Friday, February 26, 2010
Frank Discusses Statistics
I have always been something of a numbers person. I enjoy breaking down polls and statistics. This might seem strange to some, since one might expect an imaginary spanko to prefer imaginary numbers. But no matter. I have analyzed some of the results to Bonnie's poll and found some interesting items.
First, of the 366 respondents, 232 or about 65% identified themselves as male, 133 as female, and one as a platypus. For the sake of accuracy, I have disqualified the response of the platypus. Of the males, 50% identified said that they get spanked, either a spankee or a switch. For the ladies, just 22 of 132, or 17%, categorized themselves as women who spank, i.e. spanker or switch. 83% of women said that they ONLY receive spankings, they never dish them out.
While this poll was certainly not scientific, these results were, nonetheless, fascinating, although not quite fantastic. If half of all male spankos get spanked, but only one sixth of women spank them, that can only lead to one conclusion:
Women who like to spank men do not like to respond to Bonnie's polls.
I thought that perhaps there were a fair number of men who, due to situations beyond their control, only received their spankings from themselves, i.e. they were self-spankers. However, I could not determine if such a person would answer that they were spanker, spankee, or a switch, so I discounted that notion all together.
I'm sure that some may try to develop other theories as to where the discrepancy between male spankees and female spankers lie. You might think that women who spank men aren't as likely to spend their spare time reading about spanking on the internet. Perhaps these women aren't as dedicated to the general spanking lifestyle as men, but rather spank their men because their men ask them to. Perhaps many men wish to be spanked but currently do not have a partner who can spank them.
It is also possible that those 22 women who spank are spanking all 116 men who wish to be spanked. Those would certainly be very busy women, indeed.
I could attempt to post my own poll to try to obtain more information that might explain the difference. However, since I am an imaginary spanko, it seems much more logical that I should simply invent my own reasons.
For me, fortunately, I have one woman whom I spanks, and that same woman is more than happy to spank me. I don't need any analysis to interpret that statistic. I just categorize it as fantastic.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Having not thought of anything else to write about, I shall endeavor to complete the task, answering the remaining six questions over the next couple of posts. After concluding the survey, I will provide a list of all of the posts that I have written on this subject, because I know that you will all want to go back and read my answers again.
45. Would you rather your spanking be gentle and gradual or painful and abrupt?
In the Spanko domicile, there is no such thing as a "gentle" spanking. If it's gentle, it's not a spanking, it is lightly patting. A spanking is sharply striking a person with an open hand or an implement upon the buttocks. The key word there is "striking." If the contact with the buttocks is not "sharp," but "gentle," then it is just a pat. Spankings are meant to be painful. It is part of the experience.
46. Would you rather be defiant or fearful going into a spanking?
This is not an easy question for me to answer because spankings for Angela and I are a pleasing experience, something that we wish for and look forward to. The two choices presented in the question, defiant and fearful, are usually associated with something that one is anticipating with dread, or at the very least, trepidation. I really don't experience either when I ready myself to be spanked by my darling wife. So, to supply an answer, I need to rely somewhat on my imagination and picture myself in some different scenarios.
One scenario would be where Angela and I are role-playing. This is something that we do rather frequently. As I've mentioned before, Angela will often dream up rather outrageous reasons to paddle me. For example, I was once spanked because I was contributing to a canine take-over of humanity because I was displaying too much affection towards our pet dog. In these situation, I typically adopt a playfully defiant attitude.
In a different vein, were I truly being "punished" for some inappropriate action that I had taken, I'm sure that I would also put on a defiant face, to let the person punishing me think that they would not be able to affect my dignity.
So, in either case, my choice would be to be defiant rather than fearful when preparing to be spanked.
47. Would you rather be spanked exclusively in your own bedroom or anyplace else other than your own bedroom?
My interpretation of this question is that it is a choice between ALWAYS being spanked in one's bedroom or NEVER being spanked in one's bedroom. The nice thing about bedroom spankings is that they can easily transition into other pleasant adult activities that one generally participates in when not wearing pants. It is also a convenient place to store ones spanking accoutrement, keeping away from all but the nosiest eyes.
