• Craigslist<Gigs

$250~Get spanked in an upscale neighborhood by a spanking expert. 

Get spanked for $250 by an expert? *Click

I turn my laptop screen toward me so no one can see [I am alone] and hunch over the keys like a 12 year old who accidentally stumbled upon free porn.  My eyes are darting across the sentences hungrily feasting on key words like “apparatuses” and “safe words.”  He claims to be an expert at spanking and has already made mention of owning many useful tools to back that up. It seems a shame to pass up an opportunity to get paid to be spanked by an expert.  If there ever was to be a “Once in a Lifetime” moment this was it!  So, I answer his ad, it was clear I must.

This wasn’t just about the money.  Getting paid was part of the thrill for me.  I think I was taught to believe the money aspect of this experience to be a degrading and shameful contingency, but for me, the money was security for absolution of no hard feelings.  I didn’t want this expert spanker to love me, or be my boyfriend, or pine over me when I’m away.  I wanted a contained experience that didn’t bleed into the every day of my life.  I wanted to know that whatever I became in this moment was safe to stay there.

We exchanged emails with photographs.  I sent him a recent picture that featured me in a sexy pin-up pose, of course.  And he sent me a selfie headshot which featured a head of long and wild curls in streaks of different colors surrounding a mischievous grin and warm eyes.  He was a total burner, I could tell.  I immediately pegged him for a pot grower [which I was right about.] It was amazing to look at this man’s face and not have to consider him as someone who will share my responsibilities in my career, kids, or livelihood.  All I had to do was look at his face and ask,

“Is this the face of a man who I want to spank me?”

Yes.  I believed he would do just fine.  Already the lift of judgement and expectation has set me free.  I spent the days leading up to our set date feeling excited and giddy about the idea that I would be learning something very new yet, deep-rooted.

When I arrived to his house he was just as he looked in his picture except with different colored streaks in his curls.  He was chill and intense at the same time.  He immediately reminded me of Animal from The Muppet Show; disheveled hair, cool demeanor, shoulders that seemed slightly raised up like he spends his time pounding away on a drum kit when he’s not busy expertly spanking his Submissives.

We talked a little about cannabis before indulging in it.  I chose the Sativa for the “floof” and not the “chill.”  We talked about what this experience was about, what I want from it, and what he does as a Dominant.  He gave me my safe word “Pause” and let me know that as an expert he is reading me and measuring my willingness.  The Submissive is ultimately the one in control.  He had advised me that if there was anything I wanted to release in my life, that a lot of people use this type of sexual experience to channel that.  Oh but which channel to start with?… When there were no more questions and after he tested me to see if I remembered the only three words I could say, “Pause” and “Yes Sir,” things moved quickly.

“Stand here [points next to a large, circular cushion on the floor] and take off your pants.”

I begin to do as I am told.

“Yes Sir.” He inflicts sharply.

“Yes Sir.” I obey.

He tells me to kneel down in front of him, and sit on my feet.

“Yes Sir.” I say kneeling.

“Good Girl.” He says in a silky voice that I haven’t heard from him yet causing a flutter in my belly.

Animals’ Dom side is emerging.  Even though he is stoned there is a bright fire in his eyes and my body flushes hot when he looks me up and down.

“Look at what we have here…aren’t you cute?”  He is grinning a devilish grin and swiveling his chair side to side.  I fucking love this.

“Open your legs and stick your butt out yoga style.”

It is effective, my pussy and my ass relax and become exposed, by back is bowed and I feel like a feline perched on a bluff.  Animal becomes my tamer and circles me like a lion on a pedestal.  He tells me to raise my arms and masterfully slips off my tank top.  He instructs me to hold out my arms palms up and straps leather cuff’s around each one.

“This is your first time with me so I won’t restrain you, I am only going to put these on so you get used to them [I feel assured which increases my excitement and I relax more]…M’mm, you’re little…”  He gives me a smile that says he knows he’s in for a treat.  I blush and give him eyes that say “Yes Sir.”

He continues dressing my neck with a leather choker and a thick chain leash.  He lets the chain fall down my sternum.  It is heavier than I thought it would be and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end like tiny soldiers.

“Stand up,” He rises quickly guiding the leash like a ringmaster leading me to my feet and holding the leash steady as I stand up straight like the statue Aphrodite.

He looks me up and down again. I imagine his tongue in his mouth writhing in his own spit, hungry for me, starving himself in this moment.  He firmly but gently pulls the leash down and sits on the couch next to the circle cushion.

