At last, we have calm waters and clear skies. What a sight that blesses my eyes as I step out to the balcony. My love, you radiate even in the shade as you skinny dip in the tickling freshness of the bay air. I can feel your serenity and contentment, your celebration of freedom in nakedness. What a beautiful thing is a sunny day where the moon also shines.
I will come up behind you, flank you in my arms, and deeply breathe the scent of your hair. You will feel me against you. You will know it is me—if not at first, then as soon as my hand grazes across your bare bottom. My touch will warm and moisten you. And, at the instant of contact, our minds will synchronize on a thought. For we both readily know what my caress foreshadows.
We have reached peace with it. No longer is your desire for it mixed with alarm, nor is your passion tempered by shame. You've broken your chains. Now my arms are all that ever bind you.
And soon, we will again express our love in our best way. Right here on the balcony, I will take my place on my throne and you will come to court. But it is not a trial, for we both already know the verdict. Nor must you request, for we both know I'm already committed. Nor is it role-play, for we are never more our true selves.
My love, I will spank you. Not punishment, nor even foreplay. Just because there's no other way we'd rather spend the afternoon.
My lovely readers, it's the most wonderful time of the year! One of the things I love most about the season is its music. The merry, the sacred, the mundane: I smile when I hear it all!
...well, almost. There are some songs of the season that I can hardly stomach. Now. the Christmas songbook reaches back centuries and just about every artist in that last fifty years has put out a Christmas album—most of them good. Yet the radio and whatever musak service to which retailers subscribe seem to regurgitate the same playlist over and over and over again. Most of these songs are just fine for the first few listens. But by late December...bah, humbug!
Which brings me to Wham! Damn Wham! If I sound all worked up, it's only because the duo conspired in their naming so that one can not state, but only exclaim, about Wham! I consider myself quite appreciative of a broad spectrum of music, but frankly, their songs make me want to go-go jump-jump out of a window.
So the other day, I was standing in line for coffee when their Christmas gem started to play. I felt my stomach drop at that oh-so-familiar, synthesized introduction. My first instinct was to flee, but...well, I really needed that coffee. As a coping mechanism, inspired by Bonnie's work over the years, I tried to mold the song into something this spanko can smile at again. In the spirit of the season, and in hope that it will aid you should you find yourself, without earmuffs, in the same situation, I thought I'd share with you what I came up with.
If it's not already on a loop in your head, here's the original:
The song has a rather irregular meter, so some of my modifications to the verses don't fit with Mr. Michael's utterances exactly. But anyway, enjoy the butt-smacking rendition.
Last Christmas (spanko version)
Last Christmas, I spanked you real hard,
But the very next day, the sting went away.
This year, to double the tears,
I'll spank you with somethin' special.
Last Christmas, I spanked you so long,
But the very next day, a brat anyway.
This year, to be more severe,
I'll spank you with somethin' special.
Lil' kitten, you know why
I keep on having to put you 'cross my thigh.
Tell me baby, will you learn your lesson?
Well, if not, girl, it wouldn't surprise none.
(Gonna spank you) I'll show you that I meant it
With this paddle—I hope I don't dent it.
Then you'll beg me to cool your ass,
But if I grant reprieve, I know I'd just hear more sass.
Last Christmas, I spanked you real hard,
But the very next day, the sting went away.
This year, to double the tears,
I'll spank you with somethin' special.
Last Christmas, I spanked you so long,
But the very next day, a brat anyway.
This year, to be more severe,
I'll spank you with somethin' special.
And now in gloom, you have teary eyes.
Your hide now sure could melt a bowl of ice.
My dear, I know you will misbehave again soon.
Gee, I guess I will then show you the wood spoon.
A face on a lover with a fire on her bum.
A girl in the corner with cheeks dark as a plum.
Now I'll show you more love, get over my knee again.
Care to ponder for a bit about symbolism in erotic photography?
Rather than put up another lame "I'm too busy to think of anything creative" post--not that I won't do so again in the near future--I thought that this would be a good opportunity to introduce some interactivity to Ecce Spanko. I came across these two photographs while tumblring and I'm wondering about the grapes and the pine cones. Grapes and pine cones appear in non-erotic art with symbolic meaning, but I don't see an obvious meaning in an erotic context—as opposed to bananas and cherries, for example. Now, I'm really not one that thinks art has to have meaning to be good. Nevertheless, I'm curious.
