More about the World Spanking Party

As I said in my last post, I got to meet some very cool people at the World Spanking Party, and I got to spend more time talking to folks I have met before but didn’t know that well. I’m pretty sure I have finally learned the names of all of “The Brits”–the ones who tend to travel en masse to Shadow Lane and the Boardwalk Badness Weekend. But the WSP did have folks from Spain, Germany, Ireland, a few more from the UK, the US, Canada, Holland and I think a few other places as well. Am I wrong or was there someone from Australia there? That seems like an awful long way to travel for a weekend party–I hope they had other things to see and do while in Europe.

As I mentioned, Cambridge Ian and I had a date to play, and since it had been so hectic at the Villa the night before, we decided to hang at the hotel for a while on Saturday morning and early afternoon. I was due back late-afternoon for the Female-topping-males party. Rad and I had lunch, I showered and changed then met Ian at his room, down the hall from ours.

I was not so nervous about playing and making noise, since I thought he’d mostly be using the cane. But he surprised me by saying a needed a good warm up first, and proceeded to spank me. The sounded echoed loudly and as a result I found it hard to relax. There’s nervousness because of pain, and anticipation of more pain, and then there’s anxiety that any minute now you’re going to get a knock on your door. He had the end room on the floor and he said he was pretty sure there wasn’t anyone in the room next to his, but I wasn’t sure. And sound can carry into and down a hallway pretty easily. I tried to let it go and relax.

I might have written about Ian before, although, maybe not. He has this interesting caning style where he pretty much canes a person for a good 15, 20 minutes without a break. He did this first with one of his canes and then with the new Dragon cane I’d purchased at the vendor fair the night before.

Not all his strokes are heavy–he does this tap-tap-tapping for a while, increases the intensity, lets a solid stroke fly, goes back to the tapping, lets another good stroke land, back to the tapping, another good stroke, and then a REALLY hard stroke. then sometimes 7-10 good strokes in a row, followed by a REALLY hard stroke. The patterns are not predictable, and there was no way I could keep count, but at one point about halfway through the second cane, I did try to count and figured there were close to 100 “real” strokes that I could count — between that and the other cane I’d probably taken around 300-400.

It’s hard to write about it without reminiscing pleasantly on the scene–I was feeling the endorphins or serotonin or whatever drug was being released as a response to the pain–but the pain was real, and I yelped and gasped at a lot of the strokes. I was determined to maintain position throughout and I did a fairly good job although there were times when I bucked or twisted slightly. I was gripping the end of the mattress during some of the harder volleys.

Ian said he doesn’t play that hard with most people, which made me happy. I thought it was a pretty hot scene.

It’s true, Sandy blows

Image found on Huffington Post — if anyone knows if there’s a different source that needs to be credited, let me know. 
It’s the first time I’ve had a hurricane named after me. While I admit I’m enjoying the infamy, I hope it doesn’t turn out as bad as the news reports are predicting. (How many more times are we going to hear, “Don’t be a fool–evacuate!” while the very same reporters saying this are sent out into the beach towns to find the fools who aren’t evacuating. Or, “Look at these nutzos still walking on the beach!” says the reporter standing on the beach. This is what reporters are told to do; I was a reporter once and did the same myself, in every major storm.)

I can hear the wind gusting outside, though our windows are closed. It’s 4:30 am — we got up early because Rad thought he might have to go into work and I would have had to drive


(all public transportation has been shut down). He’s now heard he doesn’t have to do something that foolish, thank god.

Good luck to everyone who is dealing with Sandy. don’t take it out on me!

World Spanking Party

Most of those who write have already written about the World Spanking Party. Why didn’t I blog til now? I had my laptop with me, something to record my thoughts in even with our limited access to the internet. But during the trip I mostly wrote in a marble notebook, the kind of notebook I like to use as a journal. Rad and I were so busy doing stuff that I barely got a free moment to write it down.

But a little bit about how things went: It was Ian the London Tanner‘s first attempt to throw a party like this, and there were some glitches, mainly out of his control. One phenomenally large “glitch” was that the party venue–the villa where a bunch of us were all supposed to stay–was pulled out from under us the Sunday before the party was about to begin.

We arrived on Wednesday afternoon to Benalmádena, Spain (on the Mediterranean), having received instructions to meet at the hotel rather than the villa. Ian soon informed us what had happened — the people who own the villa had had noise complaints during a wedding a few weeks back and were nervous about our own particularly noisy activity. They had a contract, but the villa owners found some clause in the contract that allowed them to cancel, and they gave Ian his money back.

He spent most of the next four days on the phone, wheeling and dealing and trying to get an alternate venue for the party. We who were supposed to be staying at the villa sucked it up. I wasn’t thrilled with the hotel room– it was tiny; the walls were paper thin and carried every noise–but it did have a free breakfast every morning and was close to everything.

People were arriving and the other Ian arrived. This is my old friend from Cambridge and I was very happy to see him. I often see him at Shadow Lane but he hadn’t attended this year so it had been a while… Several other people who were originally going to attend–D and G from San Diego, and Kay, one of the organizers–had cancelled for various reasons.

