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Alright—well, most of you probably know by now—James and I are under a TON of stress. We’re moving out of our house, doing construction on a condo, keeping the house clean for showing, we have pets, jobs, appointments and he had to go all week to a conference. And we’re moving to Albuquerque for the rest of the summer on Friday.

Needless to say, if we lost our minds, I think everyone would sympathize with the situation.

But isn’t it funnier that with everything we’re up to, none of that stuff made me go so crazy I earned myself a spanking this last Sunday after church? It was a craving. And no—I’m not pregnant. I don’t have as good of an excuse. I wasn’t even famished—I wanted French toast. I don’t know why, but I did. I wanted something bready and eggy, and God help the man who got in my way.

James normally doesn’t care—he hasn’t regulated my diet since I had foot problems 3 months ago. The night before, in fact, we had a sugar binge while we went to the movie theatre to watch “Year One”—which was horrible, but we had SO many goodies that I slept horribly and I had a headache the next day. Something happens to me the following day after a diet mistake—I deform. My face, for one, deforms into this strange ugliness reminiscent of the woman-villain in the Goonies. I look like half my face caves in.

Luckily, I was able to get a hold of myself for church, and I had pulled back the headache. But, unfortunately, I had already made 3 complaints—one that morning and 2 the night before, that I had WAY too much sugar, and what was I thinking.

So, when I mentioned that I was going to make “French Toast” when I got home, James felt he had to say something. “Remember—you had a LOT of sugar last night, so maybe you shouldn’t have anything sugary this morning.”

Something dark suddenly swept over me, and my mood did a 180. I was now on the verge, after we were holding hands and kissing each other’s cheeks and being nauseating after church, to someone who was contemplating manslaughter. “French Toast doesn’t have sugar on it,” I reminded scathingly.

“Yeah, but the syrup you’ll put on it does.”

We’re lucky we didn’t get in a crash. I almost unleashed my furry by beating him to death. Instead, I screamed,

” BUT I’M HUNGRY, JAMES! I NEED FOOD! I NEED FRENCH TOAST! GET OFF MY CASE! I’M HUNGRY!” In a voice that Satan would have if he got kicked in the nuts; high and ringy with a blanket of evil over it. It scared ME. But I had no control over how it came out.

He only took my hand and held it. It’s hard to describe exactly HOW he held it. Firm, I suppose. He held it firmly—almost as if he was firmly saying, “I love you. But get a hold of yourself, woman!” but he didn’t. Didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

So; it’s fair to say that I totally knew I was getting a spanking. I mean, I hoped I wasn’t going to get one, but I knew it was coming. When we finally pulled into the driveway, I finally said, “I’m sorry I snapped. I don’t know what happened, there.”

He sighed. “I know, Honey. It’s alright.”

But as soon as I walked into the front door and put down my purse, he looked like he was going to go for coffee, but then turned around quickly and took my hand and led me to the bedroom, saying, “Let’s just discuss something very quickly.”

Yeah, we don’t have quick discussions. So, it must be a spanking. I sighed. I was resolved to it. I had suddenly lost my mind. I didn’t think a spanking would help my future behavior, however, because I didn’t know quite what spurred on the crazy to begin with.

But I had a history. A history of food-crazy. Let me tell you the tale (though quite perverse, I warn you) about how I almost killed my ex fiancé over the left-over brownie batter. This story will make you think less of me, I know, but it’s a true story. I like to think I’m a normal person, too—until I think back to this dark, dark time.

I had walked in from class, and my ex boyfriend, all 340 pounds of him, was cooking—which was what the man did best. He was excellent at cooking, and I’m still trying to shed off the forty-five pounds I had gained during the course of our relationship. That day, he was making brownies.

Now, I don’t even care for brownies. Not as much as the uncooked batter. JP, by ex, didn’t believe in eating batter since he had gotten salmonella poisoning when he was a kid from eating batter with a raw egg in it. Such a thing had never, and has never, happened to me, and I hated that he would try to clean the bowl before I had a chance to lick it.

Today, I was PMSing, and as most of you women know, we need chocolate during this time. We will climb a mountain for chocolate. We will fight for it. And so, I begged as hard as I could for the batter, and finally JP made a deal with me.

If I performed oral on him, I could have the bowl.

Oh my God! Are you a chocolate whore?

Yes, I am. I’m not proud of it, but I took his deal, and afterwards, let him have sex with me, even though I made it clear that I was not in the mood. After it was done, needless to say, I felt deserving of the chocolate. However, by the time I was finished getting dressed after the ordeal, I came out into the kitchen and saw the bowl in the sink, with water in it, soaking.

My mouth dropped. “But—my CHOCOLATE!” I gasped.

JP smirked at me and shrugged. “I told you that raw egg’s not good for you.”

I looked at the knives next to me. JP didn’t know how close he was to death. Every inch of my being yearned to take one of those knives and stick it into him with all my strength. I was not myself. I was shaking.

As I was trying to fight this powerful will that was trying to put me in prison for the rest of my life, JP suddenly produced a chocolate batter-covered spoon. It saved his life. I calmed down instantly, but I found I was sick. My adrenaline was surging. I was still seeing white. I had very nearly killed him.

So, I wasn’t that crazy this last Sunday, obviously—but I do have that sort of potential. My friends used to laugh, “You have such a sweet tooth! I don’t know how you’re not the size of a hippopotamus.” Sweet tooth. Bah. They don’t know the half of it. Sweetness is like heroine to me.

Anyway, so I was subjected to this spanking because I was hoping it would harness this crazy food-demon I knew was still living in me, somewhere.

James sat down on the bed and wheeled me in front of him and took my hands in his. “I’ve been very good about not snapping at you, sweetie, but you need to be more careful about how you say things to me. I know you’re craving something, but I only care about your health. I wasn’t lecturing you. I just care about you, and I didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m so sorry…” I repeated, and I did feel bad.

“I know you are, honey,” he said sincerely. “This is just going to be a quick reminder to control yourself.”

He pulled me across his lap. For some reason, I had an image of those women in vintage-spanking pictures because I had high-heels and a cute skirt on and I looked so house-wife-being-punished-by-her-well-dressed-husband. Until, of course, the spanks started, and then, of course, all I was thinking about was how I could get out of this horrible situation.

I didn’t have much will to complain during this spanking. I was thinking of the story I just told you, and I still felt bad over it. Especially the “whoring myself out for chocolate” part that seemed so unlike the strongly Christian woman who I am now, who could be described even has ‘prudish’.

Not that the spanking made up for it. Actually, for the grief I was feeling, I felt it was over rather quickly. It was only about twenty spanks long, and James counted them out for me. His hand was firm, but he spanked quickly, not torturing me by dragging it out too long.

I realize how lucky I am. I have a man who understands me now, who doesn’t torture me with emotions or compromise my worth, or who I am, even though he knows what my weaknesses are. James is such a strong, nice, very attractive, very successful man that I don’t deserve. Especially because, since he still didn’t want me to have any sugar, he took me out to buy an egg sandwich that would appease my egg craving while not adding too much sugar to my already bad sugar-hangover headache. That man gets me.

Alright, folks—I’ll be the first to admit that I have a problem. I’m obsessive. Once I start something, God help me if I can stop doing it. When it comes to figuring out problems with a webpage, you benefit. When it comes to blog posts, you benefit. When it comes to starting a new book—life is put on hold, the earth stops revolving, and life is just me, with my book.

That is really traumatic when it comes to getting hooked on a series. Then it might be days until I come out of my room. Weekend wasted.

I normally only read 200 page books that I help Bethany from Bethany’s Woodshed publish. Rarely are they ever longer than that. 200 pages I can waist in a couple of hours. THE TWILIGHT SERIES has taken the largest hit on my time since Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

I really, really liked the first three books of the series. I really, really hated the forth book. I would explain why, but you’ll start asking yourself when this became a writer’s group or a review forum. Simply put: Stephanie Meyer just didn’t even TRY on the fourth book! I could go on all day on how—

HEY, HEY, HEY! What does this have to do with Chivalry, for one, and what does this have to do with spanking?

Sigh. I’m getting to that. Anyway; the reason WHY I liked the Twilight Series wasn’t because I wanted to squeeze Robert Patterson’s tush. I think my husband is just as, if not more attractive, anyway, and I can squeeze his tush anytime I wanted. What I liked was Edward Cullen, the main vampire in the novel. What I liked ABOUT Edward was his manners.

That’s right—I didn’t care about the fact that he can keep a car from running over you, that he has the strength of 1000 men, and that he can carry Bella around as easily as a backpack. I cared about his manners.

Edward Cullen is a perfect gentlemen. He engages in Chivalry techniques in manners that they don’t even carry out in the South anymore. “Good Manners” I’ve forgotten about. Edward opens every door for Bella (the human girl), including not just building doors but car doors.

Edward sometimes buckles Bella into her seat, pays for meals, walks street-side, carries her bags, pulls out the chair for her, keeps her virginity intact until after marriage not for her own sake, but because he is protective of her virtue…

Edward protects her.

…So? Let’s tie this in with spanking this year, shall we?

Grr. Edward PROTECTS HER! Which is amazingly hot to watch and to read, and I think that has something to do with why it’s such a popular book.

Edward’s not always NICE about it, though. Edward’s always guiding her by the arm, forbidding her to do things that are dangerous, constantly scolding her, he forces her to do safe things….

I was REALLY hoping Edward would spank Bella sometime during one of the novels. Of course, it never happened. I knew it wouldn’t. But I hoped it would.

Because Edward was exerting the personality type that WOULD spank. He’s MUCH older than Bella—by nearly 100 years, so he’s certainly more world-wise and mature, he’s strong as can be, he’s very capable, very disciplined, educated, non-hypocritical, understanding, and he’s gorgeous.

So… Chivalry=good spanker?

I’m not saying that, but I certainly think it’s a vital characteristic of a HOH. Chivalry says one very important thing about a man (I’ve said something like this before, but let’s recap):

  1. He understands that woman and men are different and he wants to take care of the woman. They normally think women are fragile, which we technically are: due to lesser physical capabilities and hormones that are beyond our control, we are emotionally and physically weaker than a man. Our sense of safety is fragile, and our feelings are even moreso. This type of guy doesn’t want women to feel any sort of pain whatsoever.
  2. He feels “dutiful”: it’s his duty and or privilege to cater to a woman.
  3. The center of the universe CERTAINLY doesn’t revolve around him. That much, he is sure.