So what do you think? Use your imagination. There's no right or wrong here, so have some fun with it.
Connoisseurs of the adult blogosphere know that the captioned
photograph is a popular theme. (Or is that "meme"?) I've often
enjoyed captioned photos as a reader and would like to incorporate
them more into Ecce Spanko. But I'm so indecisive. As
I look at any given photo, I can't decide whether to try to be poetic
or cheeky. So I'll hedge my bets and hope that you'll enjoy at least
one of my takes on each image.
Do you smile to tempt a lover, or because you're at her doorstep?
She's clearly an art lover--and with good taste.
When you put like that, it really does look like a self-portrait. (If you don't get this joke, please google "mona lisa da vinci portrait")
In employ of a tyrant—and loving it.
I'll teach you never again to forget my mint at turndown!
Down the savannah, through the brush, and into the valley:
digital exploration by manual means.
I'm glad I'm not the only one who needs help finding it.
Credits:
Photo of art sampling woman courtesy of Eros Pics Logger, original source unknown.
Photo of man and maid courtesy of Let the Sin Begin, original source unknown.
I wanted to wish all of my readers and everyone else out there a Happy Thanksgiving! For those not familiar with this American holiday, it is a day to convene with family and friends to celebrate over a meal all that we are grateful for. While I will not say so at our dinner table, one thing that I'm definitely thankful for this year is all the wonderful readers of my blog. So thank you, merci, grazie, xièxie, gracias, asante, danke, arigatō, shukran, dzięki, obrigado, tapadh leat, and all the rest. You all truly mean the world to me.
Ecce Spanko is on autopilot this week as I am away from home. Rest assured I will address all comments and e-mails upon my return. Given that this holiday has become (for better or worse) as much about the food as about the thanks, and since I don't have much new content for you this week, you might want to check out my posts last month on "Cooking Lessons" (Parts 1, 2, and 3). Bon appetit!
Credits:
Photo of Emeril Lagasse acquired from Google Images. Photo of spanked lady courtesy of BritSpank. Composition by Dioneo Daspanca.
William Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part II (III.1)
Sometimes subtlety works.
Merely dawn the right outfit
And the right face--
That of an angel wearing a sin.
At times it takes but to show him the prize,
To let the caress of dusk lead his eyes,
And leave him no doubt in what you seek,
With your defiant lips and vicious gaze.
Or you might have to lure him in
With a savory hors d'oeuvre,
And hope that you can steer his appetite
Toward your hunger.
Or capture him at his least guarded,
Impaling him with irises,
And sweetly hinting
For your prisoner to play the warden.
When he won't take the bait,
Be a brat, silly and childish,
Until he reaches the end of his rope
And reaches to rope your end.
Or, if you prefer, be a smart-alec brat,
Correct his logic and recall of history,
And be sure to laugh at his errors
Until he takes you to school.
But sometimes he's dense.
Then dispense with subtlety,
Bring him his tools,
And just ask for a fix.
And when all else fails,
Wear your most obscene,
Close your shades,
And cook your own meal.
Credits:
Photo of lady by shades courtesy of All Flowers in Time, original source unknown.
"Drink," Laura ordered her tremulous lover. Stasia brought the bottle to her lips for a calming sip. Laura then lifted her leg. "Now eat."
With a glance down the hallway, Stasia knelt before the well scavenged banquet. Laura lit her Parliament as she felt a familiar tongue glide across her lips. A thudding above roused their attention and soon took shape as footsteps. Stasia looked up with petrified eyes. "Please..." Laura only smiled, firmly returned Stasia's head to its place, and took another drag. For Laura, without the threat, there is no thrill. The rush of risk and papillae caress set ablaze her blood.
"Hurry," Laura commanded as the deep echo of the steps swelled. Stasia's tongue desperately hastened. As the metronome continued, she could feel Laura edging closer. Suddenly the stairs creaked and Laura shrieked, drowning her gasping mate. In the detached silence that followed, Laura drew her lover up, covered her face in smoke, and kissed her deeply, enjoying the nicotine blended with her juices. Only in breaking their kiss did they see the blue-uniformed man approach.
Epilogue:
"Just what do you think you're doing?"
