When I was young my parents were very busy running a business. I did not see a lot of them. They employed two wonderful Italian women, one that was there by day and one by night and they were surrogate mothers in many ways. I became good friends with one of their daughters, in particular, and I was often over at her house or at the ‘coffee lounge’ her father ran.
In my home life and early school life, there was no spanking. There really was not even discipline. I did my homework and music practice without being asked. I got myself ready for school. I did my chores. I truly was very (and pathetically) good.
In the life of my friend, however, there was spanking and discipline. My friend’s mother was not always there with us when I was at their home and it always intrigued/appalled me that there was this rather odd and creepy neighbour who was in charge of us.
One day, my friend suggested we pull up some cucumbers from the garden and just eat them; right there, just like that. She devoured hers but I was not all that keen on cucumber without it being sliced. Anyway, maybe we did something else other than eat the cucumbers. It is a long time ago now. But, this neighbour had a fit, in Italian. I didn’t know what he was saying but it seems we were in big trouble. I was scared out of my wits.
He took my friend inside and soon thereafter, I could hear him strapping her hands with his belt. It was totally surreal to me. I had never seen or heard anything like this and I did not like hearing my friend being hurt. I expected to be next but it seems that I was just that Aussie kid from down the street and untouchable. I was spared the strap. He growled at her in Italian and I think the idea was for her to tell me later in English what it was all about but she did not want to talk about it.
There was another Italian man; dark, quiet; mysterious. When I looked out my bedroom window I often saw him standing on the corner, resting on a cane. I found him terribly creepy for reasons I can’t explain and I asked my parents about him. It seems that he said that he had hurt his back and whilst waiting for the compensation case to be settled he hung out where people could see him, using the cane to walk. (When the case was finalized and he received his payment he threw away the cane and was able to walk perfectly well. It was quite a co-incidence.) If I put myself back in my girlhood, I can still feel the same foreboding sense when around him. I travelled a long way out of my way to avoid him and felt sick whenever I saw him. I simply cannot explain that.
My mother was friends with a woman and her son was a good friend of my brother. Once, the family of four took me with them on a trip to the country. I can’t remember why they took me but I remember the conversation in the car. We were probably being a bit naughty in the back seat. Well, probably the sons were being naughty. I’m not kidding here. I truly was very, very good back then.
In an ominous voice the father said,
“If you keep doing that John, you know what will happen when we get home, don’t you?”
John was very agitated when he said that and he replied,
“You’ll take off your belt and beat me.”
I was in shock. I was living a truly sheltered life as far as these things were concerned.
“That’s right,” said the father.
I felt I had been given to vagabonds for the day. Who talked like this?
One day, a girlfriend and I went for a walk around the neighbourhood and to the sea. We were passing a house when we heard,
“Oh, no! Please father, no more! Pleeeeeese, no more.”
We could distinctly hear the sound of leather coming down on bare skin. We looked at each other in silent dismay. Could this really be happening to this poor boy?!
A few years later, my family moved to the country and for the first time in my life I went to school with girls and boys. They were a rather naughty lot of scallywags, the boys, but I liked them. One boy was always in trouble. There was this very mean teacher at that school and I guess he was in charge of discipline because one could often hear the strap being used liberally from his office. I don’t think I ever said a single word within 50 metres of that office. I was not giving him reason to strap my hands.
On this particular day, a young, innocent lass fresh out of university was conducting her History class when this nasty teacher strode by and saw her unable to control the class. He instructed the red haired, naughty boy to come with him and right outside the classroom, in our line of vision, he strapped his hands. I can still hear the piece of leather coming down. I can still see his outstretched hand. I can still see his reddened hands when he showed the other boys later. I honestly felt that I was in an asylum. Who did these things to children?
Is my kink, my desire to be controlled and spanked and whipped, anything at all to do with these memories? Have I in some way eroticized those awful images? I have no idea. All I can say is that I have wanted to be spanked from the age of five or so. Whilst waiting for the bath to draw I would bend over and touch my toes and imagine what it would be like to have someone behind me wielding an implement over my soft, white cheeks. So, if those images are responsible for my kink, I guess some of those sorts of images occurred at a very young age. I have no way of knowing when I first observed one of these horrid events.
I have always loathed the thought of someone else being hurt. I hated those movies about ‘Tom Brown’s School days’ when they caned a boy for whistling or whatever, at the same time as I held my breath, overcome with a desire so overwhelming that I did not know what to make of my own reactions. In bed that night, I would transpose what had happened to the small, dear little schoolboy onto me. I was no longer appalled. I was wet with desire. (Picture me on an overseas flight in my thirties with Roald Dahl's 'Boy' as my entertainment - appalled and burning with desire at the very same moment...)
And, so it goes. I would move mountains to defend my children from some situation where they were to be beaten at the same time as I crave it for myself; day dream about it; write about it; hope.
The only difference with my daydreams these days is that when the nasty, nasty man puts down his cane or his belt or his whip after punishing me, he takes down his pants and plunders me, not once but three times. I guess that makes me not only kinky but perverted. Oh well!
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Dear Vesta,
ReplyDeletei had my hands caned in school, like most of the children of my generation that went to school in Greece (Master included). It was not nice and it hurt. We were made to write out punishments afterwards which was very difficult with a sore and swollen hand. Once i got caned for making a spelling mistake.
Of course i never made that mistake again and although i am still dealing with "the" cane on a weekly basis, i tend to see this thing of the past as something completely separate. Well, maybe it is, maybe it isn't...
