It Ain't Rocket Science

Some stories are based on truth. Maybe they are embellished to make the tale more interesting. This story is completely true, without any embellishment whatsoever.





I met a man at a spanking party who was a retired rocket scientist. It was one of those weekend parties with a small group of guests, so that everyone got to know everyone else over the course a few days and nights. Making conversation with this fellow, he told me that he was retired. He'd been an engineer at a well-known defense contracting firm. I thought that was kind of interesting, so I asked him what he engineered. He said he designed missile guidance systems for nuclear submarines. Wait a minute, I said. So, that makes you a rocket scientist. He didn't gloat about it, but, yes, that's what he was: a rocket scientist.

Now if anybody tells you they are a rocket scientist, you immediately expect them to be smart - and not just smart, extremely smart. After all, you have to be both very highly educated and very highly competent. At least I would hope so! The safety of millions of people depends on it. Therefore, succeeding at a spanking party, should be a snap for a rocket scientist. . . right?

Being that it was his first, ever, spanking party, I laid out the basics. I explained to Mr. Rocket Scientist fundamental bits of information, like "talk to a bottom for a little while, before asking them to play. Try to get a sense of their likes and dislikes, their level of pain tolerance, and what they might be in the mood for." and "If you ask to play and they say 'no' then don't ask again. If they say 'maybe later', then wait a while before asking again." I just told him very obvious and basic information to help him get started, that is, if he even needed to be told that stuff, which he didn't, because, after all, he was a rocket scientist.

You've probably already guessed where this story is heading. Nothing spectacularly bad happened, but the rocket scientist, never got off the launchpad (so to speak). He didn't get one single bottom to play with him. He ended up leaving at the end of the first night of the party, totally demoralized and humiliated. For whatever reason, he couldn't grasp, or could not execute the many minor movements that one has to go through in order to get from merely being at the spanking party to being in the party.

I wonder, was the brain of that rocket scientist not fully equiped for the mission? Or, is the spanko tango a lot more difficult to execute than even a rocket scientist would expect? It also begs the question, how do you know you're doing well, or doing poorly? Obviously, if you're not having any fun and not playing with anyone, then there's a problem. But, what if you're experience is more, let's say, average - you win some you lose some, more or less in equal measure. Is that good? Is that bad? Is that just OK? Does it matter?

Can't Get Passed the Wind

It doesn't take much to upset the delicate balance of a relationship. One fart can be the catalyst that brings a couple's engagement to it's doom.

"I'm leaving you,"
"Was it that fart?"
"ummmmm"
"This is about that fart, isn't it?"
"Let's just say goodbye before this gets any harder."


Last year, I was at a weekend spanking party in California. I doubt that the hotel's staff and the party's organizers consulted beforehand on the type of food that was to be served at the banquet. . . because, if they had, they probably wouldn't have given us a taco bar. I knew there was going to be trouble, when I noticed that there was a huge bowl of pinto beans, which anyone could have access to. Unlimited pinto bean access is not what one wants to see just before a long night of bending people over. Eyeing the danger bowl, the guy in line next to me said, "they should put a sign by it that says 'BEANS ARE FOR TOPS ONLY!'"

It wasn't long before my fears came to fruition. I was playing with a stout female in a pair of skintight blue jeans. She was face down over my lap. I had already delivered the first blow. No problems so far. I raised my arm to deliver the second blow, and she ripped one. You don't realize how close your nose is to a person's ass when you are spanking them. It's just not high on the list of the things you think about in the midst of playing. In that moment, I realized it for sure. It was a direct blow to the nostrils. Dazed, I pushed her off my lap, and staggered to the window of the small, humid hotel room, which was quickly filling up with stench. "I'm so sorry," she said. "Light a match! Quickly!" I cried.

She was embarrassed and I felt bad for her. I told her it happens to the best of us. We hugged. At least, I thought, she got some pleasure out of the experience.

Lessons for the Lonely

There's this guy you see at every spanking party. He's not clever with conversation. In fact, he's painfully shy. He looks like he's in his 50s, but he could be a little older or a little younger. He's single. He's always single. He doesn't dress sharp and he's out of shape. He could be too fat or too thin. He doesn't possess charisma, he's got no charm. He doesn't have anything that would make a woman want to play with him. This man comes to the parties every year. He keeps coming back again and again. He doesn't have a lot of money, but he makes the trip, all the same. He pays for his ticket, he pays for his airfare. He pays for his room, where he stays alone. He's not popular, so while other guests are making rendezvous to play, late in the night, he's alone in his room, or awkwardly hanging around a suite party, with a few other guys like himself, who have not been chosen by any other women that evening.

There's something very special that I share in common with this guy. We are both spankos. Being a spanko is important to me. It's a brotherly bond. I didn't choose it and neither did he. But, we share it, as sure as the sun shines. I couldn't stop being a spanko, even if I wanted to. To stop being a spanko would be like trying to stop being a caucasian. It's just not possible. This is the bond I share with this man. For better or for worse, we are cut from the same cloth. We feel the same feelings. If I will not empathize with this guy, then who will?

