The Spanking Writers

Today’s entry in our “Best of the kinky rest” pantheon comes from the desk of Clarisse Thorn, who is considering the issue of whether BDSM can be referred to as a sexual orientation in the same breath as being LGBT, and whether this classification can be useful at all.

She recalls writing about BDSM as an orientation for the first time:

Would the world believe that my BDSM desires could be as “real”, as “deep-rooted”, as “unavoidable” as the sexual orientation of a gay/lesbian/bi/transgender person? Would I offend GLBT people by implying that my sexual needs are as “real”, “deep-rooted” and “unavoidable” as theirs … by implying that my sexual needs are anything like theirs?

Some of you are even now saying “of course!” as others are shaking their heads, and I believe that Clarisse addresses both points of view in her article, which is well worth a read. (And while you’re there, read some of her other stuff: we were spoiled for choice as to which of her excellent articles to include in our selection.)

Welcome, welcome, to the fifth year of our annual “Best of the kinky rest” selection. For a week or so every August, we post not only own own daily contribution to The Spanking Writers, but also an extract from another blog entry that we’ve especially enjoyed in the past twelve months. Hopefully it might point you to a few pieces of interesting writing that you’ll not otherwise have seen, and remind you of some favourites that you’ve also read elsewhere on the blogosphere.

This year’s entries include a few from people discussing how they’ve embraced their kinky sides; a couple of thought-provoking articles on scene identify / politics; and a couple, well, just about porn!

Here goes with the first entry, a truly lovely post at Defer and Submit:

This is a story about a vanilla boy and a kinky girl. I’m not good with fiction so you can assume this is not fiction. It’s a bedtime story not because it should be read at bedtime but because the boy and the girl eventually wind up in bed. It is most likely a true story derived from the chat records of aforementioned boy and girl.

Some have asked how a girl goes about explaining to a vanilla boy that she is kinky.

This is how one girl did it.

I won’t spoil the post by quoting the dialogue here, through to the final line (“And he went on to  tie her up and spank the heck out of her they lived happily ever after”),  but it’s lovely and heart-warming if you have a few minutes spare!

The “What do you like?” site to which I linked in a post other day gives one access to Google’s library of patents, including a fair selection of spanking machines. Yet the one which caught my imagination was Patent 4834657, from 1989, for a “Punishment wheel”:

As you’ll see from the picture, it’s a fairly simple concept: the offender spins the wheel, and the device selects the punishment that is to be meted out from the choices installed on the base of the machine – “”Grounded”, “No dessert”, “Swats” and suchlike.

It reminds me rather of Haron’s post a few years back about  “Spanking Roulette” – and, indeed, of the spanking dice we had made up by a toy manufacturer a few years back – which we know have been put to good use by a fair few friends. (The first dice contains a list of implements, the second determines the number of whacks!). What’s weird, though, is to see someone patenting something like this so recently…

I was intrigued the other day to read a post about “Google’s Official List of Banned Words” – phrases that, when used on their new “What do you love?” site redirect you automatically to content about kittens.

I’ve been taking a break from Twitter for the past few days – listening, in part, to some of the advice in comments made on my rather personal, downbeat post here last week about that site and my life more generally.

It’s been good to take a breather from the aspects of the site that were adding to my stress levels.  One other unexpected advantage of my Twitter-break has been to encourage me to spend time catching up with blogs. And, you know, despite my concerns for its well-being, the spankosphere is alive and well. Here, to give you a flavour, is what I might have missed had I not spent a little time catching up on the past week’s blogs…

An utterly beautiful letter about love by The Girl, at Defer & Submit (“you wrapped your arms around me and I feel as though you have never let me go”).

NotAnOdalisque discussing her hunt for play partners: “Extremely experienced semi-professionals. Must be willing to give lectures on the history and uses of the cane before scenes and have an aesthetic more appreciative of straw boaters than leather and studs.”

News of potential UK government legislation to further control access to porn – with a link to the relevant Ofcom report (“Sexually Explicit Material and Video On Demand Services”), which I’ve downloaded and filed away to read on some future train journey.

A book review that made me realised that Gloria Brame’s new book – “The Truth About Sex” – was now available, and the discovery via her site of CARAS, a fascinating body supporting academic research into kink, BDSM and poly issues.

A wonderful piece on “Waiting” for punishment, by Ashley J – “The waiting period can be an effective disciplinary tool all by itself” – that any good top should study!

An evocative and delightfully-illustrated study of “The Birch and its Domestic Use” on “The Voice in the Corner”:

One governess handbook suggested “for the older girl who thinks herself a woman, a public scolding then an open announcement of the chastisement to follow may be quite beneficial in bringing a spirited girl down a peg or two. However, one should on no account thrash an older girl before others. Better to send her to her room to await the rod.”