Thank you for this post.
cassie: The thoughts in this post were prompted by persephone's outstanding post, 'where kink comes from'. Here is the link:
ReplyDeletehttp://persephoneinlove.blogspot.com/2010/03/where-kink-comes-from.html
I don't know that anyone has a categorical answer to these questions but when you start to look at it as persephone suggests, it makes sense, to me anyway, that experiences in our childhood may have been eroticized in some way, or perhaps that we are seeking now what we did not have then.
For example, I didn't really have a childhood. I had to have the control to manage my own life from an early age. As an adult I love to give that control away. Maybe there is a link and maybe there is not. But, I think these ideas are worthy of exploration in giving us more insight about ourselves.
Sending a hug your way!
Vesta,
ReplyDeleteI was spanked a great deal as a child and even as a teenager. My mother was not opposed to pulling my trousers down in the middle of a popular female clothing store and smacking my panty clad bottom in front of whomever was present. As a young child, if memory serves me well, I was spanked on average once every two days. I have three other siblings and they were rarely, if ever spanked.
Unlike you, I was not a very obedient child - or as my grandmother always told me - I was an independent, curious child unwilling to accept such sentiments as "because I am your mother" or "because I told you so". I think I was a little of both - insolent and independent.
I do not consider my spankings abuse in any way shape or form. My mother disciplined me in the fashion she knew and understood and took what her parents had done to her as well as not doing some things her parents had done to her. I genuinely believe with each generation we learn better, more affective ways to teach our children and I genuinely believe my mother did the very best she could. My mother was the prime disciplinarian in my home, my father spanked me once when I was little, approximately 3 years young, and in his ministrations of my spanking he bruised my bottom and he vowed never to hit me again and he never did. He scared himself I am certain.
Although I am only 37 years young and the strap was removed from Canadian schools by the time I entered, I came from a small community of 100+ people and I attended a rather strict school that focused on etiquette and elocution as well as reading, writing and arithmetic. Due to the school being small the parents in the community had given the teachers permission to strap us and through those years I was hit on the hands, both palms and tops, the bottom and even the back of the head with everything from a persons hands to a metre stick to a metal ruler to a large dictionary.
I learned quickly that I could remove myself from my spankings and eventually I found myself laughing when my mother swatted me, in fact I can recall getting to the point that when I did something I should not do I would turn my body around, pull my pants down and bend over waiting for my mother to smack my bum. This of course infuriated her and slowly the spankings stopped or at least became very, very rare. The school continued to smack me and I confess the leather strap over the back of my hands followed by my palms was something I could not get past and to this day when I see such acts done in movies or in real life in kink scenes I cringe and wince and take no pleasure whatsoever from it.
In fact, when it comes to spankings I find I am not aroused at all. In fact, they seem to hurt far more now then they ever did back then when I was younger. And, when I watch others being spanked and I hear them cry, or whimper or scream I find I cringe and I am in awe and wonder how on earth that can be arousing.
ReplyDeleteWith that said, I have taken steps to embrace spankings and to try to explore such an act with an open mind. I have learned to take harder spankings and I like that I can endure the pain without flinching, still I am not certain if I will ever find them erotic.
So why this incredibly long story? I think our past definitely contributes to who we are and what we desire in the presence; however, I am not certain getting spanked has lead me to not finding them erotic. With that said, I will never know for certain as I have had my past and I am aware that everything in our life affects us, changes us, alters us in some way, on some level.
I do not agree to spanking children. I do not believe violence, or physical punishment teaches in a healthy manner. This does not mean I believe those who do spank to be abusive, for I do not. I just think there are far more affective ways to teach and the same goes for D/s relationships. Many people use corporal punishment to teach and I often wonder why and for the most part I think it is because on some level no matter what he punishment is, there is some eroticism to it.
I find it fascinating that you were never spanked and yet you enjoy it and yes perhaps it was because you were not spanked as a child or perhaps it simply is because you enjoy it and your connection to pain and pleasure is associated with the sensation of spanking. I think your journey to where you are now is very interesting and I thank you for sharing your thoughts.
This was lovely and fascinating to read.
`~a
good girl: The second half of your comment didn't publish so I did it myself, in order that the whole comment could be read. I hope that is all right with you.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for your comment which I loved reading. I was fascinated by your experiences and I would certainly understand if you didn't find spankings erotic in any way given your childhood experiences.
Yes, I could not conceive of spanking one of my children. But, from the very outset of my life really I have fantasized about spankings and even about being naughty and disciplined, even when in reality I was incredibly, embarrassingly good.
I actually wrote this post some time ago now and recently (June 2010) I had a conversation with someone who knows my mind really well and he said to me that he felt that I have been fantasizing about "helplessness". Certainly, in the scenarios that I conjur up, I am indeed helpless and at the mercy of someone older or more powerful than me. To this day, the thoughts excite and turn me on and often make me feel very, very aroused. To some extent, I can conceive of my thoughts being acceptable in real life even though some of them are horrifyingly shameful.
For some months earlier this year, my husband was disinterested in engaging with me in a disciplinary way and it was very difficult for me. Last night, I was outspoken with him and out came the cane, not in a truly disciplinary way (as in it really hurt that much) but in a way to remind me that he's the boss. It made me feel very loved. What can I say? It is the way I am.
I don't think spankings have to be severe, or that you should have them at all, if that upsets you. I imagine there are lots of ways for him to register with you that he's the boss, and knowing your place with him is what makes you feel safe and at peace, I think. Is that right?
Again, thank you so much for the comment.