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About SwitchWithMe

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  1. I don't know what that means. I went back and looked. I don't see a discussion of why I can't delete this account and get a new one.
  2. Why can't I just get a new account and delete this one?
  3. I just want another account here. That would be a good start.
  4. I can't block them. That's the problem. I gave my personal contact information in the chat with a lot of people. Now I get bothered through my personal contact information-- not on SN. How am I supposed to know who it is? I don't remember who was on that chat when I gave my personal information out. OK. I won't mention it again.
  5. I can't block the people. I gave my personal information out in the main chat. And I get harassed not on channel, but through my personal contact information. So I don't know how it is exactly. I asked admins if I could get a new account and didn't get a response which I take as a "no". I feel nervous even saying this much here.
  6. When I first got to SN I chatted openly. I even gave my contact information to a handful of people, hoping to meet in person. Instead I got hounded and harassed. Given grief for what I said in channel and what I posed. So I deleted all my posts and stopped chatting. I asked for a new account, and that wasn't possible I guess. So I don't chat, I don't post. If somebody PM's me I'll chat. That's it.
  7. I'm a switch in the Big Bend. Mostly a 'ee at the moment. Am interested in semi-regular discipline. Open to M or F spankers.
  8. A stuffed animal on the awning below. Right in the middle, where it sagged a bit. On its back looking up into the clear blue late winter sky. Whoever threw it up there probably couldn't see it. Maybe even thought it disappeared by magic. Kirsten looked down at it. She wished she could disappear by magic. Or switch places with that bear with one slightly longer arm. If she didn't fall through the awning, she could climb down. Hang by her fingers at the low end-- and drop. Drop to her escape. She waited there, in the guest bedroom at the back of the house. Alternately looking out the window onto the awning, and sitting the bed, facing the open door. She thought about what brought her here. She could blame it on Markus. All on him. His paternalistic attitudes. And so she did in fits of resentment. But it was just that type of thinking that brought her here. A lack of responsibility, carelessness. A string of little things that Kirsten did. Each one amplifying the selfishness in the moment before. And that selfishness obscuring her judgement. So she sat. Thinking. When she wasn't staring down at the awning, wishing she was on her back, basking in the sun, like the lost stuffed animal-- she just sat. And thought. Bouncing up and down on the bed every so often. It was a hard and stiff bed. Nobody had made love in it. Hardly anyone had slept in it. Guests didn't stay here. When they came, they usually slept on the fold-out bed in the living room. So they could be in the middle of things. Woken up by breakfast. Falling asleep in front of the fire. This room, just by habit, had come to be a place for atonement. Kirsten would come here to think, to cool off. When she fought with Markus, it was a place for an adult time out. Sometimes she'd have a mood and she's just sequester herself here. A self-imposed emotional and verbal quarantine. And no doubt, she sometimes found herself sent here. And here she found atonement, accountability. Punishment. Markus texted. He would be home in little more than an hour. He would leave work, get the children, and drop them at Kirsten's parents. From their perspective, this was a date night. And so, like every time before, Kirsten panicked. She knew what was coming. And she also knew there were specific things she had to do. Something of a ritual. And so it should be. Cause and effect. She had allowed herself to get out of control and hurt people, and so she would be consequenced. Kirsten knew if she made him chase her and fight her, it would go badly. And the rift between them would go ever deeper. She started sobbing, quietly. She got up, and buried her face in her hands for a moment. And with a deep breath, said to herself, out loud: "Let's get this over with, OK, Kirsten, you bitch!". And with that she pulled the covers down on this little hard queen bed. Gathering three of the pillows, she stacked them up in the middle of the bed. She'd be bottom up, head down, hollering into the fourth as she got whipped. She got that done too fast. And now there was more waiting. She fidgeted. Went and stared out the window onto the awning again. So consumed with her upcoming and immanent punishment she didn't even noticed the stuff bear with one long arm. Kirsten went to the closet and took the belt down from the nail. She held it. Fascinated, in a trance. The embarrassment and shame of her recent shenanigans flowed through her. She wept. And the memories of past whippings flooded through her as well. She shivered. Markus had arrived. The familiar sounds of the car outside, footsteps on the porch. His patterns in the kitchen. Water. Opening and closing of the refrigerator, almost an autonomic reflex. Kirsten took a deep breath. Unbuttoned her khaki's and slide them off. And immediately, after that, she lost her panties as well. Standing there, naked from the waist down, with wet eyes, she saw Markus in the doorway as she turned around. Panic. Kirsten instinctively started to climb onto the bed, to position herself over the pillows, when she found herself being pulled backwards, hard. Almost lifted up in the air by Markus. Oh yes, there would be a talking to. She was sat down hard. She wasn't going to move through this too soon. Have her butt pay without her mind and heart paying attention. This was more uncomfortable than any whipping. To face her selfishness. Kirsten was stuck between Markus' disappointment and frustration and a punishment that was about to come. Two unbearable discomforts, pains. That evening, Kirsten would lay there, where Markus had whipped her. She'd be curled in a ball. One hand rubbing her bottom. She'd had cried herself out. There would be a peace that she would be grateful for. That night she watched the stars. Something fresh about them. As there was about her. That was relatively new for her. Something she needed, and with it, she got up and walked to the master bedroom where she slid into bed next to Markus. Still bare bottomed, still red. And sore.
  9. The punishments I got at home were before bed. I sort of like that. One can settle into the discipline and not have to stir from it. It also punctuates the day.
  10. The only spanking games I've played are ones that I've had to come up with quickly on the fly. One was to take a bill out of one's wallet and give/get as many licks as the last two digits of that bill's serial number. That's a pretty treacherous game. Best left for an implement that can give a long spanking without harm. Like right now I pulled a $20 from my wallet-- and the serial number ends in 07. I have a $1 that ends in 58. Others were just based on random numbers. Dice, drawing cards. No limit to possibilities there.
  11. Like most things associated with spanking, my favorites have some psychological hook somewhere in early life. For me it's belts, straps and switches. Got a good ration of the belt coming up. The strap was something mythologized and feared. Switches were something I heard stories about from the generation before me. Somehow that amplifies the experience. It's aesthetic too. Something organic about leather. I like the sound, the sting. Belts and straps are pretty versatile. Can give a playful tap or take the breath out of someone. Leather just feels, smells, and looks good. There's a lot of language coded into me. Somehow. It's all pretty evocative. Stuff like: ... you're going to get the belt... go get the belt... go cut three switches... you're getting strapped... There's a bit of ritual. Especially with cutting a switch. Very meditative. Taking a belt or strap off a hook or nail is pretty charged too. And for me I think there's a narrative of discipline surrounding them. It's how everyone around me seemed to get disciplined after a certain age. I suspect in a different time and place it would be a cane. While we got paddle swats at school, most people around me got serious whippings with a belt, strap, or switch. Discipline just ties into those implements.
  12. What I also hope for is appeasement. Getting people to calm down and back off.
  13. I'm trying to be the good guy here. Being respectful. Taking the words of people who have been on the board for years to heart. Trying to learn the board culture beyond the ToS. Trying to not be arrogant and being humble enough to take criticism from other board members. Trying to make amends my deleting my content. Apologizing. Trying to start afresh.
  14. Well. Some individual members have a very different opinion.
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