Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Before and After

I was going through the archives of the SSC (Short Story Contest) from the newsgroup.  They don't have my earliest stories there, but I was going through my 2001 stories and found two that showed how different my thinking was from when I was younger compared to what it was once I got online and found myself, kink-wise.  They're bookend stories as it were, so I decided I'd post them here.  I can't believe that was ten years ago already!


 Damaged Goods
She was too young to understand what was done to her, too young to process the pain she felt.  He took advantage of her innocence to make her believe she was bad, that nobody would love her, or want her, ever. She was too young to know any different, so she believed.

She was punished for his own faults, his own demons.  Her small childish missteps were blown out of proportion, handled with rage and violence. She never understood why, all she knew was that she was bad.  She had to be if she got spanked and then ignored, never forgiven, never told she was a good girl again.  If that was what getting spanked really was.  It wasn't like she saw in the movies or on tv, it was so much worse.  She was the perpetual bad girl, even though she wasn't sure what she'd done. Whatever it was, it had to have been very bad to make him hate her the way he did.

She refused to accept authority after a while, any authority.  She only followed the rules out of fear, or because she thought it would make him like her, but it didn't.  Nothing got better, only worse.  She was always wrong, always bad.  She couldn't get away from that feeling, even at such a young age.  She was only a little girl, she should have been happy, not always sure that everyone knew that she was bad.

She was broken before she even had a chance to know who she was or what she wanted.  Her soul damaged so deeply and so early that she had no choice in what she became.  So sad, so lonely, thinking that he was right, that she'd be alone always, no friends, no love.  Part of her remained five years old, holding on to the only thing she'd ever really learned, ever knew for sure, that she was a bad girl, that there was no hope of anything else.  She became what he wanted her to be.

Learning to Trust

Once upon a time, I was foolish enough to believe that men were evil. It was what I grew up with, too early learned.  It was imprinted on my soul like an unwanted tattoo.

Paternal rage, unpredictable hurricanes of torment, ruled my life. Rules were momentary or oppressive, consequences brutal or nonexistent. The belt on bare skin was the chosen form of consequence too often.  No forgiveness afterward, just pain.  Not erotic, only something to block out if possible, even when I knew that spanking, in a normal sense, made my body tingle.

The idea that men were bad, not to be trusted, remained even in adulthood.  It would take so much to prove otherwise.  Challengers were very few and far between, and those proved rather than disproved. Marriage solidified the concept.  Being single seemed preferable at times.

Then it came to pass that spanking became a real part of life, not just fantasy or something not to be remembered.  It was finally something to be reveled in, celebrated.  Along with spanking came friends, some male.  To trust was essential in this new life, for without it there was nothing.  But would the belief be eradicated or vindicated.

I wanted to trust, and in the beginning most likely did so too willingly.  Even in the new territory of my sexual liberation, hopes were dashed, twice in quick succession.  I pushed on though, not willing to give up so easily when so much was at stake.  I needed this new way of life, needed a spanked ass and the emotional release that could come with that.

There came a day when I realized that my beliefs were no longer valid. A well-chosen group of male friends had come along, one at a time, showing me each in their own way that men weren't what I had always thought.  One in particular showed me what authority was supposed to be, consistent, safe.  I trusted and relaxed finally, no longer having to wonder when the trust would be smashed.  I knew that it would always be there.  No promises had ever been made that weren't kept.

Spankings, real, non-brutal spankings, were given for misbehavior, along with something I'd never had before.  Forgiveness, the knowledge that I wasn't the miserable creature I had once been led to believe I was, that I was worthy of that forgiveness, and I could never do something that would make me unworthy.  It healed something deep inside, allowing me to own this thing in me, this need to be spanked, whether for punishment or sex.  It was mine, and the brutality of the past couldn't take that away from me. Once upon a time, I was foolish enough to believe that men were evil. I'm glad I was wrong.


Anonymous said...

Just read this and you sound so liberated! It's fantastic that your early life is now less hampered by 'His' problems and words.

I came across a man a few years ago, he was the man of my dreams, someone who I could go to for a booty call but get on with my own life without having to iron his shirts... then I realised that all was not as it seemed and as he began to suspect that I was seeing though his fascard he began messing with my head, very very subtly at first, weakening me and bellitling me whilst making me work harder and harder for his affection.

I know your situation isn't the same as mine but reading your words made me think that maybe I will be able to trust again.

Nice blog :-)

Anonymous said...

I was so young and naive, he was my second lover. (same poster as before)

Jen said...

I'm so glad that what I wrote helped you! It took me a long time to figure out that trust comes on an individual basis. You can't decide that you'll never trust anybody ever again, because you could be missing out on an amazing friendship or relationship.