This website is about you, your life, your experiences, hopes and dreams, not about me.
But if you are curious about the site, and about me, I am happy to provide this background.
Feel free to email me at Doc.Tsai@gmail.com.
I answer every email, so if it’s been a couple of days and you haven’t heard from me, check your spam filter.
About Doc Tsai Spanking
I opened this website in June of 2006. It was crammed with information, stories, and more. Some of this material was erotic, some educational, and some both. Over time, it grew to hundreds of pages, with information about finding a partner, safety, what real spankings are like, and more.
It didn’t have videos, but it had lots of photos and sound files, many of them made when I spanked women who visited me, and posted with their permission. My readers particularly enjoyed being able to hear the interactions captured on the sound files. Many commented that they were moved by my caring attitude toward the woman over my lap, even when the spanking was severe.
People wrote to say that the website helped them gain insight, and even self-acceptance, for the first time. After spending years struggling with my own interest in spanking, to be able to help others was very satisfying.
There was a temporary interruption …
I am a family doctor, and in 2010 someone anonymously informed my employer about the website. My employers worried that my patients, and perhaps the Texas Medical Board, would be shocked, and it would be bad for business and for our reputation. I didn’t agree, but I could see their point, and I reluctantly took the site down. That was a hard day for me, and for the site’s regular readers, but sometimes that is how it goes.
I kept on with the rest of my life. I took care of my patients, worked out at the gym, spanked and was spanked. Six years passed.
In the spring of 2016 I closed my medical practice. I am still part-time at the same job, but I no longer see patients and I don’t care what the Texas Medical Board might think.
…but I’m back
In January 2017 I reopened the website. I still respect my employer’s sensitivities, which is why this site is a little more tame than the original. But there’s still plenty to enjoy!
For more photos — and about FetLife
For most of the real spankings in this site, I’ve posted more photos on my FetLife profile.
Kinky websites come and go, but FetLife has outlived its competitors and is now an excellent place to learn more about kinks of every kind, including spanking. It is open to members only, but membership is free. I encourage you to sign up, at https://fetlife.com/. Once you’ve signed up, you can look me up and see the photos that match the spankings that I post here.
I’m a retired family doctor. I spent almost forty years hearing people’s stories and helping in any way I could. Primary care doctors like me diagnose and treat problems like anxiety and depression every day–it’s a core part of our job. We also refer to mental health specialists when appropriate.
I am a member of the American Association of Sexuality Educators, Counselors, and Therapists. I joined in order to learn more about human sexuality. I am not certified by AASECT. If you want to find someone who is certified as a sexuality counselor or sex therapist, the website can help.
The advice I provide is derived primarily from my own experience and that of the people I know.
I posted an autobiographical essay for one of the online spanking groups in 1999 and it’s an excellent review of my spanking history.
Back in the day, years before a Harvard student named Mark Zuckerberg created a program called Facemash, spanking activity online happened in text-only internet discussion groups called newsgroups. Most people who enjoyed them began by simply reading others’ comments, without responding. This is called “lurking,” and although that sounds faintly sinister, it is what everyone did until they get the hang of the conversation. (We still call people who read blogs without ever commenting “lurkers”.)
Once you’re comfortable with the topics and conventions of the newsgroup, though, it’s much more fun to begin contributing yourself. In some of the spanking newsgroups, new posters are encouraged (although certainly not required) to begin by posting a note about themselves. This typically includes their age, sexual orientation and spanking preferences, and then a little more about themselves, which could be about their job, their family, their significant other (or others), or a story about a spanking they once had or hoped to have. Since you are no longer lurking, posting a note like this is called “delurking.”
When I started posting on soc.sexuality.spanking I began with a delurk that was so long I had to split it into two parts. I kept a copy and here (with a very few revisions) is what I wrote.
I’m a doctor in Houston, Texas. I’m white, male, and heterosexual, but my concerns reach beyond these boundaries. This narrative talks about spanking, a lot, but also touches on parts of my personal and professional life that are not about spanking but are part of who I am and how I got here. I describe the odyssey that led me to this point, a journey that included challenges that are familiar to us all.
The first challenge is simply coming to terms with spanking as the core of your sexual being, confronting your own assumption that sexuality that involves blows and pain is a mental illness and a moral wrong. This guilt and shame can be crippling, and part of the power of this newsgroup, and of other discussions of our kink (whether they are of the “let’s reason about this” or “let’s get turned on by this” variety), is the chance to compare our views with others and realize through conversation that we have as great an opportunity as any vanilla bean to live our lives and express our sexuality in a healthy and caring way. We find a way to believe that spanking is OK.
