Man to Man Otk

by Bud Johnson <>

The traditional spanking scene has rudiments that are equal in intensity and allure with leather and erotica. For those of us who seek it, it is more. Basically the difference is in the presentation with its imagery and context. Most importantly, there is a difference in the way the Top & Bottom interact with each other. With the traditional spanking scene, the fantasized scenarios are generally domestic in constitution (e. g. Father Son, Teacher Student, etc,). With S & M of any sort, we encroach on dynamics that are all inclusive. These include some emotional, carnal, and interactive nuances. Each individual will have a different innovation of just what an `ideal' spanking scenario should include exclude. In the following pages, I am going to share some of my scarlet past in the hope that it will excite you some, enhance your perception of the scene, or possibly enhance your spirituality! The First Spanking Back in 1983 I was 23 years old. After two disappointing experiences I had when I lived in Boston in 1979, and a missed connection in Phoenix in 1982, I responded to an ad in "The Advocate." A man named John wrote back. I had expressed myself with complete sincerity that I wanted to experience the real thing. We started corresponding, exchanging half-a-dozen letters. We exchanged pictures, feelings and stories. John suggested, subtly, two scenarios we would act-out once we met. I really wasn't very _s_e_x_ually active at this point in my life, and that was not an issue for John. He lived in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. It was about a six-hour drive for me. He suggested I stay for the weekend. Being naturally nervous, I committed to stay over night. With each letter, my emotions would intensify. I felt certain this was going to be real and I really didn't know what to expect.... except that it would hurt! The correspondence allowed for a mutual trust. Though our mutual mental ages were twenty years apart we had temporarily bonded with our respective roles. It was time. It was on a weekend in Mid August in 1983. I left around 10AM on either Friday or Saturday, I can't quite remember. From Detroit to Lansing, I was very calm. I listened to tapes and enjoyed the drive. It was about 4 hours to St. Ignus, MI, and John lived an hour and a half from there. After Lansing, the mood changed. I became besieged with anticipatory fears and analytic mayhem. What if I can't take it? Do I really want this? (I felt my blood pressure rising) Will I cry? Am I crazy?

No, just human.

I kept driving, turned the tapes off and felt the Mid-August air. The other side of me was leading me on to fulfill something I've always wondered about—fantasized on—as I propelled through my youth. My trepidation did not go away. John had asked that I call when I got to St. Ignus. When I got there, I stopped and got a Big Gulp (early eighties 7-11 thing) and drove through the campsite to my favorite spot overlooking the Mackinaw Bridge. I sat in my car for about 20 minutes, chain smoking cigarettes. I got out of my car and slowly dragged myself to a phone, much like bad boy moves when he knows he's going to get punished. It was abut 5 PM (I was driving slowly). I called John. He said he was starting to think I wasn't going to show up. He re-explained how to get to his house. He mentioned that if he wasn't there when I arrive, he might be at the store and that it would only be a few minutes. Just wait in my car until he gets there. The roads from St. Ignus to his place were unfamiliar to me, pushing the tension up a notch. Most of my thoughts were concerning whether or not I had missed a turn. An hour flew by. When I saw the sign indicating I was in his little town, I got really hyper! 2 miles later, I pulled into his driveway. He came outside to greet me and directed me to park in a certain area. The time before my arrival, my mind was convoluted with a barrage of impressions, feeling, anticipation and fear. His demeanor was very warm. Manly and pleasantly focused. I felt right at ease. He invited me in to his house, putting his arm across my shoulder as if I was an old friend. We went into the living room. There, I asked him about his childhood spankings. He told me that he used to get it from his Father and Grandfather, up to age 17. He described his French-Canadian upbringing. He mentioned his son and divorce years earlier. This was a real person that was comfortable with himself. We talked abut my past girlfriends and how I really thought I was at least, bi-_s_e_x_ual. I talked about the loneliness I felt as a teenager, thinking I was the only one that had this desire to get spanked. I talked about my family and extended family, how I had contemplated getting married two years earlier. The conversation was pleasant. We talked for quite awhile. The next thing I knew, it was 9:30PM. I realized it was about to happen, but I stayed cool. John said it was bedtime (one of the hinted at scenarios). I fell right into character. I said, "But I'm not tired." John said, "It's getting late and you've been driving all day. Now when I say it's time for bed, its time for bed." He had me get up off the couch, which he proceeded to pull the hideaway bed out. I protested again. Then John looked me square in the eye and said, "Do you want a spanking?' I protested again, mildly. John took hold of my right arm and marched me upstairs saying, "When I ask you to do something, I expect you to do it." I half-heartedly pleaded with him not to spank me. He indicated I should have done what I was told to do, but that it was too late now. Then he pulled down my pants. I was shaking! He guided me across his lap and began spanking me with my underwear on. He intensified as the spanking progressed. Mid-way through, he pulled my underwear down and spanked me about 5 more minutes. It stung. It was real, but I was surprised that I had taken it so easily. After he was done, he rubbed my butt briefly, and told me to get up. He said, "Now maybe you'll behave yourself while you're in my house or this will happen again." He walked me back downstairs. He set me up to sleep on the hide-away couch. I lay in bed, feeling the warm afterglow. I felt really good. I was thinking to myself how real this had been. I lay awake for about a half-hour, then drifted off into a nice sleep. I woke up before John did the next morning. I looked at a spanking publication he had until he woke up. John was up about a half-hour later. He came down stairs and made breakfast. It was then that I noticed his excellent body. He was a good looking, natural man, with a solid build—though much shorter than--I respected him. Uninhibited, he sat down in just his underwear with no T- shirt while we ate breakfast. To me, it was cold! In the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, the temperature often falls to the upper thirties at night during the summer. At 8 AM, it was still pretty nippy. I asked him if he worked out. He told me he did lift weights and run. We talked for about an hour. Then John got up, took the dished to the sink and asked me if I'd like to take a shower. I said I did. He gave me some towels and explained how his shower works. I took one. After I was done, John took a shower as well then dressed. Then he said, "I've got some work to do outside and I'd like you to do the dishes." It was about 11:30 AM. I told him my favorite Saturday morning show was on, and I would get to them after the show. John agreed and asked me when the show was going to be over. I told him 12 o'clock. He firmly indicated that this was okay, but I should get the dishes done right after the show. While he was outside, I was alone with my feelings and strange imagery. Inside, I remembered the night before. The rectitude of the moment was contradictory for me, and all at the same time. It was like tunneling in a mind shaft knowing the sun was still outside.... yet I was searching for gold. At about 5 minutes after 12, John came back in the house. When he saw me still watching TV, he loudly said, "Your show is over! You are supposed to be working on those dishes! I've got a few more things to get done when I get done outside and those dishes had better be done when I get back." He was clearly agitated. I watched him go back outside. His movements were adrenaline driven.

