Wednesday, August 31

Look what we made!

It's a book! A collection of fabulous stories by 20 of the scene's best writers and bloggers! Abel and Haron have been the driving force, coming up with the idea, bringing everyone together and doing all the hard work of getting it published. Everyone gave their story for free and all proceeds go to Cancer Research UK. I'm sure you're all eager to buy it so click here for all the details you need. And while you're over there, give Abel and Haron a congratulatory hug: I hope they are very proud of themselves today as it's finally published!

As for me I am disgustingly excited to be part of it. All the stories are great but I'm honoured to share a book with my pre-scene, lurking day heros Paul Bailey, Serenity Everton, The Lowewood Writers, Casey Morgan and Abel.

I'll write again about my story but here's a little hint: the cover, painted by my wonderful twin Catherine Thomas, depicts a scene from my story (with me as the model gulp!) and it's called Slipping up.

And for those of you who are lurking on here, wishing you could be part of this community, take inspiration from Eliane's introduction :)

Sunday, August 28

Your space or mine?

Since I've moved to London I've encountered a problem that I didn't have in Ireland. No not having to remember to pronounce H and R a different way or understand that supper isn't a bowl of cereal before bed, or all those numerous little details that one has to navigate in a new culture.

No my problem relates to playing in my house, or more to the point, my space. In Ireland playing in my house was usually out of the question due to my lovely, but vanilla flatmate. So when Abel came to visit we played in his hotel or when HH came we rented a house out of the city. Otherwise I just played at clubs and parties.

It's a new departure to have a nice big house and a kinky flatmate who's not going to be shocked at what she might hear. It was even something I looked forward to in advance of moving: being able to play in my own house, inviting people over for play dates, not always having to travel for my beatings. Oh the freedom of it.

Except it hasn't quite worked out like that. I'm finding it incredibly hard to play at home, to be submissive there. My house, my rules and all that. If a guest comes for dinner and I'm entertaining and cooking then it's very hard to switch to submissive mode, to let them into my head, to let them beat me. I feel my space is being invaded and the control freak in me rebels.

It's compounded by trying to play on school nights, when the brain hasn't quite moved out of work mode. As well as the worry that Furball will be upset or the neighbours will hear. Most of my play partners have more suitable houses for such things, particularly HH with his Kinky Narnia where no-one can hear you scream.

I am trying though. I managed at the party when there were enough people to make it feel less like my house and more like a club venue. And Abel and I did play a fun, little scene the other night where I was being spanked and made to clean up my messy bedroom which was just light enough to be bearable.

And with HH there's been no 'choice'. If I've earned a punishment then it will be delivered, no matter where we are. Complaining I don't want to be spanked in my house would likely result in another side of the road spanking! It's not easy though. The first evening is a battle of wills. Usually my control freak against my submissive side with HH refereeing. I am expected to obey him, expected to take deserved punishments sufficiently contritely and above all let him in my head.

He is not pleased when I resist letting him in and has a very suitable repertoire of words to break down my defences. Still the first 5 minutes of any Friday night spanking usually involve me tense and stubborn, riding out the pain, blocking him from my head. In the end he gets there and I feel relieved. It's a place I want to be; the good, obedient girl he expects.

But even he has his limits: morning play is far more difficult to achieve in my house than his and on his last visit he obviously thought discretion was the better part of valour and let me sleep on!

For all that I do prefer going to visit him or Abel. And upcoming holidays with both of them offer new opportunities to play, completely new spaces to be conquered and for me to feel anonymous and submissive in. Who knows what that will lead to?

I am curious though, am I the only one to experience this problem? Is it just because I've changed from never playing in my own space to trying to do so quite often that the shift feels too much? What do you toppy types prefer: is it easier to play in your space or mine?

Monday, August 22

When I first met..

There's a very nice topic trending on Twitter this past week: #whenIfirstmet. The idea is to tell about your first meeting with who ever in one single tweet. For example Jessica said of me "#WhenIfirstmet @lilemmaj I thought she was trouble. The good kind". And I said of Abel: #WhenIfirstmet @AbelJenkins I wasn't as scared of him as I expected cos I was laughing so hard at his shirt."

I've enjoyed this topic for many reasons. Not least because it's lovely to think back to the moment I met so many wonderful people who play a huge part in my life right now. And of course it's fun to hear what people's first impressions of me have been. But I also find myself analysing those early meetings: how I came across, what people thought of me and what my initial impressions were. And what, if anything, changed over the years.

Particularly considering where I am in my life now. I went from a spontaneous trip to London to meet Abel and 14 other kinksters to see a play, to having close relationships and friendships within that circle, to moving country to be nearer this group, this community.

