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Featured, Scene etiquette 5 February, 2012 4:06 am 18 comments

A spanking blogger once more, or what I did during my sabbatical

I’m not sure where the hell to start this post, so I’ll start with the conclusion: I got the cane the other day, as a punishment for a flaw I had requested help with eliminating. The caning hurt, but no more than my pride did for having earned it in the first place. Then I felt better. Then I decided to write a blog post about it.

The paragraph above reads like something I’ve written many times before, but both the event and the decision to blog about it were a novelty to me. Because I hadn’t wanted to be punished for real-life things for a long time, and now I do again. Because my ally in this exercise is Jimmy, for whom a discipline dynamic is a curious new beast he’s exploring at my instigation, rather than a deep-seated kink. Because I haven’t done a stitch of blogging since September, after having blogged at least every other day for over five years. Because my life is so different now than it was less than half a year ago, that I wonder how I can recognise these fingers that are falling on the keys in front of me.

Far from the thought that everybody in the world follows my every move with bated breath, I’m going to give you a short digest of recent events, which can both get you up to speed with where I am, and set the backdrop for the punishment caning that is, after all, the point of this post.

September: Ask husband for a break. Move out with one suitcase, one cat and £600 to my name. Agree to promise not to say a word about it on the Internet; regret the promise instantly because suddenly I’m unable to blog or tweet truthfully about what I’m doing without raising questions. Arrange a room-in-exchange-for-work agreement with a friend’s business, where my boyfriend Jimmy is also living. Lose room and work because of the business going down; receive an offer of floor space from a friend’s friend, move again, this time to the outskirts of London.
October: Sleep on a single mattress in a tiny room with the cat’s litter tray at my feet. Frantically apply for office jobs while trying to stay on top of freelance obligations. Die of sexual frustration due to lack of a bed or any privacy. Turn 32. Go dancing all night for the first time ever. Have mind-blowing sex with Jimmy’s other girlfriend Shona (she has a bed). Come down with a chest infection. Recover in time to win a month-long freelance contract with obligatory office hours. Help Jimmy move house (he now also has a bed). Help Shona temporarily move into Jimmy’s place (down to one bed between three again). Feel isolated. Feel lonely. Feel furious at being unable to express myself through blogging. Prefer this anyway.
November: Commute for 3 hours a day to freelance job; work on existing freelance commitments in the evenings. Help Shona move house (yay, two beds again). Shona asks me to be her girlfriend. Jimmy stretches his dominant muscles. I can’t remember when I’ve last had more than one waking hour off. Bite the bullet and tell Abel I’m not coming back; wait for him to be comfortable to make the break-up public knowledge. Could now, in theory, blog again, but can barely see straight for fatigue. Get contract extended.
December: Work days, work evenings. Look for a place to live. Transfer my entire pay to an estate agent and acquire a flat with two bedrooms: one for Jimmy, one for me. Move house; help Jimmy move house. Enjoy having a door and a bed. Pick up my stuff from Abel’s house in a manoeuvre that requires shoving my entire life into a van in two hours. Lose most of the memory of that evening; go to work the next day. Finish contract. Stop functioning for a week. Jimmy has surgery. Reluctantly return Shona to her family for a few days; survive Christmas. Jimmy turns 28. See in 2012; dance all night, have lots of sex, play guitar. Start thinking about blogging.

And so we return to the issue of the punishment caning.

One day I let Jimmy and Shona know that I was going to spend a few hours working on my blog.  They made all the right encouraging noises, and I settled at a desk to write.

Here are some of the things I did instead: read Twitter, read FandomWank, read LiveJournal, read some more Twitter while clicking every single link and checking out all the retweeted profiles, watch some Dreams of Spanking movies and read comments on all the scenes. You will notice that none of these activities have in any way involved any writing. When Jimmy finally asked me how the blogging was going, all I could say was, “Errr… FandomWank is great.”

“Would you like some help with that?” he asked. In our relationship this question has developed a new meaning: would you like to give me the authority to make you do this, under the threat of punishment?

Yes, I did.

Subsequently, Shona named the series of exchanges that followed “The Jimmy and Adele Show”. It had dialogues like:

Jimmy: “Put down the summary of all the paragraphs you’re going to write.”
Adele: “Can I finish reading this LiveJournal thread?”
Jimmy: “You can, after you’re done.”

and

Jimmy, from *another room*: “Your word processor looks very similar to your FireFox skin.”
Adele: “…”
Jimmy: “Go on, you can do it. Extend the first summary into a paragraph.”
Adele: “WHY DO YOU HATE FUN?”