Of course, I watch TV.

John was back in less than 5. When he came into the house, he came over to where I was and turned off the TV. He looked me square in the eye and said, "All right Mister. March upstairs, NOW!" I pleaded with him not to spank me, that I would do the dishes right then. John said, "You had ample time to do as your told. Now, march!" John was right behind me. Once upstairs, he grabbed my upper arm. He pulled my pants and underwear down. He propped his left leg up on the edge of the bed frame, flopped me over this leg. He began a rapid-fire hand spanking 5 times as hard as the night before. I writhed and squirmed quite a bit, I remember thinking I could have taken a lot more the night before, but the vim of this was unexpected. I began to wonder if I could take this. Then John produced a thick, round wooden paddle with holes. My thoughts were running wild. I knew in my mind this was going to be very intense and resolute.


With the first whack, my feet lifted off the ground! He used the same intensity with the second, third, fourth and fifth. During each of those first 5 whacks ~ intangible perceptions ~ the gossamer in my psyche' was rapidly being cleansed and realigned each time that paddle fell on my ass. I got a little paranoid, as would have been apartment from my demeanor. I didn't think I could take anymore. By the fifth whack, I truly begged him to stop and that I would do the dishes right away. John said, "You bet you will. 5 more!" Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! He gave me 5 more hard whacks in quick succession, lifting my feet off the floor two more times. I was shaking.

Everything had changed.

John walked me downstairs and I started the dishes immediately. John put his arm around my shoulder and asked me if I was all right. John approached in a way that a Father might console his son. After about 10 minutes, my internal glow was as vibrant as the eternal fire of my ass. I had finally received what I had always thought about my whole life. The world was lifted off my shoulders. Carlos Castanada talks of an abstract concept in his book, 'Journey to Ixland.' In that book he describes a concept of, `Stopping the World'. If you get a chance, read it! It's a good uplifting read. To wrap it up quickly, the idea of stopping the world is that some action or event in your life will have the effect of drawing you to the moment of now. You become re-established with your entire self to the lucidity of the moment. Time stops, virtually for that moment. All your senses become aligned with your abstract thoughts and emotions. That day with John did that for me. It was awesome. I didn't need anymore at that point, but the drive to seek out spanking did come back relatively quickly....within a few weeks. All I can say, for many of us, it is a phase that never goes away. I have never tried to recreate this particular event, for you can never recreate a moment. The best way to view the pursuance of the desire, in my opinion, is more akin to an exploration of the dynamic. True peace with the various aspects of one's self is obtained within yourself, not through another individual or an action. In the traditional spanking scene, we are but a few. I had correspondence with John again in 1990. He is, or was, a bit arrogant. He admits it. He had a reputation for seeing someone for only one encounter. When I re-connected, he read through my prevarication and checked me on my physical stature. I was more physically fit in the `90's than when we originally met, but I was still over-weight. That bothers the `picky'. It is a sore spot with me, and I will just leave it at that. Besides, John may have had different reasons for not wanting to meet again. In retrospect, I was rude. Even at 30, I still needed a good whooping, but I was an adult, and that's reality!

That is reality.

John understood the rudimentary desire. I do not know how much he could articulate about, besides what we discussed on that August day in 1983. He had an innate understanding, and that is more than most. Bottoms up!

More stories by Bud Johnson