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Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Cooking Lessons: Part 1 of 3

Contestant: "I'll take 'Multisensory Activities' for $500, Alex."
Alex:"'This undertaking generates a lot of heat and often ends in tears.'"
Contestant:"What is...spanking?"
Alex: "Um...no, I'm sorry, we were looking for 'baking', 'What is baking?' You, sir, are a pervert. Next up..."

I am relatively new to the practice of spanking. Not the idea, mind you, nor the desire, nor the fantasy, nor the consumption of literature on the subject, nor of its performance art. But the practice, yes. I have little experience on which to draw. As a good interdisciplinarian, my approach is therefore to rely on expertise gained from other fields that might help me to be a better spanker.

As I surveyed my other hobbies for applicable knowledge, I was at first skeptical that cooking could provide such insights. I readily see the link between cooking and pursuits like building train sets, tuning engines, or computer programming. Hackery sure, but smackery? Spanking is inextricably collaborative. Cooking is not, or at least no more so than painting. I get very little out of self-spanking--it is integrally incomplete--but I'm perfectly fulfilled being the only one in the kitchen. To me at least, cooking is solitary and spanking social. Would this not preclude a connection between these activities? Alas, my analyses are never so concise.

"Um, what happens if I've
overcooked the pasta?"
One night, I found myself thinking more deeply about the associated marvels of the culinary and disciplinary arts. Maybe it was the meditative tedium of stirring risotto, the yantra of the arborio in its broth. Or maybe it was the timber touch of the spoon guiding the kernels along their course. Would my experience over a stove help me in heating someone over my knee? Would I be as attuned to the constitution of a cussed as I am to the condition of a custard? Incidentally, I also wondered how many of my favorite food celebrities are also into spanking--so Giada, if you're out there, love, please send me a message.

Perhaps because of the dish I was preparing at the time, the patience that cooking teaches was the first thought that came to mind. Within my first couple of spanking experiences, I realized that reddening butt was quite different than browning meat. Such crimsoning is more akin to making a roux, requiring care and attention to the progression and distribution of color. I'll admit that, on more than one occasion, impatience has led me to burn my flower, making her reluctant to revisit my kitchen.

Cooking has also taught me patience in another sense: that is, patience in learning a craft. I've taken this lesson to spanking as well. It is as easy to dabble in spanking as in cooking. With each, however, there is a lot to learn. And there is definitely such thing as skill. I can't just put on a toque blanche and call myself a master chef. Nor would I be able to satisfy every itchy sub just because I had chosen "Spanker" in my SpankoLife profile. The first time I tried to peel a tomato, I ended up with a pulpy, red mess. Were I to all of a sudden take up a cane, I fear that the first time around I'd end up with the same.

In the next part of this essay, I will consider the common importance of tools as well as some key ways in which the two communities can learn from each other.

Photo "Львица домашняя" ("Lioness Home") by Alexxei, via Visual Clips.  Photo of lady opening pot courtesy of Curvature, original source unkown.  Photo of pears enhanced by Dioneo Daspanca, original source unknown.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Ekphrassis 5 (Felicity)

What a peculiar girl you are. Wherefore this joy of spanking? Do you find happiness in the pain? Assurance in the embarrassment? Do you find liberation in the surrender? You seem to feel most free when over my knee and bound by my arms, most at ease when your tears flood your cheeks and your bottom burns against the air. How strange!

I may not understand its source, but I know happiness when I meet it. You are happy. I can see it in your airborne celebration of nudity and unrestrained submission. I knew you would enjoy getting away for the weekend: away from your apartment, away from your work, away from the grounding constraints of quotidian life. We got in late last night and so I did not have time to reacquaint my hand with your derriere. After a nice fuck, you drifted off to sleep in my arms, perchance to dream of what's to come today.

And now awake, elated, you sing like a robin out for her first flight of the morning. I hope we lack neighbors, else your bouncing and singing are sure to wake them. Then again, they would surely later hear my percutient palms tapping rhythmically against a fleshy timbrel. Would it temper your enthusiasm to know that strangers hear us through the walls? Would you worry with every slap that they knew you were getting a spanking only ten feet away? Would it embarrass you to think that they would envision you draped bare-bottomed over my knee just as you would actually be? If we met them in the hall, would you rush into the room to hide? Or would you just smile at them, and give your tush a light rub after they passed, knowing that they would have turned their heads back to see. I think the latter for sure. After all, our room is next to the parking lot and you haven't bothered to close the shades.

Photo courtesy of Filthy Nacre, original source unknown.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

I Play an Instrument

I play an instrument
 That pipes like a flute when percussed,
  And hums like an oboe when strummed,
  And sings like strings when tounged.

I play an instrument
 That I can play with my fingers,
  And my hands,
  And my very own bow.

I play an instrument
 That lubricates at the sound of a clapper,
  And chirps at the sight of a piccolo,
  And swells at the touch of bongo drums.

I play an instrument
 That sounds dulcet,
  And guttural,
  And bombastic.

I play an instrument
 That I can make vibrate like a timpani,
  And whir like a bagpipe,
  And wail like a trumpet.

I play an instrument
 That never needs to be tuned,
  And sounds lovely when wet,
  And can even play itself.

I play an instrument
 That has the curves of a cello,
  And the shine of a saxophone,
  And the grace of a harp.

Photo courtesy of Chocolate Puss's Erotic Garden, original source unknown.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Worker bee lands...

Worker bee lands...
Sun warms hydrangea petals
In between rain storms.

In other words, I've been able to devote some time over the past couple of days to finishing up a couple of posts that I've been working on sporadically.  If you haven't totally tuned out of this blog yet, then please stay tuned for what's coming up.  I'll post a repetitive poem tomorrow and I hope to participate in Friday Flash Fiction this week.  Next week, I plan to post a humor piece that has been sitting on the assembly line for some time.  After that, I'll have another post in the Ekphrassis series and soon after another canto of my Ecce Spanko poem.  After that, who the hell knows?

Thank you for your continued patience.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Friday Flash Fiction: The Candles

She wants one more moment in the tub.  She needs once more to feel his presence, if only a fleeting whisper.  Tears meet smile as she relives his touch.  In the soothing warmth of wetness, she remembers riding him in this tub, feeling him deeply in her. She feels him as vividly as she pictures him, his skin glistening in the candlelight--the same candles. She lit them this night, as on eight occasions prior, to remember what the candles' glow was like on their final night together.

(Click for details on FFF)
Here was this week's prompt:
Your challenge for this Friday, 9-10-10, is to use the photo above to write a flash fiction of 60-88 words. Here's a phrase for you to use in your submission: "...the candles' glow was like..."
Image "Into Tub" courtesy of Kathy Slamen, via Erotic Flash Fiction.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Apology Limerick

"Worry not, dear readers!
I will surely convey your
displeasure to this slacker!"

So shameful this blog that I've hosted,
Approaching a week since I've posted.
   I haven't had time,
   For spanko-themed rhyme.
It should be my butt that gets toasted!

In other words, I apologize that I have neglected you, dear readers. I hope that my current dearth of time and inspiration is short-lived and that I may soon return to posting regularly.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Photo Haiku: Natural Red -- 7 of 7

Breathing field...
Scents of past encrimsoned,
As she looks forward.
This concludes the "Natural Red" photo-haiku series. I hope that you have enjoyed the series and I would love to hear your thoughts on it.

We now return our focus back from red hair to red heinie...

Photo "Ruslana Korshunova" by Mario Sorrenti, via Daily Redhead.