Wednesday, 31 March 2010
I didn't ever get strapped or caned, although both were still very much in vogue as punishments during my schooldays. I did get a couple of detentions at secondary school. They weren't much more than a waste of time: they had precious little deterrent value apart from spurring me on to take slightly more care in future to avoid being caught. My main concern in fact was preventing my parents from finding out in case I then got punished for getting into trouble at school! Certainly none of us ever dared show the level of open defiance (and the lack of any real fear of consequences) that I found exhibited by pupils at a large comprehensive school when I was on a six-month job secondment there in the late 1990s.
But then I didn't as a boy want to get strapped or caned, either. If I had been, I imagine I'd have accepted it with my customary timidity rather than rebelling angrily against it. But quite apart from anything else, having a reputation for being exceptionally well-behaved meant - a) that I was never suspected of anything, so I could (and occasionally did) get away with all manner of assorted misdeeds, - and b) that I got all sorts of extra privileges and rewards because I supposedly could be trusted. The carrot vs stick psychology certainly worked better than anything else for me.
In the light of all this, I must admit I've become rather fascinated by some of the psychology behind consensual cp. A decreasing number of adults are going to have had any first-hand experience of the real thing as kids, but despite that, the time-honoured "six of the best" is an enduring British tradition which still seems to live on in guys' minds, and apparently in quite a number of cases on their backsides as well! The purely masochistic element I can relate to easily as I have a very submissive side to my nature. The whole "one sir, two sir, three bags full sir" role-play scene on the other hand does very little for me at all. Like most things, it's all a matter of taste and whichever way you slice it, submitting voluntarily to a painful beating has got to be something of an acquired taste. I do think my life would be very bland and dull, however, if I didn't sample the occasional new taste every now and again!
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
Which is odd in a way, because her childhood was quite different to mine. We're not very alike temperamentally to start off with: I take after my mother and inherited a lot of her "call a spade a bloody shovel" approach with a natural tendency to speak my mind and forget any upset ten minutes afterwards. She on the other hand was more like my father with his habit of deep brooding and sulking - you could never really tell what eiher of them was thinking a lot of the time. And whereas I got to move round with my parents wherever my father's postings took us, my sister, being that much older, got packed off to boarding school which she hated. I don't doubt my parents felt they were doing the right thing by us both at the time, and certainly in the initial chaos of post-war Europe, there simply weren't the facilities to cater for servicemens' families abroad anyway.
She remembers a lot more of Hong Kong than I do: she flew out to join us for our final year having finished her O levels, whereas I was then still only nine and while I have assorted mental visualizations which are reinforced quite easily by seeing old photos, my memories of events and of our life out there are really very hazy and I suspect not very accurate. She's embarked on writing an account of it, which I'm very much looking forward to reading if only to see how much more of my time out there will come flooding back to me.
Monday, 29 March 2010
It's a bit difficult to explain what the big attraction is for a guy in wearing a corset. Being PVC and a womens' one (I can't stand the look of purpose-designed male corsets) gives it a definite kink value, and it's a turn-on for me! I love the sensual tightness - the feeling of being constantly hugged - as well as the visual effect of my body taking on definition and losing a lot of its unsightly flab. Although I've never gone in for tightlacing as such, the restriction over my stomach area does give me a feeling of not wanting to eat, as well as realistically no longer being able to demolish huge quantities of anything while laced up. So it's all good!
Sunday, 28 March 2010
We went to the woods this morning for our customary Sunday morning forage round: over the eighteen months since I left work it's become quite a regular feature of the week, and being a bright dog who doesn't miss a trick, she's developed a nice line in sitting there wittering impatiently if she thinks I'm taking longer than I need to in getting ready. It had rained on Wednesday evening too, so it was decidedly muddy underfoot and since I'd rather foolishly put on my old blue Converse boots which I use for just knocking around in, but which aren't really waterproof, I began to regret it. The forecast for the next couple of days is heavy rain so next week I suspect my wellies will be called for!