The cajoling worked for a while, but the post I was writing – the stupidly long essay about the R v. Peacock trial – was a complex beast. I needed to find a selection of articles to link to, some choice tweets, some news items. I kept taking Twitter breaks; these kept getting longer. Finally Jimmy told me that I was to stay off Twitter until further notice.

I tried. I tried so hard, you may have seen steam of the effort coming out of my ears. When I succumbed to temptation in the end, it didn’t even feel very good. I was so ashamed that I barely skimmed a few tweets, and went back to writing straight away, but my heart was heavy with self-disappointment.

I wondered whether to tell him, or to wait until I was asked. I decided I would tell, but not right away, because by this time we’d broken off for dinner, and I didn’t want the entire evening to be about me. I told Shona though. She doesn’t have a punishment kink (as far as we know), but she’s been cheer-leading me through my efforts with the understanding of somebody who’d looked writing block in the face before. She offered me a hug and much sympathy, and it felt better not to carry my guilt around all on my own.

I made my confession the following morning, sick with shame. Jimmy was all sympathy, but sentenced me to a stroke per tweet I’d read, anyway. We’d been experimenting with discipline for several months by then, and he tends to save corporal punishment for a last resort. He’d used it only twice before. The fact that he saw it as necessary now very nearly brought me to tears: it was this, not the eventual caning, that felt like the lowest point of the entire episode.

This didn’t make the writing any easier; I ended up earning twenty-five strokes in total over the course of the day, but at least, eventually, the post was done. And then the caning was done, with me lying flat on the bed with a corner of a pillowcase between my teeth. It felt natural and okay: not a judgement on me as a person, not a pretext for either of us getting off; just a friendly favour, albeit a painful one.

And this was how I came back to being a spanking blogger.

Obscenity trial: R v Peacock and the false dawn of the pornographers

Things the #ObscenityTrial have taught me: assume
a higher level of general ignorance & prejudice about BDSM
than I had previously thought. (@electronic_doll)

Browsing spanking forums, you sometimes come across the sentiment that these days the world at large is quite tolerant and accepting of alternative sexualities. While this statement is impossible to prove either right or wrong – have you ever tried asking “the world at large” its opinion? – From time to time we can’t fail but be reminded that we are not yet living in the fluffy sex-positive paradise of our Twitter and Fetlife feeds.

FACT: Some types of spanking and BDSM are still illegal in the UK, according to precedent set by R v Brown (“the Spanner case”). While it’s unlikely that the police will raid your David Copperfield-themed house party, they can, because in a sexual context consent is not a defence against a charge of assault causing actual bodily harm.

FACT: An escort and porn-maker Michael Peacock (known charmingly as Sleazy Michael) last week stood trial for producing DVDs that featured certain sex scenes between consenting adults. None of the acts were illegal to perform in private, but, according to the prosecution, they fell under the legal definition of obscene materials, so into the dock Mr Peacock went.

If you live in the UK and spend any time on Twitter, you already know what happened next: the jury of Mr Peacock’s peers spent several days watching footage of whipping, fisting, watersports and CBT, and then, after a deliberation lasting less time than a leisurely BDSM scene, returned the verdict of “not guilty”. But I’m also guessing that quite a few of you haven’t heard of this case, because it’s had quite modest coverage by mainstream news outlets – a footnote rather than any kind of core issue.

Most of the mainstream media commentary has come after the trial’s end. From my left-wing Twitter bubble, the pieces that have been the most visible are the ones that approve of the acquittal and question whether the Obscene Publications Act, 1959 – the law according to which the prosecution had been brought – is fit for purpose in this day and age, in New Statesman, the Guardian and Yahoo News.

It’s the last link that I’d like to bring to your attention, because of the comments you find under the article. After the lovely time the whole of Twitter had had bashing the prosecutors on the #obscenitytrial hashtag, you get quite a shock to the system learning that -

“When we make obscenity the norm we have hit rock bottom and there is only one way to go, do we realy want filth as an every day occurence, do we want our children to think it’s ok to swear fornicate and generaly live a degrading existance, soddam and gomoragh spring to mind” (Anonymous commenter, 32 likes and 8 dislikes at the time of writing);

and that -

“We are existing in a depraved and corrupted society. That said, it is of no surprise that levels of acceptability are in line with low-life corruption, depravity and pornography.” (Stewart, 8 likes, 1 dislike).

Now, reading comments on Yahoo is a special kind of self-torture, and a film of the process could stand a good chance to be prosecuted under the extreme porn legislation, but it doesn’t do anyone any good to try and think them out of existence. Your Twitter feed is not yet an indication of any sort of general consensus.

That said, there’s been some amusing things scrolling past me in the feeds:

Farcical #ObscenityTrial seeking to ban supposedly “depraving” videos involves, err, showing the videos to the jury. Will it deprave them? – @wallaceme

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