Feeling empowered after seeing the Castle Anthrax scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," I now began looking for where else I might find other spanking-related material.  My first stop was the video store.  Not being able to ask, of course, I spent hours perusing the shelves, discovering the titles "The Secretary," and "Live Nude Girls."  As I wasn't eighteen, I couldn't yet check them out or watch them, but just knowing they existed gave me a thrill.

What about the web?   Well, yes, I tried that too.    Complicating matters, though, I still had parental controls in force on my computer.  I honestly don't think that was because my parents didn't trust me - I was the epitome of a "good girl" at that time.  I think it was because my dad had enabled the protections years before to prevent any accidental exposure to questionable material, and then never even thought about turning them off as I got older.  So I would occasionally type "spanking" in the search engine - discovering how extensive the internet material was.  Anything that really looked interesting, though, was blocked.  Fearing that if I asked my dad for an unblocking, he'd figure out why, so I hesitated asking.  

Eventually, though, I realized I just had to get access to what was out on the web.  My plan became this - starting a couple months before I turned eighteen, as casually as I could, I would mention - on several occasions - that I was close to being an adult, and also that the blocking was so clumsy that it often stopped access to material a student might need for a report (having read this in a couple articles).  When it worked, I felt so sly.  I was a little embarrassed that, on my birthday, my dad made a show of removing the parental controls "for his grown-up daughter."  It actually took him a couple hours, because he first had to figure out what his own password was, and then how to work the blocking program.

Did I then wait a discreet interval of time before visiting just a few sites at a time?  Heck no!  Although it was a school night, I stayed up until three in the morning checking out dozens of different sites.  As many sites as I had seen in searches, I had no idea what I would find, especially the pictures.  I was astounded... and hooked.

The pictures did provoke fantasies of me replacing the girls being spanked.  The sheer number of them, though, was almost an overload.  I began to gravitate more to stories, where I could find them, and chatrooms, where I could link up with similar-minded people. With a dial-up connection, I didn't even attempt  videos.  

The chatroom world was eye-opening, to say the least.  I never realized how many weirdos there are out there.  And how many fakers, who tried to pass off the most far-fetched fantasies as reality.  Then there were the role-players.   That seemed a bit odd, but over time I found myself seduced into this on-line play, since it was the only spankings I would get, other than the self-administered ones. I also indulged my other fantasy, of being with another woman, more and more finding that something I found attractive.

My life was more or less tri-sected during this period - I was quite the straight-laced persona to friends and family, an ever more sexually-involved partner with my boyfriend, albeit straight and vanilla, and sapphic, spankophilic role-player online.  I never told anyone in real life about my on-line activities.

Beyond the role-playing, though, I began to find a handful of people in the chatrooms who seemed genuine and, well, normal,  who struggled with the same lack of real-life outlets for spanking desires as I had.  These people became my support group, the people who told me that I wasn't the freak I had thought I was.  And, often from a perspective of being locked into loving but vanilla marriages, encouraged me to be bold, to seek real-life experience, and relationships that would fulfill my spanking desires.    

It wopuld be a long time before I'd actuallly follow that advice, but the seeds we  


 
Spanking-wise, I spent my high school years feeling all alone in my fantasy, having little or no clue that anyone else shared this interest - just freaky me and my self-spanking. My first real hint that  someone else might share this interest came courtesy of my father.  No, it wasn't anything creepy.  My dad is a huge Monty Python fan, and, with his complete collection of of videos from the television show to watch, I became one as well. I was sixteen, I think, when  He brought their "Holy Grail" home from the video store for a family video night (as I am an only child, that meant my mom, my dad and me).  

It was all just a typical Python romp. When the Castle Anthrax scene reached its conclusion, though, I nearly fell off the couch as the young nuns begged Galahad to "spank me." Even in my innocence, it was clear to me that this was something they craved the same way I did, something sexual (even though I totally missed the "then oral sex" line). Indeed, I could be one of them, locked away in my own castle.  I'm sure my face turned beet red from embarrassment.  Although we were watching with the lights out, I just knew my parents had to be able to decipher my reaction.  That was nonsense, of course, but I felt so exposed, as if I had announced it to the world.  I had such a sense of relief when the evening ended without either of them saying a thing about that scene.  

I still couldn't sleep that night.  In the wee hours of the morning, I slipped back downstairs to watch that segment again, the volume turned down low, five or six times, just to be certain that I had seen and heard what I thought I had.  Now hearing "oral sex," I knew I had made no mistake.  It may sound silly, but that little scene from "Holy Grail" validated my fantasy.  I couldn't be alone in the world if a Monty Python movie poked fun at the idea.


 
Being a closet spanko wasn't my only secret while I was in high school.  Or rather, it was only part of the secret. My spanko fantasies almost exclusively featured me getting spanked by women - teachers, movie stars, a neighbor, professional tennis players, friends.  And always attractive women.  Although now I know that they were sexual fantasies, that wasn't clear to me initially, because at least at first, they didn't involve sex, just me getting my bottom spanked, usually my bare bottom.