Over the past two years, via the Gods of Ryanair, I bounced along to parties, roleplay events, the odd night-out I could manage and several intimate weekends with my partners. I was carefree, without repsonsibility, an escapee from the real world. So for at least 80% of that time EJ was on show. The vibrant, attention-seeking, entertainer. Less frequently you saw the real me: the career girl, bossy oldest sister person.

Of course people like Abel and HH saw it the most. Not least the arguments in the kitchen over the best way to 'skin a cat' or in HH's case avoiding my kitchen altogether. Or listening to me in work mode on the phone or my tales of older-sister-ness. (For example when my lil sister failed an exam she asked my Mam not to tell me!)

For most other people they are seeing that side of me more often; the grown-up me. Particularly those that have visited my house and experienced me trying to be a considerate host. (One can't dance on the tables whilst dinner needs preparing.) And I find it near impossible to play with anyone if I've been entertaining first.

Or those who've met me on week nights out. A couple of friends have even asked me was I alright, so quiet and different I seemed. On these nights, especially when I've come from the office and am still dressed in my suit, it's very hard to be the carefree EJ. And of course my housemate certainly lives with the real me. The person who is anal about matching crockery, laundry being sorted into three separate loads and what chopping board we use for the meat.

Not that I feel this is a bad thing. And certainly don't think people love or hate me any the less. I know people who like me accept all sides of me and that fundamentally I'm the same person. It's just a very interesting situation to have to relearn the person we thought we knew so well. Because of course it's the same for me: I am also learning about 'real' people. Having to change my perceptions, realign values, do things a different way.

The more we interact in non kink environments, the more we share and show our real selves. The thing that brings us together, our kink, for some of us our greatest secret, has been like a fast track system to immediate friendship. My friend Morena visited a few weeks back and was both curious about, and delighted at how comfortable I was with people I knew for what, in reality is a short period of time.

In comparison she and I have built a deep, lasting friendship over 10 years. She knows everything about me, my past, my family and my what makes me tick. We have a trust based on time and experience, from being together through the highs and lows of life's experiences.

Yet with my kinky friends there was almost instant trust, an immediate liking.  For me I suspect that I'm predisposed to liking other kinky people. Especially those who I've met through blogging or via a mutual kinkster friend. I expect to like them and for them to have similar values to me: I want to like them and I want them to like me.

So for me #whenIfirst met was as much about reflecting on what I thought then and what I think now; what others thought of me and how they see me now. The initial uncertainties that steadily developed into deep friendship, the chemistry that became love, the dynamic that became the deepest of kink connections, the spontaneous friendships that grew to make me move country.

#whenyoufirst met @lilemmaj I was a child standing enviously on the edges of the playground. Now I'm firmly in that playground, usually playing messily in the sandbox amd I've even learned to share it. But sometimes I find myself retreating from that playground and want to be seen and treated like a grown-up, and for everyone around me to be grown-ups too. But that's OK, cos that's just being ME.

Sunday, August 21


For me the ritual of a spanking is just as powerful, or perhaps even more so, than the actual spanking itself. When I fantasise about the simplest of scenes it’s always the ritual I dwell on. It’s been that way forever. From Enid Blyton perversions to designing my own school and rules.

Even now, despite all the school scenes I’ve played I never tire of that formality that comes with the ritual. Perhaps so much of the shame and humiliation comes from going through the carefully crafted routine that you know you could have avoided but didn’t.

So if it’s a school scene there’ll be the knocking on the door beforehand, standing before the headmaster, being scolded, adjusting clothing before bending over. In my fantasies I gloss over the actual spanking. As much as I gloss over the spankings etc. in spanking porn; I prefer the build-up, the story unfolding and the anticipation.

And I love how different people have their own rituals. Abel for example will regularly roll up his shirt sleeve before delivering a caning. Carefully removing his cufflinks, methodically folding the sleeve the correct number of times before he’s satisfied his arm is sufficiently free to deliver the punishment.   

Whilst HH will tower in front of me, looking down as he casts sentence, often raising my chin with his finger so my eyes can’t escape his censor.

Even Mr Allen, who I don’t role play with, also seems to have his rituals: taking his time in selecting his implements, weighing each in his hands and examining it carefully. Then with with great precision chooses his stance, measuring the implement exactly to the bottom, before any stroke is permitted to fly.

Then there are the rituals we create; that seem private to us. Although it’s unlikely they are, we just like to feel it is so, as proof our own special connection.

My favourite one with HH is having to ask permission to pull my panties back up after a spanking  or such. I can’t even remember when it started; if he first reprimanded me for not doing so or whether I asked for permission. That’s irrelevant now, but it’s one of the most endearing and lasting of our rituals.

I always ask: whether we are alone or in company, whether the spanking was light hearted or severe, whether in role or as me. And I say “may I?” not “can I?”; that’s important too. It makes me feel incredibly head spacey; almost as much as the whole scene before it. Usually he grants permission, but sometimes he refuses, enjoying my discomfort at being denied.

