Monthly Archives: October 2006

Friends

As Chris discusses, this past weekend Paul and I spent Sunday afternoon with kinky friends (Chris & sparkle, and Cat and Matt) having lunch at Canter’s and then we had a group browse through the Pleasure Chest (and I still don’t know what Cat & Matt went back in to buy after we left). 

Also, just before Paul and I headed over for lunch, I’d had coffee with Iris who wanted to return a shirt (from our beach afternoon last month) and chat a bit.  So Sunday was kind of my spanking friends day. 

Some of you know, one of my closest friends from grad school left in July to take a job at a university on the east coast.  We’ve never been "chatting" friends –you know, the sort who hang out on the phone– we tended to be more shopping, movie and meal friends.  Sure we talked, but not really for the sake of talking.   We’d talk about what we had in common –our academic work, the experiences of being minorities in an all-but-all-white field, clothes and shoes, families, books, movies and (identity) politics.  She was on my mind all weekend both because I miss her (yet end up not being very good about being in touch) and also because she was in San Fran this weekend at a conference I wasn’t able to attend.

So anyway, the point of this is as we were sitting at Canter’s (a place I tend to associate with hanging out with friends from grad school), I realized that meeting and hanging out with friends in the spanking scene is very different from hanging out with friends from graduate school.  (more to come)

When Politics Meet Fetish?

Article Three
To this end the following acts are and shall remain prohibited at any
time and in any place whatsoever with respect to the above-mentioned
persons:

  • (a) violence to life and person, in particular murder of all kinds,
    mutilation, cruel treatment and torture;
  • (b) taking of hostages;
  • (c) outrages upon personal dignity, in particular, humiliating and degrading treatment;
  • (d) the passing of sentences and the carrying out of executions without
    previous judgment pronounced by a regularly constituted court affording
    all the judicial guarantees which are recognized as indispensable by
    civilized peoples. (from the Geneva Conventions)

Some of you who’ve read this blog for a while know that it’s not normally quite so focused on kink.  In fact, I began it so I’d have a space to write about politics and feminism and the like.  It’s kind of evolved into being about whatever is going through my head (scary as that thought might be). 

Reading Republican Rep. Christopher Shays’ bizarre comments calling the Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse a "sex ring" — abuse that was "more about pornography than torture," I found myself wondering what Shays’ idea of "sex" must be like.  He later "corrected" or expanded on his comments saying,  "[o]f course, the degrading of anyone is torture. We need to deal with it."

Huh?  Can you repeat that again Mr. Shays?  Or then again, maybe not.

I’ve commented in the past that despite my love of role-play, prison and slave scenes aren’t my thing.  But even so, I do understand the attraction because I understand the fantasy of being helpless –of wanting to play a role that gives my partner total power over me.

That’s just it though.  While some writers in newspapers such as The Guardian might argue, as Adele points out here, that playing with images of torture for art (or just pleasure) is disrespectful and degrading to the victims as well as the photographic subjects, to do so (in my opinion) misses what real degradation is, and itself trivializes the reality of torture.   To denounce set-up fashion photographs, dramatic films or consensual BDSM play with the torture that happened at Abu Ghraib seems to be the ultimate dismissal of the real in favor of condemning superficial fictions.

What happened in  Abu Ghraib was torture and, again in my opinion, clearly about power.  There was nothing sexual in the guards actions or the pictures they took humiliating their prisoners.  The Abu Ghraib abuses were about real humiliation inflicted on prisoners who participated only because they feared for their lives.

Calling that sort of behavior a "sex ring" or the pictures resulting from it "pornography" is like condemning a rapist on the grounds that he’s committed adultery.  It trivializes and dismisses the reality of the crime.

Christopher Shays should be ashamed.  Sadly, his history leaves me suspecting he isn’t and that the point of why Abu Ghraib shamed America will forever be lost on him.

The SSC: A History

Kessily, the delightful dictator, has announced the results of this year’s Short Story Contest for the Usenet group soc.sexuality.spanking.  Haron wrote a bit about it for the Spanking Writers blog and I thought that I’d just add a bit of the history. 