That one set me off on my own kinky imaginings – an Edwardian father sat at the dinner table with his daughter, telling her: “Your governess has asked permission to birch you tomorrow for your display of temper earlier. I have granted her request. You are to come to my study afterwards, to tell me what you have learnt from your punishment.” “Yes, papa. I’m sorry, sir.”

Oh, and then there’s the most evocative photo (NSFW) on Lil Girl Gone Wild’s Tumblr pages. A bound, near-naked woman lies on her back, legs parted; a gentleman in a suit stands at the end of the bed, unbuckling his belt; “She had waited this way for what seemed an eternity … and could barely stand it when she heard him enter the room.”

…never mind other also not entirely safe for work content: photos here – and from Romantic Perversions  here and here –  and the cutest little hand-spanking video from “Little Miss Spanky Pants” here (one of a number of very hot short home-made videos on their site).

And least – and certainly not least – a lovely, upbeat post about Twitter by Loki Renard, which reminded me why I want to re-embrace the site once I’ve had a little more chance to breathe. (“I’ve met so many amazing people and spanking bloggers through Twitter that I would otherwise never have known existed, and even if I had known they existed, I certainly never would have had the chance to swap witty ripostes with them in real time.”)

Now, I know others bemoan their lack of time to read blogs these days – and I’m as guilty of that as any; typical comments run along the lines of “unless someone tweets a link to a post, I won’t get to read it.”

Here’s my personal resolution, therefore. One day a week, rather than signing onto Twitter first thing, I’m going catch up instead with what’s been going on on the blogs I follow. I rather suspect that others who used to get so much from the blogosphere might be surprised by how much great stuff there still is out there if they were to do the same – and their renewed interest might, in turn, encourage bloggers like me not to hang up our quills. (‘Quills’? Well the thought of hanging up a keyboard just seems too odd, doesn’t it?!).

The bane on normal people’s existence that is the Daily Mail ran an article the other day pillorying another private individual for his taste in BDSM.

The article – “University chancellor, 64, exposed as sadomasochistic, suburban sex-dungeon master”  (look it up if you like, I’m not linking to the Mail) reported a scoop by The Smoking Gun. It reproduces some pictures from the man’s collarme.com profile, and quotes his and his wife’s personal ad for a submissive female. None of this has any bearing on the man’s job, or anything he does outside his own home.

Seriously, people. Again? “Some people are into BDSM” is not news. It doesn’t belong in a newspaper. It’s about as exciting as “some people are gay”.

For all the rest of us, it’s an exercise in paranoia. If being splashed all over the Daily Fail will do you any harm, don’t show your face on kinky sites. You may think nobody cares – but if the press are even mildly interested in you in relation to something that doesn’t even have anything to do with your sex life, they will find and publish your profile. And you won’t even be able to argue that they’re invading your privacy, because you’ve published the details on the Internet yourself.

P.S. The comments on the article are mostly along the lines of “Why the fuck is this even in the newspaper?”, which gives me some hope for humanity.

I’m bored of passive aggressive tweets, bored of sharp put-downs. I’m tired of point-scoring – especially behind people’s backs. I’m frustrated by pomposity – self-proclaimed “experts” patronising those who happen to have different perspectives on scene-related issues.

Others’ oh-so-cheery tweets sometimes jar horribly with those still-common moments feeling hurt, sad, confused, apprehensive  that seem to interrupt my otherwise-generally-heading-in-the-right-direction life  right now, after such an challenging year thus far.

Others’ downbeat tweets get me down far too easily – even though it’s great to see the replies pouring in to cheer them up. But on some occasions: is there anything more soul-destroying than seeing a cry for support going totally ignored?

I even rather resent Twitter at times: when did many of our real-life friends last comment here on Spanking Writers, in the way they used to so regularly before they could connect with each other – and us – through regular tweets? Sometimes posting into relative darkness is hard – to the point where, for the first time, I’ve found myself questioning lately why I bother.

And when out with friends, I’m (to my shame) as guilty as any of anti-social tweeting-when-you-should-be-chatting: Twitter and the lost arts of conversation and concentration?

So why do I still use the site – even, perhaps surprisingly, advocate its use to some? It’s a question I’ve been pondering in the past few days, ever since reading Grace Dent’s (actually rather disappointing) book “How to Leave Twitter”. I do love the sense of community; I love the wit and repartee – yesterday evening being a prime example. As such, I’m sure it’s strengthened the bonds between my real-life circle of friends, bringing us into closer, sometimes more open and generally far more regular contact. I enjoy the window it gives onto the lives of like-minded souls further afield.

