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I posted this essay in reply to a question on Soc.Sexuality.Spanking
Newsgroups about the start of a spanking fetish. I received a
lot of feedback from people both publicly and privately about
this post, so I decided to add it here at my story site.
Becoming a Spanko
zprymantis@smilingwithteeth.com
The wonderful shivers started for me as soon as I started "pretending".
That was what I called it at the age of three or four. I loved
to climb into a cardboard box and pretend that I was locked up,
a prisoner, punished. I used to put lawn chairs on their sides
and create a prison in the backyard. I played quietly in my room
for hours much to my mothers delight, playing school, standing
in the corner, spanking my dolls, writing punishment lines, slapping
my hand with a ruler, spanking myself.
I remember thinking at a young age in a sort of twisted childhood
logic that everyone else must be exactly like me. I believed at
that age that teachers lived at school. ::grin::: Hey, don't laugh!
They were there when I arrived and they were there when I left!
At some point I realized everyone wasn't like me. This revelation
came in kindergarten when I learned that not all families were
a mother, father, older brother and younger sister. Some people
actually had older sisters, some people had no fathers, some families
had twins. At this same time I realized I was different and unique.
I feared there was something wrong with me. It's when I started
thinking about why I played the way I did. My logic also had to
wonder why some kids were bad and did bad things and got spanked
at school. I wondered if they were "spanking pretenders" like
me, but simply braver then I was. I knew I could never be brave
enough to be naughty at school. This was the age where I started
actively looking and listening for clues that someone else might
be like me.
There were the imageries of a Catholic upbringing impressed on
my mind. Loving a "Father" who would protect and punish. The rituals
of church, lighting candles, incense, kneeling and religious submission.
Scary images of a suffering martyr. To be good was to suffer.
The weekly extended family dinners out at an Italian restaurant
where the older cousins were threatened with the spanking machine
behind the swinging white doors to the kitchen. The fact verified
by the waitress. For the longest time I believed I had actually
SEEN that contraption once when the doors flung open extra wide.
There was the guilt and stress of a father's illness. We all wondered
why he was sick. We thought he had six months to live, he actually
did lived till I was grown. I overheard guesses that it could
be the distemper the cats had, the vaccine for a trip to the orient,
the chemicals he was exposed to in the army, the time I had brought
him toilet water to drink when I made him pretend tea with my
tiny china tea set.
There were the books I enjoyed, Tom Sawyer enduring a spanking
for Becky Thatcher and Nursery Rhyme drawings of The Old Woman
in the Shoe, the movies I watched, the cartoons. The other children
I interacted with. Their parents, the fathers always seemed scary
- not like my father. Their mothers always seemed kind, soft and
comfortable - not like my mother.
There are so many things that could be cited as the reason. Still,
I believe it goes back to the pretending. I believe that children
play and act out any fear they might have. If you watch them playing
you see their fears. My brother was afraid of trains, the gate
coming down, the engine rolling past, the noise. He also became
fascinated with model trains and played with them for hours. Yet
he doesn't require a train when he has sex - now does he? :)
For me, my fears were of being abandoned - the death of my father.
I pretended I was an orphan. I feared doing something so terrible
that no one would love me. I was afraid to do something bad, to
cause my mother another worry. I played out all the scenarios
and it felt good to pretend. It made me feel very free to endure
the worst that can happen and know that I could take it.
The feelings were sexual from the start, but I didn't know that
until I was twelve. When I was young, at the height of my pretend
play, I would sneeze. It was sort of a distraction and made me
realize that I WAS pretending and momentarily brought me back
to earth. It showed I was having a physical reaction. Now as an
adult I sometimes sneeze when my husband ties me to the bed or
has me wait for punishment draped across a chair. My husband knows
that when I sneeze I am "in the scene"
When I turned twelve my pretend play became masturbation fantasies.
I wondered if I would ever be able to stop pretending. I wondered
if I would ever enjoy sex without the "play" running in my mind.
Nope, it never happened.
There is never sexual excitement for me without my "pretending"
attached to it. I feel lucky that I have this escape. I am lucky
that I have other people to "play" with now. It makes the pretending
so much fun!
You might be surprised after all these reasons I site for being
a spanko, I believe that I was born a spanko. I also feel its
hereditary. I think the experiences of my childhood might have
intensified it, rushed it along, channeled it - but I was pretending
and enjoying submissive style fantasies as long as I can remember.
© 2000 by zprymantis@smilingwithteeth.com, not to be reposted or distributed
without permission
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