At the same time, no amount of empathy can make me understand what it is like to be him. Not unless I could shed my skin, and inhabit his, would I know this. I suffer loneliness, but I do not know his loneliness. I suffer rejection, but I do not know his suffering of rejection. It's the ultimate insult to pretend that you know what it is like to walk a mile in this man's shoes. You don't, you can't, and you never will. It's hard enough, in this life, to be alone and make it from day to day. Try being a spanko and being alone. You always have that fear in the back of your mind, that if people found out, they would reject you. It makes it that much harder to form relationships. There's an added pressure to every meeting with a woman. If you have the guts to date, you know that ultimately you will face that moment when you tell her about your spanking fetish, and then wait for her response. The odds are against you. You know this. So, after getting hurt, once again, you ask yourself why you even bother trying.

This is why you go back to the spanking parties, year after year. At the spanking parties, at least you know that the people there are kindred spirits. It's the one place on the planet where you can be yourself, and who knows, maybe this time will be the time that you get lucky. . .

So, I ask you, the reader, why can't we all be nice to this man? It would make us better human beings to, at the very least, talk to him like he's another human being with as much worth as anyone else. I know it's corny, but he's kind of like your brother - or, at least, like a second cousin. And if you can't do that, then don't be rude. Don't be condescending and pretend to know what ails him and what will cure him: particularly if you got into the party for free, someone paid for your travel expenses, you've got a list of people waiting to play with you, and you've got more than one willing shoulder to cry on when things don't go precisely your way. The sad reality of life, is that the people who are the most popular, are often the ones who could do the most good, by simply showing this guy a little decent kindness, and yet they are the least likely to do so.

A.D.D. Rule #7: Never Attempt to Discard Implements

Bottoms always talk about destroying implements, but rarely does it happen. Thanks to Cc.

Diva Models

Due to the fact that someone *ahem* *Audrey Knight* *cough* mistakenly thought this was directed at all spanking models, including her (sorry!), it seems necessary to make a clarification. I draw your attention to the word "some" (third word, first paragraph), as in "not all." I never intended this to be a broad characterization of an entire group of people, though, I didn't make that distinction clear enough, obviously. There are some people I have encountered, at spanking parties along the way, who were caricatures of snobbery. This post is a lampoon of that way of acting and thinking. It was based on a funny conversation, about snobbery and pretension at parties, with a woman friend. I could have written something equally as biting about some of the men I've encountered, and at some point I probably will. What I hope readers will keep in mind is that the accusations are over the top in order to bring out the humor in the situation. Nobody is that simple to understand or explain. To friends who were hurt by these words, I am sorry. Truly, I am. It was meant to make you laugh and let you know that you aren't alone in feeling jealous or put off by people that, seemed to get whatever they wanted, while caring not at all about how you felt or fared.


There are some seriously stuck up spanko models who have no business being stuck up. Let me tell you about these girls. They are young and, sort of, pretty but, they couldn't get a real modelling gig in a million years. Because of the low standards of spanking videos, they get the benefit to call themselves models. OK, good for them. If they are true spankos and they want to make a buck while doing they love to do, I can't fault them for that. It could be that they are not mature enough to fully comprehend the consequences of being in a porno, which unlike a tattoo, can never be erased (because once it's on the internet, it's forever part of the public domain). But, maybe they are wise enough to make the decision to act in a spanking video and so that's what they choose to do. Fine. It's not a license to be a bitch, though.

I resent these girls who show up at spanking parties, for the sole purpose of hawking their wares and promoting themselves. They flaunt their asses and smile and act (phony) nice for about an hour, and then they go hide in their hotel room with their small clique of friends for the rest of the party. So, if you ever had any illusion that these spanko girls were interested in going to a spanking party to play and mingle with the regular, paying attendees, think again, you poor sap. It's grating because, if you believe what you read on the internet - and by that, I mean, what you see posted on their blogs - they were the life of the party! tee hee. giggle. smooches! ummmmmmm. BULLSHIT. The reality is that they pose for some photos, which is probably the only time you will catch them smiling in public. Those are the photos that get posted on their blogs. Here's another thing. They love to talk about how (insert name of model) had so much fun hanging out with (insert name of other model). It's like US magazine. Who the fuck do these girls think they are? Britney Spears and Paris Hilton? It's as though being in a few spanking videos has emboldened them with self-appointed celebrity status. Try talking to one of them at a party. If you haven't been pre-approved by their posse, then they'll treat you with all the warmth Bjork would impart to a paparazzi trying to stick a camera in her baby's stroller.

Back on planet earth, I can't help but wonder why guys line up for these girls. Some of them are downright dumb. I mean dumb as the board they are getting whacked with. It's pathetic how many poor suckers think these hoes are worth more attention than the spanko women, who are infinitely more interesting, and whose only sin is being a few years older and a few pounds heavier than these bimbos. There's a bizarre economy at spanking parties. The young and cute are in such ridiculously high demand, that it's a shame. It's more of a shame on the men, because the men are the ones who can't see beyond the most shallow physical traits of the female. It's probably not going to happen any time soon, but if men would stop licking the toes of bimbos, then there wouldn't be so many stuck up, intolerable diva bitches, and there wouldn't be so many ridiculous cliques that are built around them, and everyone would be a lot happier.