Saturday, 27 March 2010
Being caught in school uniform doing anything we shouldn't have been doing was in my day a cast-iron guarantee of being hauled up and punished for it, and while I'm not suggesting that those concerned are going to get off scot free, the point is that for us it would have been a sufficient deterrent to stop it happening in the first place. I remember there was always a certain amount of 'rivalry' between us and the boys from Warwick School, whom we derided as being posh stuck-up little snobs, but it never to the best of my knowledge escalated into open violence - certainly not in a public place, anyway.
Sadly, I fear it's all part and parcel of the decreasing ability of schools to exercise any real control or discipline over their pupils, and I shall be interested to see what degree of responsibility (if any) the school concerned in this case accepts for what happened.
Friday, 26 March 2010
Looking back on it, I've always found gardening very therapeutic: I think it must date from the days when we lived in a village in the country and as a small boy I had my very own strawberry bed in the enormous garden there. I can't remember whether it ever produced any fruit or not, though!
As a teenager, I think I did most of the gardening at home: we lived in a big detached house in Kenilworth, and I remember how neglected it had got when we moved in. The bottom of the back garden was waist-deep in nettles and it took a couple of seasons before it was licked into shape. My parents bought some fruit bushes - gooseberries and blackcurrants, I think - and we grew vegetables, too, having notable success with runner beans, but not with peas which I could never see much point in growing since frozen ones were cheap, plentiful and there wasn't any real difference in taste. It was fun picking the other crops, though, and savouring the taste of real home-grown vegetables!
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Compared to the agonizing and soul-searching which I went through over my decision to leave BME, and which I wrote about yesterday, this one was a total no-brainer. In the three months during which I'd had it, I only ever got asked two questions, and neither of those was much more than spam - although I did try and give reasonably meaningful answers. In all honesty I think it's a rather pointless idea and I only joined because a few other people did at the same time. Basically it caters for the trivial: I mean if anyone has a serious question to which they want a proper answer, they're going to ask you directly.
One thing which did puzzle me slightly about it was the tendency of some people to complain bitterly about the type of questions they were asked. If you set yourself up as an Aunt Sally, you're going to get pot-shots taken at you and while those which bordered on the openly malicious went beyond a simple mischievous annoyance value, letting people know that their teasing/bullying is getting to you is the worst possible way of simply encouraging it all the more, and always has been.
Anyway, I'm not going to miss it one little bit!
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
I remember back in 1999: I'd written a nipple piercing experience, taking care to omit anything that could possibly identify me, or give any sort of clue as to who I was. I submitted it for publication and I remember too the agonies of self-doubt I went through during the ten days while I waited to see if it had been accepted, wondering endlessly if I'd done the right thing. I had. During the eleven years that followed, as I became part of a thriving online community, I changed and developed in a way I'd never thought possible. I shed much of the shyness and timidity which had plagued me since my earliest boyhood, I lost my inhibitions, I grew in self-confidence and I enjoyed a decade of self-discovery. I shall treasure for the rest of my days the memories of all the happy hours I spent online (and occasionally in person) with some of the nicest people I've ever met.
Invevitably, though, nothing stays the same forever. I started to find that, bit by bit, many of the things I'd grown to know and love, and the people I'd become friends with, dwindled steadily until there was - sadly - little left of the enchantment or allure that I'd once felt so keenly. With a heavy heart and a tear or two in my eye, I decided it was time to cut the proverbial umbilical cord and call it a day.
But I've come too far to just retreat back into my shell as if none of it had ever happened. Back in November 2000 I'd started writing an online diary - the first diary of any description I'd ever kept. Steadily over the years, as my confidence grew and I started giving away more of my innermost thoughts, feelings and emotions, I found it almost by accident turning into a proper blog. As I charted my progress through life - unfolding before me all my achievements, triumphs, disappointments and disasters - I enjoyed doing it.
This is its successor.