The girls froze, their skin blushed and mouths agape, unable to reply to the cop. The stern officer continued,
"Don't you know that smoking is prohibited in this building? Extinguish your cigarette immediately."
Laura grabbed the bottle and dropped her cigarette into the wine.
"Okay then, have a nice evening," the officer said, then turned and continued his patrol.
Your challenge for this Friday, 11-19-10, is to use the photo above to write a flash fiction of 150-180 words. Your required phrase to use in your submission: "...the stairs creaked..."
Credits:
Image courtesy of Sephani Paige, original source unknown.
The word "tremulous" courtesy of Barely Pink, origin unknown.
What do you hope to find in those books? Will they explain these desires? You already know what they say, you heady, scholastic fool. They see fetish as a perversion of fear and speculate on past abuse. They tell you that you're just building a shell of arousal in which to recoil and hide from demons. They tell you that you want to be over my lap only because your father never showed you love, that you want to give up control only out of fear of making poor decisions.
But they know little of you. They haven't seen the smile that you struggle to suppress when you learn that you're going to be spanked. They can't see your lips tighten--that pucker of resistance--as you fruitlessly try to act remorseful when I inform you of my grievance. They don't catch a glimpse of that smile breaking through as you turn away from me and head to your place in the corner. And they don't see the glow in your skin when, northern cheeks damp and southern ablaze, you nestle your head along my neck as I cradle you in my arms. I care not what the books say about it. To me, there is nothing deeper than desire.
And why this insatiable curiosity about it all? If knowledge is power, then why strive to learn about your submission? You already know your place. You can go earn a doctorate, yet you will still be standing before me at night in your pajamas, the bottoms at your knees. You can give lectures, but you will still get them. You can amaze audiences with your logic and rhetoric, but you will still blubber unintelligibly over my knee. They might even call you a genius, but you will still call me "Sir." At the end of the day, no matter how much you learn, you'll still be standing in the corner like a naughty dunce for as long as my unscientific judgment dictates. So why this irrational drive to rationalize?
Alas, I know you. You'll take orders from me, but not counsel. You're at your most stubborn, Saffi, in pursuit of wisdom. Well come then, my love, and let me teach you another lesson.
Oh, my lovely, patient readers. Have I disappointed thee? I'm sure I have, though I surely don't mean to do so. I keep thinking that with just one more day, I will have time to finish some posts. Yet life and blogging at times make war. And life has the louder army. But I will return soon.
An oily, scented throng blankets the sand.
Wild breaking waves submerging trifling chat.
My eyes on all but pages in my hands,
Surveying beauty clad in polyester.
No ray of sun strikes lovely skin as one
That bakes her back and legs like lobster tail.
Were I to peel her green bikini down,
I would unveil a stripe lost from Old Glory.
If less restrained, I'd dive right at that band
And soon complete this work of solar art.
I would create a glow that'd please Van Gogh
With strokes of two quintuply bristled brushes.
Alas, the public eye enchains my arms.
But in my mind, I'm master of the beach.
On my estate, we bathe in sand and sea
Alone, unseen, unchecked by social precepts.
I cross my sand domain and reach my neif.
The woman's startled by my touch. She turns
Her head, returns my dev'lish smile. For sure,
She knows the rights allowed her lord and lover.
I stroke and squeeze, pleased at the catch in hand.
My fingers curl to furl the green away.
Then hands return to glide across the flesh.
She coos and hums at such manipulation.
The gentle touch of chilly air, of hand,
Of knowing my intents bristles her skin.
I softly place a kiss upon each cheek.
And there upon the shore begin the splashing.
I slap and slap again her waxy cheeks.
Our hearts accelerate, our blood does rise.
She gazes back at me, her eyes trepid,
A feeble mask that fails to hide desire.
The splendent sun, in flooding flesh in light,
Upon her suppl'ly rippling skin gives sheen,
Betrays the glist'ning of her lips beneath,
And helps to draw the blush to coat the canvas.
Staccato pulses pierce the rush of waves.
My easel sings as I apply my art
And there, along the cheering water, smile,
Sensing my masterpiece approach completion.
There now lives a lady in Belfast.
She thinks that this blog's gone to hell fast.
I try to be comical,
With themes anatomical.
Perhaps I need more pics of swell ass.
A Lady Near Carson City
A lady lives near Carson City. My take on the Bard she found witty.
Well, tell me that, honey.