However, in a lasting relationship, one would think that being restricted to only one small place in which to be spanked could become rather tedious. In the past year alone, Angela and I have exchanged spankings in our living room, den, kitchen, in the hallway, in the guest house, in one or two hotel rooms, and on the runway of a small airport (the details of which would require more space than I have currently allotted for my online diary). Further, vacations and romantic weekends often include spankings, so if I was to only be spanked in my boudoir, these would have to be forgone. I cannot imagine not being able to take advantage of new and clever spanking locales.
To summarize, if I had to give up being spanked in my bedroom so that I could be spanked in the infinite other places that the world has to offer, I would do so.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Five Rings Reappear
Except that there seems to be no snow in Vancouver.
I heard somewhere that Vancouver officials were having snow flown in from other parts of North America. I tried to contact them and let them know that they were welcome to all of our snow. I'd even help load it up for them. Give me a really big snow plow and I'll push the white stuff all the way to the airport, right up to the cargo plane. I'll be happy to work until all of our snow is on its way to Canada for all of the fine skiers gathering there.
Unfortunately, I could not get through to the proper Olympic snow authorities. Sometimes there are disadvantages to being imaginary.
Instead, for the next two weeks, I shall plant my tushie in front of the television and absorb as much of the competition as possible. Last night, the plan was simple. At precisely 8 pm, I would have a fresh batch of warm chocolate cookies ready, along with a big bowl of popcorn and a nice hot pot of tea. I would seat myself on my comfy chair in the living room in front of our 32-inch flat screen (but not flat panel ... I think mine still has a better picture) television, fire the TV up, and enjoy the Opening Ceremonies, complete with the Parade of Nations and the lighting of the Olympic Torch.
All was in readiness. I had my favorite blanket and I was all set to ensconce myself for a night of viewing. Suddenly there appeared my daughter Colette, and her boyfriend and current house resident, Luke. Colette was wearing her patented puppy-dog sad face, which she used when ever she really, reeeee-ally wanted something.
"Daddy," she said in a small, little girl voice, "can Luke and I pleeeease watch Survivor?" She stuck out her lower lip on her best "I am the cutest girl in the world" pout.
I almost always fall for Colette's puppy-dog face. In truth, most of the things that she really, reeeeeeally wants are perfectly reasonable. Once she asked for a rather expensive set of reference books. How can one turn down books? Another time she asked for a new dress for a wedding that the family was attending. She looked adorable in that dress.
This time, however, I thought I smelled a rat.
I stared at Colette for a few seconds whilst she held that perfect little pout. Then I saw the corner of her mouth twitch just a bit. I glanced at Luke, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable. Then I got it.
"Young lady," I calmly said, "you know that I have never spanked you.. But you're not too old for your first one."
At that point, everyone broke out in uproarious laughter. It was a fine act, and they had me fooled for a moment, but I quickly realized that the family was just pulling my proverbial chain. Indeed, it was Angela who had put Colette up to the gag.
Angela will definitely be spanked for that later.
The ceremonies ran until well after midnight. The youngsters faded early, so it was just Angela and I snuggled up under a blanket at the end. Angela had earlier donned her favorite warm, soft flannel nightgown, however as we lay under the blanket, she said that she had become too hot and decided to take the nightgown off.
The Olympics and a naked wife. It made for a fantastic night.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
The Storm Before The Calm
Last fall, we acquired a new dog. Being the Spakowiak household, we couldn't get a new pet in the usual way, where the family discusses whether or not add a new pet, makes an affirmative decision, then goes to the local shelter and chooses one that looks friendly and suitable for their tastes. There has to be a more complicated story behind it.
Actually, the dog is Luke's dog. One of his friends from NAMI (a mental-illness support group) had an 18-month-old dalmatian This fellow was planning on being away for a week and asked Luke if he would look after the animal for him. After discussing it with us, we agreed to let Luke bring the dog here so he could tend to it.
