>newsflash: disabled people have sexualities too
>
I recently discovered the Feminists with Disabilities blog, who have a lot of good stuff to say on body politics, accessibility and identity issues, class politics, mental health and suchlike. Ophelia and a few other queer, kinky, disabled friends and I have long talked about a website project about kink and disability, with tips for sex activities that suit limited mobility or low energy, articles about managing chronic pain, fantasies that include disabled and ill people, book recommendations and general solidarity about having a body that doesn’t work properly. I’m able-bodied, but neither of my partners are, so this is close to my heart, and I think I’d be able to contribute usefully. It’s still something I’m keen to do if I ever find time.
Feminists with Disabilities definitely have their heads screwed on right. I was nodding all the way through their recent introductory post on disability and sexuality:
Disabled people, like non-disabled people, have all sorts of sexualities that can change throughout life. We can be queer and straight, poly and mono, kinky and vanilla (which is not to say that all of those are exclusively sexual identities, either). Not everyone is into or can have PIV intercourse, and all kinds of sexual activity are as legitimate as the participants consider them to be.
Most of the comments on the post were pleasingly kink-aware as well, and raised some important issues:
As a kinky queer person with disabilities, I have to say that one of the big challenges I face is playing with able bodied people who are afraid of “breaking” me or who think that I don’t know my limits. And I definitely understand that fear, but it kind of plays into the whole “people with disabilities are fragile” trope which can sometimes be a huge barrier to sexuality, especially alternative sexuality. And it can be really disempowering to be told that someone else knows my body and my limits better than I do.
I have a fairly visible disability in that I’m totally blind (I prefer visually impaired but no TABs [Temporarily Able Bodied people] seem to know what it means so I’m forced to only use it in PWD friendly spaces to avoid having to explain all the time) anyway, this combined with the fact that I’m quite petite used to mean I got harrassed all the time at college by guys who seemed to be turned on by my apparent ‘vulnerability’, this was very creepy and also incredibly frustrating as they’d pretty much reduced me to my disability. I’m not ’special’ and I don’t need ‘rescuing’ and I’m definitely not playing the damsel in distress to fulfil anyone’s fantasy. The problem seems to be that if you’re blind then you’re allowed to have a sexuality as long as its passive so you just become an object for somebody else’s fantasies. Well, I’m sexually dominant and bi (predominantly interested in women) so where does my sexuality fit in this?
The kink community, of course, has its pros and cons:
I don’t like the BDSM community trope that leather sex is better and I’m part of the BDSM community. I’m less active in it these days and don’t volunteer for stuff or go to meetings and events, but I’m definitely oriented that way and have been since I can remember having sexual thoughts (like when I was six or seven). So I’m cranky about the attitude because I run across it all the time.
That said, I very much like the BDSM community’s inclusion of people with disabilities[1], fat people, older folks. The sort of people who ’shouldn’t’ be running around naked do and it’s excellent. Most events I’ve been to recently have at least one workshop on disability sexuality issues and there are lots of folks with assistive technologies; sign interpretation is provided to make events accessible to Deaf people.
[1] Though one of the few Dallas hotels that’s willing to host our events and is big enough is not accessible; the only elevator that goes to the meeting space floors (there are four levels of them) is a service elevator in the kitchen. Seethe.
I remember my own rage at the lack of disabled access at the venue chosen for Night of the Senses last year – appalling given it was a fundraiser for a charity promoting inclusivity and access!
I think the kink community is more inclusive of imperfect bodies than is normal in our society. And I love the way it’s so normal for us to talk about boundaries and limits that it’s easy to extend that conversation to people with disabilities. But the kinky porn industry is far from perfect. Not only are disabled models never featured (unless it’s a special-interest fetishising a particular disability, and that sort of niche is not only objectifying and offensive, it’s also not really part of spanking/BDSM), but the websites tend to fail at accessibility for the hearing and vision impaired. And there are the ongoing problems with access at meetups and events. There’s still work to do.
If you’re interested in this topic, keep an eye on the FWD blog: it’s got some good stuff on it. You might also enjoy The Deal with Disability. The author is Eva, a queer twenty-something who channels her frustration at being treated as if she wasn’t an adult woman into a funny, smart, informative blog. Reading it, I feel as if I would be far less good-natured about the ways people mess up, if I were in her position. But it’s a great way of learning how to mess up less when interacting with people with severe mobility or communication issues.
Eva talked about her sexuality in an interview with Lesbilicious this summer:
Many of your videos show people treating you like you’re invisible because you have a disability. Do you feel invisible as a queer person too? If so do you think the two are connected?
“Well I think people don’t believe that disabled people can have sexual identities. So I guarantee not many people realise I’m queer (even though I have a button on my backpack that says ‘I heart vaginas’).
