Twenty

I wonder if she remembers what she said. At one of my earlier parties, I attempted to introduce myself to a woman and she said “I know who you are, you’re the calmer one of the two black girls”. At the time, I didn’t know a lot of other black people in the scene, especially women. The other woman she was referring to was close to me in age, and often outspoken about injustices. I’ll also note that she has a darker complexion so the whole “I’m the calmer one” still sticks with me. As a black woman who is lighter skinned, the implications were two fold. I don’t really know how much most white people know about colorism, but it would’ve been upsetting even if my complexion was darker.

I laughed awkwardly because I didn’t know what to do. I’ve harbored a fetish before I even knew what sex was. I can’t even really comment about it being dominated by white people because that is the case with a lot of fetishes, including my adjacent ones.

Most people of color have felt I know have said something to me that I would qualify as a microagression. There’s the people who asked me why there weren’t more black people in the scene (wish Id said “because they don’t like you), people who told there other white friend with them (” I love the way ‘their’ skin marks,” went on to say tomething about “bringing my friends”).

I find myself reflecting the most on the person I was close to for years, until I realized that, amongst other things our politics were too different. I say ‘politics’ because that’s how I had it in my head for so long. But him ridiculing the BLM movement wasn’t just politics. It felt personal. You can claim love, but if you don’t support a movement that is structured around my right to live then…

I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that he wasn’t a Trump supporter. Truly that means nothing. Not liking him isn’t radical or meaningful. And you can boil things down to conversations about politics if you like, but I don’t frame things like this in this context anymore because people are quick to diminish the “political”. This is about my existence, which in turn is about my mother, my father, my brothers, my entire family. But even if it wasn’t about me, it would still be important.

They probably don’t remember what they said, but I still think about it. I find that people will often scoff at the past being brought up. “Why now?” But what about the people they hurt? I’m happy to say that I would never tolerate that now, but it pains me to think that I’m struggling to forgive myself for inaction when they probably don’t remember.

I cringe about not being more vocal about those instances at the time. To be fair to myself, I wasn’t vocal about a lot of mistreatment I endured during this period of my life. Every time, I told myself I was taking the high road. I’m not a person that is drawn towards conflict. Conversely I find it draining. I also warn people they they will only ever regret truly having an argument with me because I do not back down. It’s true. When I summon up the energy to have a difficult interaction, I sometimes put all of my energy into it, exhausting myself until I have nothing left. For a while, the cycle was – ignore, ignore, ignore, IMPLODE, drain. Rinse, repeat. I’m happy to say that I’ve grown from that. But it’s not easy either way. When you’re surrounded by white people, you’re conscious not only of the way you respond to conflict, but the way that people respond to you.

I remember when a writer, who is out in the spanking community posted on twitter about how she was tired of her readers talking about how they wish they could be out when “anyone could be out, they just choose not to be”. I responded and told her that she was coming from a great place of privilege, specifically being a conventionally attractive white woman, who doesn’t have kids – that not everyone would be received the same way, considering other factors at hand: race, their jobs, class, whether or not they had kids, etc.

I wasn’t the only person who disagreed. She then brushed my comments off and turned them into a personal attack. A few months later, I posted about being kinky didn’t make someone part of a marginalized group. Didn’t name anyone, just shared my thoughts on the topic. (A good expansion of my opinion on this topic – not written by me – here.)

Her boyfriend responded to me and defended his girlfriend, saying how her job is dangerous for her as a woman who is open about her sexuality and travels to foreign countries where it might not be well received, and went on to say that if I “mentioned any oppression olympics” stuff he would Godwin’s law me so fast my head would spin”.

To this day, I don’t know what the fuck that had to do with me. But really, I bring this up because why are my experiences being invalidated? I have the same fetish as they do. As a black, bisexual woman, I know firsthand how our we aren’t granted the same social permissions to openly explore our sexuality without criticism, let alone profit off of it. Opening up about a fetish isn’t easy for anyone, and at the end of the day, I think it’s great that people are speaking up. Reading blogs from people in the spanko community made me want to explore. So I can only imagine the impact you make being featured in a newspaper. But if you think that your race doesn’t play a role in making your voice more palatable for editors to publish, if it doesn’t give you a platform that other people might not have available then…maybe you’re not as ‘woke’ as you think.

