Thursday, 9 February 2012

Forgotten memory

Why is it that dreams sometimes dig up memories that would otherwise stay forgotten? It happens to me quite a bit, although I never remember the dreams themselves.
Significant Other has loads of lucid dreams that play through sleep like little movies, but I rarely have any. I'm quite jealous.
What does happen to me is that I wake up and find myself thinking about quite random things. I've come to the conclusion that these thoughts are echoes of dreams that I've had, but not remembered.
Today I woke up and was thinking about a landlady I had a lifetime ago. I don't think I've given the woman a thought in more than 20 years, but there she was clear as day.
I was a second year uni student living in a shared house and we were thrown out by our landlord for having too many rowdy parties. The university's housing office found us all somewhere to live but weren't happy about the situation.
Because they were so unhappy I think we were deliberately given crummy places. Mine turned out to be a shabby little house owned by a grumpy widow in her 50s, who lived with her teenaged son.
I found her a bit creepy and spent as little time in the place as I could. When I wasn't there she'd go into my room and search through my stuff.
But what made me feel especially uncomfortable was the way she was constantly nagging and scolding at the son. He was a little younger than me - perhaps 17 - and went to a technology college.
I don't think he was a good student. Whenever I was there they seemed to be having some sort of dispute. She'd be moaning at him about being late for college, for staying out too late the night before, smoking, wasting his money, or some other wrong-doing.
He didn't seem that phased by it. He'd respond with a grunt or a shrug. It all made me feel uncomfortable to be around, anyone would have found it uncomfortable.
But what it worse was the way she always used the phrase "naughty boy" as she was berating her big, lump of a son. I wasn't that comfortable with my spankoness then and the vibe in that house "did my head in", as I would probably have said at the time. 
The whole thing made me squirm with embarrassment and I moved out within weeks. But thinking about it all once again this morning I was able to re-write the script and cast good-looking actors. Then, of course, the memory became a great little spanko-drama...


  1. My compliments on your new blog, young lady. You write with flair, engaging the playful spirit -- and your choice of art and images fits my taste perfectly. Most enjoyable. Keep up the good work, and meet those deadlines. I know something about deadlines, having imposed countless drop deadlines myself, after, of course, having met thousands in my long slog through this business of professional writing.

  2. Hi OldFashionedGirl,

    I graduated high school in 1970, and that fall, I'd gone away to college. I was one of several boarders in a single-family/single-parent home; an attractive mother in her forties with two older and younger pairings of boy and girl.

    I've forgotten what the younger boy had done, but we saw his mother whip him with a belt one dinnertime. And the older daughter (a pretty girl) made mention once of having been spanked.

    The two boys had their beds in the basement, and the older one took pride in showing me the books he kept in a steamer trunk. One of them was a spanking paperback. We didn't exactly linger over it, but there was no question I wanted a closer look.

    And I proceeded to take it one day when I thought I was home alone. The trunk wasn't locked. Seated on the side of the bed, I had the book in my hands and was just about to make stimulative use of it...when I suddenly found I had company! The younger brother had been asleep in the shadows, but he was awake now.

    Fortunately, he was still drowsy enough that it didn't quite amount to me being caught with my pants down. I literally covered up what I'd been intending, we laughed it off, and yes, I counted myself indebted to the patron saint of naughty boys.

    The mother's bedroom was a few doors down from mine, and the sight of the flowing drapes and bedding illustrated my fantasy of being led upstairs and into her room for a bare bottom spanking across her knee. I paddled myself many times with her in mind.

    On at least one occasion, I washed my hair in the kitchen sink, and she scolded me for getting lather on the nearby curtains. Just the sort of carelessness we both knew warranted a good spanking, thought I to myself.

    I tried to return there for my second year, but I'd somehow left it too late. I wound up quitting the course within a month. The woman was the only Keitha I've ever known, and years later, I used her name for the role of an actively pro-spanking mother on the rabidly traditional Spanking Parents Message Board. It was a good fit.

  3. Hi, interesting memory. There's definitely something about the landlady thing. So, who is the patron saint of naughty boys?

  4. Patron saint of naughty boys. Hmm. That means he must be deceased. Can't canonize the living, can you? Let me offer a few for consideration. Mickey Rooney (among all those marriages he must have had at least one spanking), Franchot Tone (a real rascal), Eroll Flynn (a real prankster), the Duke of Windsor (Wally spanked the boy, it is said), Donald O'Connor (he had the boyish figure for it), and Henry James (what a twit). Hell, I dunno. You tell me, OFG.

  5. Sir, Sir, Mickey Rooney is still alive... 91 years young, but definitely alive!