Now, for those of you who are familiar with the dalmatian breed, you know that they are very good looking and very playful dogs. They are full of energy. The problems is that the energy never seems to run out. This dog will run for hours, and then wants to run some more. It wants to run in the day. It wants to run at night. If it can't find someplace to run, it will start chewing on whatever is at hand. I once had a friend who's dalmatian chewed up his mattress AND box springs all in the space of one day.
We discussed this all with Luke, and Luke agreed to keep a keen eye on the dog, and he did indeed live up to his word. He made sure that the animal was well fed, walked it several times a day, and played with it while it was indoors. Truly, the dog spent most of his time with Luke, even sleeping next to the boy at night.
When the week was over, we waited for the dog's owner to return. However, we didn't hear from him that day. Nor the next. After three days, Luke and I took the dog over to his owner's place. It was empty. We called this fellow's cell phone. No answer. Luke asked around at his support group. No one had heard from him. The fellow was from out of town, and we had no way of reaching his family. We came to the realization that this person had permanently left town and abandoned his pet.
I did not particularly wish to have a still-maturing dalmatian living in my house, afraid that the furniture would become this dog's next chew toy. Naturally, the rest of the family just assumed that we would adopt the animal. Even Angela was becoming attached to it. I was outvoted.
Therefore, we now have a new addition to the family. His name is Flash. He came by this name because of his ability to seemingly appear out of nowhere, especially when you least expect it. Flash can go from the third floor of the barn to his supper dish in ... well ... in a flash. The dog will be no where in sight, but if you touch his leash, he will instantly be at your feet, ready to go for a walk. Indeed, one does not really take Flash for a walk, but rather he takes you for a drag.
We live on a fairly busy road, and our yard does not have a fence. Our last dog, Wacky, was also rather exuberant, however, he was also pudgy and hairy. He did not like to be more than fifty feet from his food dish, and so we never had to worry about him getting into the street and being smushed by a passing vehicle. Flash, however, will run until he gets tired, and he never seems to get tired. I was afraid that he'd be killed by a car. So far, however, when he does wander near the street, if an automobile is coming he is back by the house in ... well ... you get the idea.
So since it is snowing today, Flash, Luke, and Colette are outside frolicking. Indeed, the snow does not seem to slow Flash down at all. He charges through it like a four-legged plow. One can see numerous furrows in the snow where Flash has been, and periodically you'll see his black spots come bouncing up only to bury himself into more snow.
I'd best get this tale completed as it appears that I'll be spending much of the next day or two running the snow blower. Hopefully, Flash will tire out before then. Perhaps I'll enlist Luke's help in training the dog to pull the snow blower, thus saving myself some work. But, for now, I'll finish my tea and wait for the snow to stop.
Or perhaps I'll sneak off to the guest house for a nap. And perhaps Angela will come and join me. And perhaps we can pass the time with some pleasant spanking activities while the others are enjoying the wintry weather. It will be a nice way to warm up on a cold day.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Do Not Be Alarmed
Also, I have updated by list of recommended blogs. I have removed several that either were no longer being maintained, had disappeared altogether, or were being restricted only to select invited individuals. I have also added perhaps half a dozen new selections to the bottom of the list, sites that are updated regularly and have content that I think my esteemed readers will enjoy.
There is one place that I would like to particularly recommend. Amber "Pixie" Wells, a well-known model and entertainer in the spanko universe, has a site entitled Spanking Pixie. I have found Ms. Wells' writings to be interesting, insightful, and articulate. In addition, she is as cute as the proverbial bug in a rug. As well as her fine writing, Spanking Pixie also has several very tasteful photographs of Ms. Wells proudly displaying her delightful derriere, in both a spanked and unspanked condition. Should Ms. Wells ever find herself in the imaginary world that I currently occupy, she has an open invitation to pay a visit to the Spankowiak household to meet Angela and I and perhaps stay for a nice cup of hot tea and some brownies.