Most recently, a spanking producer shared promo for a new movie on his website. The premise of the movie was a girl who was detained at the border under the suspicion of having drugs, who is strip searched, detained, and spanked by a border patrol officer. The top in the video is white, the bottom is black/latinx. My friend Alex, who is both a spanking model and producer, publicly criticized the video for it being culturally insensitive, and bordering along the lines of race play, especially considering the number of injustices black and brown women face from ICE. He doubled down and said that it was fiction, that the person performing was his girlfriend, etc. I backed up her comments, noting that even if this video were released during a time where these issues weren’t a topic of conversation, they would still be inappropriate.

He later messaged Alex to see if they could come to some sort of a common ground, but blocked me. I don’t really care about being blocked, I’ve blocked people online for way less. But I do have a problem with the fact that:

a) he chose to eliminate contact with a person of color, who is more likely to be mistreated at the hands of law enforcement

And

b) publicly doubled down but went on to attempt to “have a conversation” with someone who was white and initially called it out

Sometimes it feels foolish having these conversations online. And people will tell you that it is and honestly sometimes it doesn’t feel worth the effort. Considering the amount of time we spend on social media, it’s natural that the forum for the conversations would migrate. But even the “tired of politics” crowd see these conversations and form opinions, even when they’re annoyed about their kink scrolling getting disrupted.

I’m so tired of holding my tongue because I don’t want to be accused of “playing the race card”.

I’m trying to have grace with myself, because being one of the few black people makes it difficult and awkward to speak out.

Everything feels harder now because I’m so isolated with quarantine and most of life being restricted. I’m incredibly grateful for my other black friends in the scene – there aren’t many of us, but we’re here. I wish we were sharing more mutual joy rather than exhaustion.

And I delight some – I delight knowing that there are some triumphs being made, however small, thanks to people protesting for days on end. When I started this writing, I was mentally preparing to go out and march.

I can’t help but think people will be ready to drop this once media coverage declines, when protests decline. I’ve had a few awkward conversations with white friends who were unsure of what to say, have seen people express jokes on social media about the current situations and awkward calls for equality. My twitter is barely about kink these days (not that it really was much before) and I’ve watched followers drop off but I feel free.

Years ago I held a discussion group for people of color in kink and it was incredible. I intend to do that again, and furthermore, I want to attend more events. I want to, when I have the emotional bandwidth, have longer conversations about people of color and sexuality, specifically black people who identify as women. I’ve said it before that I have never regretted speaking up, even when it was hard. I resent all the times I stayed silent, but I’m not the new girl anymore. I’m much more comfortable speaking up now than I was years ago.

I love my community. It’s impacted my life for the greater good. I’ve developed meaningful relationships that I wouldn’t have otherwise. I’ve learned how to be a better partner, a better friend. I’ve learned how practicing compassion can be painful. And because I love my community, I don’t know how to just shut out every negative feeling in the world.

Because much like the people that want to keep kink separate from “drama/politics/negativity,” I want to feel carefree when I’m here. I deserve it. And I get it – people want the opportunity to shut their brains off, to have a ‘safe space’ from the outside world, and enjoy their kink utopia. But some of us don’t have the privilege to shut down during the harder conversations and be apolitical. Why does our community get to a safe space for some people and not others?

To me, loving a community means wanting it to be better. So I’m going to continue to align myself with the people that support improvement and do everything in my power to make change happen. Because along with the pain I hold right now, I still have more hope than I know what to do with.

Kink in the Era of Social Distancing

The other day I asked someone “what if we forget how to get spanked?”

It is ridiculous, and it’s also questionable that I’m saying “the other day.” Unless you are on a different planet (hello, welcome), you are probably in some way affected by COVID-19.

It’s scary. My office is closed so for a while I was (kind of) working from home. These days I’ve been able to replace Zoom meetings with existential dread and taking long, long walks. I’m much more aware of my body now than I ever was, but I don’t dislike the feeling.

It’s a weird time. My boyfriend and I broke up three days into quarantine, but I think the fact that we were long distance kinda softened the blow. There’s still love there, and it wasn’t easy for us, but it wasn’t completely awful either? I’ve been stuck in my head because I forgot what longing felt like.

One of the weirdest perks of the scene is the physical intimacy. I read an article where the writer questioned if you can be friends with someone that you are sexually attracted to. It came from the perspective of someone who is straight, married, and (I believe?) vanilla, so I understand that she has a different perspective on this situation.