And that it was funny,
Or e'en that my jokes are just shitty!
A Guy in North Somerset
There lives a guy in North Somerset.
No blog by a bloke will he comment at.
Dude, it's okay.
I won't think that you're gay.
(Not that there's anything wrong with that).
A Lurker in Manassas
A lurker who lives in Manassas
Likes one in my series Ekphrassis.
I'm happy, I reckon,
I hope it's the second.
Do tell! Don't just sit passing gases!
A Gal in St. Paul
There is a nice gal in St. Paul.
She likes my poem 'bout the wall.
Say so, my dear,
I'm happy to hear.
Did any read "Last Dance" at all?
A Reader near Boise
A reader that hails from near Boise,
She thinks that my page looks quite noisy.
Critique it! Write shrewdly!
I won't respond rudely.
It's not as though I'm from New Joisey!
(My apologies to the people of the great state of New Jersey for any offense that I may have caused.)
A Man from Nantucket
There once was a man from Nantucket.
He started a note then did chuck it.
You're not painting Monets.
Now grow some cojones!
I care enough that---oh, fuck it.
These limericks were composed for Love Our Lurkers, a wonderful tradition started by Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts. Love Our Lurkers is a chance for us bloggers to show our appreciation to those who read our site, but for whatever reason choose not to comment. The other purpose, of course, is to encourage these lurkers to de-lurk: that is, to take the plunge and leave a comment. So let me say that I am grateful for all the readers of my blog, be they participants or lurkers. I hope that you enjoy what you find here. If you lurk at Ecce Spanko, or are just stopping by now, please consider leaving a comment on this post and on any others you wish. I consider most of my posts timeless, so there's no need to be hesitant about leaving comments on stuff I wrote a while ago. Be sure also to visit the many other sites participating in LOL.
Credits:
Photo of swell ass courtesy of Ass Attack!, author unknown.
Image composition of Shakespeare and spanked lady by Dioneo Daspanca. I forget where the component images come from, except that the brush comes from the famous Norman Rockwell illustration.
Handshake frame from Predator, acquired from Google Images.
Connoisseurs of the adult blogosphere know that the captioned photograph is a popular theme. (Or is that "meme"?) I've often enjoyed captioned photos as a reader and have intended to incorporate them more into Ecce Spanko for some time. But I'm so indecisive. As I look at any given photo, I can't decide whether to try to be poetic or cheeky. So I'll hedge my bets and hope that you'll enjoy at least one of my takes on each image.
Sudden soft steps sensed behind, she turns. Is she startled by her cat or by her lover?
Try as I may, I could not get a good shot of her pussy.
After a moment lost in imagined embrace, the warrior returns to battle, as much a tiger upon the court as a kitten betwixt the sheets.
I have a sudden urge to play volleyball right now.
In the midst of night, a bird takes flight as a feathering breeze delivers delight.
Okay, I concede that stroke was a little too hard.
Photo of leaping pussy courtesy of La Dolce Vita, original author unknown. Photo of volleyball player courtesy of Pepe Boricua, Booty Hunter. Original author unknown. Photo of airbone, naked lady courtesy of Here to Stay, via Sexydeer. Original author unknown.
In other words, I would like to announce that I have started a photo blog on Tumblr, entitled Eros Unbound. My initial aim with Eros Unbound was merely to have an easy way to tag photos that I could eventually use here. I still see that as its primary role. Tumblr is a very convenient platform for catching photos that I intend use for one purpose or another (er...or yet another). I didn't even intend to publicize Eros Unbound at first. However, as I accumulate more photos there than I will ever be able to use for Ecce Spanko, and as I have gained a real appreciation for Tumblr-style blogging, I decided to tell you all about it.
I don't want this announcement to be seen as a move away from Ecce Spanko or anything like that. I realize my frequency of posting here waxes and wanes. But I remain committed to Ecce Spanko, at least for the time being.
Let me explain my initial objection to Tumblr and my coming around. On the seedier side of Poetry, there is the cluttered neighborhood of Flarf, a shanty-town with little rhyme or reason in its composition. When I first arrived at Tumblr, it reminded me of Flarf, only with many more brightly colored walls. Neighbors pillaged neighbors. Very little original construction seemed to go on. But, unlike Flarf, Tumblr was pretty, the way the soulless sprawl of a McMansion-ville is still pleasing to the eye. So I stayed awhile and roamed the streets.