So, do you have to wait for a vampire to fall in love with you before you can get some chivalry?

No, not exactly. Supposedly, you can find a guy that has it. I don’t know if you can find one that has as much as Edward Cullen, of course, but definitely some variations. The thing is, not that many men are chivalrous gentlemen anymore. It’s the Twenty-first century.

What does the century have to do with it?

A lot, actually. Mostly because we’ve been ripping chivalry out of men since women’s liberation in the 1920s. That’s 90 years of telling men that we don’t need their chivalry—that we’re not fragile, and we’re not different, and we can open our own doors, thank you very much.

Here’s the article I read that just made my stomach roll from Marie Claire (Click here to view the original article):

Is Chivalry A Dying Art?

June 5, 2009 10:20 AM by Rich Santos One of my vivid childhood memories took place on a soccer field. When I was four or so, the soccer leagues were co-ed. In those days there was no method to the madness for us fledgling players. The ball would move and we’d all follow it in a gigantic swarm rivaling biblical locusts, with no organization or strategy to score a goal.

In one game, as we followed the ball after it popped out of the mob, I noticed a little girl trailing behind us and saw that she had fallen down in the mud. I was faced with a choice: follow the ball toward our goal, or turn around and help the girl. No one had stopped to help her up, or acknowledge that she had fallen down. Furthermore, something about the mud all over her (even in her blonde hair), the fact that she was alone and she could have been hurt, compelled me to turn around and check on her.

On the sideline my coach implored me to worry about the girls later. The ball, by now, was way down near our goal. It was just the little girl and I on the other end of the field. I walked back to her and stuck out my hand and helped her out of the mud. I must have embarrassed her because her appreciative look was laced with a bit of defiance. This was my first conflicted moment with chivalry. I learned that she was perfectly capable of picking herself up out of the mud (thank you very much).

These days, I rarely get to be chivalrous. I am desperately trying to be “cool,”– not too easy or too nice. Plus, I don’t think I am well-trained for chivalry. One time, my Southern friend Margaret complimented me for “walking street-side,” on our way home from work. She explained that men traditionally walk street side in case a “passing buggy splashes water onto the sidewalk.” Chivalry in the South is taken to a whole other level.

I hate those street solicitors who ask me to donate to cause A, B, or C as I try to avoid them on the sidewalk. They punctuate it with a 10-minute spiel. As soon as I see someone with a clipboard, or a branded shirt, I zig-zag out of there. Little did Margaret know that I had gone “street-side” that day to put her in the line of fire of a street solicitor. Hey, when it comes to street solicitors it’s every man (and woman) for themselves.

Horses and buggies aside, there are plenty of chances to be chivalrous on dates in NYC:

  • Letting a woman on the elevator first
  • Pulling out a chair at a restaurant
  • Paying the bill
  • Walking someone home
  • Letting a woman in a cab first after opening the door


But there are reasons that guys avoid chivalry:

Don’t Want To Look Too Nice. Guys are trying to find that sweet spot of nice but not too nice, while retaining little mystery. If we go out of our way all the time and wait on a girl hand and foot, we won’t look attractive. Chivalry is great, but it’s not special if it happens all the time.

Women’s Rights. After her man holds the door and picks up her bags one too many times, a woman might be inclined to say: “hey I can do this myself.” Doing too much for a woman can come off as condescending.

Don’t Raise ‘Em Like They Used To. Are younger men on board with chivalry? Because of society’s shifting values, chivalry could be dying. You may see less of it in the street these days because there is less focus on educating young men about chivalry.

I practice “part-time chivalry.” I’m much more of a gentleman at a fancy event like a wedding than I am when I am tumbling into a diner late night drunk at 4AM. But I wonder if I should be chivalrous the majority of the time.

I remember the warm fuzzy feeling I had when I helped the girl on the soccer field. I felt like I was doing the right thing. Things were much simpler then, but I bet most women want some chivalry in her life. I’m just not sure how much chivalry is optimal.

How much chivalry do you like in a relationship? Are there certain chivalrous acts that you really love, or that turn you off? Is there any charm to a guy that doesn’t practice chivalry? Do you see much chivalry out there these days, or do you agree that it’s a dying art?

You can see where I’m disturbed. Have half the woman really done it in for the rest of us? Did the women who never say “thank you”, never appreciate an open door, never smile at someone who helps them up when they fall… Did they ruin it for the rest of us? I’m not a mom yet or anything, but I want that for my daughter! I hate to think that it’ll be long dead by that time.

Anyway, if you don’t think this matters and that chivalry is dead, then let me tell you what’s going to die right along with it. DD RELATIONSHIPS! That’s right…. I said it. Because an HOH that has absolutely NO concept of chivalry is not doing to be a good HOH. He wouldn’t have the right temperament. That’s a fact.

WAIT—Women can destroy not just chivalry, but DD? But HOW? How did WOMEN DESTROY CHIVALRY in the first place?

As the article stated—he was going to help a girl out of the mud, and she acted indignant and embarrassed. Admittedly, I would be embarrassed too, but you have to be grateful. Women aren’t grateful anymore. I don’t blame men for not being chivalrous anymore. Why would they be chivalrous if they get nothing in return? Why go through the trouble, and let me assure you—it IS trouble for them. They weren’t put on the planet to help us out; that’s a duty they’ve taken upon themselves. It’s a choice.

So, here’s what you do if you want to reverse the cycle. I’m sure you’re all very intelligent people, and that I’m preaching to the choir, but this is what you do:

  1. Make eye contact, smile thank anyone who does ANYTHING nice to you. Eye contact is key. They equate it to recognition, and it must ALWAYS come with a smile and a thanks. The “thanks” MUST sound sincere, as if it was such a sweet surprise to find someone that kind. Here’s the key:
    1. Even if you don’t want to date, or even think the person doing it is ATTRACTIVE—if they look like FRANKENSTEIN, you still do thank them? Why? Because they’re being kind to you, and you must acknowledge and also because you want the men in the area to see the recognition you’re giving to the chivalrous one.
  2. ALWAYS compliment. If a man walks you home, all you have to do is THANK him and say, “that is just so nice of you”. That’s all. They’ll feel good about themselves all day. Eye contact. Smile. If someone even OFFERS to do something for them, thank them, and tell them how wonderfully nice they are.
  3. Teach your sons that women need special care, and to always have good manners DISPITE the feedback they get.

Yep. That’s all you can do. It’s not much. It’s quick. 2 seconds and then, of course, pass it on to the next generation. But so little you do makes the largest differences. We have so much to make up for. We have to retrain 3 billion men in this world. We have our work cut out for us!

Korey has been asking me to post, and I’ve been planning to do so, for quite some time. The trouble is that I always have things I want to post, and I think through what I’m going to say… then I think of something to add, then something else, and on and on, until I realize that the post will be so long that I have neither the time nor the energy to write it. So, I promised Korey I would keep my posts at least reasonably short, so that I can actually make myself take the time to write them.

Korey and I were at the outlet mall today, and we walked by a store selling BBQ equipment, including some aprons. In order to make these aprons appropriately manly (it is BBQ, after all, not baking cookies), they all had various manly phrases about meat, or sports, or cars. One of them had this statement, obviously directed at the manly apron wearer’s wife: “In the time it took you to read this, you could already have gone and gotten me a beer.” I admit I laughed out loud at this. However, it also made me think about how accepting our society has become of what I would call casual chauvinism. I’ll give a better definition for this term later.

While thinking about this, I remembered another time a few years back when I was struck by the same concept. My girlfriend and I had just had a relatively petty argument which had turned into a fight, and she was laying in the sun on the beach (we were spending a day at the ocean while visiting her family, who live near the Texas Gulf Coast). I wandered into a large shop dedicated to selling all types of T-shirts. As I wandered, I noticed that one entire section was devoted completely to girls’ T-shirts with various insults toward men printed on them. Many of them were the usual, benign girl-power stuff, like “If it has tires or testicles, its going to give you trouble.” However, I noticed that quite a few others had pretty harsh insults on them, attacking the average man’s intelligence, abilities, looks, etc. I honestly don’t remember what any of them said, but I remember thinking that these were far more insulting than the average T-shirts sold in mall kiosks.A silly thing to be bothered by, of course, but I was in a bad mood toward women at the time, due to my recent argument, and so I looked around the store for similar T-shirts designed for men. I soon found them, but they just depressed me further. Of course there were the usual “FBI: Female Body Inspector” and similar shirts, which could in a way be considered a response to the insults heaped upon men in the other section, but these didn’t satisfy me. I don’t really know what I was looking for, exactly. I didn’t seriously expect to find a T-shirt with “If you don’t treat me with more respect, young lady, I’ll take you over my knee and spank your bottom bright red!” printed on the front, although that would have been nice. I think I just wanted something at least somewhat mature and intelligent, which again was silly because I was at an oceanside T-shirt shop, but again that was the mood I was in at the time.

Finally, I saw a T-shirt alone on a display. I couldn’t read it from the angle where I was standing, but I already knew this T-shirt had something to say. It stood out, apart from the others. As I came closer and looked up at it, I got my hopes up. Here, at last, would be the response of the male sex to all the abuse. It was solid black, with large, bold white lettering on the front. The phrase was simple, unequivocal, and profound:

“I will destroy you with my enormous cock.”

This was not the response I had hoped for from my half of the species. However, it did make me think about what society will accept from men, and what it will not. Society will accept chauvinism from men, as long as it is done in a lazy, stupid, boys-will-be-boys type of way. This is what I referred to earlier as casual chauvinism.

Now, I need to end this post in order to keep with my “short-post” promise, but there are two separate issues I would like to address in follow-up posts.

First, why has it become acceptable in society for women to constantly, aggressively, and harshly bash not just individual men, but the entire male sex? I’m not talking about playful poking of fun between the sexes, I’m talking about a sustained attack on everything that could be loosely considered male.