The scene allows me a level of physicality with friends that I am very thankful for. We can play, we can cuddle before/after. And yes, depending on the person, we can have sex. I do think that sex does always mean something, but it doesn’t have to mean romance and commitment. Sometimes it just means that you enjoy someone’s company and you’re attracted to them. I have friends who I find attractive, but wouldn’t have sex with, I have friends that I am attracted to but only in the context of play – it’s incredibly multilayered.

But as I haven’t been able to socialize (in person) for weeks, I’m reminded of a particular type of desire. The first few months that I started playing, I felt almost addicted. All I wanted to do was talk about how I was sore, and how I was sorry, until I wasn’t either anymore and it was time to rinse and repeat. Even when I knew I would hate it (you know that initial shock you feel when you’re being spanked and it actually hurts??)

Getting spanked is so low down on my list of priorities. I want it, of course. I have a spanking fetish and I pretty much always want a spanking even when it isn’t at the forefront of my mind. I’m worried about job stability, about my loved ones, about my health. But my mind still wanders. And I could use the stress relief.

I can’t even say that it’s spanking per se that I miss. What I’m really missing is that closenes, the feeling of being wrapped up against someone else. The warmth that spreads over your entire body. And while I don’t have to cross an ocean to get that, I still don’t know when it will be.

As a romantic and a reluctant optimist, I find myself occasionally thriving, in spite of everything. I think about my spanko crush, and how exciting it is to have one. I started writing a story, the first one I’ve written in ages. I’m cherishing my friendships, especially those that came from the spanking community more than ever. I’m balancing relentless daydreams with plans for action once this is over.

I’m relishing in bad behavior. There are no consequences, and not even just from a kink standpoint. It’s more like being on vacation from the norm. And while a lot of it is terrifying, the occasional departure from accountability can be delicious.

As a control freak and an overthinker, I’m doing my best. I’m managing my impulses to “mom” people, especially when I’m not feeling up to taking care of myself. I can’t control what is happening, but I can control: a)my best efforts to keep myself and those in my immediate vicinity safe and b) My reactions, even when I am unhappy and/or scared. I know that in this time of unfamiliarity, that we don’t have to do anything. That it is okay to not be 100 percent okay, that you cannot have joy if you suppress all of your pain. I’m finding time to rest, but I feel best when I am doing something that makes me feel good.

So I’m revisiting vulnerability. I’m examining how powerful it can be – I started a little group chat for friends to discuss their feelings and just share with each other, and it’s been a source of light. Everyone there is connected through kink, but our bond is sustainable without that element. Say what you will about technology ruining our generation – in the past week I’ve taken a dance class, done yoga, and had slumber parties with people thousands of miles away from me. I’ve shared my heart, even when it wasn’t easy, and I’m so grateful for everyone that shared theirs with me.

I’m looking forward to play, to long embraces, to laughing loud enough for the person in the next room to hear. And I’m finding comfort in desire, knowing that there’s something amazing on the other side of this. Hell, there’s plenty of amazing here in the present.

Bookworm

Recently I had a conversation with my boyfriend where I admitted what must be my most ridiculous spanko related thought. I recalled a time when I was sitting in a bookstore and someone asked me about the area – directions, fun things to do, etc. I helped him, but then he asked me if I wanted to join him. I declined, and to this day I remember a specific regret. What if I could’ve gotten him to spank me?

I had a similar thought process when I was in college – before classes even started. I was at a party for orientation week, discussing my classes. A classmate offered to lend me books from his room, and again, I declined. I have at least a dozen more experiences like these – I could write a book called The Spankings That Never Were. Honestly, I think my brain just assigned spankings with potential casual sex?

This should go without saying, but all this was before I entered the spanking scene. At the time of the first ‘would be’ incident, I’d yet to have sex. Or a general grip on reality. And I realize how crazy it sounds when I say it out loud, I do. My boyfriend went on to say that he was glad that this did not actually happen, because it’s not safe to go off with strangers* etc.

There is no reason why a complete stranger I met in a bookstore would spank me. But when you’re young and you have all these “weird” desires and fantasies that won’t go away, you start to get desperate.