At the meet-and-greet dinner on Thursday night it was soon revealed that Ian had found a new venue, a new villa to hold the party in. I was very impressed that he could do it on such short notice! But then we learned there wasn’t enough space for everyone. After the party organizers got their rooms, there was only one room left over and four couples remaining who had booked the villa, not the hotel. There was some back and forth talk about how we could decide who got the room, but three couples pretty much agreed to let Miss Chris have the room because she had arranged for a bunch of private sessions and would “need it” more than we would.

The meet and greet was terrific, and was held at a restaurant called “Once Upon a Time”(“Erase Una Vez”). (I caught up with Cambridge Ian, as well as M&K from Colorado, and met some new people. I got flirty debating with a British gentleman over why many guys at parties won’t take “no” for an answer, the condensed version being that if guys always took “no” as “no,” the human race would not have survived. Perhaps, perhaps…

This guy was intelligent and cocky in the way I like. He hinted that he might like to play during the party, and that was fine by me. He seemed pretty cool.

I had promised my Cambridge friend that we would play, and in my book he had “first dibs” on me. In the back of my mind I was worried about the noise from playing in our hotel rooms. But I know he loves using the cane, which is pretty quiet compared to a hand spanking, so I guessed we could give it a shot.

More to come soon, at least I hope… 

Low-key get-togethers

Last night Rad and I drove to NJ to hang out with some scene friends. It was a very small gathering, just six of us total, with no play–just dinner, dessert, and lots and lots of talk. There were four women and two guys and, once we got beyond the usual gossip, there were lots of thoughts exchanged about the joys and pains of being in the scene, dealing with difficult people, saying no when you have to, and the differences between being a bottom/sub and a top/dom. My thoughts on this fluctuate. One Dom friend says he thinks it’s harder being a sub. He says if you’re a top, you just decide what you want to do and you do it; the sub has to prepare emotionally and physically. A bottom friend in the group last night said she disagreed; she said it’s a lot of work being a top, and as a bottom, all she has to do is show up and “take it.” Good points on either side. As a switch who leans more toward the bottom, I’d say it can be very difficult emotionally as a sub because I have easily gotten attached to doms in the past who were not as emotionally connected to me as I’d thought. But it’s true that it’s a lot of work as a top. WHEN I top I need to get somewhat of a basic plan in my head before the scene starts. It can be really basic, like, “I’m going to put him over my knee and spank him, then make him stand in the corner.” After that I kind of have to think on my feet and go with my instincts judging on how my bottom is reacting. It’s easy to tell a sub at the start of a scene, “Strip, then get on your knees.” But a bottom who’s not submissive isn’t going to appreciate that. They may just be looking for the physical, not the emotional, submission. (They may completely top from the bottom — I don’t enjoy those scenes, but they do happen). This afternoon, I’m heading to Huntington for the Long Island Leather N Roses’ annual Oktoberfest. There will be some play there, but that, too, ought to be a mellow gathering, as parties in the afternoon tend to be. As I’ve hinted earlier this week, I do have plans for my friend Johnny (traveling with canes). I’ve been working a LOT of long hours and I’ve had to miss the last two LILNR meetings. I’m really looking forward to seeing my friends again; I’ve missed them.

Street bullies

If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn’t rub out even half the ‘Fuck you’ signs in the world. It’s impossible.
Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye

Rad says he was trying to make the bus yesterday so when he got off his train at 42nd and 7th he came rushing up the street, yelling, “Get out of the way, you apes!” I hope he was kidding. Probably not.

I had texted him earlier that I’d wait for him at one of the little tables in Bryant Park, near the bus stop. I’d left work a little late again, but that’s because I was doing some of my own work after hours. …

I walked to my usual bus stop at 6th and 45th (I work near 45th and Madison) when I remembered i was supposed to pick up a prescription at the Duane Reade on 5th and 44th. “Shit!” So I hustled back over there.

Normally I’m a fast walker. I just like to get where I’m going. Last night I think I was walking a little faster than usual, because I wanted to get my drugs then get back to the bus stop. I passed two guys. I passed them on the right because they were kind of on the left side of the sidewalk. I didn’t think anything of it. Up ahead on 5th, the little white walk sign was lit so I was hoping I could get there in time to make the light–it’s a long light if you miss it.

Suddenly I hear one guy call loudly, “Where are you going?” It seemed aimed at me. I thought, “What the heck?” but didn’t turn. Then I heard, “We’re going somewhere, too! We’re walking fast, too!” Suddenly they were pacing themselves with me, and, I suppose, trying to get me to say something.

Why is this happening? I was pissed. Were they MOCKING me for walking fast? I mean, I know I’m a freak but I’m not THAT big of a freak.

I know how these things work. You don’t talk to people who start things with you on the street. Nothing you say will make any difference. If you confront them–or even try to laugh and make light of it–it will only escalate things. All I knew was I was minding my own business and then suddenly two guys were being assholes to me.