Second, why has it become acceptable for men to descend deep into chauvinism, as long as they do so in a way that is lazy, stupid, and slobbish? Just as an example, why is it that if a man were to walk around in public with a shirt that said “A woman should be naked, in the kitchen, making me a pie” that wouldn’t really make anyone raise an eyebrow, but if a man walked around in public with a shirt saying “In a Christian marriage, the man is the head of the household” he would have feminists parachuting in to confront him in a matter of minutes?

Was it even a month that I wrote that I wouldn’t tell my mother in law about my lifestyle until I was pregnant with her second—not first, that’s too soon—grandchild? Yeah, I’m a lying liar who lies, obviously. Because we told her this last weekend.

…Huh?

Yeah. I know. CRAZY. It’s my fault we had to tell her, actually. We were staying at her house when I got the letter from Bethany, with my promotion. And OF COURSE I had to tell my folks right away. I told James, “I have to tell mom and dad,” and he snorted. “No, wait—I have to tell ALLISON!” I decided; Allison’s my last roommate who I’ve adopted as the sister I’ve never had.

“No,” he said, sighing. “Wait to tell Allison until we get home, alright? We only have so much time, and…”

“Alright,” I said, thinking how odd it was that he was fine with me telling my parents about my promotion but not Allison—I talk just as long with my parents. I was excited about telling them, you see: they would be very interested to know that I now had a “real job” and might now stop mailing me job opening posts from craigslist.

What I misunderstood was that he didn’t want me telling ANYBODY until we left his mother’s house. The walls are like PAPER. I don’t know what magical thing happens there—but it the walls do NOTHING to trap sound. And so, when I was talking about me being promoted, James’ mom, James’ mom, overheard this. She didn’t say anything, but she heard.

I’m going to pause here to clarify what everyone around us thinks I actually DO:

Allison & Travis: Best Friends. There are no secrets between us. They know everything.

My Family: Knows that I work for a specialty erotica company, and are fine with it. I also have informed them that I don’t want them in my business, and I don’t want to tell them which one. I assured them they wouldn’t like it. They DO NOT know that I’m into spanking. If they eventually do find out, however, I’m sure they’ll be released to know we’re not into something crazy, like furries or golden showers. Because I’m going to assume that they’ve already prepared themselves for the worst, kinkiest thing in history.

James’ Friends & Family: Don’t know about the erotica and don’t know about the spanking. They think I’m a simple housewife that occasionally maintains a “friend’s blog”.

So: this conversation she overheard, even though I never mentioned “erotica”, qued James’ mom to the fact that I’ve been lying and that I HAD a job for awhile and I’ve now been PROMOTED.

James comes in furious: he assumed I understood his meaning about the no phone calls to ANYBODY because of the WALLS. So, James makes me go on a car-ride. This doesn’t mean anything good—he fully plans to spank me to a pinnacle that I am not prepared for; especially because I’m too stupid to even think I’ve done anything wrong. But I did know this much by now: James’ mom heard EVERYTHING.

Because I can’t come up with a good excuse about “what I do” I just told James that we should tell his mother. James calms down when he realizes I wasn’t blatantly defying him and decides not to spank me.

So, we went home, I took a shower, and James told his mother about the spanking.

It did not go well. Lunch with the extended family that hour was very awkward. And I’m new to the family and the “in law”, so it’s naturally awkward for me, anyway! His mother was noticablly upset–enough to make James’ father think it was about him somehow. ( James wants to tell his father, too… But I’m very uncomfortable with that. I’m not as close to his father. I don’t think he requires as much information as his mother does.)

So—there was a slight family upset.

But, James went in back with his mom and they got to talking about it and I think James’ mom actually understands it—that it’s for discipline, and for sex, and everything else, and it’s HOW WE MET. It must have been a real “OH! I SEE!” moment for her.

HOWEVER: We’re STILL lying, so we don’t even get to feel good about “the truth”.

Because we can’t tell James’ mom about the erotica portion of what I do. She would think that there was something morally wrong about it. James made it sound that everything my company publishes is all of good Christian values with no sex before marriage and all of that—something she would agree with. God, I hope she never goes to RomanticSpankings.com and reads ANYTHING by Darla Phelps (who write a LOT of age-play), or that story about the Alien that trains his “human” pet with a bunch of spankings—as good as that story is (I think it’s called “Bach” or Bach: A pet story” or “Bach’s Pet”… It’s actually strangely good. You judge yourself slightly when you’re reading it, but it’s good nonetheless.) ANYWAY—I do NOT just publish CDD stuff.

AND James told her that I write this Blog and promised to give her the link for it.

NO. I know what you’re thinking, and NO. We will NOT show her this blog.

I doubt the blog where I complain about how much her daughter is in need of a spanking would go well, to say the least. So, I CREATED A NEW BLOG. It’s just like this one, only with only 2/3s of the posts and no “naked” pictures. Very PG-rated. It’s called “The DD Life” at theddlife.blogspot.com. Talk about non-explicit, too—the banner has COFFEE in it. COFFEE—the least erotic thing on the planet! Sigh. What a pain in the ass. I doubt she’ll even ever read it. Would you, if your daughter in law was writing about her personal spanking experiences? No. Of course you wouldn’t.

I feel strange, I feel awkward, and I have NO idea of how it’s going to go when she visits us this weekend. I wish I could just bury my head in the sand, but instead, I have to hope for the best. I asked James if we could go on like we’ve never told her.

“This isn’t the sort of thing you can pretend you didn’t tell someone,” he told me yesterday.

“Are you kidding?” I said incredulously. “This is EXACTLY the sort of thing you pretend you didn’t tell someone!”

So, folks: I’ll promise to keep you informed as to how it goes. Keep your fingers crossed for me, please.

Hi Folks,
Sorry it’s been awhile again. I know I’ll post more once I’m living in Albuquerque for the summer, but lately I’ve been doing construction on the house, selling the house, buying a condo, and doing MAJOR renovations on the condo (tile floors, new paint, new carpet, new cabinets, new handrails) and to keep it cost-effective WE have to do all the labor ourselves (except put in the carpet and the granite countertops. We’re not CRAZY!)

All the while, Bethany at Bethany’s Woodshed just hired me to FULL TIME! Whee! Which is awesome, but with everything going on, it makes me a very bad blogger.
BUT I’m posting what I always meant to—my testimony. It was a DD testimony that I sent into Bethany’s Woodshed back in November that we haven’t gotten around to organizing. So YOU ALL get first peek! Here it goes….

An Occasionally Painful yet Happy Solution:

A Testimony of Korey Johnson

I can’t even remember how many times James has come home from work harrumphing about his friends’ wives. “Jason needs to grow a pair,” he would grump. “Do you have any idea what Amy did this time?” Naughty wives abound in this world, and we think we’re so fortunate to have figured out a solution.

James spanks me for discipline. Alright–sometimes he just spanks me because he’s a little kinky, but there are so many distinctions between the two that there is never any question which is which. Or at least there’s one very large distinction: discipline spankings are extremely painful. Luckily, I’m a rather well-behaved young wife, which means that I only get spanked about twice a month on average. (Please, take “on average” as a purely mathematical figure, I sometimes get spanked 5 days in a row and then don’t get spanked for 3 months.)

When do these spankings occur? Why? Well, I’m pretty good at not repeating the “why” very often. My first spanking was for bad language. My latest spanking was for letting a check bounce, and not even calling the bank to ask how it could have been avoided, even though he asked me repeatedly.

From the first spanking to the latest–I doubt it was the last, but we can hope–there has been a “method” to the spanking. He calls me into the room. “Korey!”

I shrink. “What?” I ask, hoping he fell and needs some help up. But I know just by the sound of his voice that he’s at least thinking about spanking me.

“Just come here.”

I sigh and quit doing whatever I’m doing. “I didn’t do anything,” I’ll complain as I walk through the door.

“We need to talk.” He says, and I immediately interpret those lines as this; “You need a spanking.”

“About what?”

And he will say what I did. Sometimes I’ll have a good excuse, like, “The reason the credit card bill is so high, is that I took my mother out to get our nails done, and she had just taken me out to lunch… and I wanted to be nice to her.” He’ll just sigh and say, “Alright. Just remember that we’re trying to save money.” He’ll give me a kiss and the incident will be forgotten.

Most of the time I won’t have a good excuse. I mean, there’s a reason why I do everything, and I so I can–and will–explain my reasoning. But my reasoning, though normally innocent, sometimes sucks. “Well, the bank wasn’t going to tell me something I didn’t know,” was my latest reasoning. “And you know how the beauty parlor couldn’t get my credit card to run, so I had to use my debit card.”

“Why not the other credit card?” he asked.

“Because I didn’t want to look through my wallet for it, I was just trying to pay fast.” This, ladies and gentlemen, is a sucky excuse–I’ll be the first to admit it. It was true: I just wanted to get out of there and the hairstylist who was cashing me out was also in the middle of another client. But that didn’t mean I needed to use the debit card from my personal checking account that barely has any money in it, when we have a joint account that did have plenty of money. I just grabbed a card and blew through the consequences.

He’ll explain what I did wrong, reminding me that regardless of what card I used at the hairstylist, I still shouldn’t have later written a check without knowing if there was enough money in my account to cover it. He will tell me that he knows that I can do things the right way because I’m an intelligent, educated person, and that I just need to not rush through things when money is involved. The specific lecture changes, of course, but the message is always the same. He knows I can do better; he would never spank me unless he was absolutely sure I could do better. When the lecture draws to a close, he’ll tell me to pull down my pants.

The trick is to not lower my panties–just the pants. If he can wear out a few slaps on the fabric, that’s all the better. The spanking will last until he believes I’ve learned my lesson… or until he can’t use his hand anymore…whatever comes first. Panties, as thin as they are, really shield the blows. Panties are magic.

But eventually the panties will come down, and it will not be a good moment. I’m already sore by the time they come down, and will beg, “James, please.” James has stopped listening to me by this point. Nothing I say is going to make him stop. He’s going for a shade of redness and will not cease until he gets there.

Did I say during the spanking I’m acting like a wounded raccoon? Well–I am. I’m kicking, though not successfully. My pants are around my feet and my panties are around my knees and his thigh is normally keeping my knees pinned down. I don’t bite only because I know it would go so much worse, but I’ll still always consider biting.