And its not like when you go out to do errands you announce to the world ‘I’m queer!’ I am on the butch side, so the main encounter I run into is that people often mistake me for an 8 year old boy.”
How do people react when you tell them you’re queer? Do you think you get a different reaction to non-disabled queer people? If so why?
“Again, I don’t tell random people that I’m queer, but in general I believe most people don’t think about disabled people as having sexual identities. Its like we’re made to be asexual.
So when I do tell people I get a lot of TMI questions. For example, strangers have asked how I have sex. Often, I ask them the same question. That usually shuts them up.”
>learning to let go
>
I was recently sent this true story by a reader. We were chatting about my first experience of a session with Zoe Montana and a male submissive. He mentioned his own difficulty learning to let go of control during a scene – to stop “topping from the bottom” – and how Zoe helped him overcome it. His story resonated with me, and he very kindly granted permission to repost it. If you enjoy reading it, please take the time to leave the writer a comment and make him feel welcome.
—
I’m male, over 60, and I’ve been having spanking sessions for nearly twenty years – my name, however, is not for release, as I would prefer the freedom to be frank that only anonymity can bring.
Over the years, I have enjoyed many sessions in which I have been spanked. Indeed, until about a year ago, that was all that ever did happen. There was a lovely tall blonde who would put me over her knee and proceed to warm my backside for as long as she deemed necessary. It was good, we got on well, and we both enjoyed meeting up and chatting afterwards.
Eighteen months ago she retired from the scene, and I looked elsewhere for the first time in many years. All of a sudden I found adverts for spankees and for switch sessions. I’ve always been a switch, but I’d never previously spanked a pro girl at all, and to be able to combine that with being spanked myself – wow!
So I answered an advert, and a few weeks later I met Zoe Montana, one of the many real enthusiasts on the London scene. I’d written a very “tongue-in-cheek” letter to explain why I needed to be spanked – she found it amusing, and responded in kind. There followed one of the best couple of hours I have ever had. Fun, laughter, wine and chocolate, and both of us ending up with very warm bottoms!
I liked this formula, and used a similar one in several subsequent sessions, both with Zoe and with some other super girls, always enjoying myself a lot.
But after a recent session with Zoe, I e-mailed her to thank her, and, as an aside, I mentioned that I had never “gone into subspace”, as I have seen it described by Niki Flynn and others. I wondered if she thought that might be because I tended to brat and fool around in the sessions – they’d always been very light-hearted in tone. I was also aware that I tended to take control. What can I say – I know what I like, and these sessions are not cheap, so it was easy to let myself get into the habit of guiding things in the direction I wanted to go. Of course the bottom is always ultimately in control, but I always had a firm idea of what I wanted to happen during a scene – what would work for me – and tended to resent any attempt on the part of my top to steer me away from my intended course.
Zoe’s reply to my e-mail was revealing, to say the least! In the kindest of ways, I was told all the things that I was doing that made it hard for me to really benefit in a deeper way from the session – and that made it almost impossible for her to help me.
Such is the generosity to be found in this scene that she offered to meet me in advance of our next session to talk things through with me. So we met and chatted, and she explained how I needed to let go of my control, to trust her. And I realised I did trust her – I know that she will create a great experience for me whenever we get together, and that if I relinquished control to her I would be completely safe in her hands.
So I did. I let her act out the scenario I had planned without any interruption, or discussion, or asking for it harder, or differently or any of the things I usually do. And it was fantastic.
There was nothing particularly original about the roleplay scenario. I came into my office and found her there searching through my belongings: Assuming her to be a new employee who I hadn’t met before, I decided to teach her a lesson. I spanked her hard, on her bare bottom, then strapped her.
Only after punishing her did I stop to ask who she was. At this point I discovered that she had been sent by the head of HR to investigate a series of complaints made about me by the female employees in my firm. She was a specialist at dealing with male bosses like me – too valuable for the firm to let go, but whose behaviour needed to be changed. She explained that she had only permitted me to spank her as it gave her first-hand proof of exactly what I had been doing: now, there was no point in me trying to deny it.
We had discussed before the scene what approach she should adopt. I had said that hugs and re-assurance meant a lot to me, but I would also like her to be firm and strict. So I agreed to be punished by her.
She put me over her knee, and for the first time ever, I didn’t interfere, interrupt, complain, or try to change anything about what she was doing. I just accepted what was to come. A very hard hand-spanking was followed by a small but severe leather paddle. I submitted to everything without question. It hurt, but no more than I expected. What I wasn’t expecting, was something that had never happened before in in nearly 20 years: I started to cry. And once I started, it was hard to stop. In another session with another partner I might have felt silly, childish, embarrassed – but not this time. Her friendship and her expertise, together with my trust in her, combined to create a new kind of experience.