On my walks, I sometimes came upon works of true architecture, and the streets from these often led to other beauties. Soon I began to see that Tumblr, just as its neighbors Blogspot and Wordpress, has scattered among the sprawl quite a few masterpieces. In an Erotic Garden, I found a florist who mixes original seedlings with flowers and bushes, light and dark, replanted from elsewhere. I always look forward to strolling through her garden to see what has blossomed, even if I at times have a prickly reaction to the phallic cacti. From there, the road led me to the playful Aphrodite, who has constructed a marvelous multimedia manor. From there, I toured the concept art and porn of Art or Porn. And then there are the boldly visual estates of Erotic Guru and Simple Wishes, after which I have modeled my own home. There are other gems, of course, you need only patience and a good pair of walking shoes to find them.
I'll break the metaphor here. In principle, Tumblr blogs need not be any different from Blogspot or Wordpress blogs. However, design affects usage patterns, and Tumblr's design encourages the reblogging (and reblogging and reblogging) of images. But there's art here, or at least expression. Whenever I come across a new Tumblr blog, I immediately go to the archives page. Even if there is not a convenient "Archive" link on the blog's main page, you can almost always get there by sticking "/archive" at the end of the blog's main URL. What you see is often a stunning montage of the blogger's travels, a patchwork quilt of three-click reactions as he scrolled through his dashboard feed. I invite you to take a look at my archive to see my reactions--and attractions. Nature, red, water, booze, skin, woman, cheeks, smiles. Oh yeah, and spanking.
I am sad to say that, since I first drafted this post, Chocolate Puss has closed her Erotic Garden. This is quite a loss for all of us. I wish her well in whatever pursuits she is undertaking.
As for Ecce Spanko, I hope to have some more posts ready soon. On Thursday, I will be participating for the first time in Love Our Lurkers. My next canto of the Ecce Spanko poem is almost finished and I should have another Ekphrassis post soon as well. For now, please check out Eros Unbound.
Here are a few image compositions that I put together for "Cooking Lessons." I didn't use them in the essay mainly for lack of space, but also because they didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped. Better compositions (in my opinion) can be found in Part 3 especially.
"Ya gotta find the sweet spot
on these rumps, boy."
Photo of Emeril Lagasse acquired from Google Images. Photo of bent over lady courtesy of Lupus Spanking. Composition by Dioneo Daspanca.
"Is she well done enough for you, sir?
Or shall I roast her some more?"
Photo of ladies from Muki's Kitchen. Wooden spoon acquired from Google Images. Composition by Dioneo Daspanca.
I didn't do anything to this last one, nor does it have anything to do with spanking, but if you haven't seen Rachael Ray "threading" corn, you definitely should. You can find the video by googling "rachael ray corn porn".
I'm on the brink, but I've got to hold off, to resist this most male of all urges. And you're not making it easier.
As I watch you, I can think only of when you would be kneeling for me alone, taking hold of no other but mine. You were naked then and kneeling as you sucked me...and cared for me.
No! Throw this from my thoughts! I can't... I'm going off the cliff! Fuck it, let me enjoy the fall.
Epilogue:
"Aww, Jim!" Trevor cried. "What the fuck, man? Now how the fuck am I gonna finish it?" He cast his brush forcefully to the ground. A collective groan arose from the others.
"Hey, fuck you, dipshit! Why couldn't you just use a fuckin' camera?"
Your challenge for this Friday, 10-8-10, is to use the photo above to write a flash fiction of 60-90 words. And....let's try this for a required phrase: "...taking hold..."
In Part 1 of this work, I began an examination what spankos and cooks
can learn from each other. I built on this theme in Part 2, and left
off with a lament about the relative paucity of the spanko vocabulary
compared to the culinary one.
Lapses in perkiness will not be tolerated.
Beyond lexical development, it would be nice to see adult spanking
enter into mainstream culture the way cooking has. We already have
celebrity spankos, now all they need is a cable network! Audrey Knight would make a fine host of 40 Whallops a Day and 30-Minute
Ordeals. Richard Windsor could be our Al Roker with Richard on the
Road, or our Brian Boitano with How Would Ricard Windsor Spank? And Thomas and Cookie could start new TV franchises like the Birchwood Cooking Academy and the Cookie Jar.