Because I researched it the year I ran the contest.  And I hate not being able to recycle work.

The first year of the SSC (back when the newsgroup was at alt.sex.spanking) was 1994.  It was started by Duchin, who had noticed that posting tapered off in the summer, as a way to encourage people to write a little something.  It’s been run by Alex Birch, bookbabe, Duchin, Don Landhill, DLynn, Mary, Randi, Pablo Stubbs(2X), sparkle, Spraycan, Randi, me and now Kessily.  At one point I could have told you exactly who did which years, but I’ll save that in case I need extra credit at some point.

There’s been some amazing writing done for this contest over the years.  The results for the first few years are lost to Usenet history — either they weren’t archived or the archives were lost, but we have story archives going back to 1999 on the newsgroup’s website.

What is the newsgroup / Usenet / soc.sexuality.spanking and why is it so important?  The answer to that will be another post I’m afraid.  And, thinking about it, represents a big piece of me that I forgot to mention. 

So What About You?

After reading some of my reviews of Snape fanfic, someone wrote and asked me if I’d ever written any of my own. 

The short answer is "no".  I don’t write fanfics in the Potter-verse, much as I love reading it.  Or maybe because, I’m not sure.  In fact, I’ve really not written any fanfic.  Well, except this one.

It was written as an entry for the soc.sexuality.spanking Short Story contest in the Summer of 2004.  Although it was written as a contest entry, the story was one I’d been planning in my head for a while.  As the author notes indicate, it’s based on a BBC gardening program called "Ground Force" which I’d watched daily for months and months. 

Anyway, it’s just a fun little story, but I’m oddly proud of it. 

Ground Forced
by Mija

[Background: I discovered BBC America shortly after 9/11. Maybe it was the insecurity of those days that caused me to take comfort in a program unlike any I’d ever been addicted to before. Maybe it was my missing Pablo/Britain (the two are very linked in my imagination). Or maybe it’s just that they’re very good. At any rate, I became hooked on Ground Force, watching it daily for about 19 months.

For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, it’s a 1/2 hour gardening show, where a garden is given a makeover in 2 days while the owner is away (and always very surprised by the outcome). Here’s a link in case you want to know more about the main characters:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/gardening/tv_and_radio/gforce_index.shtml

Most of the time, family members and friends of the person being surprised work very hard on the project. But just occasionally that’s not the case.

The following never (to my knowledge) happened. But it should have . . .]

FROM A PRIVATE OUTTAKE REEL

[A large builder does the final smoothing on a newly-laid concrete slab. He surveys it proudly, just as a small, yapping dog runs across it.]

TOMMY: Oh, DOG! That was freshly laid!

[He looks into the camera as one injured and exasperated.]

[Charlie looks at Tommy, laughing and throwing her red tresses back.]

TOMMY: [pointing at Charlie] You can just keep quiet.

CHARLIE: [mock innocent] I said nothing!

[Giggles from a dark-haired, fair-skinned attractive teen. We later learn her name is "Amanda". Her father is having this makeover done for her stepmother.]

AMANDA: [scooping up the dog] I’ll just look after him then, shall I?

[Alan comes over to the group, leaning on his spade.]

ALAN: Young lady, isn’t that what you promised last time?

AMANDA: [still giggling] Yes, but he got away from me. Sorry. I was, um, painting the shed, like you asked.

[Cut to the shed shows it to be remarkably unpainted.]

ALAN: Which shed would that be?

[A look, not unlike guilt, struggles with defiance on Amanda’s young face.]

TOMMY: [in mocking tones] Whatever should we do with you?

[She shrugs.]

CHARLIE: Indeed. That telephone call really was a bit much . . . A bit of corrective persuasion may be in order.

[A check of earlier footage shows a call to the house with Amanda pretending to be her mother, about to arrive home.]

ALAN: [nodding and flexing a fiberglass garden stake into an arc] Time for a sharp attitude change, as me old dad would say. [He looks at the girl’s father, as if for permission.]

FATHER: I’ll just be painting the fence, if you don’t mind.

TOMMY: [looking between Alan, Charlie and the painting father] Well, my dad would have said it was past time for a good hiding!