She was loving, kind, caring, and yet she gave me a real punishment. And she was skilful, too: not once did she leave her character. So how did she manage to hug me, whilst punishing me? Easy. She said, “And these girls you spanked – did you hug them? like this?” In character, she made me feel it was wrong and creepy that I should do so – but at the same time, the real me benefited from the hugs.
About half-way through, we took a break, and I was so emotional I just sat and held her, and she knew that was what I needed. Then she asked if we should continue, and I said yes. She had said at the start that I would be caned, and as she had not yet done that, I knew that my punishment was far from over. I also knew I needed to accept everything that she felt I deserved.
She tawsed me, and paddled me, and caned me. Now, usually I get well warmed up during the course of a session, and find I can take a lot more by the end. But this time that didn’t happen. I felt every stroke, and they hurt. There was some significant “ouching” from me, and times when I wasn’t sure I could take the rest of the punishment. But I was in her hands, and at no point did I ask her to stop. I’d handed over to her completely, and it actually felt good to know there was nothing I could do. It turned out that there was nothing I wanted to do but accept what was to come.
It was a wonderful sensation to let go, to give myself completely to her control. To allow myself to release all the pent-up emotion that I didn’t even know was there. She had said in one e-mail to me that she could help me discover what it was I really wanted out of the session, even if I didn’t know what that was when I started. She was so right.
Once the session was over, she said to me – “Now don’t say you didn’t go to another place there!” It was certainly cathartic. I don’t know if it was the place which others have described as “flying”, but it was certainly a very different place from the one I usually inhabit, a place I had never been to before, and one I hope to return to as soon as I can. 
And amazingly enough, I’ve been having very little sub-drop since, much less than usual – so I think I really did need to let go more.
So to conclude, I’d just like to say two things:
Firstly, if you’re a bottom who tends to take control (particularly if you usually need to pay for your play sessions), try giving yourself completely to a partner you trust, and you may well discover a whole new and wonderful type of experience.
Secondly, I do want to thank Zoe for all she has done for me. The e-mail reply that started me on this path, the wonderful intense session, and the long time she spent with me – both beforehand to help prepare me, and afterwards to help me return gently to reality. Thankyou so very much!
—
Many thanks to Clare Spanks Men, Northern Spanking and Over Her Knee for the amazing images.
>7am in 1911
>
I learned on my first ever adult shoot that modelling is not particularly glamorous. After a day spent retouching my makeup between every set until my face felt coated in plaster, climbing up on tables and kitchen counters in four-inch heels and pretending my head wasn’t being squashed into the ceiling, and generally discovering all the other unanticipated delights involved in posing for photos, I felt far more glamorous after the shoot, being met by my pretty new boyfriend and driven home in his shiny sports car. (This being D – my first paid shoot was nearly four years ago now, scary thought.)
My first shoot as an extra for TV was a similar experience. 7am starts, never quite knowing what’s going on, hours and hours of sitting around freezing in a draughty warehouse, learning to save up your energy so when you’re finally needed you look like you only just arrived. Most spanking shoots avoid this level of faff, thanks to being such small, informal outfits. But sometimes the smallness and informality can cause problems of their own.
The final shoot for Lost Causes, my forthcoming Roué film with Adele Haze and Thomas Cameron, was a location shoot in London. We’d found some beautiful old mill buildings, but we needed to get there before cyclists and dog walkers started appearing along the canal. So there was no way around the 6am start: that’s just the way it goes when you’re filming.
However, for the main two-day shoot, I’d had the advantage (relatively unusual in the spanking industry) of professional hair and makeup – an absolute blessing for which we had Roué to thank, allowing us to concentrate on our acting. I realised the downside the day before the final location shoot, which was a tiny affair just involving me and the camera crew. Not only would I have to exactly recreate the look achieved by the makeup artist, for the sake of continuity, but I’d have to do it by myself at 6am…
This photo was taken before I did my hair, because the light in the bathroom was pretty. Then the crew arrived early and I had to do my hair in the car without a mirror. So much for continuity!
The shoot itself involved such exciting, glamorous, sexy events as:
- waiting in the car for 45 minutes while the crew made sure we had the all clear
- walking up and down on cobble in high heels for an hour (not easy when you can’t even see your feet underneath all the skirt)
- more waiting while they filmed lots of background sound from the canal
- at least a million takes of the bit where I walk up to the front door and knock
- convincing a security guard we were only filming the cobblestones, not the listed buildings (of course)
- more takes of walking up and down in high heels to get the audio – I managed to convince them to let me do it on the flat pavement, so the footsteps would be less erratic. Heels and cobbles tend to incur uncontrolled skidding.
