the ties) going over her head as he picked her up and dropped her over his knees. I said "uh oh" and Carol nodded. He spanked her like no one else ever had or probably ever did again. Before that night, she'd had the run of the place. A few weeks later, I lost a ball bearing out of one of my skates and hit the floor hard, skinning my knee. Mal came over and helped me tenderly off the floor as I bawled. He sat with me while the girl from the snack bar put tincture of Merthiolate and a bandage on the skinned knee. Anyone who has ever had the misfortune to have to endure having that evil red medicine applied to an open wound knows how bad it stings. I cried and cried and Mal sat next to me, patting my shoulder. He helped me out of my skates and took the skate that had thrown the ball bearing to be fixed. When he suggested that I not skate the rest of the night, I protested, but remembered the position Robyn had been in a few weeks earlier. She now acted as if she didn't know him and ignored him whenever possible.

This just serves as another example of how spanking was everywhere in those days, even at the skating rink. My older brother had a friend, Brandon, who was a couple of years older than he was, who was always bringing over comic books. These comic books almost always had spanking in them. I was so fascinated that I always opened them up and looked at the spanking images. He also liked to leave a pile of plastic dog poop lying around where it was likely to be seen. One day my grandmother was over and he put it on top of our Quazar TV, where she noticed it while she and my mother were watching "Lawrence Welk". I'm sure Brandon was a spanko. When he was in eighth grade, he was dating a girl named Lori, the prettiest girl in the class. On her birthday, he grabbed her on the playground and administered a birthday spanking to her while all the kids stood in a circle around them. He turned her over his knee and counted out 14 spanks then kissed her. When I was about 12, Brandon spanked me on my birthday. However, he wasn't fast enough to get Carol. She ran and locked herself in our room. He approached me and told me had something for me. I thought he meant a present. I was dressed up in a dress because it was a combination Christmas/birthday party. There was eggnog and champagne and all kinds of food. How Brandon got invited when he wasn't even my friend is beyond me. Anyway, I had on a long dress (in which I felt very grown up) and I remember when he grabbed me to spank me, he told me the dress was coming up. I was laughing, not so much because I enjoyed being spanked, but because I thought he wouldn't do it. But he was enough of a prankster that I should have known there was nothing he wouldn't do if he said he was going to. All of the adults were in the kitchen and they were laughing loudly enough that my cries weren't going to be heard. He pulled me to the couch and planted me over his knee. Even though I was young and certainly naive, I had the feeling this was something he had wanted to do for a long time. He reached for the hem of my maxi dress (the one I felt so grown up in) and pulled it up, exposing my panties. This was what I objected to more than the spanking, the indignity of having my panties exposed. He spanked me twelve times (really hard) and then gave me a hard pinch and then stood me up. I slapped his face and told him I would tell my father what he did. He threatened to spank me again and not gently as he had just done. I knew he meant it. Like I said, that guy HAS to be a spanko. I would love to meet up with him now.

Anyway, I'm sure the Blog Police will have something to say to me for this entry. Or maybe they have suddenly gotten a life and have better things to do.

Taken To Task

Yesterday's entry, in which I described a number of paddlings I received in school, has caused a bit of a stir. When I got up this morning, I had no less than five private messages on Fetlife taking me to task for posting "inappropriate" material on the Internet. These verbal spankers accused me of encouraging pedophiles and demanded that I stick to consensual spanking topics. They said, in fact, that my last several entries were inappropriate, including the musical one from last week, in which I related a spanking I witnessed while my friend and I were watching her brother's garage band rehearse. To them I say this: In my opinion, there's nothing inappropriate in what I posted. Spanking has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I posted no photos of underage children nor did I bring anything sexual into the mix. I even put a disclaimer at the very top warning that anyone who might be upset or disturbed by the subject matter could skip to something else. The fact that they read on despite fair warning tells me a lot about them. These aren't people I consider friends at all. They were just people who feel that, because this blog is linked on my Fetlife profile, I might bring the whole thing down with one post. Well, this is MY blog. I will post anything I want on it. Another writer brought up the totally inappropriate aspect of humiliation when I chose to discuss the caning scene in "If..." at length. Since these folks have nothing better to do than act as the Blog Police, I'm going to totally put them in a frenzy.







The caning scene in the film, brutal as it is, is just one in a long line of humiliations McDowell suffers in "If..." Earlier in the film, McDowell and his cohorts, Knightley and Wallace, are seen being forced to take cold showers, presumably to curb their "impure thoughts".
I'm posting this picture to tweak the noses of my would-be detractors and also because, let's face it, Malcolm McDowell had a very nice bottom. One writer pointed out to me that "If..." had an X rating when it first came out, a fact I was well aware of. But it wouldn't be X-rated now, not even in England.
Another writer was in a snit because I posted that I thought my art teacher was a pervert. He asked me what right I had to call someone else a pervert when I post pictures of my naked bottom on Fetlife. OK, that's a fair enough question. But it was one I didn't want to get into. I was naive about such things in those days, but I did feel he wanted to make an abject example out of me simply because doing so would give him a thrill. In that, I may have been inappropriate. But I stand by the rest of it. What I post on my blog--whether it be words or images, is my business. Anyone who doesn't like what I post is free to pass me over and read something else. If you are offended because I occasionally discuss M/M scenes, then don't read my blog. Because I'm a female bottom, 97% of what I post will be about females being spanked. Occasionally, though, I do like to discuss males being spanked. No one bats an eye when the Internet is crawling with F/F material, which really doesn't do anything for me (even though I do play with women). Had I any idea what kind of backlash I would get from these posts, I might not have posted them. I realize that discussing childhood spanking and seeing images of M/M spanking aren't every one's cup of tea. Normally, they aren't mine either. But my posts are meant to be for nostalgic purposes only. Never once did I say I think we need a return to those days (a personal opinion I will keep to myself for now) nor do I use my blog as a soapbox to make the Internet world aware of my views. That's not the purpose of my blog. As the header of this blog states, I'm not a fiction writer. I write about my true life experiences and thoughts. Sometimes, I wonder if all the corporal punishment I received and witnessed as a child had anything to do with the fact that I've had a fascination with it all my life. These are just musings, meant to entertain the reader while I try to sort out why I'm the way I am. If pedophiles are reading this blog then they are barking up the wrong tree. I'm sorry a few people got their panties in a bunch over my writing. I guess being lambasted is better than being ignored.

Let me just close by saying that I have a very high moral standard. I would never write something or post a photo I thought was inappropriate. I think I have pretty good judgment and try to exercise it whenever a time comes when I need to. In the meantime, feel free to work yourselves into a lather. It's obvious you have nothing better to do.