Richard Cory

Being Richard Cory

Richard CoryI don’t know how old I was the first time that I found this poem stuck into one of my mother’s books, but I do remember reading and being so struck by it.

Richard Cory

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich–yes, richer than a king,

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread,

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.

                         –Edwin Arlington Robinson

One of the things that I adore about this particular work is the straightforwardness. The poem does exactly what life does; it creates a beautiful picture, then destroys it in the last stanza.

I have lost family to suicide. I have friends who have had the same unfortunate experience. Could I enumerate the times that I have heard people say, “but things were going so well.” or “she had everything to live for” and even the “suicide doesn’t solve anything, it just moves your problem to someone else because they have to deal with loss as well”.

Sometimes the comments are meant well and it is a case of innocent ignorance of the disease. Sometimes the comments are said in repressed anger, which is many times the case. The aggrieved may not realize that they are expressing anger. Although both scenarios are astounding in their frequency the problem isn’t the statements made. The problem, rather runs a bit deeper: The problem tends to be the way that we as a society view the illness.

For years I have struggled with my silent companion, depression. I have labeled it as such because it seems silent to those around me, those who are close enough to notice, but they seem oblivious to it. Depression is in no way silent to me. Depression accompanies me to each and every minute of my life. It is not, however, always in control. Generally speaking, I am the person behind the wheel, depression is the passenger. Of course, then there are times that I become tired, ill, or just apathetic. It is during those moments that depression seizes the moment and steals away the wheel, taking me for a ride.

That, to me, is what it feels like to be depressed. You have exactly the same life that you have always had, the only difference being the way that you view it.

Picture, if you will, a beautiful, buzzing, living, and lush green forest. Thick grass, twigs and small branches crunching underfoot. The air is clear, the afternoon sun smiling down and warming your shoulders. If you bother to look about you will see the fauna of the wood: deer, squirrel, rabbit, perhaps even a bird. You take comfort in the presence of the other animals. You feel a part of the wood, you belong here and live in harmony with the surrounding world.

Picture the same wood, except now it is midnight. The sounds that were so benign to you in the light of noon become harrowing in the inky blue of midnight. Every sound seems as if you are being followed. You look over your shoulder, but can never put a specific face to a sound. The air is cold, sharp, and cutting. What seemed a pleasant breeze in the noonday is now a howling in your ears, causing you to curl into yourself. Your eyes, squinting to make out any shape can never manage to focus any of the dark, looming masses into a familiar form. Gone are the deer and squirrel, replaced by the ominous shadows of all the monsters from nightmare and horror. No longer feeling at home, you now feel as an interloper into the grotesque.

You see, the setting didn’t change, only the filter used to view it.


Need To Be

Need to be

Where the journey begins, neither of us is unaware.

It commences with my finding myself stretched gently across,

Safest at my most vulnerable,

Almost defiant in my submission.

My trust laid upon your lap,

A tableau of assurance.

It is where I am,

It is but the inauguration of the pilgrimage

To where I need to be.

With the faintest brush of hand upon skin

My breath catches in my chest

As a child

playing peek-a-boo

It hides within  itself.

The warmth of your hands,

One laid gently upon the small of my back,

Its twin caressing my “other” cheeks.

Beautiful as it is,

it is not the place I need to be.

Shocking as always, that first deafening slap

It seems far too loud

The amount of sting

Burning, itching pink.

Is insignificant

When compared to that sound.

My body rebels

My mind seeks quietude

Each slap bringing me closer

To where I need to be.

As the progression continues,

Slap upon slap upon slap,

Each bringing my mind closer

To solace

And my body

To rebellion.

A kick of the leg

Interference from a hand

Threatening the journey

To where I need to be.

Each moment brings us closer

To the eventual surrender

Bringing my body

At last into one accord

With my mind

When I can take no more

You prove that I can

Pushing me from where I am

Bringing at last, mind and body

To where I need to be.


I can’t say that when this began I knew I would still be tick tick ticking away five years later.

And yet, here I am.

So, I have had some great times, and I have seen some crappy times too. Over all I am just plain happy to still be here trying to string two words together and make something that others can enjoy, or at least find interesting.

Not a lot to say here, except thank you to all of those who have stood by and cheered me on. I really couldn’t do it without you. I mean, really, if nobody reads, then there isn’t a reason to publish what I write. So thank you all. :)

Violet :)

So who is giving me the birthday spankings for this blog??