But it was all worth it in the end. We got it all wrapped, which is a wonderful feeling, and meant we could press on with finishing editing. And we got some lovely shots of my character approaching her doom new school, and wondering what awaits her:
It was a moody, blustery morning, well suited to character’s state of mind. And my hair wasn’t a problem in the end: the wind messed it up anyway as soon as I got out of the car, so it would have turned out looking slightly tousled however perfectly dressed it had been to start with 🙂
>introducing the Temporary Inquisition Squad
>
I spent most of last night giggling at this video. The gorgeous Queen Irelynn of Freshly Spanked releases a decree to control wayward minions, granting powers of punishment to the Temporary Inquisition Squad. After her edict, Professor Lewis demonstrates how to effectively punish uproar-inducing miscreants with the aid of an unfortunate bearing a remarkable resemblence to Queen Irelynn. Sort of like a spanking version of the Princess and the Pauper.
It is HILARIOUS. Massive props to Irelynn and Stephen Lewis for making me hoot with laughter. Also, it’s kind of hot.
>morning and night
>
Real life has a tendency to not live up to fantasy. Health problems, work, domestic matters and mundane crises often stand in the way of enacting the kink of my imaginings. Even pleasant distractions such as creative projects or seeing friends and family take time and energy away from spanking.
When I was in two long-term relationships, I used to daydream of the fun we’d have when I moved to London and could see my partners during the week. But now I’m here, this year I’ve been surprised by how little we’ve played. Even with desire and opportunity, finding time for play can be unexpectedly difficult. I know I’ve been working hard, I know you can’t argue with someone’s health. But there was one hurdle I didn’t seem coming.
I’ve never lived with a partner: time with my men has always been snatched in evenings and weekends, and I’m constantly struggling to feel I have enough time for boyfriends, girlfriends, myself and everything else. My holiday with Tom the other week was the longest we’d ever spent alone together, and it was incredibly lovely. But I didn’t quite anticipate how dramatic the difference is between our diurnal cycles.
Tom is in the habit of waking early. Like me, he suffers from insomnia (a cruel irony when combined with his chronic fatigue), but for him it takes the form of dawn waking – he has been in the habit of waking with the sun since childhood, and once awake, finds it very hard to get back to sleep. I, on the other hand, take hours to drop off and wake frequently throughout the night, but can usually doze off again.
On holiday, we both hoped to catch up on our sleep, and promised each other a series of lazy days. I slept until late morning or noon every day: it was wonderful to finally allow my body some extended rest. Tom, however, woke hours before me, and because he’s lovely, rather than wake me he crept downstairs to read and drink tea without disturbing me. (Apparently I often drowsily asked for cups of tea, which he kindly made and left by the bed, where they invariably went cold as I drifted off again.) By the time I woke up, he would have been awake for hours. So he’d be awake while I was waking up, but by the time I was fully alert, he’d be ready for his siesta – another product of his childhood, and his favourite way of recovering from an interrupted night. He’d then nap through my most active period of the day, which would enable him to feel refreshed for the evening … but he’d often feel playful late at night when I was falling over with exhaustion. (With the exception of the very hot scene we played the first evening, which I will tell you about another time.)
Our differing sleep patterns don’t affect our companionship, but (not surprisingly) they do affect our sex drives. We both feel a bit shit when we first wake up, but horny soon afterwards. Tom’s libido fades after an hour or so, but I stay interested throughout the afternoon; when he prefers to nap – and normally, of course, when we are both at work. He seems to feel most amorous late at night, when my physical energy is at a low ebb and I just want to curl up and snuggle.
So we’re patient with each other, and we talk about it, and we work to fit in with the other person’s energy curve as much as possible. I have a tendency to fret about it, though. I’m at my happiest when I’m getting regular sex and regular spankings, and am more demanding in that respect than either of my boyfriends (even including how tired I’ve been this year!) If I know one of them is planning something nefarious, I can watch my own energy curve and make sure I’m ready, willing and able when the time comes. It’s weird: when they say they’re tired or unwell, I’m all understanding and sympathy; but when I’m the one crying off, I beat myself up over it for not being a Perfect Sub.
All this is leading up to a spanking, I promise. Bear with me 🙂
We spent Saturday night with some friends, including someone I don’t see often. Tom went to bed earlier than me; by the time I staggered upstairs I was wiped out and feeling a bit over-peopled, having been working all day and being sociable all evening. I just wanted to curl up with my book. I thought Tom would have been asleep already, but when I got into bed it turned out he was in the mood to play. I explained, sleepily and with regret, that I just wanted to crash, and he was lovely about it. We worked out we had time to get up and perhaps play in the morning before he went to work.