Instead, I howl. I howl and tear at the bed sheets, I pull my own hair, I squish my hands against my face. I try to block out the pain in my mind, but this is of course unsuccessful. I try to beg, but try is the operative word here. I am beyond begging–I’ll open my mouth and crying gibberish comes out instead.

Everyone; I do not take a spanking “gracefully”. Graceful is beyond comprehension in moments like these. In fact–I think anyone who claims that they can take one gracefully is either lying, because they can’t, or they’re not being spanked as hard as I am. James efficiently brings me to the brink of what someone can stand without trying to heartily defend themselves.

Still, James only spanks with his hand, and his hand only connects with my thighs or that beloved “sit spot”, which we hate when we’re looking into mirrors yet so tenderly care about in moments like these. When James finishes, he rubs my bottom a little, which feels oddly good, and normally I catch my breath.

James and I decided in the beginning of our relationship that we would not have sex after a punishment spanking–we wanted the punishment spanking to be and feel different. James is unquestionably erect after a punishment spanking–he can’t touch my bottom for a millisecond without becoming erect, God bless him, but at times like these he doesn’t want sex. And neither do I. We really just want to hold and comfort each other. I look forward to these moments; it’s probably when we’re closest as I feel so vulnerable–I’m out of breath, normally still crying, and he’s feeling bad that he had to spank me.

This is important–I don’t know if I would trust James if he liked putting me in pain or discomfort. He hates it as much as I do, but he looks on it like his duty, as I believe a disciplinarian should.

If you’re wondering how James and I got into a relationship like this–or even why this lifestyle suites us so well, then I’m going to tell you that it’s a bit complicated. For my part, there was always a little bit of “weird” in me that got me turned on to such a lifestyle as this in the first place.

I remember very far back into my childhood, and a truth that remains constant from the earliest memory is a strange truth indeed—I’ve always been completely entranced with spankings.

It was an odd pet to have, and it wouldn’t be until I was about fifteen that I would come to the realization that I wasn’t too weird; there were a lot of people like me. There were a lot of people that would read any book they could get their hands on, scanning for a spanking scene, or watching movies just to see the blessed event.

Little did I know when I was fifteen, that 2000 miles away, in Texas of all places, was my soul mate—a man who had grown up with the same interests. Unfortunately, life, uninterested boyfriends and school got in the way until my senior year of college, when, being freshly broken up with my fiancé, I was back on the prowl, looking for men. My best friends, bless their hearts, though I had trusted them with the identity of my interest, could never fully comprehend my heart’s desire.

When it comes to friends of spankees, who are not spankees/spankers themselves, it is very unlikely that they’ll ever completely understand people our interest–their minds are programmed to go right to abuse, or to BDSM. Their brains can’t comprehend a man lovingly disciplining his wife. My friends try–but they think that spanking is still a merely sexual urge, not something I want underlying my life, so at this point they were trying to hook me up with “normal/vanilla” men and thereby were getting a bit in the way of my quest.

As you might have guessed, by that point I was fully keen on the life possible by “Christian Domestic Discipline”, and although I hadn’t even been to church in ten years, every fiber of my being ached for it. I read countless stories, testimonies, blogs… Getting into it was just harder than it sounds—for one, you need a boyfriend to be part of the domestic discipline life, and I had none. For another, finding a boyfriend that was interested in the same thing, after months of searching, was a bit of a rare find.

I’m a picky person and, after a close call with being forever in a relationship with a man who wouldn’t make me happy, my new boyfriend “must have” list was quite immense, and I would not back up on it. I didn’t just want a man that would gladly spank his girlfriend, I wanted a man who I thought in every sense was better than me, more responsible than me, and smarter than me and would help me become equally amazing through a sort of loving discipline. (Note that James does not agree that he is either better or smarter than me. He does agree that he is more responsible, and that is why he is more than willing to discipline me when necessary.) I was determined to let this fetish that had plagued me all my life finally be of some use to me, but finding the perfect man to implement that strategy was a delicate process which only the internet could provide.

I had almost given up on the spanking networking site when I got a message from a guy who was interested in what I was looking for. Suddenly, I was deep in conversation, and I stayed up until all hours talking to this faceless person from Texas (I was in Oregon then). Obviously, it was impossible for there to be a relationship—he was deep into grad school, and I had no intentions of going to Texas.

Yet, while I kept looking around, I was constantly in contact with this Texan, James. I loved chatting with him. Like me, his chats were made of long, well thought out sentences, and an interested dialogue that had a sternness to it. Although strange to say, every time we chatted he sent goose bumps up my spine. All of the sudden, we were exchanging numbers and photographs, talking on the phone, and in just a couple of weeks, we decided we had to meet.

Obviously, I had changed my mind slightly on this “going to Texas” issue, even though I already had an internship and job opportunity in Philadelphia. But there was something to James that I had to see for myself. He visited me in Oregon about a month after we first started talking.

He was gorgeous with dark blue eyes, a chiseled body, chestnut colored hair, a perfect smile… I wanted nothing more than for him to spank me—for any reason, for no reason. Just to get his hands on me. I wanted to slip under the covers with him and never come out.

Although he was against premarital sex (even though he knew I no longer had my virginity, thank you fiancé #1) he never hesitated on giving me an affectionate slap on the butt every now and then, but that week he refused to give me a discipline spanking—he wanted me to be comfortable with him and for us to build up a trust of each other first.

It wasn’t until our 3rd vacation together, when he visited me during my internship in Philadelphia, nearly 4 months after first meeting face-to-face, that he finally responded to my attempts to actually discover what a real spanking would be like. I knew how he felt about swearing—that it was the ugliest thing a woman could do—and when he met me I had quite a bad swearing habit. That whole week, I had just made it worse. I was looking for him to make good on his threat. He had promised previously to give me some time to adjust to the new “no swearing” rule, but now he had warned me that I was fast approaching a spanking.

Surprisingly, after I got the “the next time you swear, I’m going to spank you” threat, I just decided to try to ride out the threat and avoid swearing for the rest of his visit. Something in his voice made it sound like it was actually going to hurt, and that I wouldn’t enjoy it as much as the spankings he would give me when we were fooling around.

Unfortunately, when I eventually earned this particular spanking, I was foolish enough to say the f-word in the shower. When I was naked. Needless to say, there’s nothing on this planet more awkward than coming out of the shower, hair wet, skin chilled by air conditioning, and then having to answer to a very stern, very clothed, very handsome man. Butterflies were dancing around in my stomach, yet I was mostly excited. I was also more than a little embarrassed when he told me to set aside my towel, and made me stand there in front of him totally naked with my hands on my head while he briefly lectured me.

For the first few seconds after the lecture ended I had reason to be excited. As he pulled me over his jeans, it seemed extremely erotic.

Wow. Did that change fast. The first spank was not light, it felt like all my skin on my butt swelled up in an instant–worse than if I had just been slapped with a brick of ice or fire. I shrieked.

Until then, I had only read about women kicking and struggling and crying and begging and everything else, and then suddenly, there I was, living out my own little spanking story. As I was getting over the shock of the moment, James was doing what James has always done, and will almost certainly continue to do for the rest of our lives; lecture me while spanking.

The lecture during a spanking has always been strange to me–it’s unnecessary effort, really, on his part. There’s something strangely soothing about hearing another human being’s voice while this is going on, of course–makes me remember that I’m not actually in hell–I imagine there’s no talking there. But still, I’m not actually listening. The pain has overloaded all of the rest of my senses, making all the rest of them worthless. But still, James feels lecturing me during a spanking is important to the overall discipline.

I’m sure the whole hotel heard me that day–not that I cared. You don’t care about much of anything but yourself during a spanking, let me assure you, but in retrospect I’m sure our neighbors were getting a good earful–and because of the cries, the spanks, and the lecture on top of it all, I’m sure they didn’t have to stretch their imaginations much. If they could put two and two together, then they should have had no problem figuring out that I was getting a spanking–one that would take my hourly swearing occurrences strikingly down to nearly zero for the rest of my life.

But still, it felt so nice to be wrapped up afterwards by the arms of a fully-clothed man, who was constantly kissing my forehead and telling me he loved me. It felt wonderful. And swearing, as I said, was cured from me instantly. As much as I hate punishment spankings, damn it–they work. And I’m better for it.

These spankings make me feel like there’s nothing to be guilty about, and that once it’s over, it’s like I’m forgiven and I don’t have anything hanging over my head, which is such a nice change from earlier–I still feel guilty for cheating on a project my senior year in high school–guilt stays with me for a long time. I feel so much healthier, and happier.

As for James, you can tell that he’s happy to have control of his life; he doesn’t have a wife that runs him ragged or who tries to hamstring him, but every day when he comes home, he has someone who has everything she was supposed to have taken care of, taken care of. I won’t ever embarrass him, and I always try to make him happy and he knows this.

Spanking me also makes him a better man. He doesn’t want to fall into hypocrisy by giving me a spanking for things that he does himself, so he does whatever he can to hold himself to the same standards he holds me. The only reason I feel that this lifestyle isn’t for everybody is because I feel not all men are like him–that too many men would take advantage of their wives.

As for us, domestic discipline has so greatly improved our lives, and I couldn’t imagine having gone any longer without it in my life.

Alright, so I think everyone is aware that I am a large advocate of HOHs, and look back at a better time when there were more of them. ‘Head-of-household’ was a term that people of the non-spanking persuasion used quite frequently and quite consciously. Those were good times.

But you talk of men being the head of household NOW and people will look at you as if you just asked them for a weasel sandwich. I understand why. Times have certainly changed—whether or not they changed for the better is HIGHLY debatable, but they HAVE changed, and for the first time since the dawn of time one half of the population is now trying to do exactly what the other half had spent since the beginning of time getting good at. I think it’s not our role as women to be HOH—not that we don’t have power. I believe, in fact, that we have more power than anyone in our family—we are naturally attuned to everyone’s emotions and can either hold a family together or tear it apart, depending on how we use this power. But we aren’t head-of-household because we tend to get caught up more in the drama of life than in the practicalities. We tend to enjoy problems rather than try to fix it, except for the ones that don’t need fixing—we like fixing those.