When I first started attending parties, I had a ‘never say no’ attitude. I think this was in part, due to socialization (women tend to struggle more with saying no) but more because I was afraid I wouldn’t have the chance again. After all, I’d wanted it so badly, so who was I to turn that down?

In my early scene days, I expressed to a friend that I wish I got spanked everyday. She said that it wouldn’t be as special if it happened daily, and I conceded to her point.

After all, I was familiar with the feelings of waiting for a party to come up: flirting in the way that only spankos can, the anticipation of getting what you want and simultaneously fearing it. These sensations were so new to me. All your life, you will learn/hear/read about love and heartbreak and jitters. But you don’t learn about platonic romance and dates that are kinda hookups but often don’t involve sex.

That’s something the scene has granted me that I couldn’t get anywhere else. This past weekend, I explained to my boyfriend how I didn’t have a crush on a popular top friend of mine, but that I was attracted to them, and how I differentiate from the two. I can have a play crush on someone but no romantic interest in them (I’ve had a few of these).**

It’s exciting that seven years later, I’m still figuring out the best way to verbalize these situations. Not just relationships, but other interactions – I’m still looking for the best words to turn people down. To say what I need, what I don’t want.

{Today if a stranger approached me in a bookstore asking to hang out, I would still say no. A) Being curled up in a bookstore is underrated and B) I’m not into wandering off with strangers outside of spanking parties.}

And the novelty hasn’t worn off. I don’t have debilitating anxiety before parties anymore, but that’s a plus. I spend more time socializing sitting or standing than across someone’s knee. The platonic connections that I build are just as important to me, because I learned how impactful community can be.

Even when I was lucky enough to get my otherwise vanilla partners to spank me, I hadn’t really told anyone about my fetish. It’s one thing to like a few swats during or before sex and it’s a completely other to enjoy the ritual of spanking, to find yourself thinking about it nonstop. So when I finally met up with someone, I thought it was going to be this private, occasional thing. That I would be someone else here.

But when you find a group of people that share your secret, it’s incredibly difficult to assume a new identity. The weird thing you’ve been trying to hide is the same as everyone else there. And once you’re in, it’s harder to stay away.

These days, if a new person asked me for advice, I would tell them to not to be afraid to say no. I don’t have scene regret – every experience has been meaningful in that I’ve had the opportunity to share a part of myself that once terrified me. However, it’s much better when it’s what you really want – this one person will not be your last chance, so if they aren’t working for you, you don’t have to force it. This thing we do comes with growing pains, but with the right people, nothing feels forced. You realize this is where you needed to be all along.

*I didn’t point out that this is technically what I did with him

**i will 100 percent expand on this on a later date because I’ve put THOUGHT into this, more than what is probably even necessary.

Maintenance.

Six years ago, if you’d ask me what the most important of my fetish was, Id probably say “spanking. Duh.” Nowadays I’m thinking about autonomy.

When I did that thing that so many of us do where I looked up words in the dictionary, I would look up “punishment”. I associated punishment with spanking, obviously, but I’ve come to understand that punishment is as much of a fetish for me as spanking is. There’s a great deal of crossover between the two. I think the distinction is important because there’s spankos that don’t enjoy the punishment element of it, but also aren’t interested in the disciplinary aspect of spanking.

I enjoy both the emotions I get from being spanked just because as well as scolded/corrected. There’s a different energy behind each – I think spanking just for the sake of it is definitely more social – so something you’d do at a party, for instance. I think this also leaves room for more explicitly erotic situations.

Both satisfy different elements of my fetish, but punishment spankings are special because they’re more all encompassing. There’s an inevitable push/pull that comes with punishment, because I never want to really be in trouble, to actually disappoint someone – and it feels terrible in the moment, but accountability tastes so good when you don’t have a choice.

Thankfully, I’ve never been one of those people that are “too good” to get punished* but still have a fetish. But I understand the craving the headspace of a punishment when you haven’t done anything warranting one. That’s where discipline comes in.

I realize there’s some indulgence in separating discipline and punishment, but I also see punishment as something you receive, whereas discipline is something you have. This is where gentle reminders come in. “Make sure you’re behaved with your friends today. Or else.” Or the “just because” spankings that feel intense. And maintenance spankings, my personal favorite.