After this conversation I lay there, not-quite awake, heart thudding with anxiety from turning him down – normally I’m the one that’s desperate for play and he’s the one that’s too tired, what’s wrong with me? Surely I could muster the energy? I closed my eyes and watched, with wry amusement, as my brain played out a spanking fantasy in the darkness. I fell half-asleep, dreaming of his knee pressing into my tummy, my legs dangling, a leather paddle painting my upturned bottom shades of red and purple. When he shifted position I woke up, heart pounding – from desire now, not unnecessary guilt. I whispered to him that I had had a dream of being spanked by him. Despite the languor in my limbs and slowness of my head, I felt a hot wetness between my legs. I wanted him to take me in hand, kiss me into the pillow, tumble me over his lap.
But since I’d said no, he’d been schooling himself for sleep. He didn’t want to push me. He told me to go to sleep, that we’d have the morning.
I fell asleep wondering if the morning would happen as he hoped, or if one of us would wake first, or with a headache, or if his illness would interrupt things. It was impossible to tell. This wasn’t the first time we’d postponed a scene until we felt more up to it, and it wouldn’t be the first time our plans had fallen through.
So it was with surprise and delight that I woke to discover my desire still in place, curled tight within me, and opened my eyes to see his sleep-crumbled, beloved face looking back at me, a promise in his eyes. My body was, as usual, slower to wake than my head, but a spanking is the best way of sorting that out. “Be nice,” I whispered, suddenly terrified, as he scooped me up and helped me get comfortable over his knee. The morning air was cold and bright, and the sound of the smacks seemed to echo through the house. Worried about waking his housemates, I gripped the duvet in my fists and tried to restrain my yelps. He was gentle with me: partly because I’d asked him to be (although by the time he stopped I could have taken much, much more) and partly because he feels worse in the mornings than I do. But I was so glad it had happened at all, that we’d managed to snatch a half-hour where we were in sync.
I wish we didn’t so often work different shifts; I wish he wasn’t ill; I wish finding time to play was as easy as I imagined it would be when I was a student. But when time, opportunity, energy and good health so rarely converge, it’s all the more precious when they finally do.
>body confidence
>
This is a more personal post than usual, and triggering for body/eating issues. I probably wouldn’t be writing it if I wasn’t slightly tipsy, so apologies in advance if it’s TMI. It also got kind of long, but I’ve found this unexpectedly hard to write, and I’ve already spent hours fussing with it, so I’m just going to go ahead and post or I’ll never get to bed on time.
—
Last year, for various reasons, I changed my contraceptive pill. Most women do this a few times before their hormones settle down and they find one that suits them. It sucks, but you get used to it. I’d been on the same kind of pill since I was 14 – I’d originally been prescribed it to treat acne (I told you I was an awkward kid) but I’ll admit the excuse came in handy when I started having sex.
To cut a long story short, the new pill had many exciting side-effects, one of which was to make me lose weight.
Some of you have commented on how good I looked last year. I’m 5’8″, broad-shouldered, naturally muscular and my healthy weight is between 10 and 11 stone (that’s about 140 – 154lbs). Between June 2008 and Jan 2009 I went below 9 stone (126 lbs) for the first time since I reached adulthood. Even during my eating disordered period while I was at university (which, for those of you who have noticed my scars, was almost entirely a replacement for self-harming when I made myself stop doing that) I never lost that much weight: every period of starvation was followed by a binge, I was on this other contraceptive which kept a layer of healthy fat on me, and my weight just didn’t go that low. So, now I’m recovered and eating more or less healthily, suddenly having my weight – against my wishes, against all the work I’d done to learn to love myself at 10 and a half stone – spiral to the lowest it had ever been …. well, suffice to say it messed with my head.
People liked it though. People said I looked good. I got cross when friends said it – they should know better – but when strangers on the internet said it? Well, it reinforced my impression that however sexy you’re perceived to be, you’ll always be even sexier if you’re thinner. Every time someone compliments a photo of me at my thinnest, part of me cringes at the thought that they’d prefer it to a photo of me at my fattest.
I’m not talking about a big difference here. Let’s put this in perspective:
At the moment I’d say I’m bit bigger than the second picture (which isn’t recent – it was taken a couple of years ago)¹. But not much. No big deal, really. Only a few pounds in it. Big fuss about nothing, yeah? Yeah. I know.
Anyway, the various other side-effects of the new pill proved to be unliveable with, so early this year I switched again. As predicted, I put on weight. I schooled myself carefully: as a feminist I understand that being normal-sized is fine, that it makes no bloody difference to my attractiveness, that it shouldn’t be a problem. I’m quite good at controlling my emotional response to things, so I’ve managed to successfully persuade, bully, and make-believe myself into being fairly body-confident since the weight gain. But despite all those good thoughts, there’s a persistent twinge of regret that I didn’t make more films during my accidentally-skinny phase last year.