Tying The Knot

“We gonna do what” I asked again, not allowing myself to believe the message my ears relayed to my brain. Maybe it was the heat. Everybody knows that this part of the country gets not only incredibly hot, but also woefully humid around mid-August. This year was certainly not going to fall short of expectation. The wettest and hottest year on record, and tomorrow, the hottest and most humid day of the year, was my wedding.

I wasn’t a stranger to unconventional ideas, hell, I had practically started Furia Del Diablo as a one-man band. Sure, it was common for a bunch of bikers to get together and ride, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to last as one by one my biker brothers became husbands. Oh sure, we still fired up the bikes every chance we got, but I needed to change with the times, otherwise, there wouldn’t be a gang at all. Poker runs got replaced by khoury league, tap lessons, or gymnastics. So I decided to open up a bar. It was a good gig for a single guy, and best part was that my buddies all liked to stop by. Seemed like a natural fit to name it after the club, kinda like one club to another. Thus, Furia Del Diablo was born.

The first time Wendy stomped through the door, she had my attention. All six feet of her. She swaggered like a man, but damn was she built like a woman. She was all woman, if you know what I mean. Lean legs, sexy ass, a rack as hot as all hell. Pair all of that up with a pair of icy blue eyes framed by the blackest mane you ever saw. God damn, she was incredible. I looked up when she opened the door. I expected a dude; she was anything but. She shook out her hair and walked right up to the bar. I had never been more thankful to have a barrier between my body and another. I was hard as I could ever remember and I don’t think I could have hidden that. I wasn’t even advertising for help when she very directly asked if I needed a bartender. Did I hire her? You bet your sweet ass I did.

I didn’t know it then, but the rest fell right into place. We started seeing each other. Then we were seeing A LOT of each other. So one afternoon, in January, I asked her if she felt the same way I did, and that was that. Nothing orthodox about this pairing. Maybe it shouldn’t have caught me so off guard when Tony made the remark about the reception, but to be honest, I had been riding so high on the fact that she was planning to be all mine, in love and in the law, I hadn’t even thought much about the reception. Of course we were doing it at the Furia, but other than that the guys were handling all of it.

So there was I, staring slack jawed at the soft braided rope swaying in the breeze from the nearest ceiling fan. Sweating my ass off, both from the weather and from the conversation. Sure, Wendy and I had discussed my bedroom inclinations. She was open to trying new things and she had been no disappointment where submission was concerned. I was just unsure of how she would react to being on display. I was in deep shit. I tried to back paddle, told Tony that I didn’t know if she would go for it. She hadn’t, after all, been there for the other weddings. I certainly hadn’t thought about explaining it. Fucking Tony and his “well, you best get to callin’ then.” Fuck him, his cowboy hat, and his smug grin. He didn’t think she would go through with it. I knew her better than he did.

We made it through the ceremony, all of my brothers in the club standing sentinel beside me. Wendy had never looked more precious and beautiful than she did coming down the aisle on the arm of Tony, or Tony the Texan, as we called him in the club. For once, we had managed to convince him to leave that damn hat at home. The ceremony was beautiful.

Although I’d have loved to ride the bike to the Furia Del Diablo, Wendy insisted on a car. I agreed, as long as I get a favor in return. If you asked me which of us was more nervous, I couldn’t say. Hell, it’s anybody’s guess.

We spent the first half of the reception half aware of the party, mostly lusting after each other. Eventually, the moment arrived, and Tony stepped up to the platform in front of the crowd. He called us both to the front, and as I stood up and offered my hand to Wendy, I saw him toying with the rope.

This is where we get “tying the knot”. This was the whole reason that there weren’t children allowed at the reception. I couldn’t imagine trying to explain this to them. It wasn’t long before Wendy had her seat in the chair, and Tony had secured her arms into the rope, a complex knot above her suspended wrists. She was a stunning sight with those long arms stretched towards heaven. I know I should have behaved myself, but fuck that. I’m only getting married once. If I told my girl to go without undies on her wedding day just so that I could get under that dress and give her the first orgasm of her married life in front of everyone before I removed the garter with my teeth, I think that’s a damn fine idea.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked



Backside prepared.
While over a lap.
Calming the fears.
Tension removed.
Released by a palm

This is an original work by Violet Elder. It is not to be copied or reproduced without the express permission of the author. All copyright laws apply.


Somewhere In Between

This is a work of fiction that contains M/f spanking and some sexual content. If you are not of age or are offended by either, well, damn. Don’t read it. I mean really, do I have to spell it out.


Also, this is an original work by Violet Elder. Any reproduction or reprinting of this work must have the express written permission of the author. Copyright applies.

