A mutual friend recently mentioned to Robbie that she found both of us to be equally “batty”.  This friend uses words like batty and yummy; that’s the kind of person she is.  She’s adorable.  Think Betty White about two decades younger, and you have the image of this friend of ours.  Because she is as funny to us as Betty White is to the rest of the world, Robbie and I fell down laughing at this description of us.  Robbie was inspired enough to send me a pictorial representation of our battiness.  As you can tell from one or two of the images, we do–very occasionally–switch.  Aside from that, we’re just fucking twisted.

From various places on the Internetzwebs.  And if you have an objection to any of it, just remember: “Quiet or Papa Spank!!”

I recently saw some of Frederic Fontenoy‘s work somewhere . . . on another blog I read regularly, I just can’t remember which one.  I’ve known about his work for years.  The photos he takes are basically what I think the inside of Robbie’s fantasies must look like.  Although Robbie has a non-negligible appetite for the haute camp-trash-slut look–the porn queen with class–most of the time he goes for sheer, more traditional elegance: black and white; a crisp white blouse; the perfect waist cincher; stilettos with ankle straps; garters and vintage seamed stockings with cuban heels; masks, crinolines, opera gloves.  We own most of these things, and more.

What I didn’t realize until my last visit to see Robbie was 1) that the thing that Fontenoy is holding in his hand in the picture below is a vintage carpet beater and 2) that Robbie owns one.  He opened his toy closet during the last visit and there it was–something twisty, gorgeous, and unfamiliar.  When I asked, he explained that our friend, Marisa, had given it to him as a Christmas present last year.  He then had me bend over so that he could demonstrate its effects on me.

Wowsers!  The sensation was amazing.  I adore canes, and old carpet beaters are made from rattan, so their impact has a good stingy top-note.  At the same time (I’m speculating), there’s more skin-implement surface area contact when one of these woven beauties hits a bottom than when a cane does.  And that provides a really yummy, diffuse, thuddy feeling.  At least, that’s what it seemed like to me on the basis of receiving a few quick swats.  I would definitely like to get my hands on one of these again for more play time.

I found them for $20-45 at a few places online–including e-bay–though not at most kinky stores.  A few of the shops that carry them seem to hint ever-so-obliquely at their kinky capacity; for instance, Garrett Wade, a company that sells unique hand tools, intones in its product copy that, “This classic household tool has stood the test of time. It is also great fun.”  (For the carpet?)  Other sellers seem to focus mostly on the beauty of the thing; at Remodelista, a writer noted that she “saw this at DWR Tools for Living in New York yesterday and thought it made a great piece of wall art.”  (Hang it on a VERY convenient hook, people.)  The authentically perverted Maui Kink sells their own version, which is sort of a combination cane and paddle, but I’d try to get your hands on a vintage model first–theirs doesn’t have antique cred, and it also looks fierce as hell.  And who in their right mind would be into fierce pain?  I certainly wouldn’t know.


“You’re my hero,” I said to Robbie, gazing over at his sweat-glazed face.

“Why?” he said.

“Because you’re driving 5 hours each way so I can catch my flight home even though you have strep throat.” That was pretty much it. We’re still working out the logistics of my new home, including trying to figure out new transportation routes from here to there. Apparently, I thought a certain airport was way closer to his house than it actually was.

“Oh, that,” Robbie said glumly. The only time I’ve ever seen him sick is when he has strep, and then he’s sick as a dog. “Well, I don’t know about that, but when I say I’m gonna do something, I do it.”

He looked so serious, and seriously old-fashioned, I burst into (gentle) laughter. “Okay, Duke,” I said.

“What? Dupe?”

“No, Duke. You sound like John Wayne.”

“Oh yeah. Duke.” And he did a dead-on imitation of Wayne. “My favorite are the spanking movies.”

“John Wayne made spanking movies?”

“Yeah, three of ’em. One of ’em was him spanking a schoolteacher.”

“Katherine Hepburn?!?!” I asked, shocked, thinking of Rooster Cogburn.

“No, not her. Anyway. They’re pretty funny.”

“Yeah, it’s funny how open they were about that stuff in the 50s.”

Now, I don’t share a lot of submissives’ 1950s nostalgia; I don’t have a 50s fixation, for all kinds of reasons including primarily my college immersion in feminism.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara as much as the next girl . . .

I made a mental note to look them–and all the other spanking movies–up. Here’s a list for you.

{Oops.  Wordpress deleted my list when I went to save the post.  I’m away for a few days, but I’ll put the list and the links in when I’m back!}