The topic of feminism and spanking is one very close to my heart. Raised by a single mom with a liberal bent, I’ve always been a feminist, but it was cemented my first day of college where I learned the whole “women have an extra rib thing” was bogus.
Still, I had this strange *fear* of men. Male authority made my knees go weak. Male teachers, professors, and bosses could all reduce me to a stuttering fool. Not that I wasn’t also submissive with female authority, but the men… shudder. And no wonder, when I put myself to sleep at night (every night, from the earliest age I can remember) masturbating to the idea of being spanked by one.
In first grade the male teacher in the classroom next door told me to see him after school for yelling on the bus. I was so certain he was going to spank me. I literally made myself sick that afternoon-my tummy ached, I couldn’t think–it was horrible. When I went to his classroom, pale and trembling like a leaf, he looked at me and all he said was, “Don’t yell on the bus.” I was ten parts relieved and maybe one tiny part disappointed there was no spanking.
Not understanding my own complexities, I very fortunately chose a husband who was all alpha but supported my liberal feminist ways. As I went after my career with all guns blazing (determined not to end up stranded the way my mom had–letting her career take a sideline to my dad’s and then having to support us on a secretary’s wages), my husband sent me off with a “go get ’em, Tiger.”
As I made my way up the corporate ladder, I finally put it together that the masturbatory spanking fantasies occupying so much of my mind might be the reason I couldn’t speak up for myself with the men. This was extremely troubling to me. I berated myself for having them. I ordered myself to turn them off. Sometimes I was able to go months or even years without allowing them into my head, but then once they popped in again, they took over. It was an addiction. An obsession.
It was not until I began writing spanking fiction that it seemed there was a useful outlet for them. With publication I came out of the closet with my amazing alpha husband and I was able to begin to start the process of detangling the social politics of feminism from the sexual.
And what do you know? The more I allowed myself to be submissive in the home, the more assertive I became out of it.
I’m still mulling over the exquisite irony that now that I’m self-actualized as a submissive, I am no longer submissive to all men– only to the one I have chosen to submit to. I no longer perceive anyone as having “authority” over me. I don’t work in the corporate grind anymore, but I know, just from feeling into the energy, that I would no longer cower from the CEO, VP or Sales Manager. I would speak my mind with confidence.
So am I still a feminist? You’d better believe it.
I do believe that in pushing for equal rights, it was forgotten that, in fact, women and men are different.
What do you think? Do women have an extra rib? No, just kidding. Do you honor the sacred feminine in your life? Or do you think it’s subordinate to masculinity?