Everything I Need to Know I Apparently Learned in Kindergarten

Cute, but no longer a self-requirement.

The first phone conversation I can remember having involved me asking my five year old friend to tell me spanking stories.

I'm sure I'd been on the phone before then, saying hi to Grandma on a Saturday afternoon or sleepily wishing my dad goodnight when he had to work late, but this was my first true conversation with someone outside the family. The details are fuzzy now. For example, why was I alone in my parents' bedroom, talking dirty on the phone with my best kindergarten friend? How did I segue from "Do you want to come over and play tomorrow?" to "Do you want to tell me a spanking story right now?" All I remember is that I asked and she delivered, telling a story about a girl our own age who made a mess of the kitchen while making brownies. Punishment involving a hand spanking and a spanking with a wooden spoon, possibly still covered in brownie batter, ensued.

By the time I was seven, spanking stories about five year olds grossed me out. By the time I was thirteen, I had no problem envisioning a teacher putting me over the desk at the front of the room, but prepubescent spankings, even as adminstered by the hottest of middle school teachers, were no longer part of my fantasy lexicon. Up until I was eighteen and in college, the spanking stories that I had long since had to tell myself featured girls who were my own age, at whichever age that happened to be.

What changed when I hit eighteen? I went away to school, new laptop in tow, and in my dorm room was a DHL connection. I was online! I'd never had access to the Internet before and there was research to be done. It turned out my five year old instincts were right - the world was just full of people who wanted to tell me spanking stories. I couldn't get enough of them. I read everything from childhood memories to elaborate science fiction scenarios. My only rule of thumb was that the spankee(s) had to be female. My parallel age prerequisite dissipated in a textual universe populated by naughty daughters, naughty schoolgirls, naughty teachers, naughty office workers, and naughty wives. When I took those stories to bed with me, I fantasized myself as every archetype. I had a chance to be thirteen again, or sixteen, or to age a decade in order to imagine the husband who would punish me for leaving the burner lit on the stove.

Now, thirteen years later, I have come to realize that I've left most of those fantasies behind. I still enjoy reading all types of spanking erotica, and I still enjoy the sight of a spanked woman at any age - as long as she is at least eighteen, though preferably at least a few years older - no matter what character she happens to be playing. But as for what I experience behind closed eyes, I want, once again, to envision myself in scenarios that depict me at my own age. Maybe it's just a phase while I continue to sort out my own identity and my role in the spanking universe. Or maybe a core element of my erotic persona has come to understand that adults are as spankable, perhaps even more-so, than schoolgirls, and that I do not have to be anyone other than myself in order to deserve, receive, and fetishistically enjoy discipline.

I still want to play dress-up in crisp white shirts, A-line skirts and knee socks with Mary Janes, but I don't want to pretend I am younger than I am and I don't want to play a character. I finally want to be exactly who and what I am - a dirty, kinky, sexy woman who need not pretend at innocence or repentence, whose costume indicates not that she is a good girl being punished for being bad, but that she is a bad girl being punished because being punished is what she needs to feel good.