Jillian Keenan’s article, “Finding the Courage to Reveal a Fetish”, has been spreading like wildfire through the spanking community, receiving a well-deserved standing ovation from those of us that share her kink. I find her to be extremely brave for writing such a bold statement and to do so publicly, as it is something I could never do. So it was a complete surprise to me when a wave of sadness washed over me after reading the article. I read her story and saw a distorted reflection of my own life and I realized that I live the epilogue to her story. But my tale does not end with “happily ever after”, instead, my story will be happily ever never. The sadness is for myself, as I do not know Keenan, nor do I assume her relationship or her needs to be anything like mine. If nothing else, I hold out hope for her and spankos everywhere that they can find peace in their path, as I hope to find in mine.
I’ve gone through life living with little regret. I always thought to myself that I made the very best decision I could for myself at any given moment, even if in retrospect it was the wrong one. I do, however, regret not being honest with myself in my youth, repressing that which brings me so much pleasure. The experimentation I went through as a young adult covered a vast wasteland, dabbling in a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Like Keenan, I would test the waters with spanking, but never admitting that it was the spanking that I enjoyed. Instead, I just filed it under “rough sex”… somehow I could justify that as being more acceptable than spanking. If only I could have accepted myself perhaps I would not have found myself in the pickle I am in now.
What sour brine do I bathe in? I am married and have and plan on being so for a long time. I love my husband, and very much like David, my husband knows and accepts me and this part of me that is my fetish. Since acknowledging my kink, I have found myself wishing that I could have known I was into spanking at a much earlier age and perhaps I could have nurtured that part of me, finding the person who could complete my equation. I’m envious of Keenan, having made her decision fully informed, but cannot imagine a love so great to exclude this primal need of mine. In my selfish ways, I could not make that same sacrifice. My husband has quite literally become my ball and chain as I spend a life imprisoned… the sentence I agreed to serve when I walked down that aisle. I can honor myself and do as I’m doing now and let it be a happy compromise, or I can honor my husband and live a lonely life: “The brave ones looked for personal ads,” she replied. “The rest of us were lonely.” My math had been off, divided by zero.
Long time blog readers might remember that years ago I had asked my husband if I could take on a spanker. Understandably, he rejected the idea. After respecting that decision for over a year, I could no longer live another minute without exploring my kink. My hormones were in full gear and every minute that I lived without honoring this essential part of me I saw as another minute of rejecting myself. Keenan writes, “In our different ways, we all just want honesty and intimacy, right? We’re looking for the people who will love us, even when it’s difficult. Or uncomfortable. Or painful.” I have learned that it is not enough for me to be accepted. I need to be seen in this life. I need to be witnessed for who I am, everything I am.
My everyday life is rooted at home. This thing between the Englishman and me is a form of punishment of its own… one that feels so good, like indulging in a spanking followed by a caning. The time we spend together any given week is only a fraction of my life, and yet it consumes so much more of me. I will never have what I really want, to walk this path with a partner who sees me…all of me. Perhaps it is time I find the pleasure in that kind of pain.