Another heaping of shame from my girlfriend, and a horrifying diagnosis from a professional. She told me it was sick and made me see a psychotherapist who, I found out later, labeled me in her notes as a sexual sadist. The closest I came to telling anyone was Jennifer, the girl I dated right before Emily. Not really, not unless she wanted it, too, and none of them did. You don't really want to hurt me, do you?' If they let me, I landed a few gentle slaps to the bottom until I got a curled lip and, 'That's just weird. I never told any of my girlfriends about my fetish, although I often made clumsy attempts to engage in spanking play. Only mine was a lot smaller, and I was the only one in it. The way I saw it, homosexuals had their closet and I had mine. I didn't choose to be kinky in this way, any more than a man or woman chooses to be straight or gay. I thought that if, by chance, someone else felt the same way, then they'd be a dirty old man with a grubby overcoat and bulging eyes. For more than 20 years I thought there was something wrong with me. When I was a kid I used to look up the word 'spanking' in the dictionary, and I got a visceral thrill when I saw a spanking scene on “Little House on the Prairie” or “I Love Lucy.”Īt times, spanking was an obsession, and one made all the more torturous for the shame I felt harboring it.

It's not like slavering over cheerleaders, or fantasizing about sex on the beach at sunset. Let me clarify something: I'm not 'into' spanking the way you might be 'into' Celine Dion or “The Bourne Identity.” Spanking is a part of my psyche, an essential element of my sexuality. And I knew that telling her might mean the immediate death of our relationship, but I also knew we'd never be perfect together unless I looked into her pretty blue eyes and told this sweet, innocent, beautiful woman that I had a spanking fetish. I was 30 years old and for the first time in my life I was going to tell a girlfriend that I wanted to spank her. She sat up to listen, and I trailed my fingers over her thigh, eyes down, nervous as a teenager. I really liked her, suspected that I might even love her, which meant I had to tell her the truth about myself. We were in bed, still in those heady, lust-filled days of a new relationship. Six weeks after we started dating, I told Emily my secret.

Go hard or go home line dance