Young woman with hands tied behind back, low section, rear view


She needed it.

It seemed that since the first time they had spoken, which really hadn’t been speaking at all, but a volley of email from one to the next, from the onset, she had needed. As the time passed and they became ever more closely intimate with all matters of personality, experiences, and of course, arousal, she realized that what was once desire had taken to itself a deeply seated urgency. No longer could their meeting be relegated to terms of “perhaps” or of “maybe someday”. As matter of fact, just this Sunday evening, while she was preparing for bed, came the oh so familiar tinkling jingle of her cellphone. She had turned down the coverlet, climbed inside, then checked the message.

When she had read the words three times (once for curiosity, twice for clarity, and the third time to be sure she wasn’t dreaming already), she could feel her heart hammering away behind her ribs. Someday had a name now. Someday had materialized and been turned into Thursday noon. Being very sure of herself, she was certain that this anticipation she felt was simply celebration that such a meeting was at long last going to materialize. How many times had she daydreamed about what the day would be like? She was sure she couldn’t say. It was difficult for her to manage to sleep, but there was work tomorrow and she knew that the only thing to do would be to roll over and try to doze off.

Of course the next day her first thought was one of anticipation. She breezed her way through her morning routine, thinking to herself that by this time next week, she would be remembering Thursday instead of anticipating it so keenly. Perhaps her hands lingered a bit longer upon her backside as she dressed. Maybe her thoughts were a little cloudy as she leaned across the corner of the bed to reach her tennis shoes. It might have been possible that as she looked in the mirror while brushing her hair, perhaps she blushed a few shades darker when she realized how turned on she was by the very idea of hairbrushes doing other things. His words regarding hairbrush being a transitive verb in his house…she might have looked that email up a few times.

The week seemed to pass far too slowly at first, and as days began to hurry past, her anticipation both heightened and became edged with a tension. In her college years, when she did a lot of theatre, she would have called it “stage fright”. What if she wasn’t brave enough? What would happen if she couldn’t bring herself to that door and knock? Would she manage to go through with this, or would she beg forgiveness and leave before anything could happen at all? What if, she thought, a knot in her stomach, what if she showed up and he rejected her? Would she be able to manage leaving before she lost her composure at his rejection and abandonment?

It was through sheer force of will and her natural stubbornness that she managed to not send an email telling him that her schedule had been changed. It would have been easy enough, she knew, and there would have been no way for her to be found out. She decided late Wednesday evening, just before bed, that she would sleep on it. She’d decide in the morning. Certainly, she told herself, she would be more able to decide in the morning.

The night found her sleep visited by many dreams, some of them harrowing, some of them calming. She woke with a head full of conflict, and yet that searing and aching urgency. She knew then that however nervous she might become, there was but one path for her.

She stood alone, the gleaming tops of her black shoes the only company. She could have sworn that as she knocked on the door anyone within a square mile must have looked to see what the noise was all about, although in truth, even the man in the lobby hadn’t budged from his newspaper. Her left hand fretted with the cuticle on her thumb while her right foot worried the heel of her left. She never heard footsteps approach the door, but the click of the latch was as unmistakeable as the turning of the handle. The door opened and there he stood, looking much the same as he had the last time (and first time) she had met him. His smile was still just as warm and genuine as the giant hug.

She obediently followed him from doorway to the sitting area. He had already set out water for both of them, which she was very grateful for. Not only was she actually quite thirsty, but her throat seemed very dry. She sat back in the chair, which was extremely cozy. Her mind wandered over the thoughts of the past day, her conscience chiding her overactive imagination. Lost in her thoughts for the moment, she was caught off guard when he asked what she was thinking about. Her face became warm, then intolerably hot. She could feel the flush creeping from her cheeks to her neck and even her ears. Damn her expressive body anyway.

“Just remembering some silly thoughts” she laughed, giving a dismissive gesture with her left hand. As she took another deep drink of the cool water, she allowed her eyes to finally meet his face. He seemed both amused and disappointed with her answer, but he just gave a knowing nod.

After they had discussed the limits and preferences for this very special first, he seemed keen to get right down to business, which she thought she might have found more unnerving if she hadn’t still been possessed by that same gnawing ache. Her mind and body were at war for a just a moment, her mind knowing what it wanted, her body unsure. The war was over in less than a minute, however, as he changed his position in the chair just slightly and gave her the unmistakeable and universal signal. One finger crooked in the “come hither” movement while his other hand gently patted his lap.

She caught her breath, her heart jumped around for a moment, but in less than half a second her feet had already obeyed his silent command. As she came steadily closer to him, his face softened and he took her cold hands in his for a moment.

