Time marches on

They say that time waits for no man. The most it does is look back at you and you feel as though you have been left behind again. I look back on my life and I have to be honest, there are times I wish that I had done things differently. My kids are grown and for the most part are a joy to have around me. There is one area that maybe I should have done a long time ago.
You read about gays coming out and all that, how it was such a big thing to do, never realising that coming out as a spanko is just as traumatic. I never in my wildest dreams could have imagined how difficult it is. Only within the spanking community does one find understanding let alone acceptance. I tried, naively to get my best friend to understand how I feel, what kicked this off, she wanted to know. I tried to explain, telling her about the dream I had in which she took me to a place called Spankland. Spankland for those non spanko's, the place all naughty boys and girls go when ever their tails are getting aquainted with either a hand, a slipper, a paddle, a hair brush , a strap, belt or cane. Prolonged exposure to any of the above leads the one being spanked to spend time in spankland , wishing they had never done whatever it was they had done to cause their partner, wife, husband or top to punish them.

You may ask what is it that fascinates me about spanking. They argue that it cannot possibly be pleasant getting your backside turned red, or black and blue. I suppose that ever since I was a young teenager I have always been fascinated with mom's and have always had this need or desire to be like a little boy around a mother.

Strong women are a distinct turn on, Sometimes they scare me, why I don't really know. but they do. I think the first one to turn on my fascination was Celestina, my older sister. She was more of a mother to me than a big sister, being 9 years older than me meant she was a grown woman, I was still a little kid. She on more than one occasion took me to spankland and kept me there for many long minutes. I read a story the other day about a kid who got a pants down, over the knee spanking from his piano teacher, in all likelihood his first ever. He wrote and i quote "She had me begging for her to stop real soon, but she was a mama, and I was getting a Mama spanking from this lady. A 'teacher' spanking is a few swats and behave yourself. A Mama spanking is a whole different thing altogether. A Mama spanking takes a boy to the heights of spankland, where nothing exists but his butt and his mama's hair brush. All the pride of how big a man he is has long since vanished. All his shame in bawling like a little child is long forgotten. The sound of the cracking with each lick of her hair brush mingles with is own squalling and begging for mercy so that they become one in his mind. And even his pleas have long since become one long blubbering, incoherent to the point that only he and Mama understand what he's begging for.

But, being Mama, she is deaf to those pleas and squalls. She is not out to simply remind him of where he is and that he should behave. Her objective is to make it Real clear to him that he will Never behave like that again without being subject to the worst nightmare of his young life...again."

It struck me that these were the type of spankings I got as a child from Celestina. She would take me , pull down my shorts and wallop me until she thought that I had learned the lesson she was teaching me. If I demonstrated that I had not learned the lesson she kept right on spanking. Sometimes she felt the need to reinforce the lesson, she would then take a switch , usually a willow tree or quince tree branch and use that to enforce the lesson. I was a slow learner, or was that just plain naughty,

Now regarding spankland, it is not my favourite place to be, but at this moment it is probably the place I need to be the most. Having said that , it is more than likely a place I would not be seeing in the future either distant or close as I am having difficulty finding someone to take me there.