And I never forget. Until, I did, last weekend. On the Sunday HH gave me a final spanking before he was due to leave. Only his hand (as hard as it can be), given how sore I was. We cuddled afterwards chatting a while, me naked from the waist down. Until the time for departure drew near and I offered him a cool drink for the road. As I slipped from the bed to fulfil the request I absentmindedly retrieved my panties from the floor and pulled them on. 

The elastic had barely snapped into place when I swung around in horror. HH was shaking his head. ‘Oh I forgot, I’m sorry. I never forget.’ I wailed, dramatically. On the scale of transgressions it’s a pretty small one, but I pride myself in remembering.

Of course it didn’t go unpunished. Despite how sore I was, over the bed I went for a short but firm hairbrushing.  But I was glad to be dealt with for it, secure in the ritual and all that it means to us.

Sunday, August 14

Five go to a Kinky House!

Our house specifically: it was our House Warming party you see and Anne (Catherine Thomas) and I played host, both dressed appropriately (or in my lovely house mate's case with a skirt so short it was inappropriate!)

With the theme being Famous Five, many of our lovely guests also came in character. We had Uncle Quentin (HH), Mr Rowland the tutor (Abel), Captain Johnson (the riding school owner), Joanna the cook, a whole series of Annes (from no skirt Anne to slutty Anne to drunken Anne and good Anne), the Vicar's daughter, Jo the Gypsy girl, Cousin Peggy and the fortune teller, a random burglar, Jack the Fisher boy and a Julian but no Dick.

To match the theme we also had a 1950's spread of food. There was spam, and corned beef and hard boiled eggs with twists of salt and fish paste and sardine and jam sandwiches and other wholesome goodies; not to mention lashings and lashings of ginger beer (as well as the other sort of lashings too!)

Whilst of course the day was just a bit of fun to show people our new home and an excuse to drink copious amounts of fizz, the theme was, of course, deep seated in our early kinkhoods. In the days of first reading Enid Blyton and encountering those references to spanking that stirred something unknown, but important, within us.

How often had I read about George and the trouble she had gotten in with her father; the spankings that were implied but never explicitly detailed. How I had filled in the gaps myself giving her OTK spankings and hairbrushings, even a caning that the boy she desperately tried to be deserved.

And yesterday I got to be her. In my boy's grey shorts, blue shirt and maroon tank top with grey socks and sandal shoes I was a passable impression of a boy. (Or at least a girl who really wants to look like a boy.) I certainly stood out against all the other girls in their pretty dresses and skirts. It was a role I very much enjoyed playing up to: fiercely declaring I should be called George, that I was as good as any boy and threatening to fight anyone who dared say otherwise!

This led to two delightful scenes. The first when Jack the Fisherboy put ice down my back and I fought him (actually her) to the floor and we wrestled enthusiastically. Until Father, or Uncle Quentin as everyone else called him, hauled me to my feet and marched me upstairs.

It was a different dynamic for HH and me to play: I knew both characters so well, whilst he had only his online research to aid him.  It was also unusual for us to play a scene where he was my Father, yet so firmly was he Uncle Quentin of the books that any angst I'd normally have didn't arise. As ever, he lived up to the role fabulously as I threw every Georgism I could remember at him!

Poor George was made to take her shorts and pants down and spanked over his knee before being strapped to tears with his tawse. Although she was ashamed of her 'girly' tears she was very proud when he told her she had taken her beating just as bravely as any boy.

But then he ruined it all by making her change our of her boy's clothes into a pretty dress with her hair in bunches, as befitted her as a joint host of the party. It was awfully humiliating to have to return to the gathering so evidently humbled, much to the taunts of the likes of slutty Anne.

Later in the evening there was another scene; this time between George, Uncle Quentin and Mr Rowland, her tutor. Again I had the upper hand of knowing the back story. Of Mr Rowland spying on Uncle Quentin's work and George finding him snooping where he shouldn't. In essence she was being punished for her rudeness to her tutor but refused to apologise. It was a lovely scene with all the righteousness in the world on my side, Uncle Quentin being strict but fair and Mr Rowland being very mean. (A role that Able seems to play all too convincingly!)

By this time in the day I was already very sore, (an earlier dalliance with Mr Allen and his canes being partly to blame), so the spankings really hurt whilst the hand strapping caught me off guard completely, leaving me piteously rubbing my raw palms.

As the evening wore on we became less Famous Five and more real-life kinky community:  The community that I have moved country to be nearer to;  The community that supports and looks out for each other. The community that transcends age, continents and background; My community.

(Of course not everyone could make the party; not least of all those who are in Ireland or the states, but all were there in kindred, kinky spirit and much missed in person.)