The Heart Wants What The Heart Wants

I'm down. Been down for a couple weeks now. I guess I hit bottom today because I did something I haven't done in 5 months. I paid for some BDSM porn and downloaded it. $8.99 x 2 = $17.98. That's what I spent. And I feel so bad, I can't even begin to tell you how bad I feel.

I keep thinking that it isn't so bad, because I used to spend that much money on porn on a regular basis. Not daily, but a couple times per week. It adds up quickly. So, I tell myself that a small slip like this isn't so bad. But, I feel bad. I feel worse than I thought I could feel about such a thing. It must be, that because I went so long, and I was so proud of the fact that I hadn't spent any money on porn, that now I lost that something I was so proud of. It's tragic.

But, why do I feel so badly in the first place. I'll tell you. It's because my heart is broken. It happens to me every one in a while. Last time it happened was a couple years ago. That last time was tormenting, it was a very acute kind of heartbreak. The kind that you get from unrequited love. And maybe I'm fudging a bit when I use the word love, because maybe it was more like a really hard crush . . . like a fucking schoolgirl. It was embarrassing but I couldn't help it. I knew I would get over it, eventually. It took a good long while, but eventually I got over it. It was inevitable. You can't stay infatuated with someone who you know, deep down, isn't right for you, doesn't want you, and is really in love with someone else. And it seemed to me, that this someone else and my crush had a good love. real. Why would I want to fuck with that, anyway? I wouldn't. I am a man who respects love. Love is good and important and when it is real, you don't mess with it. You couldn't anyway, even if you wanted to.

Now, I am stuck with something more pernicious (I will save you from having to look it up, it means "lethal"). It feels like a dull ache and it has felled my spirit low. It's not something that I can easily dismiss, because deep down, I believe that this person loves me and that we are made for each other. It's not a crush, an infatuation, nor is it unrequited. She's not in love with me, but she loves me. There's no doubt about that. That's what makes it so hard. She's in love with somebody else, but I don't think it will last. I don't mind a bit self-flattery when I say that she's just muddling through a transitional affair until she comes to her senses and gives her all to me. We're fated. Two people, so right for each, should end up together. Out paths will cross, our stars will align, our fates are sealed. Destiny.

Don't take that too seriously, please. My head's not really that far up my ass. If I have to wax philosophical, then let's just say: if it is meant to be, then it will happen.

The pain doesn't go away, though. I want a needle to stick in my heart and numb it, until the dark clouds part and I can feel the warm sunshine drenching my skin and bones until I am completely content. A couple beers make me feel better, until the buzz wears off and I feel even sadder than I felt before the first gulp. I don't know what to say except this old boy's heart is deep purple. My heart radiates despair through every tissue in my body and sadness seeps from every pore, sweat like tears. It's useless to try to evade the grieving of my heart. My attempts to rationalize it, intellectualize it, logically process it, have failed. It's futile to deprive the heart of it's pain. It needs to weep just as much at it needs blood to pump.

Why Talk About Such Personal Stuff?

The short answer is: to help me overcome my embarrassment at being a spanko.

When I write about things like masturbation, porn addiction, and the technical aspects of spanking it helps me to understand myself better. I've been fascinated by spanking since I was a little boy. I have identified sexually with the act of spanking since I became sexually aware. This is a life long affair. Yet, it was a little less than three years ago, when I walked into a therapists office, and started talking about spanking (and it didn't happen right away, it took a couple months before I could open to talk about spanking with the therapist) that I actually started doing it.

I've always been embarrassed about spanking. It used to be, I couldn't even say the word "spanking" out loud. It was overwhelmingly humiliating. I was so thrilled by spanking, that I couldn't get over my excitement and my shame. I was paralyzed by shame. Now, even though I have a few years of immersion in the scene, along with lots of practice in the art of spanking and experience at being a top, I'm still embarrassed about it. I'm just not paralyzed by that shame. I'm still inhibited, but not nearly as much as I used to be.

This is the paradox of being fueled by something that can be so embarrassing, such as spanking. Spanking, by it's nature, is embarrassing. It doesn't have to be humiliating, but for a lot of people, like myself, we get off on the shame. We eroticize it, or maybe it would be more accurate to say that, our bodies and our minds have eroticized it, without any conscious direction on our own part. It just happened that this is how I ended up wired. Thank God, I am not alone. I get arroused by the thought of a naughty girl having her mouth washed out with soap, being scolded, spanked, sent to the corner. All of that turns me on in a big way, not just the spanking part of it. This is something that you either get or you don't, because it's a fetish. I just happen to be interested in spanking because it's my fetish. The more I write about it, and the more I open up my mind, and the more I let out my inner demons and angels, the more I come to grips with who I am as a sexual human being. That's why I write about such personal stuff.