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When I was a kid I used to look up the word "spanking" in the dictionary, and I got a visceral thrill when I saw a spanking scene on “Little House on the Prairie” or “I Love Lucy.”At times, spanking was an obsession, and one made all the more torturous for the shame I felt harboring it.
For more than 20 years I thought there was something wrong with me.
I dated Jennifer during the advent of the Internet, and when she was out of the apartment I'd spend hours in spanking chat rooms or looking at spanking photos.
A couple of times I met people, real live girls, who liked to be spanked.
At one point, I was in a hot tub with a woman who acted in spanking films and the female host, a retired police lieutenant.
But as exciting as that was, I wanted to experience spanking with someone I loved.
This obsession felt impossible to share, so I was always hungry for cues that someone could relate."I relate.
As a man, though, it's a little different -- we're not supposed to hurt women, we're supposed to protect them.
Or, if nothing else, that there were a lot more sick people like me out there.
These were people like me, who in this post-50 Shades era, had nothing in common with the vanilla couples toying with handcuffs and blindfolds, making up safe words and buying heart-shaped paddles.
These people were true aficionados, who'd wielded (and felt) those paddles, as well as hairbrushes, floggers and straps, for years.
We were in bed, still in those heady, lust-filled days of a new relationship.
I really liked her, suspected that I might even love her, which meant I had to tell her the truth about myself.
I've explained that not everything about spanking is sexual and that wanting to meet, talk to and even play with others doesn't reflect one whit on my love for her. And as ever, Emily and I talked it out and decided to explore the local spanking community together, hand in hand. I knew the rules, they'd been emailed to everyone before the party, so no doubt she did, too. We didn't talk about spanking, not until much later.