Can a good-looking bottom look any better than it does in a really nice pair of jodhpurs? Forget Spanx and all that body-shaping stuff, a really expensive pair of jods can do wonders.
Of course, it's a chicken-and-egg thing. If you own a serious pair of jods then you are almost certainly a proper horse-rider and riding is a great work-out for the seat.
Personally, I'm a not quite a "proper horse-rider". Serious riders are active all year round, but for me it's autumn and horse-riding that go together.
When the weather gets wintry I tend to lose interest and would rather stay in the warm. And in spring and summer I've got other things to do.
So, this is the time to get my jodhpurs out and find out if I can fit into them. They should fit like a glove.
Today was the day to find out and it quickly became apparent that either they've shrunk, or I've got bigger. Tight is good, but the button and zip has to do up.
I better lose a pound or two. In the meantime I need to buy a pair in a slightly larger size.
The stats on this blog tell me that there's a strong interest in jods out there. They obviously do it for some people pretty intensely because one post is never out of this blog's top five posts.
I find that a little puzzling. Where do jods fit into sexual politics? As I've said before,for me there's a very strong link between the whole horse-
riding thing and my sexual self. For a start, riding often involves a pupil-teacher relationship between novice and instructor and as I never get beyond novice I'm often being told-off.
There's also the
power and control thing that happens around horses. But I think that for me most of the buzz comes from the gear.
The formality of traditional
British riding gear harks back to a more disciplined time plus - of course - there's a focus on saddles, seats and bottoms. As a spanko a bit of a thrill goes through me when my instructor tells me to sit up straight and push my bum down and out!
Also, when I have jods on I feel very self-conscious about how they display my bum. I know its a bit too big, but jods feel like I'm doing a Kim Kardashian (asking the world to look, and keeping looking).
That feeling of display feels naughty and naughty = deserving of punishment, doesn't it?
Add all that together and it's no surprise that when I'm out on a ride I find it hard to think lofty thoughts about the beauty of the countryside. I'm usually day-dreaming my way into a TTWD sort of headspace.But I don't seem to find much of the way I feel about jods in the world of porn. There's the ponygirl stuff, which is a mystery to me; I have no desire to wear a tail.
And there are jodhpur-wearing dominatrices, which don't do it either. Maybe I'm in a minority of one on this one.
PS, language note: does the word ' jodhpurs' get used in US English? Or would it be 'breeches' instead?
You're given a gift and you think what's the message here, don't you? There's usually a sub-text. So, what would the giver be saying here?
I was doing some online research today of an entirely vanilla kind and up popped this strange little china ornament that, of course, caught my attention. It was on an auction site and the vendor said it was a Victorian china fairing (the page is old and it had been sold).
He or she added: "Come
home late and this is what you get...got, back in the Victorian era. A
good whopping. This original antique China Fairing was made by Conta
Boehme of Germany in the late 1800s. These porcelain china fairings were
given away as prizes at fairs. The caption on this fairing
is 'Returning at One O'clock in the Morning'...We can't tell if this is the husband or a naughty teen boy, but someone's getting a good spanking from mom and her hairbrush."
Is that Mom? To me he and she are a couple and she's teaching him that there's a cost to coming home after curfew.
Anyway, doing a bit more reading it sounds like fairings were prizes, but were also bought as gifts or souvenirs. What would you be trying to say to somebody you gave 'Returning at One O'clock in the Morning' to?
We're at that end of the summer when life gets to be just about unbearable. Since about the time of my last post the house has been full most of the time and for me any sort of play is way off the agenda; even thinking about TTWD is a no-go area.
Younger daughter is around all the time as her friends are away on holiday. Older daughter is back from university and has her boyfriend here - I suggest trips, but they seem to want to do nothing but lay about watching TV all day.
To make mattesr worse, me and SO had a blazing row a few days ago and it has never really been resolved. A lot of it was down to my brattiness and under normal circumstances it would be sorted out in the bedroom with The Hairbrush playing its UN Peacekeeping role.
However, doing just a little bit of darkside blog visiting last night I came across a post at A Voice in the Corner that set my nerve-endings a-flicker like the bulbs in a string of faulty Christmas lights. I'm not sure if I totally believe the story of Bristol's Victorian disciplinary B&B, but it had my imagination heading off in all sorts of directions.
At £100 a year a stay with Mrs Smith sounds like excellent value for money, and I like the sound of the ethos of her establishment. I can recognise my own failings in Mrs Smith's opinion that "some girls are idle constitutionally, this must be cured; others have a
superfluous amount of energy, this needs to be well directed".