I faced another challenge that is not universal within this community. For some of us, a mild spanking, given in a context where either person can say “let’s stop now,” is spicy enough. Not for me. For those minutes of passion, I want to control and punish my beloved, to feel her struggle, see her flesh turn red, hear her cries. So even within the context of “spanking is OK” there is the further question of whether *this kind* of spanking is also OK, this spanking that has strong elements of nonconsensuality, suffering, and punishment. I solved this riddle only after decades of struggle; if the internet’s communities had existed when I was younger this process would have been greatly accelerated.
My first spanking-related memory
My story begins, like so many others, with an early childhood memory. I was three or four years old and got into some unremembered trouble. My friend’s mother told me that if I misbehaved again she would spank me. Then she looked me straight in the eye.
“If you do that again, I am going to take your pants down and spank you on your bare bottom.”
Was this a threat or a promise? I don’t know; but it was certainly a shock to me, and I think, but am not certain, that I may have been interested as well as anxious. I also suspect that spanking was exciting to her—perhaps I caught my desire from her—that’s a better explanation for my own preferences than any other I’ve heard.
In any case, she didn’t make good on her threat, although one could certainly speculate that if she had done so, the intensity of my interest in spanking might well have been augmented. Spanking is already a prominent feature in my mental landscape, so on balance it may be just as well that it was not further accentuated.
I don’t think that my resonance to spanking at this early age *proves* that all spankos are hard-wired, or that I am hard wired in particular, but it certainly makes me think that my interest was not a result of my experiences in later childhood or adolescence; it was there already. (Translation: I’m hard wired.) Nor is my interest in spanking a result of a subconscious desire to harm women; it’s the result of a *conscious* desire to spank their bottoms (quite hard and quite long).
Innocent childhood (more or less)
Ah, childhood. We don’t really know that much about sexuality’s roots, but all of us can observe the behavior of children, and now and then I meet young children who are also interested in bottoms. We had heavy rains one Saturday last fall, and when the downpour had softened to a drizzle our street had several inches of water (Houston floods easily). Both my son and C, the very charming daughter of our neighbors, went out to play in the water, and I played with them while keeping an eye out for cars.
While I was bending over to pick up my son, C sloshed over and, laughing gleefully, gave me a sharp smack on my bent, wet, jean-clad bottom; immediately thereafter, still laughing, she gave my son’s bottom the same treatment. She obviously thought these bottom smacks were great fun. Although I wouldn’t presume to predict her adult sexuality from this play, I would be surprised if she, when she is an adult, is indifferent toward bottoms. C is five years old.
Where do these impulses come from? I don’t know, but they do run in families. I suspect that my mother is a spanko; I *know* that she has always been a fan of bottoms. The point is not that my siblings and I did or didn’t get spanked, or that I was taught in some unconscious way about spanking sexuality or inherited a spanko gene from my mother, but that I remember these (and many other) references to spanking with such absolute clarity.
I was about nine when spanking moved from being nonspecifically exciting to clearly sexually exciting. That was when I read and re-read The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins, by Dr. Seuss. The King likes Bartholomew’s fine hat, but the Grand Duke Wilfred (who looks about nine–my age!) is petty and jealous. The story climaxed with the King, Wilfred, and Bartholomew at the top of a tower. Wilfred wanted to push Bartholomew off, but the King stopped him, and then “turned the Grand Duke Wilfred over his knee and spanked him soundly, right on the seat of his royal silk pants.” I still own that book.
While reading this I was fantasizing about spankings and clutching and stroking my own small rear end. I found that if I put a nail file in the cleft of my bottom under my pants, it would give me an uncomfortable but delicious rubbing sensation. This is not unusual—children can develop real sexual interests at about this age, even though puberty is still distant.
That unfortunate incident
My mother was close to her sister, and she and her children visited us often. It was when I was about twelve that I had an experience that caused long-lasting damage to my self-image. One of my cousins and I were fooling around and somehow I landed a smack on her well-rounded rump. I was 12, and she, at 13, was an attractive older woman. She did not object when I gave her another spank or two, in fact she went all loose and drifted down to the floor, lying conveniently bottom up.