Hopefully, we could convince some of our beloved spanko bloggers to take their
shows to the televised medium. Todd and Suzy could host All-American
Spanking Festivals and could use their novel dieting technique in
Healty Appetite with Todd and Suzy. Perhaps Bonnie could be our
Barebutt Contessa, or start a new show called Sunday Brunch. I hope
Miss Pink will take the Bobby Flay role, as she'd be a sure fit for
Pulldown! and Toy Meets Girl. We'll need game shows, of course,
because that's the thing to do these days. Let's recruit the creators
of Chopped and have them develop for spanko bloggers called Chrossed,
with big hits as the prize.
But we'd need more folks to step up! Who will host Bash the Behind or 5 Implement
Fix or Have Paddle, Will Travel? There are so many Food Network shows
crying for spanko-adaptation. Hell, we wouldn't even need to change
the names of Glutton for Punishment, Unwrapped, Sarah's Secrets, Gotta
Get It, Spice & Easy, Secret Life Of..., or Take It Off. Of
course, I worry that our SpankoTV would follow the course of the Food
Network (not to mention the History Channel and MTV) and come to air
all sorts of content except actual spanking. But I digress.
"Aw, yah! BAM!"
Okay, so cooking beats spanking in mainstream acceptance. I'll bet
though, that when cooking enthusiasts get together, they don't have
nearly as much fun as when spankos do. I've yet to attend a spanking
party, but from what I hear, they're quite a scream. When cooks get
together, at least in my opinion, the fun is in the eating--well, and
the drinking, but that's another essay.
Perhaps one day, I'll host my friends to a spanking dinner party. Oh,
the menu I would prepare! What better appetizer for my little corner
of spankotopia than a slice of spanakopita? For a first course, I'd
serve a dish I call "jicama Daspanca"—it would be sure to get the
attention of the crowd. To cleanse the palate and clean the slate,
I'd provide an entremet that would have the ladies shouting its name:
"Oh, miso sorbet!" Then, for the main course, I'd unveil a roasted
rump in a cherry red wine reduction, along with a little deer seated
on beet buns. As a side, each guest would have an endive stuffed with
ginger. And for dessert, perhaps a red velvet bunt cake, topped, of
course, with whipped cream. It would be quite a feast! Of course,
we'd also have after-dinner entertainment and parlor games, but I
won't bore you with those right now.
As my risotto approached fruition, I concluded that cooking and
spanking share a key trait that underlies my love for each: the
exertions of the process are cathartic and the results savory. I can
only hope that I find as much intellectual and corporeal stimulation
in my exploration of spanking as I have with cooking. I certainly
wish I embraced the former as early in my life as I did the latter.
Photo of Rachael Ray courtesy of Life Magazine. Photo of Audrey Knight courtesy of Spanking360. Composition by Dioneo Daspanca.
Photo of Emeril Lagasse acquired from Google Images. Photo of spanked lady courtesy of BritSpank. Composition by Dioneo Daspanca.
Thank you to Barely Pink for reviewing a draft of this essay.
An interesting study hit the wire yesterday. The National Survey of Sexual Health and Behavior (NSSHB) has published the first in a series of findings on how contemporary Americans have sex. They surveyed almost six thousand individuals from across the country between the ages of 14 and 94 and asked them surprisingly interesting questions about how they got it on. I've looked through several reports on their findings and it doesn't appear that they asked about spanking. Despite this limitation, the findings still make an important contribution to our understanding of sexuality.
Below is a summary table from the NSSHB about what Americans have been up to lately. You can click on the image to see it full-sized if the numbers are too small below. Most of us probably already suspected that not all our neighbors are having only missionary sex. Still, it's always nice to be able to point to hard data that says you're not a freak.
Having poured extensively over this data, here are the conclusions I've drawn:
16% of men between the ages of 25 and 29, and 20% of men between the ages of 30 and 39, lie to researchers in surveys on sexual behavior.
That every lovely lady I encounter spent their 20s in sapphic exploration with other beauties is statistically unfounded. Yet I will continue to believe it. Note that there is hard evidence for some such experimentation during the college years. Yes!
About 4-8% of men in their 20s are selfish. Come on, guys, it's not that bad!
It's good to see that people are masturbating together. Why not share a good thing?