“Look at me, darling.” his voice was calm, a smooth baritone. As her eyes met his, she saw them soften and crinkle just a bit around the edges. She felt herself begin to loosen and release some of the tension in her legs, which she would have sworn were shaking enough for her knees to knock together. “sit” he said, pulling her towards his lap. “relax”

She allowed herself to be pulled down and sat upon his lap. At first she felt ridiculous, sitting here as if she was a little girl, but within just a few moments, she began to release the tension in her shoulders. Of course, it was very helpful that his right hand was rubbing large circles around her shoulder blades. She let her head hang down, her chin almost touching her chest. It had been a very long time since she had been sitting on anyone’s lap. She leaned herself towards his chest, feeling very safe and secure, which was definitely unusual for her. She tried to not think about things too much. She was almost floating when his voice broke her temporary repose.

“Now, about those silly thoughts.” he changed his voice just slightly when he echoed her words. It wasn’t the snide tone that people use when arguing, more like the teasing tone that one would hear from a cousin, or a brother. She smiled, in spite of herself. She wasn’t sure quite how to explain her thought process of the last 24 hours. He would obviously think her an idiot. She certainly considered herself one for having such thoughts.

“They really were….just….well, silly thoughts.” she said, half a smile on her lips as she shook her head. She saw no reason to fill him in on just how crazy her mind could become. His hand had stopped stroking her shoulders long enough to make its way around her shoulders. His left hand found her chin, and crooking an index finger under it, he lifted it and leaned back so that they could both see one another.

“You do realize that I am not going to let you off that easily, don’t you?” he asked, his eyes still calm and warm. He had the hint of a smile on his face, but it was the smile of the cat who has cornered its prey and merely toying with it.

She felt her stomach drop, and she forgot to breathe for an intense moment. She didn’t want to admit to him how foolish she had been, but she knew that he was speaking the truth. He was not going to let it go, and for goodness sake, she was here for more than a social visit. She knew where refusal would land her. This was supposed to be more fun than punishment, and she definitely wanted to keep it that way. She looked away and sighed, not sure quite how to put this into words. She became aware that she was being stood back up.

“Up then,” he said, bringing her to her feet and then quickly trapping her between his thighs. Before she could manage to get any words out of her mouth, she found herself lying prostrate across his lap, her backside in the air at a most unladylike angle. This was not how she had imagined it at all, but then again, it was exactly how she had imagined it.

“Wait!” she tried to call out, but it was too late. She felt his hand come down upon her backside once, then once again on the other cheek. She had her skirt and panties still, but there was no mistaking that he meant business. She took advantage of the pause and started letting the words spill out as they would. She hadn’t meant to be in trouble so soon!

“I was excited at first, but then I got…well. I don’t know. I guess I got nervous.” Sure, nervous was probably the understatement of the decade, more like absolutely freaked out…paired with the incredible amount she had been turned on when she arrived…yeah…not something she wanted to admit.

“All that blush over a little nerves?” he sounded unconvinced. “I think there is more. So what else is there that you don’t want to admit?” there was a pause. The irony, of course, was they were both waiting for the other to say more. “Did you know that half the truth is the same as a lie?”

Of course she knew, in principle, that he was right. That didn’t change the fact that no way in hell did she want to own up to her freakout. What choice did she have? Even now she could feel him peeling her skirt up and lying it upon her back. She felt his hand, large and warm, lay across the small of her back.

“One last chance, take it or leave it.” he said gently. “But if you insist on lying, then I am going to remind you of what happens to girls that lie. You do know what happens to girls that tell lies, don’t you?” he chided gently. She was pretty sure she had a good idea.

“I think so.” she said quietly,

“You think so,” he countered “Or you know?”

As he finished, he hooked his fingers just under the waistband of her white full-cut panties. She fully expected him to pull them off, but he didn’t. “I can tell you it involves a lot of ouch, and none of this.” he said, gently tugging.

She considered. Although she didn’t want to own up to just how much she had freaked out, all that would cost her was some embarrassment, and he knew her. Chances are, he would understand why she had freaked out, possibly better than she did. If she kept trying his patience on this, she was sure it would be very unpleasant. She had looked forward to this meeting so much and certainly didn’t want it to be marred by an impromptu punishment first thing. Besides, her backside was still stingy from the first two swats, and that was with her skirt and panties for protection. She didn’t want to go cold into a bare bottom punishment. She sighed, not much of a choice, really.