My younger brother was with us, and I sent him to get a ping-pong paddle: here was our chance to give her a spanking! He came back with the paddle and we spanked her with the paddle for a minute or two. During most of the paddling she remained immobile, then suddenly she moaned and shivered all over and seemed to come back to consciousness. We stopped spanking right away. We weren’t sure what had happened but it seemed like a good time to quit.
I don’t remember exactly what happened later that afternoon, but somehow my mother got wind of the fact that my cousin had been hurt (something about a broom hitting her, which was certainly not during the spanking) and was livid. Her anger (she told me, “You are a menace!”) imprinted a sense of enduring shame in me. It took years for me to come to better terms with these desires, and in fact it was only when I was in therapy, in college, that my psychiatrist pointed out that my cousin’s moan and shiver suggested that the spanking had not been entirely unpleasant for her.
All of this took place in grade school and junior high.
Puberty a.k.a. hormone storm
I had just one girlfriend through my high school years, and of course I constantly dreamed of spanking her steadily maturing fanny. I was once able to talk her into letting me spank her. I was very excited, but she did not like it, and we did no more. (Don’t you hate real life stories?)
I was also fascinated by the idea of being spanked. And who would spank me? Probably not the girls in my school; but how about their mothers? I would lie in bed at night and make long lists of the ways I could be so annoying that they would spank me.
That never happened, of course. And trying to spank vanilla girlfriends was to prove the source of much frustration. I had similar experiences in college and medical school; it was often possible to talk girlfriends over my lap, but even mild spanking was more than they could tolerate. I remember persuading P, who was sexually uninhibited, into letting me spank her. I didn’t spank very hard (at least that’s how it seemed to me) but before long she complained, “my bottom feels all red and burning.” I thought that was just how her bottom should feel, but she preferred it pale and cool, and that was the end of our spanking experimentation.
Much confusion ensued
These repeated tentative experimental spankings, and the unwillingness of my girlfriends to continue or repeat the experience, led me to the conclusion that a girl who was really into spanking (if such a divine creature existed) would only want mild spankings. The idea that she might want more was completely unsupported by my experience. I once pushed past that limit with a girlfriend who liked me enough to let me give her a moderately hard spanking. She was motionless during the spanking (she thought I wouldn’t like it if she responded to the pain); I enjoyed the spanking but was also apprehensive about how she would react, and with good reason. She hated it, and afterward she was upset and so was I; that was another low point in my journey.
These spanking frustrations and humiliations are a formidable barrier to a fuller appreciation of the joy that spanking can bring. This is how so many of us have been so repressed, for so long.
In college I discovered spanking erotica. These books and magazines were proof that I was not completely alone — there were obviously other people who shared this passion. The erotica itself threw gasoline on my flaming psyche. After I bought Harriet Marwood, Governess I remained in my dorm room for several days. I read and re-read this thrilling narrative of dominance and discipline until my right hand was aching and I was almost in need of a skin graft.
It was in college that I decided to go to medical school, and not long after I had submitted my medical school applications I got an abrupt and intensive introduction to medicine as a patient. I developed pain in one testicle; the urologist thought it was suspicious, and I had surgery to remove the testicle. The pathology report showed cancer, and an x-ray demonstrated that the cancer had spread to a lymph node in my abdomen. I then underwent major surgery in which all the lymph nodes from the back of my abdomen were stripped out.
Lying in my hospital room recovering from this operation, my spanking desires were still vivid, but they seemed less wrong. They were such small stuff in contrast to this massive challenge to my physical integrity and life; suddenly the fact that I wanted to spank girls and then make love to them, and my friends wanted to make love to them straight off, seemed less important. After I was discharged from the hospital I had radiation therapy for six weeks, and then chemotherapy for a year and a half. Testicular cancer doesn’t linger, undetected, for long. If it hasn’t come back in a couple of years, it’s gone for good; it’s been almost thirty years now. So, to answer the obvious question, yes, I’m cured.
The experience of having cancer was important in many ways. Having lived through those wretched treatments and not knowing if I were going to live or die has made me a more empathic doctor (and person). It has also made me more compassionate toward myself, more accepting of my kink, and more aware of the evanescence of life and our responsibility to respect and cherish each other.
The New York scene
Soon after I finished chemotherapy I started my first year in medical school. Being a medical student was a dream come true; I had no second thoughts, no matter how grueling the experience. Medical school kept me busy, but not too busy to meet a couple of spanking partners through personal ads published in New York’s alternative press. These experiences were limited but still terrific. Limited, because I was afraid of inflicting pain on my partners; at that point the idea that the pain might be something they sought had still not occurred to me. Terrific, though, because I was finally spanking someone, and that someone was just as excited about spanking as I was.
