Implement Aversion

The other night, Poppy posted a poignant blog about losing an implement she loved. Not literally misplacing it, but having it taken from her, because a miserable excuse for a man ruined it for her with an abusive scene. She asked us if we've ever had our feelings change drastically about an implement because of a bad experience.

It got me thinking. Most of us have our "hard limits" when it comes to certain implements. But why? Because they scare us? Because they simply hurt too much? Or is it because we have a negative association with them?

I have to say, I've never had the misfortune of having some asshat ruin a beloved implement for me. But I did have someone turn a soft limit into a hard one.

You all know I prefer leather over wood, but all wooden implements are not created equal. Thicknesses, types of wood, etc. all make for a variety of sensations. But I've never liked those heavy, rectangular paddles, the "frat" style. They thud me down to the bone and they feel horrible to me, with or without holes in them. They don't even make a satisfying sound -- instead of a hearty smack, they land with a dull thunk. When I thought of those paddles, one word came to mind: brutal. And brutality was never something I enjoyed in my spankings. But still, I played with them now and then, at parties and so forth.

About four or five years ago, I met a man from the old SIN board. We did the usual coffee thing, talked, etc., and then he came back to my place to play. I liked his style and his scolding, but toward the end, he was way too touchy-feely and I had to tell him to stop. When we spoke afterward and he wanted to know if I'd like to get together again, I said yes, but he needed to keep the sexual touching out of it. He said he would.

The next time he came over, he had a bag with him, which he handed to me. "I got you a present," he said. The bag was from a local adult toy store. When I looked inside, my heart sank.

He'd bought one of those frat paddles -- it was huge and thick, exactly what I hate. The price tag was still on it, and it wasn't cheap. But wait, there's more. Also in the bag was a Pocket Rocket vibrator. WTF? I barely knew this guy -- what the hell was he doing buying me something that personal?

OK, kids. Here's where I 'fess up and say yes, even with years of experience, we can still screw up. I should have followed my instincts and told him sorry, but I've changed my mind. Take the gifts back, I don't want them, and I don't care to play after all. But I didn't. I felt bad because he'd spent all that money, and I figured the least I could do was to have another scene with him.

It was dreadful. No, he didn't try the wandering fingers thing again. Instead, he just beat the hell out of me with that @#$%ing paddle -- too fast, too hard, too everything. He did stop when I cried. But they weren't the good tears. They were tears of pain and frustration with myself and that sense of betrayal and violation we feel when someone hurts us.

The guy was utterly freaking clueless. After I calmed down a bit and we were talking, he asked, "So, did I give you what you needed?" Wha...?? Needless to say, I was a bit shocked by the question, and I replied, "Well... maybe a little too much."

I didn't say it in a snotty way. But he then reached over, grabbed my hair and snapped, "Are you being smart? Because I'll beat your ass all over again if you are."

(shudder)

Another one of my red flags -- when the spanking is over, it's over. You don't get to be harsh during aftercare. That's the time when you're supposed to be nice.

"No," I said meekly.

The cherry on the sundae was his suggesting that I use the Pocket Rocket he'd given me... in front of him. I declined. "Perhaps I should spank you until you do," he threatened. That did it. "NO," I said, very firmly. "Perhaps you shouldn't."

After he left, I felt sick. I hurt. I was marked. I looked at that effing plank of wood he'd left behind and I wanted it out of my sight. Without overthinking it, I took it down to the Dumpster and chucked it. I suppose I could have given it away... but I didn't want anyone else to suffer from it either. If I'd had a fireplace, I would have burned it.

Oh, and I tossed the Pocket Rocket too. I know, I know. Wasteful. I didn't care. It was all tainted with his ickiness.

After that, frat paddles became a hard limit. Not that it's a great loss, though, because I never really liked them.

I have every confidence that Poppy will move past her aversion, with time and patience and proper treatment from her current, most excellent top. What about others? Do you have a story behind your implement aversion? Do you want to get over it, or does it not matter?