This site is meant for you and your spanking thoughts and feelings, but it’s only fair to begin with some background about my own journey. (For more, see About This Website and Me).
We’re standing by the six-seat Cessna at a little airstrip in the broad Colorado plains; the Rockies, not far to our west, glow pink in the first rays of the sun. It’s dead calm and still cool. This is a good time to fly; the plane will have plenty of lift and we’ll be back before the midday convection currents.
Climb in and buckle up, everyone, and I’ll get us airborne. You’ll be fine, I’ve done this a thousand times. You put on a show of confidence—you’re bold—and you climb into the copilot’s seat. The rest settle themselves in back.
We fly over the foothills, then up a pass, climbing, climbing. I bank south and push the nose over the ridgeline, almost brushing the stunted pines scattered along the crest, and we descend into the mountain’s interior. Lightly forested slopes lead down to a secluded meadow that’s surprisingly roomy. At one end there’s a stand of aspen, the leaves a pointillist display of fall colors; at the other, a pond; and in between, acres of wild grass. I can see how surprised you are at this serene spot near the heart of the mountain.
What we see
By the pond, at the edge of the grass, someone’s sitting on a fallen log. Someone else has assumed the traditional over-the-knee position, bottom up. I dip our wings in greeting. The spankee’s bottom wiggles back, and I’m fairly sure they are both laughing.
We begin a lazy airborne circuit of the meadow and soon spot another couple. One is bent over a rail fence at the edge of the forest, the other holds what must be a switch cut from an aspen (ouch!). This is national forest land, not a park, so cutting a switch is legal if they have a “firewood” permit.
We fly over a short dirt strip I’ve used before. I wish we had time to land and visit, but the sunlight is full on the meadow. It’s time to wrap things up before the afternoon turbulence.
We climb over the ridge again and head down the pass toward town.
“Look!”- you are pointing to the right. Silhouetted on a rock face: is that a climber clinging to the wall, reaching for a higher handhold? Or someone tied to D rings in a living room ceiling, waiting to be flogged? That’s the BDSM crowd, with their whips, chains, and air of danger.
The passengers behind us have a torrent of questions. Do people visit often? What are they like? Is it safe? And eventually, you ask the real question: Could I visit?
Sure, I say. You can visit. There’s a decent road, you can drive or even go by bike. The folks there would show you the good spanking spots and invite you to lunch. It’s outdoor comfort food: hot dogs, chips, and soda. But go on the weekend. During the week, everyone’s at school or work in the city. This is where they come to relax.
How about the rock climbing, asks someone in back, the whipping?
You can do that if you want, I answer. Some people mix BDSM and spanking together, and everyone comes to the potluck barbecue on Saturday afternoons. The cliffs and the meadow are all part of the mountain, and there are paths between them. There’s a lot to do, more than you might imagine.
I can imagine, you answer.
Groups aren’t for everyone
One person, looking out the window, hasn’t said a word. I ask her if she wants to share what she’s thinking.
I’m not a joiner, she says. I don’t want to be part of a club, or a group, or a culture, or a lifestyle. I don’t like barbecues or labels. I just know what I want to do. Just me and one other person.
A lot of people feel like that, I answer. You don’t have to be anyone or join anything. But I thought you might want to know that this meadow, where people spank and are spanked, exists. That even though you’re not in a group, that you’re not alone.
Yes, she answers. That feels good.
We land, taxi back to the hanger, get out, and stretch. You have one more question.
Were you always this comfortable here?
I can only laugh and shake my head. But if you want the full answer, I’m happy to tell you. The story begins a long time ago, so long ago that there was no internet porn, because there was no internet. If you wanted to learn about something forbidden your best bet was to look in the bookstores on 42nd Street just off Times Square.
The book on the bus
The bus lumbered into the darkening streets of New York toward the Lincoln Tunnel. I was slouched in the last row of seats so nobody could look over my shoulder.
I had something precious, something I hadn’t even known could exist. Now it was mine.
I unbuttoned my parka, reached into the inner slit pocket, extracted a brown paper bag, and from it drew a small paperback, keeping it on my lap so that it was out of sight should someone turn to look.
Oh My God
The title was bold: SPANKING. You could read it a mile away. The back cover was just as conspicuous. I could barely breathe.
I quietly tore off both covers, along with the spine. Even with the covers removed, hidden in the bag, I was sure there was peril in looking at the book on the bus, even more in taking it home. I felt I had no choice.
At sixteen, I had already been fascinated by spanking for a decade. Even as a child, my cheeks flushed at any mention of spanking, in a TV show, a movie, a comic strip, or, particularly, a conversation.
At puberty, my hormones tormented me as they do everyone. But my urges were not just to kiss and caress girls. They were also, they were primarily, to spank or be spanked by them. My childhood fascination became my adolescent obsession.