“Sit down”

I start to sit and he directs me to face away from him cross-legged.  He begins to knead my neck and my shoulders.  I like his hands.  They’re not rough and large in a burly, man-handle-me sense.  And they’re not too dainty that I feel like they could never be as hard as I want them to be.  They were androgynous and skillful.

“Up” He leads me up to my feet quickly and then back down to my knees, still on the pillow.

“Kneel down.  Spread your legs.  Always spread your legs.”  Animal grips the back of my neck and pushes me downward so that my head lands on his socked foot.

“Put your hands up to my foot”.  Animal starts to stroke my back, gently drilling small circles into my muscles.  He runs his fingers lightly down my spine and over my ass then back up the sides of my hips and grips firmly around my waist.  My muscles spasm and my body lights up.  He slips his foot out from under me and stands up as I stay in Child’s Pose.  He tells me to keep my head down and raise my ass up as high as I can.

“Grab your ass and spread your cheeks.”

“Yes Sir”, I grab and squeeze and pull my cheeks apart.

“Grab deeper than that.”

I reach back my hands, fingers spread wide as they can, and pull back from as far in as my asshole.  And I wait.

Slap! Drag…Slap! Slap! Drag…  It feels like a mop head of leather beating against my pussy and ass.  It tickles my skin and slaps like a bitch fight, not hard but hard enough to get a taste. I immediately feel playful.

Tap!Tap!Tap!Tap!Tap!  He slips something thin and hard between my legs and taps upward against my clit.  I guessed it was the slim bamboo cane I saw among his apparatuses.  I am so turned on.  This is thrilling.

Animal pushes something hard and cool against my pussy and asshole.  It feels like a jar but not hollow, and with irregular edges but not sharp. He slides it up and down, up and down firmly.

“Somebody has a wet pussy…” I realize my hips are rolling in and out slowly, rubbing itself against this hard, dense object.  He wedges it between me and the floor, beneath my clit, and I grind against it.  My pussy has made it very slippery.

“Up on your feet.”  I barely register what is happening when the chain is being pulled upward and I am rising like an obedient fuck servant that I suddenly want to be.

As the blood rushes down from my head and the white lights fade, he swiftly unclips the chain leash then haphazardly clears out a corner of the room points and orders me to stand in it.  Quickly I walk over and face the corner.

“Stick your ass out, make it cute.”  My body is on high frequency right now, it feels like it is vibrating and can be heard like a refrigerator.

Swack! It is the riding crop.  I giggle, startled.  Swack!  He slides the leather tip around in circles on my ass and the back of my thighs, then delights me with a series of mini swacks that bring me higher up on my toes.  I am asking for more by shamelessly shoving my pussy out there!  I start laughing.  I am beside myself.  I feel nervous to laugh at first, afraid to offend him, but then suddenly I stop giving a fuck and let my giggles turn to spurts of maniacal groans between spankings.

“Back to me.  Sit on my knee.”  He’s seated in his black swivel chair and I sit on his knee and we stare at each other with feisty eyes, grinning.  He grabs my head and brings it down to his chest above his heart and holds me there.  He buries his face into my neck, one hand still wrapped around it and pets my body’s silhouette with the other.  I allow myself to melt into him.  It was the closest I felt to what it must be like to purr.

“Stand up!”  Our cuddle is quick and effective.  I feel safe and checked in.  I am more open to where this will go.  He leads me back to the couch pulling the chain firmly and smoothly until I am kneeled on the floor with my torso bent over the seat of his black vinyl couch.  Animal grabs the back of my head with both hands from behind, leans over to my ear and says in a low slither,

“You have a beautiful asssssss.”  Spank!  I am creaming.  He pushes what feels like his thumb firmly against my asshole and pulses a bit there.  He feels my asshole pucker as if to give his thumb a kiss.  Animal leans over me, grabs the back of my neck and pulls me into him and says,

“Someone likes to get fucked in the ass.”

“Yes Sir.”  I mustn’t lie.

Swack! Swack! Swack! Swack! I am laughing again my ass is on fire.  He is also enjoying himself, I see it in his eyes he knows he’s getting more out of this.

Animal guides me back to kneeling on the circular cushion on the floor and quickly tugs his jeans off and seats himself on the couch in front of me.  With no hesitation he reaches over, grabs my head and pulls me to his cock which was about 75% hard.  He shoves it all the way to the back of my throat in one push.  I can’t breathe, it didn’t take long for the same mucus lubricant to fill my nostrils and pour out all over my face, making it impossible to breathe with his cock in my throat.  This was it, my place of humility, with my mouth wide open and suffocating on my powerlessness.  It is a gift to let this go.

