Everyone,
I can’t say with certainty how many times I’ve heard the title phrase, but it’s enough to have prompted me to write this post. I’m hoping that, as always, you’ll recognize something in this which makes you think, laugh, learn, or – bonus! – all three at once.
We’ve talked abut bad scenes before, but I’d like to re-explore this in a different way: by giving you the floor.
When I gave a recent new playmate permission to talk about some of the things he’d experienced in past playtimes, there were more than a couple ‘bad scenes’ discussed; honestly, I was surprised that someone who’d had such poor experiences was still willing to experiment. I was also complimented that he’d trusted me enough to try again, and I hope that he had as much fun as I did. I’d hate to be the punchline of a ‘bad scene’ story, after all.
So what is your ‘bad scene’ story? What went wrong, and, more importantly, what (if anything) could you have done to have prevented it? Was it funny or scary or surreal or….?
I think it’ll be interesting for others to see that they’re not the only ones who’ve been working on a spanko learning curve, and that it’s okay to admit that it takes a while to figure it all out.
(**Please have sense enough to not use the actual person’s name when telling your bad scene story – we’re not trying to build a database, just get it out of our systems.**)
Here’s one of mine (there haven’t been many) and it’s a short one:
A few years ago (I’d just begun traveling in earnest), in *insert city here*, I’d made plans to meet and spank a gentleman for the first time. We’d agreed upon a pretty generic get-to-know-you spanking, and he’d not given any indication that he was anything other than perfectly lovely, so when I met a somewhat youngish (30s), well-dressed smiling guy I thought, “This should be fun.”
I was so. very. wrong.
It was not fun. Not for me, and not for him.
Immediately, he was consternated by the lack of mirrors in the room in which we were playing. There were two; they were both quite large; they were mounted to opposite walls, reflecting the whole damn room. This was not enough reflection for this fella, clearly, and so he asked whether I had “more mirrors”.
Under most circumstances, the answer would be a confused “no”, but this time I happened to be in a professional, many-roomed playspace – the room right next door had a pedestal mirror! – so there actually WERE more mirrors. So a confused “yes” later, we had a third mirror…which he spent approximately eleven minutes (I may be exaggerating a bit) positioning *just so*.
Yes, I was beginning to get a little irritated, but figured, hell, to each his own.
So we, finally, started the spanking.
I invited him across my lap to begin the spanking over his pants, then slid them down to his knees and continued over his briefs, using just the palms of my hands. He was flinching quite a bit, so as I wiggled his briefs down I said something along the lines of, “You’re doing just fine…it’ll hurt a little more now, but just take deep breaths.”
After a couple minutes of more flinching on his part, I thought maybe he could use a little break and massaged his buns for a minute before beginning again, saying, “Okay, let’s try this again. Harder now. Relax.”
Before I could land a single swat, he sprang up from my lap, placed his hands on his hips, and said, “This isn’t working. It’s like being spanked by a cheerleader.”
Nonplussed, I invited him to dress and showed him the way out. I did not offer an apology. Honestly, I still can’t see what’s wrong with being spanked by a cheerleader (isn’t there a helluva fantasy in there someplace?!). Now, I get what the guy was trying to convey: he wanted to be Domme-d – treated, handled, and spoken-to roughly; not positively reinforced or shown tenderness or empathy. He wanted his ass whipped by a mean lady who didn’t give a flip about him.
I still offer no apology. That’s not who I am. But I will admit that that ‘insult’ still comes to mind when I think of bad scenes…and not just because I didn’t get what I wanted, but because he didn’t either. Probably would’ve helped had he made his wants and wishes clear, but not everyone’s able to verbalize that, are they?
Anyway, and here’s the great part of this story: When I saw my awesome friend Mona, also a pro-domme, and told her the story, she said, “Ohmygod, The Mirror Guy! I know him! EVERYBODY knows him!!”
We’ve ALL been there.
– Dana
