Feeling the Burn

"I spent many years wondering why I am the way I am. And a long time feeling guilty about being a spanking fetishist and wishing "it" would got away and I could be vanilla like everyone else. A gay friend told me that when he was growing up he used to pray to God to make him like everyone else. When ever he threw a coin in a wishing well, he wished the same thing. This is one reason that I know that gay men and women are my brothers and sisters. We are kinky in a vanilla world. Now that I've reached middle age I've come to accept the "spanko" part of my self."

(excerpted from Wintermute's site)

I don't ever remember not being a spanko. Not long ago after telling someone that I had never been spanked as a child and could not remember the defining moment I "became" a spanko, he said to me: "Well you must have seen someone get spanked. How else would you even know that you wanted to be spanked if you didn't have a point of reference from which to draw from?"

I suppose he was right. Somewhere along the line, I must have witnessed a spanking and in my developing brain a synapse was formed that said Oh! I like that! I don't remember it. According to my version of history, I just always was a spanko.

As a child, I had no idea that my fantasies of being upended over various laps were at all weird. When I saw friends spanked (yes, I do recall seeing friends get spanked by their parents, just not the *first* time I saw a spanking) or read anything about spanking, I just knew it gave me this funny little tickle in my tummy and my cheeks would get hot and my palms would get slightly moist.

That changed however, as I got older and became more aware. I intuitively knew to keep my fantasies a secret and chose to live them out in daydreams or in stories. I wrote a lot of spanking stories when I was young. A lot. When I met my husband, I gave the usual hints and innuendos, but he didn't bite and it wasn't long before I realized he was vanilla.

Sigh. Oh well.

I think it was around this point I quickly realized that in a predominantly vanilla world, being a spanko was at best, inconvenient and at worst, a literal pain (pun not intended) in the ass. I loved the man who would become my husband....vanilla-ness and all....and so I made a conscious decision to live life as a vanilla. I mean, why not? It seemed to be the popular thing to do.....the majority of the population were happy in their little vanilla worlds, so why couldn't I be? How hard could it be?

Things were fine except for one minor detail: I underestimated the burn.

I think that really is the best way to describe it....the yearning....the deep yearning....a burning feeling inside that calls for spanking. I can actually feel it now as I type. Funny, that. It starts deep in the bottom of my stomach, and slowly starts to swell, filling me up....this itchy burn....this raw need to be spanked. I cant explain it any other way. I know I can ignore it. For a little while. Its still there, but I can make it small.....for a little while.

And I made the burn small while I lived my life in the vanilla world. I tried to ignore it, I stopped visiting spanking sites, stopped looking for spanking scenes in movies....I tried to turn it off, treating it like some sort of switch I had control of and could turn it on and off at will. And I lived happily ever after.

Well, not really.

Because, although I could ignore the burn for a while, eventually, over time, it would start to swell on its own, and soon I found myself, sitting in the computer room late at night, the room dark apart from the glow of my monitor, skimming through usenet groups and websites, greedily sucking up one spanking story after another like eye candy. And for me, being exposed to anything remotely spanko is like eating ice cream....or potato chips. The more I taste, the more I want.

It was at this point that I found Professor by answering his personals ad and it was also at this point that had I thought to do it, I would have prayed to God to make me a vanilla, because I felt like I was going to suffocate under the sheer weight of my own unfulfillment. Why was I this way? Why couldn't I just be normal? I thought if I said it enough, it would become true. I am vanilla.....I am vanilla.....It was my mantra....my daily chant for normalcy. And still, I felt the burn and I continued to suffocate, hallowed in the eerie green glow of my monitor.

And finally I just couldn't do it anymore. One evening, I saw the light. And it wasn't that greenish glowy light. It was the light of acceptance that shown from sheer exhaustion and frustration. I am a spanko. I had to accept it and move on. It is who I am. It is not right or wrong....it just is.

So I had a choice. I could get fulfilled and not tell my husband what I was doing, or I could tell him. I chose to tell him, and after a lot of talking and soul searching, a decision was made. I would have a Discipline relationship with Professor. With my husband's blessing. That end result, which took three sentences to type, took a year to hash out.

People have asked why my husband won't just spank me himself, rather than allowing another man to "touch my bare bottom". Well, he is vanilla. And even if he was willing, I don't want him to. And to be honest, I think he is rather relieved. And so am I. See, he doesn't understand how people can enjoy spanking, so he can't comprehend the language. He has tried. Believe me. And sure, I think he would whack away on my bottom if I asked him to, mechanically beating on my flesh like a drum, emotionally inflicting brain damage on himself in the process (he truly perceives spanking his wife as abuse, not fun) but I think that is almost worse than not being spanked at all. Because although it provides the physical stimulation, it is just a shell of what the spanking experience is really like. And I need more than the shell. I need and want it all.

So my husband, whom I will forever be touched by his generosity and his ability to see beyond his own ego and fears, allowed me an outlet. A purely spanking outlet. With someone who understands spanking. Someone who understands the burn and who can speak the language. Someone, like Professor.

Professor told me that the "why" doesn't matter. And I think he is right. The answer to "Why" won't alter the answer to "What". I am a spanko and it doesn't matter why I am the way I am. I like to be soundly spanked on my bare bottom, hard and often. I like who I am when I am regularly spanked and it is good for me on so many levels. Simply put, spanking is right for me.

So you know what? In the end I had to say to hell with the vanillas. They have no idea what they are missing. Because in order to fulfill one burn, I get to feel another. And that burn? Oh man, there isn't anything else in the world like it. :D

It is swoonworthy for sure.