“Back on your knees”

I am directed to kneel on the couch with my feet on the seat and my hands on the back.

Swack!  At last.  A hard pussy slap.  Swack!  I bounce off my knees.  I feel like I might cry, there is a feeling of floating, and I push my pussy out begging for more.  I am ready to shoot out into the galaxy.

“Stand up”

He yanks me up and looks me dead on.  We are both frisky, full of sparks, and he tells me to get down on the ground and grabs me by the collar and brings me into a downward dog, yanks out the small butt plug, and mounts me rubbing his cock on my ass.  He is rubbing the tip of his cock up and down both my holes with his hands gripped around my hips.

“I am not going to put it in your pussy.”

I did tense up and was prepared to say “Pause” when his cock slid over my pussy, but he was reading me like an experienced Dom and did not get carried away with himself, showing control and trust.  He shoves the tip of his cock in my ass.  It slides in with ease and he pushes down steadily.  He pumps and lets me take it, advising me to breathe deeply, which causes my ass to have long, deep contractions.  I moan a primal sound that seemed to rise from beyond my battered throat.  The sounds I am making are igniting the horny abandon that allows for filthy words and crude gestures.  I feel I would do anything to cum hard.  I feel I want to roll around the ground sticking my pussy up in the air in different ways mewing and licking my paws to show him how horny I am.

“Shut the fuck up!  Did I say you could be loud?”  He covers my mouth and nose with his hand and presses down firmly to seal my airways.  I wait patiently, my brain slow to catch up still so full of oxygen from breathing so heavily.  He releases his hand from my face.  I take one breath.  He covers my airways again.

“Good Girl….”  My body becomes relaxed and limp and I calm down from such a stimulated state.

“Breathe deeply”  I concentrate on finding a steady breath.  I find it quickly and let it take me like a kite.  I feel euphoric.  He sees my body relax and straightens out my legs from under me and mounts me again.  Now relaxed, my ass receives him and he pumps his cock in and out.  I am sensitive, a warm flush has covered my body, my body is static and a white light blinds me.  I imagine the sparks in my nerves are shining like glitter on my body.

“You can make noise again.”  He releases my mouth and I continue to release the ferrel animal in me as he slaps my cheeks and shoves his fingers down my throat and fucks my ass to eternity.

He cleans my ass and orders me to stand up.  He points to the shower and tells me to wash up.

Like that it is over.  It isn’t awkward.  He allows me to check in with my safety net, to let them know all is well and that I wasn’t maimed and murdered.  We discuss future arrangements.  He says beyond this, pay will not be included.  I admit that I was disappointed, at first.  The security for no attachments seemed less likely, however, it seemed too good to be true to get paid to be trained by an expert on something I surely want to be an expert in myself.

I decide I like the idea that I could visit Animal when I needed to channel something intense.  I like the idea of being someone’s sexual pet, and that I could slink over to his den and purr in his lap when I need to growl at the moon.

Here I go….my intro….at best

So I don’t really know what I’m doing.  Is this working?  Will this work?  Will any of this be helpful?  Do I care?  Do I care too much?  Certainly not the most original questions ever asked to one’s self but I will not promise you originality as that’s pretty hard to come by.  So do I want to be influential?  Not really.  If by some miracle I am and one person out there finds my ramblings to be an honest, refreshing approach to how we express our lives, than that certainly would be humbling.

I’m just here to vomit. Word vomit, emotion vomit, sexually vomit all over this blog.  Do I know the first thing about blogging?  No.  I know nothing.  Do I know the first thing about writing?  No.  I’m smart but I’m not especially educated.  I am inviting you to witness me trip and fumble my way through this technology that I know so little about and through my 30’s, a decade of urgent self assessment that, halfway through, has already proven to be my favorite and most scariest times.  I’m setting you up now to have the lowest expectations possible of my ability to formulate comprehensible thoughts and to articulate this to you in a way that could possibly engage you.  I am here to make YOU feel better about yourself through my own self humiliation, failures, achievements and perpetual state of restlessness.  I want you to know that you are not alone and completely alone.  Like me.  And this “thing” in me needs to get out before it eats away at my soul.  Dramatic, I know.

