Added: Camara Hammers - Date: 20.07.2021 19:02 - Views: 34795 - Clicks: 2098
When I first wrote this post on 2 October I had no option but to password protect it. Family members read my blog, friends read my blog, and I was ashamed — no, terrified — of such people finding out the intricacies of my internal psyche. Three years later and I am not so ashamed.
I have grown and evolved as a person. I am no longer scared of how other people may perceive it. That is why I have decided to lift the password protection. If people know my deepest, darkest secret, so what? It is nothing to be ashamed of. It is nothing I should hate myself because of. As Samantha used to say, it is simply one small thread in the multicoloured tapestry that is me.
So strap yourselves in for a journey through the kinkier recesses of my mind. A journey fraught with self-doubt, self-hatred and immense, unwavering passion. A journey that will, undoubtedly, warm the very cockles of your heart posterior. Note: Meadhbh has convinced me to lift the password protection on this epic post with one proviso: family members are politely asked to read no further. Thank you!
But I wish to make it absolutely clear that I do not condone nor agree with the corporal punishment of children. There are always better disciplinary methods available to parents. Some of which can be found here. When I started this blog in October there were several topics I wanted to write about in order to understand what was happening to me: such as my self-harmmy suicide attemptsmy hallucinationsmy anxiety and my mood shifts. As were what is a spanking fetish about stigma and discrimination and the general day-to-day memes that proved I was more than the labels that had been branded upon me.
Then there was my kimnyk, which was the hardest thing of all to write about. So hard that, until now, I have never tackled it. Over the years I have heard every abusive comment under the sun from the people I trusted enough to share this information with. Girlfriends have told me I should undergo intensive counseling to cleanse this sickening horror from my soul. I was told that I will be alone for the rest of eternity as no-one could ever love someone either sexually or platonic who thinks as I do. I was even told that, asI should have been beaten on a daily basis to purge the evil from my soul.
All of which, to be completely honest, I find ludicrously over the top given all I have is a mild fetish for consensual spanking. A fetish that has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. But abuse I have received, frequently, and it is had a devastating impact on my mental health. My confidence, self-esteem, anxiety and depression have all be adversely affected by the reaction my fetish revelation has received.
And it has made me hate myself.
I have a spanking fetish. So what? But it does. I hate that people judge me for it. That they hold it against me. I hate that they mutter amongst themselves instead of speaking directly to my face and I hate that they label me as evil because I enjoy a consensual activity that, in the scheme of things, is pretty damned tame. The way I see it — like bipolar, self harm, anxiety and homelessness — my spanking desires are just a tiny thread in the multi-coloured tapestry that is me.
It is not a be all and end all definition of my personality. Nor is it a defining characteristic of my life. Just as I am more than my mental illnesses, I am more than my spanking. Each time my personality has become defined by one singular aspect of my being e.
More than anything though, people have concluded that my spanking fetish is the be all and end all definition of my personality. They have immediately responded to the information by attaching a plethora of stereotypes to my otherwise naive person that, patently, are not true. In the realm of spanking there are three basic personality types. Top or Dom ; who is the person giving the spanking. Bottom or Sub ; who is the person being spanked. Switch; who alternates between Top and Bottom. I am what is a spanking fetish switch. In other words I like both giving and receiving spankings.
I have little interest in the BDSM world such as heavy bondage, leather, PVC, electricity play, golden showers, chains, whips, dungeons etc. I am a spanking purist or spanko which means my pleasure lies in spanking and discipline only. Spanking for me does not always have to involve sex. Although I enjoy the occasional spanking as part of foreplay, I also have an interest in spanking as discipline i.
It is a common stereotype that people interested in spanking and BDSM were either abused as or wish to abuse others. When I write about spanking I am talking about the consenting action between two adults. If it is not consensual it is abuse. And I abhor abuse in every way, shape and form.
Also, I was never abused aswhich laughs in the face of that particular stereotype. Many people believe that there must be a psychological reason for my spanking desires. To them I ask why? I genuinely believe I was born with a spanking fetish; there is no psychological trauma, incident or repressed experience that created this part of me.
It is just part of my DNA; an aspect of my personality, like left-handedness, hair colour or height. There was no abuse in my childhood. I was never beaten, thrown into a cupboard for hours on end or violently threatened with hours of emotional torture. There were spankings — I was smacked on four occasions; twice with a hand, twice with a slipper — and all were deserved. There were also dozens of occasions where I was threatened with what is a spanking fetish spanking and half a dozen where I genuinely believed it was going to happen.
But this was all part and parcel of the time and place of my childhood. Unlike today, in the s, smacking was a common form of punishment. It was in comics, on television and written about in books. It was just a part of life. My earliest spanking memory: I was sitting in a dentist surgery with my mother and looking through a picture book.
On one was a picture of a boy in profile what is a spanking fetish a yellow T-Shirt and blue shorts. There were several arrows pointing to parts of his body with an explanation of what they were for e. I turned to my mother and showed her the picture, asking what spanking meant. She told me if I was good I would never have to find out. Nearly thirty years later I can still remember the butterflies of excitement that buzzed in my belly when I read that word. Excitement being the only word I can use to describe the emotion.
As time went on, and I became more aware of spanking, I did develop a fear of it. But this fear was always tinged with a deeply embedded desire to experience the reality of this enticing word. Every week in the Beano characters were getting spanked by hand or walloped with a slipper. In television shows, school children were receiving the cane or belt and cartoon animals were having their rumps roasted left right and center.
Each time I saw these scenes I became hypnotized by the act and found myself thinking about spanking more and more. The punishments my parents used were, for the most part, grounding or confiscation, neither of which had any real impact on me as I could just read books, play on the computer or watch TV; none of which felt like a punishment. My first spanking experience: My brother and I were fighting in the early hours of the morning and after three bollockings that fell on deaf ears my mum marched into the room, bent my brother over the bed and gave him three smacks of the slipper.
She then turned to terrified me, twisted me around, pulled my pajamas down and gave me three hard smacks of the slipper. Note: I was a bit of a brat back then!
I just laughed and said all that would do would make his trousers fall down. On a visit to my grandfather, after being told frequently not to, I smashed several heirlooms by playing football in the house because it was raining.
Only this fortuitous return of my mother, aghast at what she saw, prevented me from being belted that day. A few minutes later and that story would have a very different ending! After looking at me for several long, heart stopping minutes, she sent me to my room. His mother caught us and took her son over her knee for a long spanking i. One of the things all of these shocks and near-misses taught me was that I could get away with things.
It had been my idea to smoke the cigarettes but my friend had paid the price. About half an hour later she appeared in my bedroom and told me I had brought this on myself before smacking me six times with her slipper. I can remember walking to my room and changing into my pajamas. I can remember sitting on my bed and hugging a giant cuddly turtle wondering if I would escape once again. I remember my heart sinking when I saw my mother walk into the room with her slipper, sit beside me and begin scolding.What is a spanking fetish
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