I told Rad about the incident when he got to the park later. I said, “Guys don’t have to deal with that sort of shit, do they … you know, random rude comments from strangers?” He said, “No, not really.” I had been telling him a week or so back about how many times some strange guy had told me to smile. Bizzarre. I’ve never understood why, and I still don’t.

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It starts with a vague idea: I haven’t used my canes in a while; it would be nice to cane someone. Who’s going to be my next victim? (I have someone in mind as I write this. but it will depend upon where I am and how soon we can arrange it.)

The notion of canes is scary, but it’s certainly not all psychological: Yes, they really DO hurt! (oh, I know, you can have a SENSUAL caning, too … you can have a sensual spanking or flogging … you can have vanilla sex, too, I’ve heard.)

I should hand out a questionnaire after I top someone because I’m always curious about how the bottom takes a caning (vs. how I’ve taken them), and what might be going through his or her head. Some male bottoms are very stoic. Females can get like that, too, but I’ve seen it more often in men. You sometimes don’t know how much they are hurting. When I thrashed Joseph in California a few years ago (a picture on my FetLife profile that a lot of people have commented on) he WANTED a severe caning, to the point of serious marks and even blood. I have seen much worse caning shots, believe me. I gave him close to 300 strokes, and it was a thrilling, energizing scene.

I don’t mind blood. I’ve bled from a cane stroke or switch stroke before, and I didn’t want my top to stop. As long as both people are OK with it, there’s nothing that says you can’t keep going. Tops, of course, have as much right to call a scene as a bottom does. Blood is a hard limit for many, and that’s perfectly understandable. (I’m not going to preach about cleaning your toys and having first aid supplies handy; we are all thinking adults here and ought to know that stuff before engaging in edge play.)

I’m not entirely sure what amazes me more–the bottom who can take that kind of an ass whuppin’ while barely moving, or the tops who have given ME hard thrashings while I was wriggling and struggliing and sometimes vehemently protesting that I’d had enough. I can be vocal as a bottom… but I’ve had my stoic moments, too.

Caning is one of my favorite types of play. Done ritualistically and slowly, the buildup and nervous anticipation are fantastic. Done swiftly and cruelly, the out-of-control feeling kicks in and there’s a huge rush of adreneline, endorphins and fear. As a top, I feel powerful and a little cruel, and I think my endorphins are pumping, too. Sometimes something takes over (a bit of the dark side) and I really want to cause pain.

I’d love to hear from other caning fans about how you take or give a caning, and how it fits into your spectrum of play. If you’re a “veteran” bottom, does the cane still scare you?

I THINK I’m still kinky

The last couple of weeks have felt full of work, with some fun vanilla activities here and there, too, but not much in the way of kinky—except for the Manhattan Spanking Party, which is a classy, somewhat subdued affair. I haven’t let loose since Shadow Lane, and I don’t know when my last non-spanking scene party was.

I was trying to work out some rope play at Marcus’ Rope U class last month (a friend had expressed interest in my being his practice bottom and I was hoping to refresh some of my own rope skills), but it turned out I had a conflict. The next one is this coming Sunday, and I have another conflict—Sunday is LILNR’s annual Oktoberfest—which, from what I understand is just a social party with no play (maybe I’m wrong about that; if so, it would be nice to play. I owe Johnny a caning…)

Rad & I have been getting along great. I don’t miss going out all that much. I do feel like I must stay connected, however—it is easy for me to fall into a comfortable rut. I can easily convince myself that “no one will miss me.” Of course no one’s waiting for me to walk through the door before they can declare a party has started, but I think at least a few key people like seeing me show up at events.

It wouldn’t be that hard to set up a play date. I know I could coordinate a spanking—and more—with certain old friends here in New York or Philadelphia. Sometimes I don’t pursue these things because I don’t want to be vulnerable.

It’s crazy. I do want to be vulnerable, but it has to be “right.” And right now I’m not sure when it will be right. What is causing this? I’m going to be totally honest and just say it: I feel a little sour, a little sad, about certain players making me feel really special when I am with them and then almost practically disappearing.

There is a little voice that sometimes still whispers to me, “Isn’t there a Dom out there who can treat you like you’re special?” And there may be, but I’m not looking right now. Given my own pickiness about partners and the limits that my marriage puts on such a connection, it may not ever happen. I can’t do it 24/7, that’s for sure. And I can’t do it long-distance. Won’t work.

Again, I start toying with the notion of finding a female dom. That’s probably even harder to find than a male dom. But they are out there. I remember scenes I did with M. Blair. And Liz. And Miss Holly (pictured above, strapping me). All tough, scary but nice, ladies. I loved those scenes.

On the flip side, there are a few women out there that I’d love to be dominant to. I don’t know how they feel about it—they are friends only—and I’ve been afraid to ask.

I’ll have to decide what I want to pursue. There’s time. I am still kinky and it’s OK to chill for a while. I’m just going to work on staying connected, in the meantime.