I came back from holiday on Monday better slept than I’ve been in months. The permanent bags under my eyes have lightened. My skin’s clearer than it’s been in ages. I feel buoyant. And I’ve put on more weight.
These days I make a point of not having scales at home, but I used to weigh myself obsessively, and can make a good guess. I reckon I’m currently pushing the 11 stone mark. Which is fine. It’s not fat. I’m a size 12. I have at most a 28″ waist and 42″ hips. That’s fine, you know? Not supermodel skinny, but still on the slender side. My body naturally waxes and wanes. That’s cool, and these days I refuse to diet or try to affect my shape in any way other than staying generally fit and healthy. But despite knowing all this, I’m struggling with it emotionally. I have a run of shoots lined up for my new site this autumn, and – believe it or not – strong-willed, body-positive, feminist me is feeling insecure about making sexy spanking videos at my current size.
I know, right? It’s ridiculous. I know it’s ridiculous. I would tell any friend saying the same thing, with love, that they were being ridiculous. Half the women I fancy are bigger than me. I would never, ever, tell anyone else that the size I am now was too big – sometimes sticks in my throat at the very idea. It’s wrong. But … part of me, the insecure, hypocritical part of my brain with the double standard, still, knowing it’s wrong, feels fat. I can talk about social conditioning until I’m blue in the face, but I can’t quite seem to eradicate that feeling. Not completely. I find myself staring at photos of the thinner spanking models in the industry – including dear friends – and feeling inadequate in comparison.
Augh, guilt, I shouldn’t feel this way, more angst. Etc. It’s embarrassing, honestly. And I know it’s irrational and silly: not only, objectively speaking, am I not fat, but if I was, that would be fine too! My feelings aren’t irrational because actually I’m not fat (with the implication that if I was fat I’d have a point): they’re irrational because size has – should have – nothing to do with sex appeal. If I put on loads of weight suddenly, will it – should it – make any difference to my spanking career? I’ll still be my usual dorky, over-thinky, kinky self, my boyfriends will still find me hot, I’ll still get off on being spanked and making spanking porn, and hopefully you’d still get off on watching me be spanked.
But I know I’m not alone in having this residual, deep-down self-doubt underneath the confidence, and I think it’s important to talk about this stuff publically. If I’m going to make body-positive spanking porn I think these issues need to be acknowledged. I suspect that many of you reading this know how I feel, and I think that’s indicative of something deeply wrong with our society.
—
You’ll be pleased to hear there’s a happy ending to this story. Someone anonymously commented on my recent Bodies and Politics post with a link to The Judgment of Paris, a site celebrating the beautiful plus-size models which are so often ignored by the fashion industry. It’s a celebration of femininity, sexiness and style: and all of the women are gorgeously, glamourously bigger than me.
I only had to look at these pictures for ten minutes before I felt better about my current shape, empowered to make spanking porn at size 12, size 16 or whatever size I happen to be, my positivity about the range of human beauty wholly renewed. I guess that proves how susceptible I am, stompy politics notwithstanding. But it makes me wonder: if other people are half as easily influenced as me, what effect must the skinny-focussed ethos of fashion, advertising and porn have on our culture as a whole?
I seek out body-positive representation in the media anyway, but this week I’m particularly delighted by public celebrations of normal-sized beauty. Such as this photo of Lizzie Miller (which I’m sure I saw attached to an article about Karl Lagerfeld’s offensively off-the-mark statement about curvy models, but I can’t seem to find the page now):
(Originally posted in Glamour magazine.)
See, I know in theory that being true to myself, being comfortable in my skin, being happy and confident and feeling sexy and relaxed, is far more important than a few pounds here or there. Right now, I’m trying to put that theory into practice.
I was telling a friend about this today, and she started telling me about a TV show called Mad Men. Set in the 50s, many of the female characters are cast according to the body shape that was considered beautiful in that era, which makes them far curvier than most actresses these days. Normal-sized women are shown as normal – not one “big girl” as a quirky character in a group of skinny women, but sexy characters with beautiful curves.
I haven’t seen the show, but as a Firefly fan I was delighted to discover that one of the sex icons in Mad Men is played by Christina Hendricks. She slimmed down to play Saffron, the petite seductress and con-artist in Joss Whedon’s show. But she’s completely gorgeous as voluptuous 50s flirt Joan Holloway:
The upshot of all this is:
a) Next time I catch myself feeling bad about my figure, I should just look at eye candy of beautiful non-skinny women until I get over myself, and;
b) I’m going to go ahead and make lots of spanking porn without worrying about my shape.
The latter is still a work in progress. I’m still feeling irrationally nervous about posting new pics. I’m combatting these nerves in my usual way – by writing about it (at length, apparently – sorry about that), and by booking lots of shoots, so take that, self-doubt! Most people won’t be able to tell the difference anyway, or won’t care if I have a flabby tummy – you’ll mostly be looking at my bottom anyway, right? But if you do find my fuller figure less appealing, please be kind enough to keep your opinion to yourself.