This has been our role—our strengths, and our problems, since time was known as ‘time’, and it was perfectly natural. We’re social creatures for a reason, and we are truly in our element when we deal with feelings, connections, and health. But for everything else, we started along the line to put men in charge of that, maybe because we didn’t want their awful responsibilities to start with. I don’t know, but the men’s job as protector, bread-winner, alliance-maker, war-fighter, politician and handyman is not ‘fun’, and neither is the unpopular position of HAVING the “last word” on something. And so we gave it up to men and promised, in return to try to ‘obey’ them.

But now, women are really opposed to the whole “obeying” point. And normally not because they don’t think that someone in the relationship needs to be obeyed, only they’d rather have their cake and eat it, too. But the men so far, in the last couple of decades, have merely shrugged their shoulders, and found it in themselves to negotiate a position that they spent 1000 generations getting for themselves.

I recognize the original roles that my ancestors were good enough to render into a sort of tradition. And because of such, I went out on a limb to be traditional at my wedding. It was important to me that “obey” be in my half of the vows. Strangely, it wasn’t that easy. Do you know how long it took me to find “obey” in wedding vows on the internet? The majority of weddings now leave it out of the vows altogether. Some ignore any sort of logic and put it in BOTH vows. I even saw some women on forums who argued that only the man should have obey in his half of the vows, although I don’t know if this is just a “Yay! Girl Power!” thing, or if they actually married men who were so pathetically emasculated that they tolerated such vows.

It took two hours. AND I’m a good Googler. But every Christian denomination, even the conservative ones, has decided to avoid that vow like the plague, simply because it’s “not PC”. But my question is… Why? Why should having a man as head-of-household be a cultural taboo? It seems to me that it’s a natural desire…

But THAT is one of those opinions that I’ve put in my pocket, especially during most dinner conversations. And then, last week, I picked up “Mere Christianity” because it was recommended to me. I was very startled to see my opinions written down in a way that I couldn’t describe them, being that I have been a professional writer for only 2 years and CS Lewis had been, at the point of writing the book, publishing for 16 years. Obviously, he had it down by then and was quite skilled at his craft, and can actually make a persuasive argument, unlike myself. Here’s what C.S. Lewis had to say on the subject:

“…So much for the Christian doctrine about the permanence of marriage. Something else, even more unpopular, remains to be dealt with. Christian wives promise to obey their husbands. In Christian marriage the man is said to be the ‘head’. Two questions obviously arise here. (1) Why should there be a head at all—why not equality? (2) Why should it be the man?

(1) The need for some head follows from the idea that marriage is permanent. Of course, as long as the husband and wife are agreed, no question of a head need arise; and we may hope that this will be the normal state of affairs in a Christian marriage. But when there is a real disagreement, what is to happen? Talk it over, of course; but I am assuming they have done that and still failed to reach agreement. What do they do next? They cannot decide by a majority vote, for in a council of two there can be no majority. Surely, only one or other of two things can happen: either they must separate and go their own ways or else one or other of them must have a casting vote. If marriage is permanent, one or other party must, in the last resort, have the power of deciding the family policy. You cannot have a permanent association without a constitution.

(2) If there must be a head, why the man? Well, firstly is there any very serious wish that it should be the woman? As I have said, I am not married myself, but as far as I can see, even a woman who wants to be the head of her own house does not usually admire the same state of things when she finds it going on next door. She is much more likely to say ‘Poor Mr. X! Why he allows that appalling woman to boss him about the way she does is more than I can imagine.’ I do not think she is even very flattered if anyone mentions the fact of her own ‘headship’. There must be something unnatural about the rule of wives over husbands, because the wives themselves are half ashamed of it and despise the husbands whom they rule. But there is also another reason; and here I speak quite frankly as a bachelor, because it is a reason you can see from outside even better than from inside. The relations of the family to the outer world—what might be called its foreign policy—must depend, in the last resort, upon the man, because he always ought to be, and usually is much more just to the outsiders. A woman is primarily fighting for her own children and husband against the rest of the world. Naturally, almost, in a sense, rightly, their claims override, for her, all other claims. She is the special trustee of their interests. The function of the husband is to see that this natural preference of hers is not given its head. He has the last word in order to protect other people from the intense family patriotism of the wife. If anyone doubts this, let me ask a simple question. If your dog has bitten the child next door, or if your child has hurt the dog next door, which would you sooner have to deal with, the master of that house or the mistress? Or, if you are a married woman, let me ask you this question. Much as you admire your husband, would you not say that his chief failing is his tendency not to stick up for his rights and yours against the neighbors as vigorously as you would like? A bit of an Appeaser?”

Yep. I, too, was thrilled. I think there’s a whole lot more to it than that, mind you. But it’s definitely a worthy and dependable name to spit out in defense of men at the dinner table when your feminist friend comes to dinner, and comes with a small pre-set argument.

I am the last person who would say that women are not useful, or in any way a lesser person then men. I am extremely proud of my gender. I tend to look upon the most feminine, maternal people with a great respect and jealousy, and the more I am like them, the happier and more at peace I find myself. I feel taken care of, but on the other hand, I feel like everyone respects the role I’m able to provide, and James, my husband, feels more confident in his role by providing it.

Anyway, I just wanted to share that little bit of fun with you. I’ll post again shortly.

What? This is going to come in VOLUMES? Are you kidding?

No. There’s a lot I have to say on the issue! I write romance novels, so I like I know how I write spanking scenes. But I’m also in a DD relationship, so I know how to take spanking scenes. And they’re different. You can’t read a story and think that’s just the way you actually spank someone, and the more you read the more you’re going to do it right.

In a lot of ways, spanking is like exercising. You can’t read yourself thin. You got to get on that treadmill and do it over and over and over again until your thighs stop rubbing together when you walk. Spanking is much the same way: you can’t become a good disciplinarian by reading about it.

Are you seriously writing to tell your audience that you shouldn’t be reading about all of this?

Well, I like to think I’m an information wizard, but I’m also a realist. I’m just here to INFORM you about the REALITY of the situation.

Lesson Number One: Over the Knee Spankings

Is the chair for sitting or for spanking?

It normally doesn’t look like this. Not discipline spankings. In fact—my mind cannot fathom what situation is going on here.

Over the knee spankings make a lot of sense, on the whole: you can put your leg over the woman’s to keep her legs from kicking all around at you, you can pin her hands back from covering herself, and you have your spanking hand wide open to accomplish its purposes.

Over the chair can get sort of… Hard. In writings, you see this all the time. Romanticspankings.com, for example, has a story called “The Spanking Chair”. I’d say 95% of spankings within erotic literature have the man giving the woman a spanking over the knee as he sits on the chair. I did it in my own, story, for god sakes! Pursuit of Glory has several chair spankings in it, which I admit doesn’t depict any of the downsides of chair spankings.

The Downsides of Chair Spankings

1. It’s hard to position the bottom right in the middle of your lap.

You’ll find there are ribs and all sort of things in your way. You’ll think “Wow.. My lap is wide!” Because it is. It’s not some sort of bar she’s leaning over—her mid-thigh to her chest area will be resting on two knees, and all of her weight will be on your knees. It might be tough on you, even, to support that sort of weight.

2. You really can’t hold her legs down that well, causing you to lose control.

If you try to pin her legs with one of yours, that means your other knee will be driving into her stomach, since there’s nothing else supporting her weight.

3. Blood will start quickly flowing into the face of the spankee.

Gravity. What are you gonna do? But seriously, if her face is lower than the rest of her body, that’s where all the blood’s gonna go, and it’s not pleasant. I’m sure there’s some countries that hang people upside down as a torture.

4. The spankee will find difficulty breathing.

This is mainly because most of your body weight is on his lap, going through your stomach area. It’s not impossible to breath, but you can’t breathe deeply. A knee’s jamming into your stomach, for crying out loud! However, this will probably take you mind off the pain a bit…

5. You can’t hold the spankee’s arms back, or else she will have even more difficulty breathing.

Your spankee needs her hands free to be able to put them on the floor to support her body weight. She might alternate hands to keep one on her butt and away from your hand, but she’s really going to need both of them to be free, or else her arms may wear out quickly.

Let me illustrate my point with some examples, may I?

  1. 1. This will simply not do it for discipline, folks. The hands are in a state of propel. They are free. They will cover the bottom, they will push her body away at the first signs of real pain.
  2. 2. See where the feet are? That’s right. Comfortably on the ground. Soon, they will propel her wherever she wants to go, because she is still in control of her body with her feet like this.

This is what’s going to happen. See…. Her head will become filled with blood and she’ll get a headache, her arms are both free…

This isn’t quite the same thing, is it? Because it’s a sofa-thing, not a chair thing. But it’s an AWESOME piece of furniture. I like it.

But I think you get my point, though, folks. Just because it works in your mind doesn’t mean it’s that easy to do in practice. Supportive/negative commentary, anyone? People need to know the facts about this position.

I think it is a common agreement among many in the spanking community that they do not let their DD or their spanking interests become public knowledge. No public spankings. In the unlikely instance that the police (or anyone else) ever came to the door on a noise complaint from a worried neighbor, an educated spanko will say, “Oh, we were just getting into it with sex games”. This is because most people just won’t understand real discipline spanking. They get “BDSM”. Ride on the back of that to keep from people considering you a “wife-beater” or “battered wife”. They’re not going to “get it”. Don’t even try.

What’s even BETTER known is, even if you would LOVE to tell your family what you do and how your relationship works, you don’t. You shouldn’t.