I like the quick occasional 1:1 catch-ups that the site makes possible – more frequent, perhaps, than if one waited to send an email. (And, in turn, I rather regret the decline it’s contributed to in lengthier, more in-depth email correspondence – the “I can’t be bothered with more than 140 characters of sharing or listening” mentality that tweets seem to engender).  I value it as a cheap way of keeping in touch from abroad, where all-inclusive data roaming tariffs permit free DMs when regular texting would be prohibitively expensive.

And I’ve long viewed Twitter as akin to a favourite local pub. You don’t have to be in there all the time to enjoy it when you do pop in; it’s lovely when you do to catch up with your friends. Yet I half wonder whether I’m spending too much time “in the pub”.

Would I miss it? Would it miss me? Would a week or month away from it* make me desperate to rush back, panicked by losing touch with my friends and acquaintances – or simply relieved? And is some of this actually really, deep down, about Twitter – or is my attitude towards the site actually instead a reflection of my insecurities and uncertainties regarding life more generally, after such a very emotionally-tough few months?

To paraphrase the title of one of my favourite albums – Editors’ “An End Has a Start” – loved ones’ fresh starts (welcomed; necessary)  feel for me very much like the  end of maybe the happiest chapter in my life. I’m not quite sure what it is I’m now starting. I have so many wonderful things planned for the coming months; so many things to be thankful for; deep, special connections with the people who matter most. But I can’t help thinking that at some point before too long I need more ‘me time’; to head off somewhere obscure, maybe out of contact; to put myself first for once, and see if I can put my world to rights…

* Which I should doubtless call a “Twoliday”, or some other such daft phrase

Sometimes scenes are long in the planning: there’s careful choreography, detailed discussion of plots and preferences. And sometimes play’s far more spontaneous – such as many lovely vignettes at Eliane’s birthday party last weekend.

Girls dragged upstairs to be put over my knee. Our host’s new razor strop and strap being put to good effect. Cate Stoker and Emma Jane, bent over the end of the bed in turn to be strapped with my belt and then caned, Mr Allen and I sharing whacking duties.

That all sounds remarkably natural and relaxed, as I write it. Visit kinky house, ask girls to play, spankings ensue.  But, now, here’s the thing. Those of you who don’t know me personally will probably think that spanking play comes easily to me – that every kinky lass who crosses my path risks ending up over my lap or school desk.

In my work life, I’ve fairly extrovert – but there, I have an excuse. Yet when it comes to matters kinky, I’m pretty shy. It’s not that play, when it happens, isn’t great and successful. But asking a girl whether she wants to be spanked? I find it hard to pluck up the courage – whether by email or (worse) face to face. She won’t want to be spanked by me… And what if she says no?  My fear of rejection is stupidly high and, frankly, getting worse – despite, I like to think, being largely unfounded.

It doesn’t stop me altogether, of course: I’ve enjoyed some truly lovely play in recent months. But for every great scene, there have been evenings with kinky friends which have happily passed by with dinner, wine, chat and an early night, and me far from bold enough to raise the topic of play – even with people I’d dearly love to have spanked.

So it’s increasingly the case that you’ve been able to find me in the kitchen at parties, to steal a phrase, when I should probably have been aiming for the study or a bedroom. Must be more assertive and confident – I think… Last Saturday was a good starting point; here’s hoping I can pluck up the courage to continue the trend.

You’re ready to be punished – over a desk, touching your toes, lying on a bench, even tied over a whipping frame.

Your posture gives you the freedom, should you choose to use it, to see the person who is disciplining you – looking up, looking back, looking over your shoulder.

So what do you do? Observe your disciplinarian and their expression – anticipating the strokes as they are about to fall, watching them descend. Or stare straight ahead, not watching, trying to cut yourself off from the sight of the person who’s punishing you?

With apologies to Oscar Wilde:

“To lose one partner may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose two seems like carelessness…”

Back in February, I wrote a blog post about my poly relationships – exploring, processing, as is sometimes my way here. And it was too raw for me to post; felt too much like tempting fate.

Well, fate was duly tempted. Within weeks, Cath had decided to move on. This past weekend, the wonderful Emma Jane and I had some of the bravest, kindest, most loving conversations a couple could ever have – and (entirely mutually) decided that our relationship needed to change too. We still love and care for one another as much as ever; but “boyfriend-girlfriend”, “partners” isn’t how it’s really meant to be. Much will stay the same – however, without the pressure of being a “couple”: rather than two people who love each other, and who relish the time they’ll spend together and the things they’ll do.