In the meantime, I’ll keep working on that confidence thing, because I’d far rather post hot spanking photos than angst about boring body issues.
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1. I had to hunt quite hard for a picture showing me at my biggest, and part of the difference in this shot is posture anyway. It’s disappointing to discover that despite my political stance, I have very few pictures that show off my current shape. I’m cool with my big hips and bum and thighs, but I strongly prefer photos which accentuate the narrowness of my waist. And when I’m shooting I always hold my tummy in, so there are very few pictures of me where, for instance, my belly looks as rounded as it does in the mirror. Partly that’s good posture, but partly it’s unnecessary shame at having a round belly. I think it’s sad that I don’t have any nice photos of me celebrating the fuller phases of my natural body shape. I hope that the shoots I do this autumn will change that.
>Love our Lurkers IV
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I’ve only just realised today is the fourth annual Love Our Lurkers day. I missed Bonnie‘s email while I was away, and have only just seen it. Close call!
Love Our Lurkers is a concept Bonnie (of the justly famous My Bottom Smarts) came up with three years ago. Today is the day when you – all you out there reading this – are invited to step up and say hello.
Maybe you don’t comment because the little spanking-blog-universe seems very cliquey, full of people who know each other. This is in one sense true. But most – if not all – of those people were, at one point, like you: reading, wondering, thinking, too shy or busy or unsure what to say to participate in the conversation. The wonderful thing about this little universe is that while it’s a community, it’s not an exclusive one. It’s not elitist. You don’t have to be pretty to take part, or have a model body, or be young, or have loads of play experience. As long as you’re interested in That Thing We Do, and have your own thoughts and ideas and fantasies, there’s a place for you here, and there’s a place for your opinions.
This started out as a professional, spanking-model industry blog. It’s turned into as personal a blog as my private diary. Some of my dearest friends have been made through this little universe. So don’t be shy. Don’t feel you have nothing of worth to say. Don’t feel that you aren’t one of the cool kids (I’ve always been an awkward geeky kid, at any rate).
Bloggers are often an insecure, shy bunch, you know. It’s much easier spilling your heart to a computer screen than to a crowd of real people. Getting feedback from readers – making real connections – is what motivates every blogger, and many of the people who started out making the odd comment on one blog or other are now fully-fledged, popular bloggers in their own right. And when you’re talking spanking, posting that first comment can be more than a simple de-lurk: it can be the first step in coming out to other people, to starting to seek out what you’ve always wanted. Reading is great, but it’s even better to talk.
So hey there. Good to meet you. How was your day?
>unexpected bruising, and a long-awaited holiday
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I had a new experience last week. You probably all know that I realised some time ago that professional one-to-one spanking sessions aren’t for me. It’s for the same reason that I don’t let amateur photographers spank me themselves: I don’t like being hired by the person who’s topping me. There are loads of reasons for this, but at heart I think it’s just an instinctive thing. I’ll respect the decision of anyone else who’s happy to do it – it’s an amazing service to provide. But I’m not the right woman for the job.
Well, for a while now my friend Zoe Montana, who is a very popular spankee in the world of private sessions as well as the world of film, has been talking to me about the possibility of teaming up to do a joint session where I submit to her alongside a submissive client. Since she first mentioned the idea a couple of years ago, I’ve been willing to give it a go: it doesn’t cross my ideosyncratic personal boundary. I trust Zoe as a friend and as a very talented switch, and I know I’ll be safe in her hands. She’s a wonderful, warm-hearted person and I also trust her to put together a fantastic roleplay and create a lot of energy, even if I’m playing alongside someone I’ve never met before. And I’d get the buzz of performing in front of someone new (in the sense that partly they’d be there to watch me get it) at the same time as exploring the tempting intimacy of helping give someone an amazing, personal play experience. That part of things has always appealed to me, whatever my boundaries.
It was a good session. Ms Montana put together a brilliant scenario, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my reposting this snippet of her original invitation:
“I already have proof of Pandora Blake’s involvement, now I want her accomplice to do the right thing and step forward with your confession. Pandora will be meeting me at my office in central London to be disciplined for the part she played in the recent shocking events that have taken place in this school. We know that there was also a male involved in the incident and we strongly recommend that you own up and also meet with me in my London office to receive your punishment alongside Miss Blake. It seems only fair for the two of you to be punished together, as it was together that you have caused so much chaos and trouble in the school.”