For being so wonderfully adorable, I am awarding Ms. Wells the Fantastic Spanking Seal Of Approval.
It makes a great pet, but please do not take it with you when you go dancing. It has an aversion to clubs.
Friday, February 05, 2010
Frank's (Imaginary) Reasons
You see, I lost my job.
And then I lost my house.
And then Angela left me.
Now, my dear readers, let me first assure you that, in these difficult times, since I am an imaginary spanko and have complete control of my own destiny, this is not a tale of woe. Indeed, it is somewhat more literal than that.
The events occurred thusly: As you know, last spring I suffered a spinal cord injury playing basketball with my daughter, and missed several months of work recovering. I had been back at work for about six weeks. It was my day to drive to the office (I usually work from home), so I headed there one morning. Now, the building that houses my office is at 8100 Fulbert Road, which is at an intersection. When I arrived at the intersection, there was no building. There was also no Fulbert Road. There was even no intersection. I'm not making this up.
Okay, I am making this up. But everything here is made up. After all, I am an imaginary spanko.
I drove around for what seemed like hours, looking for my workplace, but it was not to be found. I stopped at a gas station and asked for directions. The attendant said that he remembered such a road, but couldn't recall where it was. I looked at a map and there was no longer any Fulbert Road. Finally, I was so frustrated that I went home.
Only when I arrived, there was no home. I was sure that it was there when I left. I called Angela, who was volunteering at a local school, and she came home ... or at least to where home used to be. But the big barn house was gone. The guest house was gone. The garage was gone, the shed was gone, everything was gone.
Angela and I stared at what we thought was where our home used to be. Finally, out of desperation, we called Bernie. She was really busy, but said that she'd meet us at a local diner for lunch. There, we explained the situation to Bernie. When she finished laughing, she said that she'd take us home herself, but first she wanted us to take a blood test because she thought we were seriously stoned on something.
Bernie drove in the direction of our house, but she just seemed to keep driving down our street. At last she turned around, figuring that she became distracted and just passed. We drove the other way for a while, until Bernie realized that she didn't know where we were. I was sure that we were on the road on which we lived since we had passed several landmarks that I recognized, but I was not familiar with our current surroundings. Being a member of the state Police Department, Bernie's car was equipped with a GPS which she activated and entered our address. "No such address," the blasted machine responded. Bernie instructed it to take us to the general vicinity.
We followed the directions of the GPS for about a half-hour, going down streets that were close to our house. We've lived at the same address for more than twenty years, and I though I knew all of the streets nearby. However, I did not recognize any of the streets that we took.
After another hour of following the GPS directions, we became completely bewildered. This was when Angela's cell phone rang. It was Collete. "Mom," she said, "where's our house?"
"I don't know, honey," responded Angela. "Your father and I can't find it either and we've been looking for hours."
Bernie pulled the car over, turned to me and said, "It's time to face facts, Frank. You've lost your house."
"How does one lose a fucking house?" I asked heatedly. "Especially one as big as ours?"
"I don't know, Frank," Bernie replied. "And it seems that you've lost your job, also."
So we spent the next several weeks staying at a motel and looking for our house. We did eventually find it. If I recall, it was right where I left it.
But that is a story for another day.
Once we were back in the old homestead, the weather was miserable and snow was coming every day. Finally, Angela decided that she'd couldn't stand it any more and that she'd had enough. So she bought a plane ticket and left me to stay with her parents in Florida.
Oh, yes, she returned in a week or so. One can only stand so much time with Angela's parents before one must bid them farewell, else one will be very tempted to injure them severely in order to get them to stop being so darned annoying. But that story, also, will have to wait for a different occasion.
So, you see, all of my opening statements were true, just not in the sense that we typically think of them.
In the meantime, I have returned to chronicling my life on my own little corner of the internet. I feel as if this time the entries will be more regular. I've even given myself some incentive. If I stop writing, I will ask my darling wife to give my a good, hard, bare-bottomed spanking.
Except that I like spankings. Perhaps that will not be a proper incentive after all.