But it’s hard if you have a family member that REALLY needs it. Take James’ family. You’ve never seen so many girls in one family that need a spanking. It’s ridiculous. There’s…

  1. My sister-in-law. She’s just turned 21, and has more than 10 speeding tickets (all for going significantly (20+ mph) over the speed limit). She’s failed most of her college classes, dropped out, is late to everything and parties every night. She’s recently started smoking, too. When she speaks, she’s nothing but bratty, selfish and sarcastic. What’s really horrible about the situation is that she’s a good, hard-working girl who just needs a decent, hard-working well-adjusted guy to give her a spanking every day for a year or so, and she’d be fixed right up. She’s pretty too… Any guys out there up for a challenge? What’s harder about her, is James KNOWS for a FACT that when she was a child she was just as interested in spanking as he was (nothing creepy, just from her keen interest in specific scenes in books like Little House on the Prairie, Caddie Woodlawn, and other books where a discipline spanking is described). But, they haven’t talked about it at all for 12 years or so, and never in the context of a DD relationship. However, chances are that she’s still into it. Anyway… If a willing (and age appropriate J) guy wants to be set up in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area… I’d make arrangements for the right guy. That’s all I’m saying.
  2. James’ cousin. Barbara is a hard worker, and dependable when it comes to showing up to family functions. She’s a successful lawyer, and she’s good at her job. Too bad that she’s in her early 30s and there’s very little HOPE that she’ll ever marry. Even though she’s beautiful. Why? Because she’s the rudest person you’ve ever met in your life. You get used to it—her family brushes it off based on the fact that she’s OCD and slightly bipolar—but she’s not rude because of either of those things. You can tell that she’s just rude because she thinks that makes her cool.

    Don’t get me wrong. You can NOT spank OCD or bipolar out of someone, nor should you try, those are real psychological issues. However, neither of those FORCES a person to be rude, and when people tolerate that behavior it just reinforces it. I feel bad for her, because it seems like nobody has ever stood up to her about anything, instead they just refuse to get close to her.

  3. James’ other cousin. Hillary is nice, but very lazy. Her parents’ house is close to being foreclosed on, and her father lost his job, yet she still won’t get her own apartment or make any attempt to pay rent. Far more interested in buying a new cell phone. I don’t know if spanking can cure selfish, but I would sure like to see it tried!

    That’s most of James’ female relatives! At least in this generation. And they all need a spanking. But not just any spanking—one from a very, very patient guy who cares a lot about results and can see hidden potential. Someone who’s not perturbed by a fixer-upper.

James and I actually plan to break the “no telling family” rule one day. We think it would be good to eventually tell James’ mother that I do bring in some income, and at least some aspects of what I actually DO. But we want to wait until I’m pregnant with her SECOND grandchild (not the first, but the second). That way, we’ll have been married for about six years and she’ll be able to see that we’re perfectly happy and well-invested in our relationship and that it’s something that really, truly works. But we can never tell anyone else. Nobody else would have a chance of getting it. Certainly not MY parents. My brother would understand but he would tell my parents as soon as I told him.

I think the most horrible thing, as you can see, is seeing a problem, and thinking it could be fixed, but not being able to offer your advice. Like to James’ sister—she might really want a guy who spanks her. I’m 90% sure that she would. But that 10% leaves us in a world of doubt… SHOULD we tell her what we do? Maybe she would find some match on the internet. I don’t know what to do. I want to see her leading a better life than she is now. She needs to be reigned in, and her loser-boyfriend, who’s she’s not even that serious with—ain’t gonna do it. He can barely manage his own life!

Anyway, you can see how torn I am. I think about it constantly—should I open that door? Or should I do the sensible thing all spankos do—shut the door, lock it, bolt it, and put a heavy chair under the knob just in case.

Any opinions or commentary would be appreciated, folks. If you had a sister-in-law that you wanted with a good guy who would do the only thing that would work for her—to spank her—would you finally “Open the door” on the spanking secret? Or should I sew my lips shut?


As some of you know, I’m an Oregonian who currently lives in Texas. In all my days driving through Oregon, I have only had to pay one toll—which was to cross the Bridge of the Gods into Washington. Oregon uses gas taxes as a means of paying for roads, and it really seems that they have taken that to heart, and therefore keep the amount of toll-paying down as much as possible.

Nowhere else, it seems, is that way. I was aghast when I had to pay 3 dollars every time I came from New Jersey to Philadelphia when I lived in Pennsylvania a couple of summers ago. I’ve just gone without paying a time or two. I was in a rental car, anyway. But now, I’m not so lucky. I never have that much money in my car—hell, I’m lucky if I have 90 cents in change. Isn’t that what they designed credit cards for? Not having to worry about the frivolities of physical cash?

So, when I had to pay the toll last summer while visiting a lady about cake for my wedding, I didn’t have money in the car. So I just went through the toll booth in the lane for cars with an electronic toll tag, even though I don’t have one. This had happened before—the state takes down my license plate and sends me a bill, tacking on an extra dollar for the inconvenience I’ve laden upon them.

So, I got a bill for this day, too. And I meant to pay it… But then it ended up in a drawer somewhere and I forgot about it.

And I meant to pay when I got the first and second reminder letters, too. But come on—you know how these things are! You stick them somewhere, and you only think about them when you get a bill from a BILL COLLECTION AGENCY with an additional payment of FIFTY BUCKS for not paying the toll.

I almost piddled myself when I saw the letter in the mailbox—an official sort of letter from Idaho with my name on it. I do no business with Idaho, so I had a feeling it was nothing good. The only attention I might have deserved from Idaho was because of a toll road in TEXAS.

So, surely my credit’s taken a hit at this point, and I’m writing a check from our joint checking account, knowing that I’m going to have to come clean because James is the type who would look at our bank statement and wonder what a $50 charge was doing on there.

Unfortunately, not saying anything about it and hoping James would never notice wasn’t an option. Not saying anything about something like this is as good as lying in James’ book. And I’ve never had the spanking for lying. James assures me that I really don’t want to go there. When he talks about people deserving an “extreme spanking” where a switch is cut and all that nonsense, he describes the deservees as “women who drive drunk and women who lie to their husbands”. So he puts lying to him up there with drunk driving and getting arrested. Perfect. He says it is because trust is so very critical to a marriage.

So, knowing that I was going to have to tell James and just really, really hope that James had the best day EVER, I was dreading his coming home. He had gone with friends to play a game of disc golf that afternoon. I tried to make things better on myself by helping out in “The Wood Room”, which is a room in our house that James is rebuilding (so named for its partly finished wooden paneled walls). The previous owner started converting the garage into a room, but only got about halfway done. I cleaned the dust and excess wall texturing off of the windows that were open right in front of the driveway.

Chris, James’ best friend, was actually driving the group to and from disc-golf, which is a rarity. Normally James comes home all by himself, as he has to spend an hour dropping off his friends, but when they both drove into the driveway, my spirits were up since they were both in a rather good mood—meaning that James probably won a game. Finally, James came in and asked how my day was and immediately thanked me for helping with the room.

I had been working very hard all day—painting cabinets in the kitchen. Which really was not fun at all, and I probably looked as tired as I felt. So, when I finally told him about the bill, I sounded very angry with myself and the whole situation. He said that we would take a shower and talk about it later, but was cut short because Chris was suddenly standing right in front of the open windows.

James was about to discuss my upcoming spanking, which would have made a very good side-story to the event, because we were about to blow Chris’ mind with the private details of our relationship. He had come back to grab his cell phone (which he’d forgotten at our place), no doubt in time to hear my confession and see how miserable I was about it. If it was me looking in on the situation, my brain would have already gone to what was going to happen. But I don’t think Chris is that imaginative.

Because, at this point, James didn’t say anything about spanking yet—I like to think he won’t decide to do it, although he said, “Take a shower with me, and afterwards we’ll talk about it.” Yeah, we’ll “talk” about it. But it hasn’t happened yet when he says “talk about it” that way that we’ve “talked about it” when I wasn’t bare-assed and draped over his knee.

Still, we showered together (we’re big on doing that even when we aren’t in the mood for anything sexual, because we can chat without being distracted by anything, and we both like taking long showers), and we tried to talk about other things besides what I’d done. But I couldn’t keep myself from bringing up the issue. I was frustrated with myself. “I can’t believe I let that happen!” I grumbled.

“I know that sort of thing happens sometimes. I know you sometimes have trouble remembering things,” he shrugged simply and kissed me. “Don’t worry about it right now. After we’re out of the shower, you should do a short write up on what happened exactly—because I don’t really understand, and because it would be something to put on your blog. I’ll read it, and then we’ll talk about it.”

“Is there anything I can do to avoid a spanking?” I said, truly hoping there was something I could do to get out of it.

“No,” he said gently, so not to upset me. “I really don’t think so.”

I sighed, feeling suddenly resigned to my fate.

After the shower, I got on the computer and typed up this:

Back when visiting the cake lady for my wedding, I had to go through the toll booth. When I saw it coming up, I tried to get off the road and go around, but my attempts didn’t work. I didn’t have money in my car and I had very little change in my car. My ash tray merely contained pennies at that moment. So, I just went through. And I wasn’t worried, because a similar situation had happened before, where for a few extra cents, I could pay online after they sent me a bill. On the way back, I was on the phone, forgot about tollbooths, and got hit again by the bill. Again, I was unconcerned. The bill was going to come anyway.


So, a couple of months later, the bill did come. I can’t remember when it did, but I have a feeling it was just in time for the month of my wedding, and it was immediately forgotten about.

And another bill came. I’m sure it said, “Seriously. Pay it.” And I really meant to—I was just not on the internet already, and I meant to get back to it. And it got buried in paperwork and forgotten about. I can’t remember if there was a third or not—but if there was, I didn’t even open it. I just meant to get online with my credit card and pay it. But I kept forgetting to do it.

And so, today, I saw an envelope, that was quite thick and from Idaho. It was from a financing company, asking for money for my tickets, originally of a $2.50 value, and with $50 of administrative fees. Now, I just feel foolish. $50 is a lot of money! And all because I kept putting something off…

Of course, this sealed the deal. James hadn’t quite understood before that I had gotten two extra warnings from the toll road company. So, there was quite a few “boo-boos” involved. After I had handed him the laptop and he sat down to read what I had written, he sent me into the bedroom and told me to undress (even though I had JUST gotten dressed) and to be in the corner with only my panties on, and to have the belt and the paddle out of the closet and on the bed.

A trifecta of punishment is nothing to look forward to. But preparing for the eventual punishment, for me, is far easier than receiving extra for not doing as instructed. I got ready, and by the time I was nearly naked in the corner, James was done reading and was in the bedroom, thanking me for getting all of that done and, as always, he told me he loved me very much.