I manage to idle and to have too much energy at the same time. I'm sure Mrs Smith's birch would have straightened me out. If she were still in business I'd be tempted to book myself in - at least until term-time starts again and private time is an option once again.
No, I couldn't go. SO was adamant that I was not invited to the friends' camping trip, which meant that I'd be on my own all weekend.
Which made me grumpy. The kids are away on holiday together at the moment, so I had assumed the weekend was for our playtime. And having experienced weeks of spanklessness I was very, very hungry for TTWD.
But I need 'a little chat', I pleaded in a whiny kind of way. Nothing doing. It will have to wait until Tuesday, I was told.
Then the door slammed shut and I heard the sound of our old VDub camper firing up. I was mad, and bratty. I spent the weekend eating too much, drinking too much and looking into corners of the webosphere that I promise not to go to...
But SO wasn't there to see any of it, and doing it all just made me more itchy for some serious sorting out. It didn't help that I did a lot of fantasising around the idea of what campsite punishments might be like; birches, switches, my big bare bot and other campers looking on, you know the sort of thing.
SO got back late, tired and in need of a bath and sleep, and seemingly oblivious to my cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof mental state. I felt even more neglected.
However, it turned out that SO hadn't been as out of touch with my state of mind as I thought. The 'it will have to wait until Tuesday' hadn't been just talk. As I was babbling on about my rule-breaking weekend and my thoughts around campsite correction it dawned on me that my poor behind was about to suffer.
Now I always get to a point where I so much want what we call 'my discipline', but when it's actually about to happen I go really cold on the idea. Who in their right mind would want that pain and humiliation?
My pleading was all of a sudden about letting me off, but to no avail. Reader, I got the hairbrush, and then me (and my red bum) got sent outside to cut a switch. I have to say the way a length of willow marks my thighs is quite something to see...
How often is enough?In a moment of passion recently SO promised me that my persistent brattiness and generally vile moodiness meant I should expect at least a spanking a week. "At least."
As it turned out it was a promise that was worth about as much as my New Year's resolution to stop snacking on chocolate (pauses to break off another two squares...) In reality SO reckons that once every month is about right, which leaves me feeling a bit spank-hungry most of the time. Like today.
I've even started marking my work diary when the necessary happens so that I can be 100% correct when a discussion about attitude adjustment comes up. I also like the fact that my colleagues and clients might see the black dot on the days in question!
I'm not at all happy with where we've got to. SO's vanilla-ness has learned to accept my 'strange' needs, but does now use it to win out in the power balance of our relationship.
So, what would be the right interval. In reality I think once a week would be too often. I love cake, but don't want it for every meal; even a good thing can get dull through regularity, can't it?
PS I can't remember where I came upon this great little captioned illustration, but I like it. It seems to me that the placing of that knee might be more painful than the spanking.
Time for a belated spring clean, I think. This blog has been looking the way it is for far too long and I think it's time to shake it all up a bit.
I don't have the time to spend a whole day on a revolutionary makeover, so it's going to have to be a tweak here and tweak there. Starting with the title.
I've just been reading Consensual Spanking on the subject of hits (hits on your blog that is) and can see that he's right about the title choice. Oblique, vague, teasing is all wll and good, but perhaps not here - web searching is all about directness, isn't it?
I've looked back to see why I chose the old one, but can't find the post. It was all about the past being 'another country', I think.
It occurs to me that lots of kind people have links on their blogs that are tagged 'Another Country'. By changing things I'm creating a chore for them, but only a small one so hopefully they won't be too angry with me - in anticipation, thanks.
As you can probably tell from this blog, I love vintage spanking erotica. Good art makes a connection that photography very rarely can.
So, I was fascinated when I read last night about how photography and art come together in the work of the 19th Century master of spanking art Louis Malteste. It looks as though for some of his best-known images Malteste was cheating - tracing photographs rather than working from life or pure imagination.
'Cheating' is probably too loaded a word to use and the technique certainly produced some beautiful and memorable images, especially his earlier efforts. I wonder if he used a photograph tracing for all of his illustration?
Looking through Malteste stuff on the web today I came across this one, which I don't think I've seen before. I find it fascinating; what did she do to earn herself a punishment? Are they in a compartment, and are we as viewers peeping in on a private moment? Or is it an open carriage and the public nature of the process part of her humiliation?