Several years later, my therapist helped me understand that my fantasies were a "safe" way of exploring my interest in other women.  By attaching it to my previous interest in spanking, I could fantasize about particular women without acknowledging, even to myself, that I felt sexually attracted to them.  Meanwhile, I had normal teen-age fantasies about guys, budding bisexual that I was. That separation - fantasizing about sex with guys, but only spanking with women - didn't last.  As time went on, my fantasies about woman came to be about me getting spanked and then having sex, leaving little doubt where my interests lay - about both women and spanking.

Did I ever imagine being spanked by a guy?  Well, yes, I did, but it was more exploratory. As I came to understand my view of spanking as a sexual act, of course I would occasionally imagine a sexy guy doing it to me. It was never like with women, where a sexual fantasy ALWAYS involved me getting spanked. A funny thing - I never fantasized about my boyfriend David spanking me.  Well, yes, I occasionally wondered what it would be like if he did, but it was never a DESIRE, however unspoken, that he would do it. Maybe it was just an acceptance that he would never want to - he paid far more attention to my miniature boobettes than he ever did to my ass.

What I said earlier about fantasizing about spankings from friends wasn't exactly true.  I didn't ever fantasize about girls who were really my friends.  I did, though, fantasize about spankings from other girls at school. As much as I enjoyed congratulatory butt slaps from my volleyball teammates, I honestly can say I never imagined going over their knees.  But, there was a girl, Jan, a year older than me, who for three years was always on varsity while I played JV who became my secret crush. She was tall, good-looking, athletic, super intense, and a star.  As a nobody JV player, I had only occasional interactions with her.  I could sure imagine her taking me to  task for something, hauling me over her knee for a good spanking, and then afterwards... well, you know.  I could, and I did - fantasize about her that is, a lot.

It was better that way, of course, not having either spanking or sexual desires for my friends.  A girl needs her friends to be just that - her friends,  People to hang out with, to talk to.  That can't be complicated by any sexual tension.  What I never talked to them about was my secret, or rather my two secrets.  I never spoke to anyone about them.
 
In high school, I just wanted to fit in.  How unusual is that, right?  When you're shy, it isn't easy.  I stopped taking piano lessons, because I was too self-conscious to play in front of anyone anyhow.  

I decided to become a jock, despite being almost totally non-athletic. When I was cut from the softball team, a mercy killing really, I stayed on as the statistician.  Before that, I had managed to stick on the junior varsity volleyball team, mostly because they needed bodies. I wasn't much good to start, but by my senior year I actually made varsity.  Although I wasn't a starter, my specialty of being a "setter" got me rotated into the lineup during most games.  The butt slaps from my teammates when I did well were the best part.

And of course I discovered sex.  Well, it was more of a desire for sex, that I handled in solitary fashion.  My fantasies, though, were not just about sex.  As you may have guessed, they were, often as not, about being spanked.  For by now, my interest in spanking was no longer a detached curiosity, but gradually had become a raging desire.  

Slowly but surely, I collected a small arsenal - a hairbrush, a ping pong paddle, a couple different rulers, a wooden spoon.    Instinctively, I recognized anything that would make a good implement, and would sneak it up to my room.  And I tried them out - standing in front of the mirror, lying on the bed, bending over a chair, with my pants off and panties pulled down.  I found out that I was a wimp - even though I wanted to do it harder, I would chicken out, leaving my butt pink, not red.  It was still enough of a rush that fingering myself afterwards brought spectacular results.

My prize was a souvenir paddle I bought down at the Jersey  shore, where my family vacationed almost every summer. Having discovered it in a tacky gift shop, I coveted it all week.  A little over a foot long, and several inches wide, it had an outline of the Jersey shore on one side, with the big tourist-y towns all marked.   On the other side, though, was a girl in a bikini, her back turned so that you could see her butt, with a slogan down one edge reading "For Your Beach Bum."  Several times that week, I found myself re-visiting that store to admire the merchandise. I had to have it.  Finally, the day before we were to head home, I got up the courage to buy it.   It is still one of my favorites.

Of course, I knew all of this was weird, too weird to tell anyone.  Whether anyone else noticed or not, I knew I was a freak.  At volleyball practice, hanging with my friends at lunchtime, going to church on Sunday, I may have seemed normal enough, but inside I knew how perverted I was.

During my junior year I acquired my first boyfriend.  I joined the staff of the school newspaper, working as a proofreader and occasional reporter. David was assistant editor, in line to become editor our senior year.  He quickly took me under his wing, showing me the ropes at the paper.  Within a few weeks, he asked me to the movies, and before long we made it official that we were going steady.  I had never had so much as a single date before that. It was a long time, not until the end of the following summer, before we had sex.  He was as inexperienced as I was.  We were both "good kids," more prone to living up to the expectations of our parents than those of our friends, until, of course, the hormones got to be too much.