Then he started the lecture. Listening to his lecturing always tends to be a bit awkward—I’m nearly naked, and I’m normally very nervous and twitchy. But I do remember him mentioning the point that if I had just gone through the toll booth without paying, it’s no big deal. Even if I forgot to pay until the first notice, it’s no big deal, probably just a few swats with his hand, if anything. But ignoring the first notice… and then ignoring the SECOND notice… and possibly a THIRD… that got me into REAL trouble. And from now on, if he sees a bill waiting around the house that I haven’t taken care of, I will get spanked immediately. (A bill specifically for me that is, James takes care of most of our finances, and we share our bank account, so I don’t have very many bills to pay.) If I ever let something go this far without taking care of it again, I’ll get a switching. (No, I’ve never actually been switched yet. It just sounds scary. James would never break the skin of course, but I’m sure it would hurt far worse than any spanking I’ve had before.) When I see something important I need to take care of, I need drop everything I’m doing and take care of it so that I don’t forget. I’m sure there was more to the lecture, but that was the bulk of it.

And then I was pulled gently over his lap and the spanking began. As always, it started with the hand. You might think “Oh, a warm up!” But you’re wrong. I swear James is a distant relation to the Tin Man. Call it what you will, but I’m definitely going to call it part of the real deal. It was even much longer of a hand spanking than usual, with special attention being paid to the backs of my thighs and the inner sides of my bottom cheeks.

After this “Warm up” my ass was already beat-red, and I was already crying. (And normally a hand spanking does NOT bring the tears out of me). He saw that I was already upset and gave me a hug and held me for awhile before he sent me back into the corner for a few minutes. (Trust me—corner time is awesome. It’s time to cool down and collect myself so I don’t lose it completely.) Afterwards, it was another lecture and we were back at it.

You all might remember the last BIG spanking I got with the belt. Well, this was no different. It was another moment of me laying with my back on the bed, James holding up my legs and going to town on my bottom. He spanked my already red bottom and thighs all over again. But I was bawling already, enough so he had to stop a couple of times to comfort me and give me a rest. But he wouldn’t be talked out of finishing.

I cried all through my corner time afterwards. My bottom was throbbing, and most of all, I felt so stupid. He thought it was going to make me feel better when he came back with the wooden spoon and said that he was going to use that instead of the paddle. But I don’t remember it making me feel any better—I was pretty inconsolable.

I don’t know why, but when your ass is that red, you can feel everything! FINGERS feel like murder, let alone a wooden spoon. It felt like medieval weaponry. When he finally decided that my ass was PLENTY red, he gave me my last 10 spanks on the inside of my thighs—which I think were even more tender than my bottom. I think that might have been his point, though—he KNEW I hated those, but he wanted me to learn the lesson so he never had to follow through with the threat of cutting a switch. He made it clear that he really wanted it to be the last spanking for at least a good while, especially about the issue of procrastinating and then forgetting important things. (Yet, I got a spanking not three days later because of the food journal issue, which I wrote about a few days ago). Fortunately for me, he didn’t follow through and use the switch for that spanking, because he felt he hadn’t been reminding me properly. Of course he had no such worries in this case, since he had never known about the toll issue in the first place.

Afterwards, he had to comfort me for a LONG time before I felt normal again. It’s funny how the events during the course of the day could turn to that. An ass that I LITERALLY could not sit with for 2 full days. Sigh!

I like to think one day I’ll screw my head on straight and avoid forever these sorts of situations. I’ve been doing quite well with the checklist James made me print out, so I think I’m on the right track.

A lot of you know that I’m one of those who treat Domestic Discipline as some sort of “cause”, and my husband and I, therefore, try to live as examples for other couples who might at some point consider using DD as a part of their relationship. Not that we’ve told any of our real life couple friends yet, but someday we might, and we would like to have some concrete examples of how it has helped us, both individually and as a couple.

We both believe that DD can help women accomplish goals that they have trouble accomplishing themselves. Achieving a goal weight is a prime example of this, since weight loss is a goal shared by so many women. It is also often a difficult and stressful goal to achieve, and one where we think domestic discipline can really play a useful role. Remember that we are talking here about goals that women have set for themselves. There are some rules that James makes, and enforces, whether I like it or not. The no swearing rule was one example, since I strongly disagreed with it when James and I first met, although I’m glad for it now. However, for a couple who is new to DD, a possible starting point might be the husband helping the wife to achieve some of her own, personal goals. It is a less daunting starting point for two reasons. First, from the wife’s perspective, she isn’t going to feel bullied or pushed around, because she is setting the goals herself. Second, from the husband’s perspective, he doesn’t have to feel any guilt or worry about spanking his wife when she isn’t making choices that will help her reach her goals, because she set the goals herself, and she asked for his help. This makes it easier for him to ignore pouting, whining, arguing, or in my case, the patented “Aren’t you being unreasonable?” look.

Now, back to the original point. When I have the body of a fine-tuned athlete with skinny legs (“Mick-Jagger legs” as I used to call them) and rock-hard abs as I did in high school, I still weigh 130 lbs. But right now I weigh 150. Since I got up to 180 in college, I think 150 is astounding, and a weight I have not seen in many moons. And for the most part, I think I already look quite good, and James agrees. I’m not overweight, but as most of you women out there know—it’s not about looking “normal”. It’s about looking like a scorching hottie. We can accept nothing less from ourselves. Losing about 15 pounds is a goal I have set for myself. I spent the first year and a half since James and I met trying to achieve it on my own, with very limited success, so right after we got married I asked James to help. Losing weight over the honeymoon and over the Christmas holidays just wasn’t going to happen, and James didn’t even try to make or enforce any weight related rules. After the New Year, James asked me if I still wanted his help. He told me he thinks I’m very beautiful at my current weight, and so he was fine with whatever decision I made. He asked me to think about it, and make sure I wanted his help, since if he did help, he was making a promise to me that he would make sure I succeeded. I thought about it, and decided that I did want his help.

In addition to looking my best, I figure that if I can reach 130 again, and people ask how it’s done, I’ll just tell them, “My husband made me keep to it. Because he spanks me.” (Not EXACTLY that sentence. I’m working on it.)

However, setting the goal is much easier than achieving the goal. And for James, offering to help is much easier than actually following through and making sure I eat right and exercise. And James has witnessed that although it seems I mind my eating habits and workout habits carefully, I still can’t lose weight. He maintains that I haven’t been able to work out and eat right consistently. He claims I do it for a week at a time, and then stop, and then start again later. And so, we’ve taken to the food journal. The food journal, in theory, removes any ambiguity from the process, since I can record exactly what I ate and when, and also whether or not I exercised, for how long, etc. I agreed to try “James’ way”, which I am skeptical of, because it is basically just what I’ve been trying for months now, except with James monitoring the process. If it works out, then James saying “I told you so” is a small price to pay for being skinny. If it doesn’t, James will be able to attest to the fact that all the usual “diet and exercise” ideas aren’t working, and I can go to a nutritionist and expect magic out of him. It helps if you have written down beforehand how much you’re working out, how much you drink, how much you eat, and what time you DO all of that. At the end of the day, I expect that nutritionist to pass me over a magic pill that will cure me of pudge.

Food journals, however, are NOT easy. I have trouble remembering to take a pill every day, let ALONE remember to write it down every time I pull a Trisket out of the pantry. But for my goals, it must be done.

I’ve really been sucking it up on this task. In general, remembering to do things I don’t really want to do is very difficult for me. This doesn’t just apply to the food journal, it has come up many other times as well. In fact, you’ll see another example in an upcoming post. I’ve never gotten so many spankings for one thing. My husband reminded me after my latest spanking the other day, “You have to start remember to do the things you promise to do. You’ve gotten more spankings over this issue than everything else put together.” And it’s true.

Many of you, like me, remember the spanking I got in the beginning of this March. You can look back into the archives if you don’t know what I’m talking about (or just click HERE). That spanking was truly awful. The spanking I received this last Saturday, however, was pretty odd for a repeat spanking due to the fact that it could have been much worse, and I couldn’t have argued about that.

My parents had come to town for about ten days, and after the 3rd day I lost my food journal (and I didn’t look very hard for it, to be honest), then even when I found it a couple of days later I didn’t add anything to it. After the last spanking, you’ll recall, I set up Microsoft Outlook so that every evening at 8:30 I get a reminder about my food journal. I got these messages, but then proceeded to ignore them. So, when I was filling in the pages with the best of my memory after my folks’ departure, I fessed up to what I was doing. I didn’t want to be accused of lying (which I really never want to be accused of, since James informs me that the spanking would be of historical proportions). James was in the middle of making a pizza, but he became very thoughtful.

After the pizza was made, however, he sent me, with my food journal, into the bedroom. (The bedroom has informally become the “punishment room”. I don’t think this is for any reason except that I feel uncomfortable being spanked in wide open spaces like the living room, and we’re creatures of habit). I mildly protested, but not for too long. He looked serious, but not angry. Just disappointed.

Without much further ado, I did as I was told. James was right behind me, and began the lecture as soon as he rounded the doorframe. “I know it’s not easy,” he began. “And I know that your parents are distracting, and I’m really grateful for all the work you guys did on the house. But you really have to remember the food journal. It’s just one thing. And you HAVE to do it right after you eat—every time. I blame myself this time; I need to remind you.” You see, James has asked me on several occasions to make a daily checklist, so I don’t forget things, but he’s never MADE me do it. The Outlook reminder was my alternative to the checklist, which James approved grudgingly. After that previous spanking, James was planning to remind me himself, after each meal, to fill out the food journal, but he failed miserably at this.

“I need to be stricter and more consistent and check your journal more often so every time you forget it doesn’t end up being a big spanking because you’ve forgotten for a week or more.” But he says this while he’s going into the closet for his belt. So I’m nervous already. “Bend over the bed.” He ordered, after which he peeled off my pants and panties and had me step out of them. He positioned me once on the corner of the bed, so that my legs would be apart, but when he asked, I admitted that my leg was feeling a little awkwardly placed, and so he put me back so I was bending over the long side of the bed with my legs on the ground (but still apart).


“How many days did you fail to write in your journal?” he asked, opening the book.

“I started writing again here,” I admitted, pointing at the book page.

“How many days?”

“Seven.” I said, glancing at it.