In Part 1 of my risotto-induced reflection, I wrote on the importance
of patience common to both the culinary and disciplinary arts. In
particular, these activities require the patience to learn a new
craft.
In learning about spanking, as in learning about cooking, use of the
internet is incredibly useful. Granted, before the rise of the web,
aspiring cooks had books, whereas spankos had few places to look. If
only we had a Julia to instruct us in our fine art on PBS.
Fortunately, I'm young enough that, by the time I was emotionally
ready to accept my interest in spanking, the wonderful wide world of
the web was waiting for me. Whether I need to know what to do with an
obscure ingredient I picked up at the market, or I need a role-play
idea, the internet is an invaluable tool.
If you're really naughty,
you get the strainer.
Speaking of tools...ah yes, the tools. Sometimes I wonder if spanking
and cooking are just manifestations of a broader implement fetish.
Obviously, there are the implements common to each: the wooden spoons,
the plastic spatulas, the cutting/paddling boards. I should note here
that, Mila's sword performance notwithstanding, I think cutlery should
generally be kept away from a person's naughty parts. But more
generally, we clearly appreciate the importance of having the
appropriate technology. Sure, substitution and ingenuity are also
key, but nothing beats having the right tool. I once tried to grind
peppercorns with a rolling pin, an experiment that will not be
repeated. Someone once spanked me with a pewter salad spoon, another
experiment that will not be repeated.
And you thought you had
a freaky implement fetish.
Just as many people have preferred implements, so too do many have
preferred styles and methods. Of course, some have strong opinions on
tools, styles, and methods, and don't hesitate to impress them upon
others. In this area, I've actually been able to draw on lessons from
spanking culture and apply them to my culinary pursuits. I
occasionally cross paths with individuals who view cuisine rather
rigidly. You know the type: "This dish must be prepared only in this
way." Frankly, I just wish more of these Kitchen Castros would
explore spanking: they could certainly learn a lot from our world.
Plus, they could really use a good spanking. Anyway, I use to argue
with these people, but my spanko experience has taught the value of
the phrase "TEHO" ("To Each, His/Her Own"), which is now my preferred
parry in culinary conflicts. I am reminded of a time when I was
berated by a dinner guest for "Americanizing" bratwurst, adulterating
the sacred German traditions of how to serve it. Today, I would just
say "TEHO" and enjoy my meal. Truth is, I don't really recall how
they serve bratwurst in Germany; I just know I like my brats with
toasted buns.
There are also ways in which other spankos and I could benefit from
further exploration of cooking. The spanking world is clearly less
developed than the cooking world. This statement shouldn't surprise
anyone, given that the cooking world has had its Joy of Cooking and Le
Cordon Bleu for some time. Such resources and institutions do not yet
exist for spanking, though we may dream of such a day. The contrast
is especially noteworthy when we consider the richness of culinary
vocabulary. I can do better than "slice" an eggplant: I can
"battonet" or "alumette" or "julienne" it. We have terms for these
particular sizes of rectangular cuts. But can I do more precisely
than to "spank" a naughty girl? I could deliver a slap that ricochets
off the upturned cheek, provoking that exquisite jiggle. Or my hand
could land more heavily and perpendicular, my fingers then bending
around the curve of the flesh. Yet we have no terms in use to
distinguish these or any other strikes, or at least none of which I'm
aware. I love our words, no doubt, but the lingua spanka is somewhat
shallow.
"You burn my buns, I burn yours!"
Over time, especially as social networks among us further mature. I'm
confident that the spanko glossary will grow. For now, maybe I can
fill the void by borrowing from the culinary lexicon. The next time
I've bared a brat, instead of the usual banter, perhaps I'll try
something like the following:
Stand there, you mischievous minx,
As I sauté your bottom
And make you jump en flambé.
Then I'll roll you around my lap
And chiffonade your cheeks
Until you fall to pieces.
Will my diction make her melt? Or will it merely get her steamed?
In the concluding part of this essay, I discuss ways in which we might celebrate spanking like we do cooking.
Photo of Giada De Laurentiis acquired from Google Images. I can not find the source of the photo of lady in white shirt spanking another lady with a spatula.
Photo of smiling lady at the stove by Mark Frank at F/lthyGorgeousTh/ngs, via Cantiknya. Old photo of woman spanking maid with pot courtesy of the Spanking Blog. Composition by Dioneo Daspanca.