I am 35.  I’m a mother of a soulful and artistic 8 year old girl and a tenacious and clever 2 year old boy.  I am a wife that’s ready to redefine her marriage on so many levels and above all, I am a woman on fire, for the first time.  I’m fortunate to be happy with the age that I am.  There was never a time in my life, so far, that I wish I could return to or yearn for.  I didn’t love my childhood, I didn’t feel especially childlike in those years.  I was a sexually advanced, pervy kid and hypersensitive to the state of my parents marital and financial hardships.  I had an older brother that I felt protective of and I felt the need to be tough and edgy and different at all times.  My parents were young.  My father, from Texas was in the Navy which is how he met my mother in Japan.  My mother is proud to be Japanese and never really recognized me and my brother as such.  Sadly, neither my brother or I speak the language.
My parents are no longer together.  After 33 years of co-dependency they finally called it quits.  My father quickly remarried to another Japanese woman and lives with her in Japan, and my mother is an eccentric recluse living in Los Angeles, Ca.

The tender years of 12 years old through High School were wrought by mean girls, jealous and persistent to make me as cheap as the words they would write about me on the bathroom walls.  I didn’t cave in though.  Words like “slut” and “whore” didn’t turn me into one.  Deep down everyone has a bit of that in them.  I “lost” my virginity a week before my 18th birthday to a bartender that worked at Red Robin. I generally felt like Molly Ringwald in Pretty In Pink, always stylish but lower class to my upper middle class peers.  Hardly anyone ever came over to my house for many reasons beyond its being an unloved, split-level home built in the 70’s.  I was completely embarrassed of it, mostly because everything and everyone in it was as grey and depressing as the battleship grey color it was on the outside.   My senior class had a time capsule that was buried and supposedly will be excavated on our 20 year reunion (approaching soon) so then we can look back with fond memories of our early accomplishments.  There’s nothing in that capsule for me.  Nothing that I would ever want to see again.

My 20’s were just a blur of smoking weed, drinking alcohol, working a couple dozen failed jobs, being in multiple semi-long relationships that varied from emotional and mental abuse-to me totally taking advantage of a really nice guy-to falling madly in love.  I was always a sexual person, wreaking of sex in my early 20’s and then letting that become somewhat dormant by the end of it.  In this decade I became a mother and wife and tried to become a responsible person and build a community that I would later recognize as my family.  In all these years up until this point, I had no idea what I was good at or what I wanted to do.  I never went to college, no one ever pushed me and I certainly never pushed myself.  I was in survival mode from the moment I was born.  I was always pretty good at a lot of things and never excellent at anything.  I would beat myself up for this for many years, especially when I met my very multi-talented husband and moved to San Francisco where it seemed that everyone was either an artist or incredibly well-educated or wealthy.  All I could be was honest and hard-working.  That didn’t feel like much so I made the mistake of making my husband my passion putting all my hopes and effort into supporting him and his talents.  I see now that making another person your passion is a destined disappointment.  Even if he was the most successful person I know and everything was just as I hoped (which it isn’t) I would still be left with me, disregarded from the equation, ignored by myself and empty just waiting for fulfillment.  I had a love affair with alcohol that kept me company most nights and throughout some days.  Alcohol knew me better than anyone, heard all the ugly truths and saw all my gnarly faces.  But luckily for you, this isn’t a blog about my alcoholism, though a factor in everything I do now, it’s a blog about being a woman today.

Let me just say, this is a pretty summarized glimpse into my life to get you up to speed to today, or somewhere within the past 2 years which is where I need you to be if you are at all interested in reading any more.  What I plan to do with this, if I can even loosely call it a plan is tell you how I’m getting on with the choices I’ve made, the repercussions I face and all the unknown in-betweens that stand like elephants in the room until we have time and energy to move them out.  Maybe you’ll cry with me, laugh with or at me, want to shake or slap me (which i don’t mind) or even want to reach out and hug me.  I no doubt will make you uncomfortable when I talk about relationships, crossing over to the unconventional “open marriage” topic whose stigma is still so sadly faux pas, and considered a bandaid to an inevitable marriage doom.  I will awkwardly navigate through these times, and share them with you, like I did when I was a teenager, writing in my diary and mailing off the finished books to my friend thousands of miles away.  
And I look forward to your replies, if there are any to read, and I hope to learn from each other and develop a network of like-minded restless souls that have lots of ideas and no idea all at once.  I am also a self-portraitist which is just a term that makes “selfies” seem more valid and artistic.  You will find my self-musings scattered throughout this as well and hopefully you will just enjoy them for whatever they’re worth.