CHARLIE: Right-o! [she grabs Amanda’s hands and quickly bends her across the as-yet-unpainted bench at the side of the shed.]

ALAN: This’ll be me then! Lights! Camera! Action!

[The garden stake swishes through the air, landing three swift cuts on the seat of the girl’s jeans before she yanks her hands away from Charlie, stands and lands a stinging slap to the red-head.]

AMANDA: B*tch! Let me up or there’ll be trouble.

[Camera shows Alan looking quite unconcerned.]

TOMMY: I’m not sure why you should have all the fun, Alan. It’s my concrete that’s spoilt.

[Cut to paw-printed concrete and Willy on all fours smoothing it.]

ALAN: So plant your size 13 on the bench and take your turn!

[The teen is upended across Tommy’s bent knee, feet dangling above the ground as his large heavy hand smacks into her bottom with hard, sharp spanks. Tears of pain and frustration shine on her face.]

ALAN: [looking around] Charlie? Charlotte? Mr. Tommy here is defending your honour! The least you can do is watch!!

CHARLIE: [off-camera, over a muffled sound of running water] Sorry Alan!

[She reappears, holding something rubber.]

CHARLIE: I just thought we might try and fit a water feature in after all!

[REEL ENDS]

Some Shadow Lane Pictures and a Hand Tawsing

Okay, I know I haven’t been very good about posting my promised Shadow Lane report from the August 2006 party. This isn’t it either.

hand-tawsing1Sorry.  I suck at doing stuff like that (the whole scene / party report thing), maybe because I get caught up in trying to write everything.  But you probably already know I suck by now, right? My apologies for those of you I’ve kept waiting.  I’d like to say it’ll get done soon, but as time passes that seems less and less likely.  Don’t hold your breath please.

But anyway…

This past week, the speaking spanking model Adele (who is wonderful about having frequent updates to her blog, complete with fantastic pictures) had these pictures up showing stills of a coming Northern Spanking video  photo story (thanks for the correction) where she receives a hand tawsing (followed by a spanking if you check out these).  They’re a  wonderful series of pictures.  I especially like how sweet she looks in her gymslip and how lovely and neat her nails are.  I’m afraid I bite mine, something which is a constant source of shame.

hand-tawsing2It reminded me that one of the things that had happened post-SL party is that I’d gotten copies of some pictures Tony (that would be Headmaster Tony of Florida Moonshine) had taken of Cameron M. tawsing my palms at one of the room parties during the February 2006 SL.

Many thanks by  the way to Ian (London Tanner who, I think, had made the tawse that was being used).  He’d apparently asked Headmaster Tony to take the pictures during the tawsing.  I’m grateful to them both — Tony for taking for taking them and Ian for having suggested they be taken.  I love the last one especially, mostly because of the complete lack of interest being show to the tawsing by a certain rather famous spanker.

hand-tawsing3Though I’d had my school girl uniform on for a private scene (where I’d already gotten 6 on each palm as well as some cane strokes on my bottom) before this public hand tawsing scene, I’d sadly removed it before we got to the room party.  When I realized these pictures were taken, I really wished I was still wearing it.

If you look at pictures of my hand tawsing, you can note that unlike Adele (and perhaps in part explaining why I’ll never be a spanking model) I manage to make an assortment of amusing faces / expressions ALL of which look totally fake.   None of them were –I wasn’t aware until afterwards that we were even being photographed– that’s apparently just how I look when my hands are being strapped.  How many did I take?  I think it was ten on each palm.  I say I think because by the time we finished, both the tawser (hee, sounds dirty if ya say it) and myself had lost count.  I was trying for 10 on each though and I think we maybe made it.  Maybe.

george-and-kelseyThe last picture of me as a school boy in my Australian school uniform (made even more complete by having a lovely school girl friend) is a picture from the August 2006 SL, also taken by Tony.  Note my “butch” haircut, which got me all the cute school girls.  Well, the cutest one anyway.

[A shocking post script:  Neither “tawse” nor “tawsing” are in TypePad’s spell check’s dictionary.  What’s up with that TypePad?]