“Okay” she said. “I’ll talk” she almost giggled at herself. She sounded like a prisoner being interrogated. And this was silly, wasn’t it? She felt his hands smooth her skirt back down into place and he was pushing her back to her feet. She was a bit shaken. It would have been much easier to make this confession face down over a lap, his hands ever at the ready, should she decide to change her mind. Now she was very tempted to cut corners and leave as much out as she could.

“Alright then.” he said seriously “out with it.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his left hand in a stop gesture.

“I do mean all of it. If I think you’ve left anything out, ” he looked her square in the eye ” there will be no reprieve.”

She swallowed and nodded her head in agreement. “I understand” she said quietly, looking at his feet.

“I was worried that when the time came,” she had to look at the middle of his chest. She couldn’t stand to see the look on his face when she told him the whole truth. “that maybe I would chicken out and not come.” she chanced a look up and he was listening, intently, so she continued. “I was afraid that maybe if I did come, well, maybe I might not manage to make it through, you know, the whole thing before I stopped things. That I might be a disappointment. I worried, ” she said, gaining a little confidence “that I might show up and then lose my nerve.” She stopped for a moment when he interjected a question

“But you didn’t, did you?” he said, getting up out of the chair and putting his hands on her shoulders. “You came and you haven’t lost your nerve at all so far, have you?” he pulled her chin up until her eyes met his once more “Have you realized that you went over my lap without the least bit of resistance?”

She realized that he was right about that. Absolutely right. She had a moment of victory, and then she remembered the rest of what had worried her, and felt immediately and immensely guilty. Her face must have given her away. His head had cocked to the side just a bit. “But there’s something yet,” he said “isn’t there?” She nodded her agreement, unable to give voice to it just yet. There was a lump growing in her trachea, swelling with every breath she took. She didn’t want to admit that she had doubted him, and especially not to him, but there was that expectant look on his face. She had no doubt that should she back down now, he would keep on until she confessed it all to him anyway. She made up her mind that she didn’t want it to be like that.

“I was…afraid. worried.” she admitted. “I know I am not…” she was messing this all up. “when you used to tell me stories about the other girls you have known…” her statement intoned up at the end, like a question. She waited until he nodded that he understood, and she continued. “well, I’m not like them. I’m damaged. I’m not usual.” She was afraid he was going to say something, so she kept on talking, afraid that if she stopped she would never get all of the words out. ” I was afraid that you would realize that I was not who you thought I might be, and that you might change your mind.” Her voice began to crack, and she could feel those traitor tears gathering up, making her look like a weaker girl “I was worried about how I would react to that. I wanted to be able to leave gracefully, I didn’t want to make you feel guilty about it, you know, if you had second thoughts.”  She could feel the tears making their escape, but slowly. taunting her as they strolled down her cheek. “I just didn’t want to be rejected.” she wasn’t able to read the expression on his face, so she continued, before she lost her nerve. “Then when I got here, you were so wonderful. You made me feel so safe and so welcome.” she laughed ruefully, “and I realized how turned on I was just at the prospect of being here. I felt very ridiculous for thinking such nonsense.” She drew in a shaky breath. “So, I hope you’ll forgive me for not telling you earlier. It was very embarrassing for me to admit that.”

He had been so quiet, she was taken by surprise a bit when he drew her in for a close embrace. “I understand, darling.” he said, mostly to the top of her head. “Those are pretty normal feelings, you know. I don’t want you too feel too embarrassed to tell me how you feel. If I am going to top you, spank you, and hold you afterward,” he said, sending another flip to her stomach, which was already in knots, “I need to know where your mind is.” She looked up and him and nodded, not feeling as if she could speak just yet. He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose and smiled, and then he mocked seriousness, slipping into character effortlessly. “But for now, young lady” her stomach dropped again, along with her eyes. She studied the tops of her shiny black shoes again, waiting for the inevitable. “I believe we have a very long overdue discussion.”

“Yes we do” she said, hint of smile at the corner of her mouth. She took his extended hand and allowed him to guide her into the same position as before, backside in the air once more, as he began swatting playfully at first, both of them laughing.

“Funny, is it?!?” he said with mock outrage

She giggled, unable to resist a little sass. “yeah, it is kinda funny.” She wasn’t surprised at all that her answer resulted in her skirt being pulled up. A crisp smack landed on the seat of her panties. It stung a little, but still, nowhere near serious yet. She jumped as the next slap landed closer to the junction of her thigh. It did hurt, but it also seemed to connect to…other parts…”Oooh” she said in response.

