Dirty Talking Man

I heard the familiar sound of spanking. Crowded in a doorway were several people watching the man inside slapping a woman’s rear who rested on a bench somewhat like the one pictured here. I walked on down the hallway seeing others setting up but not yet in place for the scene they planned to play out so that when I got back to the alcove to the room.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

As others moved on, I moved in until I was able to move into a corner of the room no longer obstructing the view of anyone behind me. Also, I was hardly noticed by those already in the room, two men on a couch, the spanker and the spankee. From the hallway, into the alcove and edging into the room, I could not see the woman’s face or upper body, but her gorgeous ass was shamelessly on display. He was spanking her at a moderate pace, about a spank every three to four seconds, alternating right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, left cheek. Spank, spank, spank, spank. Then, speeding up and slowing down. He began to deliver a continuous stream of spanks, one right after the other, alternating from left to right cheek. The light skin of her butt was definitely showing the effects of the spanking, as two large, red circles appeared in the center of each of her cute little butt-cheeks. At this point, as he continued spanking her, he allowed his spanks to land on the edges of her cheeks and from the top to bottom of her butt. He not only increased the intensity of his individual spanks; but also the speed at which his hand connected with her bottom. Within less than a minute, all of us in the room could tell she was feeling the effects of upped intensity of his spanking from her little yelps and squeals that accompanied the harder spanks.

Sometime in my past a woman offered her ass to me for spanking. It was up to me to rent a hotel room near her office for 60 minutes of spanking. She offered to endure whatever kind of spanking I wanted to do to her, but she assured me there would be no sex. She had no intention of mixing these two things. She wrote me that most men thought that one would lead to the other, but if that was my plan it would be total waste of my time and efforts. She was only interested in being spanked. I did not follow through on her offer. At the time, it came down to the fact that I wanted more of a connection than just a chance to practice this one activity. I’m quite sure that you can’t participate in an hour or more of spanking without forming a unique kind of intimate connection, but the whole thing was tainted in some ways by the expectation that I would be paying all the expenses involved.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

I did not know these people in the room where I watched the spanking. I did not understand their connection, what brought them to this place to a mildly public display of something which I had previously thought of as a private pleasure. I have performed sexual acts for watchers so I enjoy exhibitionism. I didn't get the feeling that they did this for the thrill of exhibitionism. If I have an issue (and I don’t know that I do), it’s from not knowing what to make of it. There is a certain amount of mystery and intrigue surrounding this for me. In the end, I commented to him and asked her a question. They were both willing and open to discuss things. I think I will see them again somewhere down the road and put more pieces of the puzzle together. They are in my mind most beautiful and endearing people to have done this in the way they did.

All of us have missed an opportunity for something new and different. Having watched a man deliver 30 – 45 minutes of spanking, the variations of timing, intensity and seeing the possible implements used besides one’s hands, I feel like I could keep it up for an extended period of time. I’m sure there’s a cute bottom out there somewhere that would enjoy the experience.

I walked into the party like I was walking onto a yacht, but I was not so vain and didn’t wear an apricot scarf (adieu to Carly Simon, 1972). It was me unsteady at first because I didn’t know anyone there, not a single soul. I worked my way through a crowded house towards the kitchen to deposit the beers I brought to drink and share. The living room was jam packed with people sitting and standing asses to elbows. I missed a discussion on purpose because I totally misunderstood what the topic was going to be. Wish I had read the group’s messages more closely because the things I heard when they were wrapping up were quite interesting.

It was the part of the night where people introduced themselves. I have never gone public before because I was married and wouldn’t dare do anything to embarrass her, but my life has changed. I’ve moved a thousand miles away from my ex and have the freedom to be out there.

"Anyone else new?" came a voice from somewhere in the middle of the body mass. I edged into the periphery of the room. A very tall, slim, attractive Nordic looking woman introduced herself and her sub. Her spouse demurely wore a teddy and red silk shorts. And she, being one of those who sense the right thing to do for others graciously moved out from the edge of the crowd into the kitchen so that some of us squeezed into the back could come forward to introduce ourselves.

I described myself as an occasional player for I was in the midst of many people deeply vested in the lifestyle, a group that welcomes new ‘voyagers’ into the ‘kink’ lifestyle. When I haven’t scripted out what to say in front of a group, sometimes I get stuck with an inability to articulate, then I overcompensate by saying too much and diluting my message and meaning. Into it and not sure where it's going, I tried to describe what’s it like to be a 'has been of erotic writing', having lost my inspiration to write a few years back, trying to overcome the writer’s block by recycling, rewriting work I had done before. After all, Richard Russo rewrote his Pulitzer Prize wining book 17 times. What am I thinking? There are no Pulitzers for my kind of writing and I'm no Richard Russo (adieu to Senator Lloyd Bentson for scolding Vice-presidential candidate Senator Dan Quayle during the 1988 VP debate). You see, how can I ever be clear about anything when such trivia ricochets around in my head.

The point was to convey that part of my purpose in being there was to regain the fire that sparks the creative process. Of course, I stumbled in speaking to this crowd (speaking not having my handy backspace and much used delete keys) by saying I hoped to learn from them. Duh! Huh? Whew, it was over and the generous and kindly hostess was most friendly to let me ramble and not cut me off. I felt I fulfilled my obligatory intro and could move back into my more comfortable role, that of a mild mannered observer instead of an active participant.

To be continued if I don't get sidetracked.