I probably shouldn’t need to say this, but will just in case.  These are posted with the permission of Headmaster Tony.  If you don’t have permission from both of us, please don’t repost them anywhere.  Thank you.

Gag Me With a Spoon!

So today’s web quiz? 


You Are Romanticism


You are likely to see the world as it should be, not as it is.
You prefer to celebrate the great things people do… not the horrors they’re capable of.
For you, there is nothing more inspiring than a great hero.
You believe that great art reflects the artist’s imagination and true ideals.

Sadly I was trying for surrealism.  Personally I don’t actually buy into that "true ideals" stuff.

Confess!

Even I have limits.

Which of you is the sicko that googled "enema Hermione"!?

I’m so not sorry you’re disappointed. Your kink is so not okay. 😉

(Afterthought – by posting this it’s even more likely someone will find this site while googling those two words.)

Catholic School Girl Fashion

When I go into my local Coffee Bean on the way to catch my bus for work (this means at like 7am), there are always groups of teens from St. Monica’s High School getting their morning java.  They have a uniform: black or tan pleated skirt or pants (depending on gender), white or green polo shirts and matching sweaters. 

This isn’t anywhere near as formal as the uniform was at my own girls’ school — the St. Monica kids can wear tennis shoes, for example — but still makes me think of how even within (or maybe especially within) a uniformed environment, there are constant attempts at style or fashion.

One I remember from my own high school days was the fashion of wearing huarache sandals.  Sandals themselves were not allowed because the school guidelines clearly stated that we had to wear "brown or black closed toe shoes," however, it was (of course) possible to find huaraches with covered toes. 

Such was the case of many fashion choices — obedience to the letter of the law while defying the spirit with as much energy as possible. 

Other perienial favorites were: shortening our skirts (though the 20 plus pleats made the difficult unless one wanted to pay a professional tailor), pushing the limits of "natural-looking" make up and hair color (one friend of mine actually got assigned a detention before her mother came and explained that her brown hair always streaked red in the sun), white socks "accidently" turned pink by washing, wearing turtlenecks or thermals under our school shirts….  This list could go on and on.  But what was interesting, now that I think about it, was that the conformity within our non-conformity was so profound. 

So what’s "in" at St. Monica’s this Fall? 

Socks.  Either knee socks (though not the fold-over kind, but rather ones that are just barely too short — how do they keep them up?) and "footie" socks (the kind that are completely covered by shoes, leaving the ankles and legs bare).  I’ve seen no ankle socks at all this year. 

Shoes.  Either Van’s slip-ons or Converse All-Star low tops. 

Skirts.  I suspect St. Monica’s has a "no more than 4 inches above the knee" rule.  Why?  Because whatever the girls’ heights might be, that’s the length where their skirts end.

As to the rest, I don’t know.

So About That Ear Implant…

Flashback:  In 1999 I was sitting in the worst airport terminal I’ve ever spent the night in (this would be United’s terminal at Newark Airport complete with families of MICE (and a couple of rats) scampering merrily about the waiting area) and saw a crazy man.

How did I know he was crazy?  He was dressed in ill-fitting black clothes and pacing while holding an animated conversation (including gesturing frantically with both hands) with an invisible no one. 

It was 5:45 AM, I’d just gotten off a red-eye from LAX and was waiting for Paul to do the same from LHR and was totally alone in the terminal with this loud crazy man.  I’d only just begun to make panicked plans in case he turned on me when I saw it.

Dangling from his ear, there was a wire.  Not mad…. well, not talking-loudly-to-imaginary-friends / enemies mad anyway.  He was on the phone.

Since then, of course, hand-free sets have proliferated like mobile phones themselves.  Bluetooth makes wires unneeded as more and more frequently people sport that look that’s part receptionist with a headset, part Doctor Who mind control earpods. 

I can’t get into them.  It looks too much like voluntary cyborg-ism — like the implants could somehow go directly into my brain.

That said, having watched my father use his phone while driving, I can definitely see that they’re needed.  But not for me.  I mean, I can’t even commit enough to my mobile to do more than have Virgin’s pay-as-you-go plan.