He said not a word, but continued beating out what became a more steady rhythm on her cheeks. Every now and again another would land in that spot, the one that sent zings to her very aroused sex. Before long, it seemed that almost every smack would elicit those wonderful feelings. She became aware of the way that she had begun to writhe and grind herself on him as much as was possible. He stopped for a moment and she panicked. She was no way ready for him to stop now.

It was with more relief than embarrassment that she realized he was not finished. He had merely stopped long enough to remove those full cut panties. Her backside was burning, but she didn’t mind that too much. She found that the burning, too, turned her on. Did that make her a masochist? She wasn’t sure. Maybe she would find out eventually, as for right now, she was being brought back to the here and now by the presence of a hand working its way up to the juncture between her legs. Slowly and meticulously a finger (or was it two?) found its way to her slick opening. She could tell by just the feel of his skin sliding easily inside her that she was outrageously wet. To make matters worse, as he pushed himself inside, she felt herself pushing back towards him, trying to assist him in getting as far as possible.

“Oh my,” he chided, clucking to himself. “Here I have been working at punishing, and yet you seem to be enjoying it quite a lot, don’t you?” he pulled his hand out of her, laying a very loud smack across her cheek.

She bucked upwards as soon as it landed. That one hurt! Her anger was short lived, as he had already begun to soothe it by rubbing his warm hand over the area. Of course, as soon as he took the slightest bit of sting out, smack! He laid a fresh smack upon the other side, following by rubbing it. He continued this for what seemed like forever in what was likely a minute or two. Then he was back inside her. She was pushing back against him once more. Then she moaned her frustration when he removed his hand again.

“You naughty girl” he said, leaning over her, his breath hot against her right ear.

Smack! went his hand against her bottom, which was beginning to take on a darker red hue. She felt him lean over her again, felt the tickle of his breath against her ear.

“What happens to naughty little girls, my darling?” When the next slap caught her off guard, a small yelp escaped her lips. “That was a hint. Tell me. What do naughty girls get?”

“Naughty little girls get spankings.” she said, a bit more breathlessly than she meant to. The next smack landed, which elicited another small yelp.

“MmmHmmm.” he agreed. “and just how are they spanked?” he asked, landing two rapid-fire spanks upon each cheek.

“OOOh!” she cried “over your knee, on their bare bottoms!”  She felt him lean back. He began delivering solid smacks to each cheek in turn, searing her backside into a hot, dark red. He worked his way from the crown of her bottom all the way to the delicate undercheeks, where he applied the most solid slaps. As his right hand worked on her cheeks, she was aware of his left hand cupping her pudenda. Each time a swat would land, it pushed her into his left hand. She could feel the tension coiling in her lower belly, each blow bringing her closer and closer. At last, he sped up the rhythm until she could contain it no longer. She cried out as she came hard, writhing and grinding her hips into his thigh. He soothed her backside with his right hand until she was able to get up.

He helped her lift herself up off of his lap and he sat her once again on top of it. He leaned back and pulled her to his chest while she cried. She cried as she hadn’t in years. She cried not from pain, not at all. It wasn’t a sad crying as much as it was just a release. When she was only sniffling, he helped her back to her feet.

And then he sent her to the corner. He would tell you it was because she deserved it.

She would tell you it was because he wanted an excuse to spank her again.


and the truth lies somewhere between the two.





To Be Heard

I have been gifted with some unexpected free time, which means that you all are just going to be hit with a soup of words. I have had this brewing inside my head for at least years, at most decades. It is of a somewhat personal nature, but then again, a lot–if not most of what I post here is. I think that I view my blog as a diary of sorts, but instead of keeping it locked away from prying eyes I tend to leave it lying wide open. In ways I suppose that can be bad, and in ways it is very good, for although it leaves me wide open to criticism (and we all know how well I do with vulnerability, har har), it also keeps me honest in ways that one might not expect. Since my blog is generally open for commenting, even by people who might prefer to remain anonymous, the commenters can offer so many insights that I might have missed. In ways, you all, the readers and commenters, keep me honest. Many of you will absolutely tell me if I am full of…well, you know….that stuff. I love that about blogging. Sometimes, however, I want to write about things that run very deep, and I am not so sure that I want to have comments on it.

“Sometimes the point is not to generate discussion, as much as to simply have been heard.”

In that vein of thinking, I have closed the comments on this particular posting. I am not seeking discussion, just understanding. I am not so vain as to think that I am the only person in the entire world that has these feelings, in fact, I am almost sure that it is a very common thing to think about.


the naked truth

I saw a “Wicked Wednesday” (I think it was…not entirely sure….) prompt about body image. I don’t usually take part in the weekly stuff, not that I have anything against it. I have a problem with chaotic schedules, so, it is very unlikely that I could be a regular participant and even more unlikely that I would EVER get anything submitted on time. So I write here, when I can, and when I feel like it.