I never so much as hinted to David about my desire to be spanked.  I desperately wanted to be normal.  If everyone else thought I was normal, perhaps eventually I could be.  Sharing my dirty little secret would not only be terribly embarrassing, it couldn't possibly help. Knowing that my desires for sex and spanking were intertwined, I hoped that finally in engaging in the first would quench my desire for the second.  No such luck.   Coming home from David's after losing my virginity, I was compelled to have a session with my favorite paddle, not because I felt a need for punishment, but because  I still needed to get off.

Freak.

 
It seems surprising to me now, but for all my interest in the concept of spanking in my pre-teen years, there's one thing that I never really thought much about - my butt.  That changed when I was in middle school, specifically in the summer between 7th and 8th grades.  There was this kid my age, Tommy Tisdale (not his real name;  pretty much all the names in this blog will be made up), who was always at the municipal swimming pool where I went almost every day.  I knew him from school, though not very well.  That summer he really made himself a pain in the ass, though, by teasing me about mine  He seemed to follow me around the whole pool complex just so he could tell me how big my butt was.  Then he'd laugh, and try to flick my backside with his towel.  If he managed to connect, he'd say how easy it was, because the target was so huge.

When I studied the evidence, comparing my behind to those of my friends, I found myself acknowledging that he had a point.  My butt wasn't really enormous, but given how scrawny I was, my buttocks were disproportionate.  It wasn't even from growing into a womanly figure, as I wouldn't "develop" until my second year of high school.  I just had a big butt. And boy did Tommy let me know it, that whole summer and the entire following school year.

This all happened at a very inopportune time for me.  I wasn't popular.  I wasn't particularly pretty.  I wore dorky glasses.  My family was poor for a few years, while my father was unemployed and then underemployed, which meant that I couldn't replace those dorky glasses, and had to wear a lot of cheap and second-hand clothes.  I tried to dress to cover up my over-sized bottom, but not knowing what I was doing, I succeeded primarily in making myself look  even worse.  And through it all, I got teased by Tommy about my big butt.  It did wonders for my ego.

I realize now that, more likely than not, his teasing was his juvenile way of getting my attention because be liked me.  That's sure not how it felt at the time, however.

My butt never got any smaller.  Even when I stopped being completely flat-chested, I ended up with so little "up top" that my bottom continued to be something of concern (to me) for years.  It wasn't until I started connecting to people in the spanko community that I realized I had an asset that might be appreciated.  No, my butt never got any smaller, but now I love it.


 

Where did it all start?  I really don't know.  I was NOT spanked as a child - not by my parents, not at school, not by anyone.  As far back as I can remember, though, I was curious about spanking, fascinated by it.  

I had a book of Mother Goose rhymes, it had been my grandmother's book.  My favorite, of course, was the Old Woman Who Lived In a Shoe.  All those children, all those spankings.  The picture on the page showed the Old Woman with a little boy over her lap, with her spanking his round bottom.  A little girl was running toward the shoe, crying, holding her own recently-spanked backside, past a bunch of other misbehaving children, who were soon to have there own turns over the woman's lap.  Even then - how old was I?  five, maybe six? - I knew I couldn't tell anyone that this was my favorite rhyme.  It was my secret pornography, something I had to sneak a peek at, even as I got older - nine, ten - worrying that the page was becoming too well worn.

By then I was using the dictionary - looking up "spank" and every spanking-related word I could think of.  Thrash. Smack. Beat. Paddle. All of them gave me a thrill.  

Although I wasn't spanked, a few other children I knew were. If one of them mentioned her mother's hairbrush, or that there was a danger of getting a butt smacked, I was dying to know more. How? With what? How hard? How often? Of course I was too embarrassed to ask any of these questions. Only my cousin Jerry gave me any details, unsolicited, of how his dad would put him over his knee. How it made it hard to sit down. How he once tried thwarting the punishment by slipping a book in the seat of his pants. Yeah, right - like that would work. All this made made me scared. When I stayed over, if Uncle John got angry at something we were doing.  Would we both get it, Jerry and me?

As curious as I was, it wasn't something I was wishing for, for myself, not back then.  I did occasionally wonder what it would be like.  I'd pile up pillow on my bed, pull down my pajama pants, and then lie over the pillows, imagining I was waiting to get my butt smacked.  It never occurred to me, though, back then, to try spanking my own bottom.

I was drawn to anything and everything spanking-related.  If a book had even so much as a reference to a child getting spanked, I would re-read it over and over again, particularly that section.  Or, a movie.  That was so exciting, seeing some poor unfortunate child get his or her bottom whacked.  When on vacation, I'd wander through gift shops, hoping that they'd have souvenir paddles for sale, and upon finding one on the shelf, having my heart pound as if it would leap out of my chest.  Eventually, as an early teen, I would buy one, down at the Jersey shore, thinking that everybody in the store had to be looking at my purchase,  That, though, was still years in the future.

At the time, back in my innocent pre-teen years, I knew I had a secret.  I just didn't know that it was truly about ME.