Anyway… time for that belated February post: the one I hoped never to publish, but always knew I would when the time came. Just, I can’t help being a bid sad that doing so came so soon…

The price of poly

Those of you who have blogs may relate to my current sentiment: that writing about issues, uncertainties that are nagging at you can prove to be a great way of processing one’s feelings. That’s what I’m doing here – and, actually, I’m not even sure I intend to post it right away, for reasons that may become obvious. And if you want to read about spanking, turn away now: it’s not core to the discussion.

Regular readers here will know that, aside from our kink, there’s another way in which Haron and I live what would be regarded by vanilla readers as an entirely unconventional life – that is, the polyamorous nature of our relationship. It’s not something we’ve ever explored here – other than in passing references to our other partners.

As I sit here now, I’m in the incredibly fortunate position of loving, and being loved in return, by three truly wonderful women – Haron, Cath and Emma Jane. “Love”, in this context, is not – for me – shorthand for “liking a lot” or “being very fond of”. It’s not a casual sign off to a card or note to a close friend – “with love”. I’m genuinely, completely in love with each of them. They’re different in so many ways, yet I adore all three, absolutely and unequivocally.

And, as I said, it’s not about spanking. We’ve progressed (in each pairing) to the point where play is almost incidental – although I love it when it happens, of course. It’s almost at times as though we’re so caught up in each other’s real, non-kink lives that kink takes a back seat – especially when we never have long enough together (hugs and sleep then taking priority, or the logistics of the events we’re attending), and when that time is inevitably rarely spent a deux. Actually, for a top with three partners, I sometimes seem to end up with relatively little opportunity to wield my trusty cane! And we’re way beyond the sometimes superficial public image that people try to portray in public, at parties and the like. They know my flaws; I know theirs.

Here’s the rub, though. Haron and I are married; we made that permanent commitment to one another many years ago, and it’s a template for relationships that that wider society can understand. And I can’t offer that permanence to either of the other girls; I can’t be that sole, devoted life partner that has eyes for them and them alone; I can’t fulfil all of their long-term aspirations.

I know that; they know that; we know that: we talk and share and trust. And I know too that I never, ever want to stand in the way of what’s right for them. That’s not self-sacrificing; their happiness, long-term, honestly outweighs any selfish personal needs.

More fundamentally, different criteria inevitably apply for a partner for life versus one taken for the shorter-term. Whilst they each seem happy for now to be in a relationship with me on a known-to-be-ultimately-temporary basis, I certainly don’t presume that I’d fit the bill for either of them for a long-term, permanent relationship – irrespective of any other factors. Indeed, I rather doubt either of them would have gone out with me in the first place, had I and they been single and had they been looking for Mr Long-Term Right.

So, despite the incredible joys of such wonderful (and very different) relationships, deep down there’s a sadness. For I know that my two girlfriends will move on. They’ll each find someone else – not necessarily Mr Right, but someone they want to focus their attentions on without the distractions of loving someone else. Or they’ll decide that the time they spend with me stands in the way of fulfilling their rightly-held life needs and dreams; I’ll become a distraction or an inconvenience, peripheral to how they really want and need to spend their precious evenings and weekends.

When the time comes with each of them, as it certainly will, I hope I’ll be brave. I intend to be – for them, as much as for myself: otherwise I could feel crushed. I pray that we’ll manage the transition from lovers to wonderful friends smoothly and successfully – and that we’ll cope with any (perhaps inevitable) blips en route as we try to adjust to the new nature of our our relationships, our non-partnerships. The ‘in love’ tap won’t be an easy one to simply and suddenly switch off. We avoid jealousy now – I hope we’ll avoid it then: me, them, their new partners when they appear. And I trust, pray that they’ll be kind and considerate when they do it – and in the tough weeks and months after.

But it’s tough, sometimes, to love whilst glancing forwards through the calendar wondering when things will change. Will our wonderful recent Valentine’s Day together be our last; will particular things we’ve planned together later in the year end up taking place as friends not lovers? And, worst of all, could I be the person in the way of their happiness?

The secret, it seems, is not to worry about the future uncertainties – the future inevitabilities. It’s to rejoice in the present. It’s to relish each moment with them. It’s to make my girls feel cared for, in whichever way that’s right for them (which is different in each case). It’s to delight in their love for me and mine for theirs; in the wonderful and amazing times that we spend together; in their beauty and generous good natures; it’s to live for the now, not to worry about the future. Even if I can’t help a certain, deep-down underlying sense of dismay at the thought of losing, giving up, what I cherish so dearly. Life will feel so very empty without them.