I eventually acquired a girlfriend, and the kissing and caressing came along in due course, but the spanking didn’t get far. Once or twice I took her over my knee and gave her some whacks, but she didn’t enjoy it, and we didn’t do it again.
As far as I could tell, everyone thought spankings between adults were something you could joke about, but they were never more than a few smacks on the seat of someone’s skirt. But here on the bus, I held proof that for some people, at least, it was more than a joke. There were obviously people who were very interested in spanking. People like me.
People like me
But who were they? What were they like? My only clue was that in order to get this book, I had to go into a dingy bookstore in the seediest part of Manhattan. A few men skulked the aisles, avoiding eye contact as they fingered through rack after rack of porn. The lighting was harsh; the clerk urged any customer who wanted to thumb through a magazine to “Hurry up—this ain’t a library.”
I walked through the aisles, past books and magazines about breasts, thighs, amputees, anal sex, lesbians, and homosexuals. In one corner there was a section devoted to bondage and torture. It was there that I found the book on spanking. I picked it up and took it to the cashier, half expecting him to refuse to sell it to me, but he took my money and slipped the book in a bag.
Sitting on the bus, with the book in my hands, I knew that I was not unique. There were other people who shared my interest in spanking, otherwise how could there be a book about it? But nobody I knew had ever been to a store like that, let alone looked through its offerings about bondage and torture.
I knew I was crazy (but I was wrong)
Even as I held the book, I knew that I had to stop thinking about spanking. It was my mental illness; but I could suppress it. I wanted to have a normal life, and I believed that suppression was my only hope. And in that lonely struggle I was deeply alone. I was convinced that nobody normal was fascinated by spanking.
I know now that I was not alone. That I was not mentally ill. And that being interested in spanking is no hindrance to a full life. People like me are happy and productive. We didn’t turn into the perverts I was afraid I was becoming.
I can’t travel back in time, get on that bus, sit down next to that worried teenager, and reassure him that it’s going to be okay.
But I know that thousands, perhaps millions, of people feel today just as I felt then.
If you are one of those people, if you are fascinated by spanking but fearful of what that means, listen up. I’m writing this for you. And the first thing I want you to know is that there is hope. No matter how fascinated you are by spanking, even if you feel overwhelmed by your secret, even if you feel that there’s no point in going on, there is hope.
Then and now
It’s a different world now. I had to travel to a dodgy area in a big city to find a store that had just one book on spanking; today the internet provides a cornucopia of spanking information to anyone, anywhere. I met women to spank by placing personal ads in an alternative newspaper; they wrote me at a post office box. Today, of course, people meet online in a dozen different ways. For those who are wary of the online scene, there are spanking clubs in every major city.
It’s a better world, with more information, more knowledge, more opportunities to meet people, and a society that is less intolerant toward alternative sexualities.
The most vital aspects of spanking, however, are unchanged. We still seek to
- Understand this desire
- Integrate it into our lives
- Live with joy
These are the quests of a lifetime, and each phase has its own challenges. I hope that this website will help, no matter where you are in your own journey.
You are not sick
Some people with unconventional sexual interests are worried, or convinced, that these interests mean they are mentally ill.
Their worries are often linked to a fear that (for men) they may become sexually violent or (for women) may become the victims of sexual violence. It is important to be conscious about your safety—but if you are careful you can be as safe exploring spanking as engaging in other sexual activities.
Now, as to whether or not you are crazy, I have good news. Even if you think about spanking a lot, even if you are doing a lot of spanking, if it is not disrupting your life or harming anyone else, you don’t have a psychiatric disorder. In fact, the only scientifically reliable study that is relevant to this question suggests that people who love spanking may be a little healthier than average. We have our Australian friends to think for this fascinating research (I give the details in [ADD LINK TO AUSTRALIAN STUDY]). Their conclusion is supported by what I’ve read on the blog and in the literature, and by the people I know who share this interest.
That’s why I can say with confidence:
People who love spanking are as mentally healthy as everyone else.
Of course, being interested in spanking doesn’t immunize you against emotional difficulties. If you were abused as a child or suffer from anxiety and depression now, that’s important, and you may be hurting. If you were physically punished in a harmful way when you were younger, you may be trying to come to terms with that now. If so, I encourage you to get professional help. I’ll have a lot to say about what kind of professional is most likely to be able to help you later on. But your interest in spanking isn’t a sickness in itself.
This finding is confirmed by evidence that can’t be found in a book, in the experience of people who integrate spanking into lives that are full and successful in every respect. I know some of these people in person, others through their inspirational blogs (like Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts). They are living proof that people who love spanking can lead wonderful lives. If they can do it, you can too.
You may have met people like this, but you wouldn’t know it. They don’t talk about their interest in spanking with people they meet at work or school, that wouldn’t be appropriate. But they are real. And they discreetly visit the secluded meadow.
I can show them to you, tell you what their lives are like. It’s a fascinating story, one I want you to hear.
Come with me.