It was fun exchanging emails in character before the event, and I enjoyed the roleplay. I am very blessed in having, not one, but two kinky partners in the same town as me, with whom I am free to explore my fantasies. I have nothing but empathy for those whose lives do not permit the same freedoms. It was a wonderful feeling being able to share the intensity of a play experience with someone who was not able to indulge as often as I am, and I was a bit humbled by the realisation of how lucky I am, to be living in this generation and to have had the resources and opportunities I’ve had.
The only downside to the session was the sudden, dramatic revelation of quite how little I’ve played since May, due to my levels of exhaustion this summer. I knew I’d had a fallow period, but: some hand spanking, a series of warm-ups with leather implements, and a couple of dozen medium strokes of the cane? I was so warmed up I was buzzing all the way through; despite being out of practice, Zoe’s expertise, the delightful chemistry we share, and the voyeuristic thrill of playing with someone new made it very easy to take a decent amount of punishment. So I really didn’t expect this:
It’s only just healing up a week later. I’m used to being able to judge my own levels a bit better than that. Been a while since I marked that much, that easily.
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Tomorrow, Tom and I are taking a much-needed, low-key holiday in the country for a few days. We need it desperately. Before I go, I have a couple of work emails to reply to: including one from Zoe, asking when I’d be free to do another, similar session after I get back. She’s only in the country until Christmas, so I’m keen to take advantage of the opportunity to work with her again before she disappears. (I’m also hoping to shoot with her for my still-embryonic site while she’s here.)
However, I also know that Tom and I are going to want to take the opportunity to play, after we’ve caught up on our sleep, and given how little time or energy both of us have had the last couple of months, I don’t want us to have to limit ourselves. So I call him to explain the situation, and ask what he suggests.
“Well,” he says, considering. “I don’t think we’re likely to play heavily, but I’m hoping to play with you a lot. Perhaps every day. So I imagine, in the circumstances, there’s likely to be some residual bruising when you get back.”
“A week?” I offer.
“Maybe two, to be safe.”
A delightful shiver runs down my spine. I’m sorry that Zoe and her interested gentlemen will have to be patient. But the anticipation of some long-awaited time for leisurely intimacy with Tom is a wonderful feeling.
I’ll be back next week, hopefully with some hot stories to tell (and perhaps with some welts and bruises to show off). If not, at least I’ll be better-rested than I’ve been in a while. See you on the other side 🙂
>the deal with stockings
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I go through stockings at a ridiculous rate. I don’t know if it’s the shoes I wear, the way I walk or something else, but no matter how much I trim my toenails and keep my feet soft and moisturised, I can’t wear a pair of stockings without them becoming laddered by the time I take them off. D. used to enjoy buying me seamed, fully-fashioned stockings, but after years of none of them lasting the night unscathed, both of us have kind of giving up on wearing them for fun. We still love them, but it’s an expensive habit to maintain.
These days, unless I have an excuse like a film shoot or a black tie ball, I tend to buy cheap and cheerful stockings from pharmacies and newsagents. In my experience, they last longer than the posh ones, even if they don’t look as good. (Right now, I’m wearing a pair of nude stockings I bought for a session with Zoe Montana last week and never wore. They don’t really go with the black suspender belt. I need new suspender belts. Now those are worthwhile investments: they tend to last.)
For months after I moved into my current flat, however, I couldn’t find anywhere local to buy stockings in a hurry. I need stockings in a hurry more times than not: when I’m hearing out for a date with one of my Doms, or for a shoot, and have forgotten to stock up in advance (i.e. every time). There’s a big supermarket down the road with a clothing section, but the few times I tried it I could only find tights and knee-highs.
The next time D. asked me to wear stockings for him, I complained that I didn’t have any unladdered ones, and that there wasn’t anywhere en route to his where I could pick some up. “What about the supermarket?” he asked. I explained the inferior nature of their lingerie department. “Rubbish,” he said. “They definitely sell stockings. I’ve seen them.”
“They don’t. I’ve checked.”
“They certainly do.” We glared at each other, only half-serious, but each convinced we were right. Eventually D. broke the impasse. “Look. Next time we’re there together, we will check, okay? And I’ll make you a deal. If I’m right and you’re wrong, then we buy some stockings and you get spanked in them.”
I considered. “What if I’m right?”
“Then we don’t buy stockings, you get to feel smug, and you get spanked anyway. Deal?”
Well, you can’t say fairer than that: “Deal.”
The egalitarian nature of our bargain makes the end of this story a little obvious, but a single element of mystery remains. Did I get spanked while wearing stockings, or with legs bared?
Take a look for yourself:
Yup. He was right. So much for all those frustrated stocking-less evenings: they were available on my doorstep, all along.
The only consolation to my wounded pride is that these supermarket stockings were of a decidedly inferior quality, snagged before they were even out of the packet. Fortunately, the quality of the spanking more than made up for it.
New URL: www.pandorablake.com 