Many of you know the tremendous liberation and joy that comes when a lifelong fantasy becomes a physical reality. For me, that first time happened with Rhonda, who was more experienced and enjoyed introducing a newbie (me!) to the scene. (Rhonda gave me a key ring that I used for 15 or 20 years). Yes, that was really my hand briskly smacking, and a real woman’s bare bottom nicely bouncing . . . the thrill of the first time lasted for days. It’s totally different from the tentative sensation of spanking someone who is just tolerating it, or of a harder spanking given to a woman who may raise hell afterward. I was doing a lot of running back then, and I remember running into Central Park in New York with memories of that spanking adding a noticeable spring to my step.
I miss the point … again
And what did I learn from this? Although I didn’t harvest the key lessons, they were there for the picking. I remember Pat, for instance, who answered an ad I placed a few months after Rhonda had introduced me to the spanking scene. This time Pat was the newbie. She had never met, or even talked with, anyone who enjoyed spankings before, and although she was anxious and uncertain she was also very, very interested in getting spanked. Since I had already given one adult spanking, I was the experienced one. We met at a restaurant and shared dinner and spanking conversation (she kept smiling and shaking her head in wonder at this) and then went back to my apartment for further discussions.
The “discussion” soon found her over my lap, where I lifted her skirt and then said, “Either you lower your panties or I’ll do it for you.” She said she wouldn’t pull them down, so I did, a very agreeable task that brought into view a well-formed, feminine ass. What came next was even more enjoyable as I proceeded to spank her.
But as I spanked away (really not hard at all) she squirmed and wriggled and thrashed around very vigorously, making my task more difficult, so I threatened to use the paddle on her if she continued. (This was a large, oval paddle with holes). She continued her gyrations. I explained that the paddle was quite painful, but she kept on thrashing around (it was almost as if she weren’t trying to get out of being paddled).
She was ecstatic, I was clueless
Finally I declared I was going to give her ten whacks with the paddle on her bare bottom. She had the wisdom not to object (I might have stopped!) and in fact she wiggled a lot less, giving me a better chance of hitting the target. So I administered ten slow smacks with a mixture of pleasure at the paddling and some trepidation about how she would react, for the paddle clearly stung. I wanted to hurt her, but I couldn’t imagine that she would want to be hurt.
I let her up after the ten smacks, and she laughed happily at the whole experience, just like a child who has just opened the best Christmas present ever. She said it was “fabulous.” I had thought it was pretty swell, too, but I failed to grasp the obvious lesson, that she liked it most when I was hurting her. I thought she had enjoyed the spanking despite the pain, it didn’t dawn on me that a major part of her pleasure was the pain itself. In hindsight (so to speak!), before I let her up I should have asked her if she were ready to behave . . . and if not, more paddling, and a much redder bottom, would follow. I’m sure she would have loved that. Go ahead — call me a slow learner.
Eventually I graduated from medical school and began my residency. (In the US, after you graduate from medical school you spend between three and seven years getting specialty training). During that time you’re called a resident; in the first year you can also be called an intern.) One of the nice things about being a resident, at least in the hospital where I worked, is the abundance of female residents and newly trained nurses who want to experience all that life has to offer, including the interns. The work itself, dealing with elemental life events, lends intimacy to even professional relationships.
One of the new nurses was Bonnie, who had mid-length brown hair, a kind face, and a full figure. She was a great nurse, smart and gentle. We shared an interest in the humane care of the terminally ill, such as how dying patients do better if we give them pain medication on a regular basis (to prevent pain) rather than only when they request it; this led on to conversations about what it means if you give a dying person narcotics to control their pain and perhaps this also hastens their death: is that morally acceptable? (I believe it is.) And if it is acceptable, why are we still sometimes hesitant to do what we know in our heads is right?
The Civil War reenactment
Every moment was not packed with these serious concerns. One of our shared highlights involved an old man in the hospital who turned out to be a secret alcoholic. When alcoholics are hospitalized, and therefore abruptly deprived of liquor, bad things can happen; in his case, he developed hallucinations. When he started acting a little strange, Bonnie paged me to ask if I would please take a look at him (a typical intern duty). By the time I got to his room, he had climbed over the guardrails and out of bed and was crouching behind the bed with his IV pole tilting rakishly.