There’s also what people call a ‘reset’ which is basically a maintenance spanking, but more intense. Resets are more of a response to consistent subpar behavior. (i.e., frequently breaking rules, falling off track with goals, general carelessness). I’d say they’re pretty effective – any reset I ever had made me want to be much better behaved. Like, ‘just start a new identity altogether, perhaps get a new fetish’, behaved.

Intensity plays a big part in it, and I think this stems from the belief that things must get worse before they can get better. In any other context, a lot of people might disagree – but if I told you that you could press a button and give yourself a recharge, wouldn’t you do it?

Over the holidays my daddy introduced a concept where every morning, while we were together, I got paddled. Nothing too crazy. Five swats with a thin, wooden paddle. But I struggled. There wasn’t any warm up, and he wasn’t gentle. I cried at least twice. But I wouldn’t have it any other way, even if it didn’t feel that way in the moment. I find great comfort in the concept that I am exact where I should be, as I should be. And if I am not, then someone with the authority to do so ( my daddy, in this case) will rectify the situation by maintaining my behavior.

Even when I didn’t want the spankings, I took them because I needed to curl up in him and feel taken care of, and small, and peaceful.

The above picture is from a few weeks ago. One of my very good friends, G, was kind enough to give me a bedtime spanking. I asked for a nice one – I occasionally find joy in asking for a spanking. A lot of times it isn’t of my own fruition but even even you decide on your own there’s something humbling. Please hurt me. Please give me this thing I need that I have trouble expressing verbally. Take care of me.

I felt very casual, as my friend was a few feet away from me, being spanked much harder. She’d been naughty throughout the day; more in overall behavior rather than attitude. It was consistent enough to make me nervous for her, but I suspected she was on track to getting what she desired and deserved – so who was I to judge?

I was squirming at the hand, but then she picked up the hairbrush. Domestic implements feel so matter of fact – the accessibility, the idea that anyone can have one – it’s a reminder that no matter what, you will be spanked if needed. It’s a remarkable juxtaposition between familiar and terrifying.

As I write this, I still have some faint bruises from this weekend. I was visiting daddy, and he paddled me each morning. Even the day I got in trouble, he suggested skipping the maintenance and I didn’t want to. Despite his jokes to the contrary, the world would function all the same if he didn’t paddle me in the morning. But I needed it. Even if he didn’t make it easier for me, I needed the feeling of being put in my place. And I don’t mean that as being less than, I mean I needed this to help me be the best version of myself – resilient, grounded, confident, blissful – everything I feel when I allow myself to submit.

*yes, these people do exist. I’m just as appalled as you are.

Hi.

I’ve had this fetish for as long as I can remember. There was a time period when I tried to pretend it was just a phase – I gave myself a period during which I was “allowed” to obsess over it, and that was it. I tried to tame it – like I would have two days where I read as many stories as I could, and I would self spank, and find videos – but after that I was cut off. Never again, and no one would ever know.

If you’ve experienced these moments, you know they don’t go away after that “one last time”. (Or maybe you have more willpower than I do). Maybe you can distance yourself for a while, but the urge comes back. I decided to let myself explore.

I remember finding tumblr pages and other blogs centered around spanking. Most of my earliest discoveries were stories (including fan fiction). But I’d been craving the firsthand experience, and I wanted an opportunity to share mine.

If I had a motto, it’d be something like “hesitate, reconsider, then do it anyway”…Or maybe “let life be an adventure”. (I’m not sure which one rolls of the tongue better.) Either way, I realized I couldn’t do anything halfway so when I joined the scene, I kinda went in headfirst. I played with the first person I met, went to a national party within four months, and made friendships that are still important to me now.

When I got more involved with Cheeky and when Tumblr banned adult content, I found myself writing less. And it wasn’t that I didn’t have stories to tell, or things to say. If anything, there was more on my mind. Some people might say that tumblr wasn’t an ideal blogging platform but there aren’t many places where you can connect with people, share, and interact with content as seamlessly.

But I didn’t come here to mourn, I came here to share stories and experiences, to vent. I miss talking about kink, about romance, about adventures. I think a lot about that line about being exactly where you should be. I wonder if I would be where I am, if I’d taken a different turn. Would I still be deleting my browsing history, promising myself ‘never again’? Would every orgasm be followed up with shame*?

I have no idea, and in some ways I think I’m better off not knowing. I fell down the rabbit hole seven years ago and I have no intention of getting back out.

*the not fun kind

Create your website at WordPress.com
Get started