Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Tis the season

Tis the season to break out the warm clothes. To stuff our faces with holiday food. And to whip the asses of those deserving, craving or desiring. WEG. Over the holiday weekend I was thinking about some spanking. Just good ole fashioned, over the knee, bare bottom spanking. WOW... Just typing those words has ignited a fire in me. How many of you feel that fire in the pit of your stomach from reading those words? A good lot of you I am sure. Well that brings me to the subject of this posting. True and genuine people.

I have a major issue with shallow, closed minded people. Maybe I have a trust issue. Maybe I am TOO cautious. Either way, I am just me. I tend to look at a person and question them in my head. "Are you being sincere? Can I REALLY trust you?" The way I look at it is this. Actions speak louder then words. Don't tell me one thing and then act the opposite. Don't tell me that you are into getting spanked when you are only looking for a soft friendly swat on the ass. Don't tell me that personality is more important. And don't fucking judge me when you don't fucking know me. Ok, so maybe there is going to be more venting and getting shit off my chest then talking about people.

What really bugs the fucking shit out of me is people who don't have the fucking guts to say what is on their mind, what they are feeling etc. Many of you know me personally and know I have this uncanny ability to read people, many times know what they are thinking etc. Well, it is also a curse. I know when someone is not into me, when under their breath they are cussing me, or when they are just being cruel. I try to be a nice guy, want to be everyones friends. Love being the guy that people turn to in a time of need. Not physically but emotionally too. Many times I offer to be a shoulder to lean on. Provide an ear to talk too. Even offer my arms for warm, friendly, protective, life escaping hugs. if you don't want to take me up on that, then that's fine. Your choice. I made the offer. One friend recently told me she just isn't into me. That's fine. Thanks for the honesty. BUT. Don't fucking sit there and tell me you are. Don't fucking sit there and say, "I need time to myself, to work through some issues." Then a week later find you telling everyone, "I am under consideration, or I am not taken." Don't fucking lie to me. JUST DON'T FUCKING DO IT!!!!!!!

Am I bitter? Some. Am I acting childish? Possibly. Do I care? Fuck no. However, I am expressing myself. I am telling you how I feel. People very often tell me I am a hard person to read. Good. I don't want to be easy. I don't want to be transparent. I don't want to be a pushover. I want to be that man of mystery. I want to be that intriguing male dominant figure. I want to be the guardian. I want to be the protector. What I don't want to be is lied to. Disrespected or even insulted or made fun of. Last time I checked I consider myself an adult and wish to be treated as such. I will always respect others, that is until you cross me. More times the naught, I will just walk the other way if you cross me, but sometimes I do fight back.

Case in point I was recently at a sporting event and a fan from the other team decided they wanted to pick a fight with me because of who I support and which team color I wear. I was telling my uncle about this and he laughed and asked me if the guy pissed himself once he realized who he threatened. I don't know is he pissed himself, but I do know I connected with a good heavy elbow to his chest when he shoved me from behind. I do know the little fucking asshole ran away instead of staying and fighting. I can and will fight back from time to time. I will stoop low and become an animal.

Right now, at this point in my life, I do feel the walls closing in a little. My natural instinct is to push back. To swell up. To fight back. Its a fight or flight thing. Its an eat or be eaten response. Right now I will not idly sit back and allow others to push me to test their limits. I don't have fucking time for that.

Let me tell you a little story about a boy who at a young age grew up too fast. A boy who at 13, lost his step father to an auto accident. This boy had a lot going for him. Good grades in school. Good athlete. Good friends. Lovable kid. Hell, even had just gotten his first kiss just before the holidays. Winter set in, a long cold winter. School was closed for 2 straight weeks. And on the last night before his step dad was killed, was enjoying a heated snowball fight with him, even getting pegged in the balls by a snow ball thrown by an old man with shitty aim. But recovering enough to wrestle him to the ground and hold his own against a man. Going to bed that night, there was the promise of home made pancakes and bacon the next morning and heading to the shooting range to practice some shooting. The next morning came and instead of pancakes, this boy and his sister were ushered off to the grandparents because dad had been called into work. Dad was already gone when he got up. Later that night, about 8, I remember it being after 8, because I was watching the Cosby show, which came on Thursday nights at 8, who I watched and laughed with my step dad, my mom coming into my room, fear on her face asking if I had heard from him. A simple shake and a single word. No. The next memory I have is waking about 3 in the morning to the sound of strange voices in our house. Looking out the window, I could see flashing blue lights of several police cars. Walking down stairs to see what was going, I was greeted by the sight of some 20 officers in our living room. I ran back upstairs to my room. Why? I don't know. I remember getting my younger sister into bed with me and pulling the covers over my head. What was wrong? What is going on? A few minutes later, my grandfather walks in, sits on the edge of the bed and tells me he has some bad news. Choking back tears, and through a trembling lip, he tells me in plain simple words. "Frank is dead."

As a boy, I was forced to grow up fast. I was forced to be a man. Sports didn't matter much. I continued to play taking my aggression out on the football field. Punishing the enemy as my coach would instill in my head. Driving their dicks in the dirt play after play. My aggression paid off with a visit from a local college and the offer of a scholarship to play at the next level. Only, I turned it down. By the time I was 17, I had also lost a sister to a drunk driving accident. My grandfather's health was failing. My moms health was going down hill. I felt the world closing in. I ran. I turned down the scholarship. I walked away from a free education. I walked away from the first true love I had. I simply turned my back and walked away.

After dropping out of college, I practically married the first woman who showed me more attention. That lasted less the five years. That's when I turned to BDSM. That's when I discovered there is a dark side to me. It took me years to dig out of that darkness. But here I am today. I have my past. I have my skeletons in the closet. I have been there and done that. I have climbed and conquered that mountain. I have earned my right to be wear I am today. I walked through that valley of the shadow of death and I now fear NO EVIL. I know what evil is. I have been that evil. Yet here I am now today. A better, stronger man then before. I will, I have survived. And I fucking god damned DESERVE respect. I HAVE earned that. So don't fucking try to play games with me, physically, emotionally or mentally. You WILL fucking lose. And if luck is on my side, will be laying across my knee, taking the spanking you deserve for trying to play, cross, manipulate or even push me. I am who I am. No more, no less. Take it or leave it, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

Those who know me, who truly know me, know that I am a good guy, a good friend, a good lover and even a good spanker. Those who don't know me and try to pass judgement on me..... all I have to say is....Be ready for a battle if you think you can get away with it.

I will inflict the pain, but I will kiss away the tears.

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