“Seven days times three meals a day, then. So that’s 21 strokes.” He figured. “It’s not going to be as bad as spankings I’ve given you before, because I haven’t been doing my job, but it’s going to get my point across.”

Then the first stroke fell. SMACK! Mind you; the belt sounds just as scary as it feels. But for some reason, you hear the sound before you feel the pain. I don’t understand the science of this.

But overall, James is becoming better at wielding the belt without bruising me. He has better control now, and he doesn’t hit with it as hard as he used to. Yet as soon as the belt hit the thighs…

Shudder. The belt, when connecting to the thighs, leaves an instant welt. There’s no “standing in place” to receive it. You FEEL it, and you RESPOND. Poor James always has to put an arm around my waist just to keep me in place. I certainly can’t do it on my own. And it’s harder in this position for James to keep me from putting my hands back there. Not to mention how easy it is just to stand up.

But it ended, and none-too-soon. The side of my ass was annoying me by hurting more than anywhere else. You can really tell, when being belted, how much the chub on your butt is protecting you from bruising, and as soon as there’s no fat somewhere… bruise, bruise, bruise! Luckily, everything’s gone now, and not many even lasted to the next day.

At the end of the spanking, as usual, James held me and comforted me. I wasn’t crying this time—just a bit rattled. I felt worse for James—he repeated his earlier lecture and told me that he wanted me to write out a “daily check list” and apologized consistently for “letting me down” and “not doing his job”. It’s wonderful to know that James takes my goals so seriously.

Afterwards, I made out a simple checklist and attached it to the fridge—just a “did you write down breakfast/lunch/dinner/night yogurt/other/exercise?” for the days of the week. I attached it to the fridge since I tend to open it by habit upon entering the kitchen—even if I want something that’s not a fridge-item. Like a pair of scissors. Hopefully I can keep with it. If not—you’ll be seeing a lot of spankings from here on out!

Hi Bloggers,

Sorry I haven’t written in awhile—for some reason, Spring has always been my busiest time of year. Mostly because it’s the only time you can actually get out and do things in Austin. Like painting the house and doing yard work, home construction projects, and all the other things that make me sick.

I’ve been in Albuquerque as well—as my husband could easily get a job there with the sort of research he does. Let me tell you all—that was an emotional rollercoaster for us. The first couple of days we were there, he went to meetings that he didn’t enjoy, and we decided to drive around in the crappiest part of town. We also don’t like Adobe or Pueblo-style houses. At first, we thought it was ugly. By the way—Sante Fe is REALLY ugly if you don’t like Pueblo-style houses. Don’t even go there if that’s the case. It’s like the whole city was built on a theme. To me, it looked like an Afghan refugee camp. Yet, everyone I’ve ever known that’s gone there thinks it’s “gorgeous”.

But, by the end of the trip, we decided we liked Albuquerque. We found some normal houses, areas that we wouldn’t mind living, we bought a condo as an investment, too—that was an odd turn—but we had an enjoyable time.

SO…. ANYTHING ABOUT SPANKINGS, KOREY? OR ALL YOU GOING TO JIBBER-JABBER ABOUT YOUR PERSONAL LIFE?

I never know how much of my real-life I’m supposed to put in this blog. So work with me while I find the balance. My husband thinks that you guys might actually give a hoot about my real life, but I tend to think you just like the stuff about spankings. So we’ll do some tests and see, shall we?

THE SPANKING CONVENTION

I would love to hear about the spanking party that was held in Dallas on the 30th-31st. I wanted to go. I was even in Dallas at the time (for my sister-in-law’s B-day party)—but because of my reason for being there, I had to miss it. ABCD Webmasters, the company I work for, had a table there in the vendor’s fair, with catalogs and videos and everything else. I would have loved to run the vendor’s fair. Hopefully next year Bethany will ask me to do it.

My real question is what the hell happens at spanking parties? I would love someone to do a write-up commentary about one. I’m full of questions and curiosity about such events. I would love to go, too—my only rule is…

KOREY’S RULE #1: KOREY WILL EVER ONLY BE SPANKED BY HER HUSBAND.

Not that the other thought isn’t fun and kinky—I write stories where people other than the heroine get spanked. But I feel that James and I have an intimacy through spankings that I would par near sex. I wouldn’t have sex with anyone else, so I wouldn’t want to be spanked by anyone else. Now, my knowledge about parties concerns me since I don’t know if I’m supposed to be pulled unexpectantly over someone’s knee. I don’t know. Next year, I’ll be giving a full report.

Either way, the vendor’s fair sounds absolutely awesome. I’m a spanking salesman at heart.

ANY SPANKINGS DURING YOUR THOUGHTLESS HIATUS?

Oh, God. Do I! I’m writing it up right now. It’s going to be long, and will be posted in the next couple of days! Stay tuned!

Here’s a fantasy that James and I share: to have some real life friends somewhere around our age that also believe in DD/CDD. Just to go camping with, go on picnics, go to the movies, bowling, dinner parties—the kind of things we do with our non-spanking friends! But it’s hard for us to find any in the area. And let’s face it, if they invent teleporting tomorrow and we were suddenly able to teleport from Austin to Timbuktu in a heartbeat—it would STILL be a problem.

And here’s why: they’re hard to find. Couples that practice DD are really hard to find and what’s HARDER to find is a DD relationship if you’re a single person, so if we do have a friend who’s into DD, double-dating is still off because it’s so hard to get that person together with someone who’s not old, bald, and creepy.

And I know why! Because many women of my generation—women in their late teens, twenties, and early thirties, were raised in a culture completely dominated by radical feminism. And some of us rebelled—at least subconsciously. We fought “the Man”, except this time “the Man” wasn’t a patriarchal head of household figure or an old white guy. Instead “the Man” was Gloria Steinem and Molly Ivins and the National Organization for Women. Some of us want to be housewives, and stay home when we have young children. And many who do have careers outside the home still want to feel taken care of and watched over when they are at home.

Men of my generation, on the other hand, grew up thinking that women are equal in every single way, or hell—better than them. And if you hit one, you’re toast (which is a good thing). However, they have also had it pounded into their heads that spanking = hitting, and thus they are not willing to spank when it is called for. Also, so many men (and women, of course, but let’s look at men) don’t feel that they should lead by example—they don’t have to anymore. Their wives are going to take care of them and their lives and they can sit watching football all day long, drinking beer, and being lazy. In essence, they can be Homer Simpson, and get away with it. That is what society expects of them, and they are more than willing to fulfill those lousy expectations.

This is not their fault alone—today’s society created these people. For centuries, men have been expected to provide for and protect their families, to treat women with chivalry, to work hard and try to do what is right, and to teach their sons to do the same. Not all men lived up to these expectations, of course, but those who did were treated with respect by their wives and by society at large. Now, in the last fifty years, society has told men that they don’t need to be the head of their household! Those men who try to act as head of household (with or without any form of discipline to enforce their decisions) are portrayed in popular culture as chauvinistic, insecure, violent, and sexually repressed, among other things. In fact, men are often treated as if they’re not needed in society at all. Women will do everything. Just put your sperm in the jar before you leave the planet so there can be future generations. When men are raised with those sorts of values, and they can behave that way and still get sex (often without even needing to get married), it is easy to understand why so many men just go with the flow, and sink to the level society expects of them.

Meanwhile, many men of the baby boomer generation have seen the problems that feminists have created (with the willing collaboration of lazy men). They see the high divorce rate, broken families, disrespectful children, and a generally cruder culture. Many of them just want a return to more traditional gender roles in society. Others of them are divorced and think that DD could have helped their previous marriage. Some, unfortunately, have become embittered by women and want revenge of some sort.

A significant number of these men are now looking for relationships where they are the unquestioned head of the household. In some cases they are now looking for a DD relationship, or a relationship that includes spanking or some other form of discipline. Sadly, though, these guys a lot of times have no idea what they are doing, or they are dramatically disillusioned.

Due to the anti-feminist rebellion of many in the younger generation of women and the large number of aging, divorced baby-boomer men, there is a HUGE age gap between women and men who are looking for DD relationships.

I’m not talking about EVERYONE, obviously. I’m just making generalizations from what I witness on various blogs, forums, and personal sites.

However, my heart really, truly goes out to the poor young women—of marrying age, particularly, who want to settle down with a man who can provide for them, care for them, and discipline them when they need it. There seem to be few of them to be found where the women are looking, and probably it’s just such a small population anyway and they’re hard to bring out into the light. Society does not look kindly on a man who openly admits that he spanks his wife when necessary. Some of these men (and women, of course) don’t even know that there are other people like them.

Women tend to think more on the issue—they want discipline. They read stories about it and have really made it a huge fantasy that many feel they can’t be happy without. Their soul yearns for it.

I’ve said it before: I want to help people get together. I want everyone to experience the personal fulfillment and joy I feel on a daily basis. And so I’ve resolved to find the best ways to match up folks. And yes—I feel everyone should be matched up. Personally, I don’t favor the “free sex” lifestyle of modern day America, where women are expected to drop their pants and destroy their modesty on the first date. It’s not all about sex.

ABCD webmasters (the group behind Bethany’s Woodshed and Romanic Spankings, among others) is coming out with a social network, where everybody who likes spanking can come together and sing camp songs or whatever, and I’m administrator of that site, but we’re not going to go to personals right out of the shoot.

Right now, it’s Spanking Internet. That is the site on which I met James, and so I am eternally grateful. HOWEVER—there are a LOT of creeps on there. They’re unchecked, and they’re sometimes very spooky, and they often overshadow the normal guys, so beware! When I met James, there wasn’t a way, unless you were a paid member, to search only within a given age range, but fortunately now there is, which makes it easier. It is also free to use the personals section.

So take heart, you lonely DDers! Things will look better by this summer, thanks to technology, and it is my pleasure to try to help you, advise you, and do everything I can. Read the first few posts I’ve made on this blog if you’ve never been in a DD relationship before, or if you’re just starting to look. There’s good stuff there.

If you need any advice, though—my husband and I are also here for you. My email’s koreymae@gmail.com or Korey.johnson@hotmail.com, I check both. Don’t hesitate to drop me a line. And always make read receipts with me to make sure your email’s going through. You’d be AMAZED how many problems I have with that!