This prompt, however, really kinda made me want to write about body image. I know mine is skewed, and not for the better. I am very aware that what I see is not what others see, and I suspect that it runs mightily close to a body dysmorphia for me. Not that it has ever been diagnosed. It isn’t the type of thing I would ever be able to discuss with a doctor, because it seems to me as a very vain thing to worry about. Yet I do worry, and sometimes to a great excess.

I have never been “thin and in”, as they say. I was always a little more round, although if you could have asked my mother she would tell I was always “just the perfect size” as a child. I understand how moms work, I am a mom. Heck, I am a grandma. I know that we don’t see our children the way that everyone else does. In spite of Mom’s opinion , I also know that she told me that as a baby I had a hard time sitting up on the floor because my ass was too round and I just rolled over, earning my baby-years nickname of “butterball”. I don’t blame them for that, I was a baby and didn’t know the difference. I am guessing that they stopped calling me that when I started mastering the art of sitting up, but at any rate, I don’t remember any of that, so no harm done.

I know that when I was in kindergarten I was average sized. I don’t remember being bigger than any of the other kids and in looking back at pictures, I was absolutely average in size. I enjoyed big words. I must have been a real corker. My mother used to tell me that she was not only surprised that I would use big words for my age, but that I used them correctly. I probably asked way too many questions for my own good, but I did learn a lot and I was constantly taking things apart to see how they worked. When I put them back together they would usually still work, although I almost always had spare parts. Funny how that works…

All of that aside, what I am saying is that I was terribly average. I was one of many small question asking people, and that my size wasn’t an issue at all.

As I grew into what we now call the “tween” years, I began slowly to add inches and weight. I became the “chunky” or “big-boned” girl. I think that there are many reasons for this, some emotional and some were hormonal, which I wasn’t even aware of until the last few months. Of course, as a tween, you learn that children can be very cruel. I also learned that well-meaning adults can be cruel. The saddest lesson you learn is that of all the people who are terribly awful to you, most often the toughest critic lives inside your own skin. I approached my mother, who was a nurse, asking her if she could help me to diet. She was always terrified that I would develop an eating disorder, I think. She would tell me that I should not be attempting to diet at my age (which was likely 11 or 12). In hindsight, she was correct about that. I don’t think that dieting is good for any girl (or boy) of 11 or 12. At the tween ages we are most likely to take dieting to an extreme, cutting out nutrients and yes, even fats, that a growing body needs. I do wish, however, that we might have met halfway. Perhaps we could have spent more time discussing what might be better options for me when it came to snacking or mealtime. I might have been able to develop better eating habits. I also wish that she might have noticed my general eating habits, in that I tended to eat more when I was stressed or upset.

Where some people tend to not be able to eat when they are upset, I am the opposite. When I am under tremendous stress, I seem to be perpetually ravenous. In my late 20’s I was eager to blame my mother for not catching on to this, but in looking back at her own habits (and the habits of my grandmother, even now…), it occurred to me that the reason she didn’t see it was because she had her own battles with food. Where I tended to eat too much too often, my mother was on the other end of the spectrum. Sometimes she would go days without eating. My grandmother, like me, is a stress eater. It’s kinda hard to fight a battle for someone else, no matter how much you might want to, when you have your own going on. I am sure that my mother saw my eating as good, since I wasn’t denying myself food as she had.

As my tweens turned into teens, I became steadily more depressed. Looking back at those years, even now, I am surprised that I survived. I really don’t know how or why I did survive, but I am glad that I did. My weight would yoyo up and down constantly. In college I fought many of the same battles. On a few diets I would lose a ton of weight, but then something would happen and I would fall astray. I actually even went to the doctor once and was on a very popular (at the time) doctor prescribed weight loss plan. Those in my area of the world will recall the popularity of the 90’s Fen-Phen diet. It was the only diet that had worked SO well for me. I dropped from 250 lbs down to almost my target weight of 160. I made it to 185 lbs. I was wearing clothing that didn’t come from the plus sizes section of the store.

I still felt like the fat girl.

Of course, if you remember the Fen-Phen popularity, you might recall that it was determined to be dangerous and was hastily pulled from the shelves. Suddenly all the walking I was doing (about 6 miles a day) wasn’t enough. All the weight came back. My relationship hit a major snag. I had to change jobs and no longer had the time to go to the gym. I had children to raise, so I didn’t have nearly the freedom I had experienced before when it came to meal planning.