I tried to coax him back into bed but he attacked me. We backed into the hallway, where we were locked in struggle, me in my white intern uniform and he wearing only a gown that was flapping mostly open. I had my hands full, trying to hold him, and keep him from hitting me, and keep his IV pole upright.
The commotion attracted Bonnie, and as she hurried down the hall toward us our patient suddenly lost control of his bladder and started urinating through the open front of his gown all over my pants. Bonnie called security and eventually we got him under control (and I had a chance to change into clean pants and dry socks). Some time later Bonnie told me how we looked to her; remembering it made her laugh so hard she almost needed to change her pants, too. A day or two later, the patient apologized, telling me that he had thought it was 1863, and he was a confederate and I was a Yankee. (This was in Seattle; he must have moved from the South).
Bonnie loved it
Not long after that Bonnie asked me over for dinner at her place. Soon after dinner we were entwined on her bed. At one point, with her lying on me, I was able to reach up and give her exposed bottom a couple of friendly smacks. I did this because I enjoyed it, and was certainly not expecting a specific response, but she urgently said: “more! harder!” and it was thus I found a free-living spanko (one whom you meet in the ordinary course of events, not through an ad or newsgroup). So I gave her some more, and some harder smacks, but not a formal spanking. That was something I planned to remedy at the first opportunity, something I daydreamed about during the rest of the week.
The next time I was off call, Bonnie and I had dinner at an Italian restaurant. While we were waiting for our spaghetti to arrive, I told her I was going to give her a real spanking after dinner, then I turned the conversation back to ordinary affairs so as to let her simmer in anticipation. I was making progress!
When we got back to my apartment I had her go wash up. When she returned I instructed her to disrobe and then, with her nude and me still fully clothed, we went to my bedroom. I took her over my lap. She said, “Not too hard, please.” I complied, spanking her gently; my theory was that this spanking was for her pleasure, not mine; I still didn’t know that her pain, which I longed for, might bring her greater pleasure as well. Later she told me that as I drew her over my lap she had climaxed, thinking about her upcoming spanking.
Bonnie was a true spanko. For my birthday she gave me a photo taken from behind of her bending over, digging clams, while she looked slyly at the camera; she inscribed it “with love from Bonnie’s ass.”
People were talking
Despite all her other virtues, discretion was not her forte, and our relationship (which in my mind was casual, not committed) was soon common knowledge among the nurses. Soon thereafter, Pete, one of the second year residents (one year my senior; this was the man who taught me how to do circumcisions, as it happened) took me aside for a confidential discussion.
Pete suggested that Bonnie had been talking far too much about our sex life and that it reflected badly on me (I later learned that he was conducting a very secretive affair with another nurse, so he was in on all the nurse gossip). I told him I appreciated his guidance and that I would ask Bonnie to show more restraint (I was of course afraid that she had discussed our spanking fun with her friends and I would become known as a pervert). It turned out that Bonnie had not mentioned her spankings, but that she had told every nurse on the floor what a fantastic lover I was. I mulled this over for a day or two and decided that comments like this reflected on me just fine! So I kept my mouth shut and let her talk.
That was a long time ago but those feelings remain strong. Bonnie and I broke up because of other incompatibilities and I developed other relationships, including ones in which I was the one getting spanked. I also dated vanilla women.
Eventually I married. Our union lasted almost twenty-five years and brought our beautiful children into the world. We are no longer married but have remained good friends and partners in the lifelong role of parents to our now adult children.
With my children grown, I have been able to continue on my journey to spanking insight, and experiences, that began years ago.
So what have I learned? Each of us has different feelings about spanking, so these lessons are my own; I don’t pretend they are universal. The most important thing I have come to understand better, finally, is pain, which had so bewildered me. First, that the pain of a spanking is not necessarily a turnoff for the woman; it can be essential to her pleasure. Second, that pain alone is inadequate to make a spanking memorable; for me, the pain must be accompanied by a loss of control if it is to have real meaning, and the spanking as a whole must occur within a caring relationship. Spankings begin, for me, with pain and loss of control between two people who care about each other.
One of the benefits of online discussion of spanking, whether it is in a newsgroup or just in e-mails between friends, is the ability to share at a remarkably intimate level. It is a wonderful forum to explore how we all feel about pain and pleasure; dominance and submission; shame, and shame vanquished; fear and hope and courage. And beyond these sometimes abstract discussions, it is a chance for us to express our love of spanking and to be part of the community of others who share that love.