Being fat is not fun. You start out with not being able to buy clothing like a normal person. You don’t buy an outfit because it looks good on you. You buy the clothes that fit you. You buy the clothes that are available, because unlike smaller “regular” clothes, there are only about two or three (if you are lucky) things there that will cover you. Swimming? Better get used to T-shirts and shorts. If you want a swimsuit, and lets face it, even if you get one that fits, you won’t dare to wear it in public without the T-shirt anyway, you will pay at least $90 for a good one. All the while you know that it is highly unlikely that it will get used more than a couple of times, no matter how hot it gets because when you go to swim someone (as likely an adult as a child) will make comments about the “beached whale”.

It isn’t much fun to have fun when you are what they make fun of

Yes, it is possible to pretend you don’t hear. It’s possible to pretend you don’t notice the people who look your way laughing to each other, but the end result is that you do hear it. You do see it. You can act as thought it doesn’t hurt, but if you are honest with those around you, it cuts like a fucking knife.

Speaking of being honest to those around you, friends and lovers, husbands and wives, they don’t understand why you gradually stop going to walk, why you aren’t interested in swimming or outdoor activities. Why you start to feel self-conscious about being naked in front of your lover, husband, wife, etc.

You try to tell them that you just aren’t feeling up to it, but that ends up leading to hurt feelings and misunderstanding. You try to explain the truth, that you simply feel as if you aren’t fit for those things, that people snicker (sometimes not even bothering to hide it), that you feel ugly, you feel undesirable, you feel unworthy of those things now. You hope that they will understand your pain, but generally what you get back is that you shouldn’t say those things. My personal favorite is “who cares what they think? You’re awesome! Now let’s go do this (thing that you feel unworthy of doing) and if you aren’t gung-ho and ready to go, they still get their feelings hurt. Sometimes they get angry, which I don’t understand…

In the case of husbands or wives, sometimes they just tell you that you are wrong, and they see you as wonderful. How do you tell someone you love that although it’s wonderful that they find you attractive, but the problem isn’t they way they see you. The problem is how you see yourself.

And that’s the root of the problem with me. I may be able to tell Jo how I feel. On rare occasions I can be completely honest about how I feel. It generally ends in her getting angry with me because of how I feel.

Before anyone gets too upset with Jo, please, don’t. She has explained to me why she feels that way, and it makes sense. If anyone, and I do mean anyone said the things about me that I say about me, she would absolutely knock them out. In my case, she can’t do that, and it frustrates her. For all that may be reading along to try to understand a spouse or loved one, bless you. I know it has to be hard to deal with us. I know that it is hard for Jo, but she still tries. What she doesn’t understand is that her actions and words make me feel as if she is telling me that my feelings and thoughts are simply invalid. I don’t have the right to feel how I feel about myself, and I am (really) forbidden to say such things about myself.

That makes being me kinda difficult, you know. It means that I have no outlet with the person that I am supposed to share everything with. It is difficult. I have learned to not speak about how I feel about my body to Jo. It is the one taboo subject. I don’t like it, but I do understand why it is hard for her.

I don’t speak about it with others much, mainly because it aggravates me when I see comments from (usually) girls bemoaning how “fat” or “ugly” they are when all they really want is for someone to compliment them. I don’t want a compliment. I don’t want to hear how wrong I am or how beautiful I am, because I don’t buy it anyway. All I want is to be heard. I want to be understood.

So there aren’t going to be comments on this particular entry. Please, I don’t want compliments. I just need the vent.

On a different note, I am aware now of how I have used food as a crutch for most of my life. I have made changes, slowly, in how I relate to what goes into my body.

I also became aware of a very real disorder that I have had on a hormonal level. I have medication now to treat the part of this disorder that likely contributed to my weight gain after puberty. (Any women reading this that experienced rapid weight gain around the time of puberty, along with facial hair (doesn’t have to be a lot), and irregular cycles, talk to your obgyn about PCOS.)

I have already begun to lose some weight. It will not come off overnight. It didn’t get there overnight, either. I am ok with that. I have already cut out all soda. Fast food is something that I might have occasionally, but it is not something that I have daily or even weekly. I have changed to healthier snacks, because I know that I will likely always want something to chew on when I am stressed.

There are small things that we can do to better ourselves. As long as I am doing something to make this a bit better, I’m ok with that. Who knows? Perhaps I will, one day, look at my reflection in the mirror and say, “hey, not so bad.”



Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked