Erica Scott: Life, Love & Spanking

Happy (almost) Valentine's Day ♥

2012-02-13T23:30:00.000-08:00

So why does a cynical curmudgeon like me love Valentine's Day, you ask? Simple. It's that Late Bloomer thing again. Many, many Valentine's Days spent alone when I was young, gorging myself on See's Candy and crying. Hating all the damned ads and commercials, all the pretty displays in the malls. Feeling like Charlie Brown. ("I know nobody loves me; why do we have to have Valentine's Day to emphasize it?")

Then I met John... and I've loved Valentine's Day ever since. :-) Yeah, I know it's commercial. I don't care.

My sweetie is still sick and injured, but he sent me roses -- a whole week early! He figured I'd be more surprised that way, and I was. I'm hoping we can celebrate this coming weekend, if he feels better.

But in the meantime, I had a lovely time tonight with my toppy Valentine, ST. He had quite the nice surprise for me as well.

After he arrived and sat down, he pulled over his toy bag and started unzipping it. Hmmm; guess we're going to skip the small talk, huh? But then he said, "Well, what have we here?" and he pulled out a bright red Frederick's of Hollywood shopping bag. !!!!

I love Frederick's. VS is nice, but I like Frederick's so much more. Looking inside the bag, I first noticed a package of black thigh-high stockings, fishnet, with a seam up the back and lace tops. Gorgeous! There was also something bundled in black tissue paper, which I eagerly opened. Ohhhh, my. It was a red-and-black lace corset, with black spaghetti straps and garters attached.

I've never had a corset, so this was another first for the late bloomer. I've tried them on, but I never would let John buy me one, protesting that they're too expensive. I'd make jokes, saying I enjoyed breathing. But this was exquisite. Came with a little matching g-string, too. The kind of thing I'd ooh and aah at dreamily in a store window, but would never buy for myself.

We did have a little comedy of errors getting me into my new outfit, however. Too bad we didn't film it; it was pretty hilarious. This corset has the usual lacing up the back, but unlike some others, it doesn't open in the front. So the only way to get it on was over my head. Unfortunately, it was a size small. I'm flattered, but it was too small. I may be thin, but I'm tall and I have wide shoulders. So, the wrestling began. I was determined to wear it tonight anyway.

ST loosened the lacing as much as possible, and then I pulled it over my head. I stood with my arms straight up while ST yanked and pulled, but it wouldn't budge. He managed to get it loosened just a bit more, then tugged down on it, tugging and tugging (and cracking me up with his grunting noises) until finally it went down past my shoulders and over my torso. Then he tightened the lacing. There was a several-inch gap when it was pulled as tight as he could get it, but it still looked spectacular.

And then the fishnet stockings! Those fit perfectly, and I recruited ST to snap the garters in place for me (those were rather uncooperative and took several attempts). But at last, I slipped some heels, and voila:

Isn't it lovely? That was worth the work to get it on me! I feared I wouldn't be able to get it back off, but we put that aside for the time being. After all, we had other things to do.

We kept it simple tonight, implement-wise. Of course, we had to use the heart-shaped paddle that he made for me last Valentine's Day. He also wanted to draw hearts on my bottom with eyeliner or a Sharpie and then fill them in with reddened flesh, but I nixed that idea. (insert eye-roll here) Along with the paddle, just a couple of his straps plus the leather spanking buddy. No canes tonight. And mostly OTK, although I took a fair amount of strapping while bending over/kneeling on the bed.

You know why he was spanking me? Because I was wearing naughty clothes. "You bought me those naughty clothes!" I protested. "Yes, but you didn't have to wear them! I was just testing you!" Oh, brother.

Not much banter tonight, once I settled down and stopped giggling. I felt sexy and sensual and my body relished every stroke deeply. I went so far into subspace, he didn't even ask me to count the final flurry. He knew I wouldn't be able to.

Bliss. ♥

Of course, once we wound down and had uploaded the photos from his camera, it was time for Operation Remove Corset. It was actually a little easier than it had been getting it on; he loosened the ties, had me raise my arms over my head and then he yanked upward. Yank-yank-yank, and then it gave way and popped off. He's going to take it back and exchange it for a medium. (OK, so I wore it a couple of hours. Sue me. :-Þ I was freshly showered!)

I had a little heart-shaped box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates for him, which I gave him as he was leaving. Sweets for a very sweet man.

To everyone who celebrates it, happy Valentine's Day. For those who would just as soon bypass it, happy Tuesday. I'm going to spend my afternoon squirming in the dentist's chair, and making me wonder why I'm smiling. :-)

Our first blogs

2012-02-10T13:03:00.000-08:00

Because I can't come up with anything original today, I am shamelessly ripping off my friend Secret Spanko, who just wrote a fun entry about first blog posts. He did some thorough research, looking back at several people's first blog entries and commenting on the various types. I found it fascinating and thought I'd pick up the ball and continue with it here.

Among others, he mentioned my first entry here on Blogger, in which I was -- what else? -- bitching about something! This time, it was about how effed up MySpace was and why I moved my blog from there. However, he hadn't seen my very first blog post from MySpace. Just for grins, I dug it up. It's rather boring, but here it is in all its glory, from December 28, 2005:

Introduction

Current mood: bored

I guess I have to start somewhere with this thing, huh? OK, what do you want to know? How about some random stuff.

I work from my home as a freelance proofreader. So I'm a nut for grammar and spelling. Right now, because of the freaking holidays, my business is dead... hence the bored mood.

I pride myself on my sense of humor and my quick wit. My father was a comedy writer and won five Emmys, so I like to think I inherited his funny genes.

Guilty pleasures: Hostess Sno-Balls (you know, those revolting things with the bright pink coconut and the marshmallow), old surf instrumentals, watching Dark Shadows DVDs (the original show, not that crappy remake).

Things I love: my boyfriend, animals, milk chocolate, good books and movies, intelligence and humor, rainy days, the Beatles, and a lot of other stuff I'll think of later.

Things I hate: hot days, mornings, cottage cheese, tailgaters, tardiness, cell phone overuse, big noisy crowds, rap and hip-hop, the Capital One commercials with David Spade and that dorky fat guy, reality TV, and a lot of other stuff I'll think of later.

What else... oh yeah. I'm a big OTK enthusiast, very much in the national spanking scene, and I've been in eight spanking videos. Ooooh, am I allowed to say that here?

I guess that's enough for now. Happy hump day, everyone.

Don't you love how I downplayed the spanking bit? It was MySpace, after all. I wasn't sure how much I could talk about it. :-D The one thing I miss from the MySpace blog format is the nifty little "current mood" indicator. Oh, and their built-in emoticons.

How about some others digging up their first blogs? We could make a meme out of it!

In other news, we had some more misadventures on FetLife this week, another flame war centered around our favorite malcontent, droning on and on once again about her thinly veiled contempt for the "pros." It got ugly. It got snarky. And today, she finally erupted, bypassing her usual passive-aggressive approach and blasting us, calling us "pissy, petty, narrow-minded bitches" and "pathetic attention whores," and saying that no one in the spanking video industry would ever be welcome at one of her parties. Oh, dear. Pardon me while I hang myself over that one. :-)

John and I were planning to celebrate Valentine's Day this weekend, but that is now on hold. Besides his relentlessly swelling knee, he caught a cold when he went to the HMO last week and hung around several sick people in the waiting room. (sigh) I will never hear the end of that! Anyway, we decided there's no point in doing anything special when he is feeling so wretched, so we'll do it the following weekend instead. It's OK. It's just a calendar date. As he pointed out, we're each other's Valentines year-round. ♥

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Wednesday musings

2012-02-08T13:03:00.000-08:00

My mind is off in a dozen directions today, so this blog may be a bit disjointed. I will attempt to weed out the blather and put down some coherent thoughts.

First, I read something just this morning (a quote from a book) that kind of irked me. I am not going to name the book or the author, because I don't wish to appear that I'm going on a personal attack here. It's the idea behind what I read that bothers me, not the book itself or its author.

The book is for women, and the subject is how to deal with a husband or boyfriend who has a sexual fetish. I haven't read it; I just saw some excerpts, but even in those, the message I got was clear: it's our responsibility to embrace these fetishes and fulfill the desires, if we love our men.

Here is a paragraph that particularly bothered me:

You have a choice: your husband or boyfriend can either be alone with his sexual fetish or you can learn to be the one who fulfills his every sexual need. Choose to reject and you will have a husband or boyfriend who will be secretive and stray. Choose to join in and you'll have a husband or boyfriend who will be loyal and appreciative.

Is it just me, or is this overly black-and-white? A one-size-fits-all statement? I know from personal experience that this isn't necessarily true for all. But what about the hundreds of women out there who will read this and feel like they have to do something that they don't understand/mildly dislike/hate/etc. in order to please their man?

There are a gazillion fetishes out there, and some are more easily fulfilled than others. The author, with this statement, is completely bypassing the third alternative: let your man get his fetish needs met elsewhere, with your blessing.

Of course, the ideal is to learn to fulfill the fetish desires yourself, so your man can stay home and be happy. But life and relationships seldom run along the ideal continuum. I don't think it's healthy to send a message that mates (male or female) have to adapt to a partner's fetish and fulfill it, if it goes against their grain. OK, you can experiment with ropes and blindfolds, with a bit of light spanking, etc. But what about the more hard-core fetishes?

I love John with all my heart. But he likes having things done to him that I couldn't do in my dreams. Am I a bad girlfriend because I haven't forced myself to do these things? Is he secretive and miserable? Yeah, yeah, I hear you guys out there. "Not all of us find playing with others outside the relationship acceptable." OK. But if it's such a selfish thing to be unable to fulfill your partner's fetish, isn't it also selfish to not consider allowing them to fulfill it elsewhere? If someone won't do either, then that makes things a bit non-negotiable. But there is that third choice, and I don't think it shouldn't be ignored in an instructional manual for couples.

Maybe I'm taking this a bit too personally, because it hits close to home. What do you guys think?

EDIT: I do realize this is one lone paragraph, taken out of context. However, some of the surrounding copy seemed similar. And while I take issue with this particular concept, I'm not taking issue with the author. This person is well known and experienced. This is just my gut reaction to the concept that a mate should be expected to embrace and participate in his/her partner's fetish.

In other news, I spent 5 1/2 hours with my former stepmother S yesterday. We talked and talked and talked, about everything imaginable. My parents. Her parents. Her marriage to my father. Her first husband, who just recently passed away. Show business (more Six Degrees of Hollywood: her ex-husband's son is one of the directors of The Big Bang Theory, my favorite sitcom). Politics. Euthanasia (we are both staunch believers in it). She had two adorable little dogs (terrier mixes), both rescues, who scrambled all over me, brought me their toys and covered me with kisses.

A random memory I have from when my dad and S were married: They had a set of four sterling silver wine goblets, which they used every night. The glasses had some initials engraved at the bottom. When they split up, S took two of the glasses and left Dad the other two. I asked him what the initials stood for, but he refused to tell me. Soon after that, he got rid of his pair, because Vampira didn't want him keeping anything that had to do with S. (rolling eyes)

Anyway, I mentioned these glasses to S last night, and she said she still had them! After all these years... I was surprised. She found them in the wet bar area -- they were tarnished, but still beautiful. Finally found out what the initials stood for -- I thought it was God knows what, the way my dad acted about it, but it turned out to be rather sweet. Then she said, "Would you like to have them?"

Oh. Would I. Kind of silly, I suppose. I don't drink wine, and the initials on the glasses are from another time, another love. But I cherish them anyway.

As we said goodbye, she hugged and kissed me and said, "I love you." I blurted, "I just adore you, and I'm so grateful you're in my life." I am, truly.

Once home, I found a silver-polishing cloth and spent several minutes buffing the tarnish off the glasses. They are gorgeous; elegant and classy.

Much like S. My beautiful stepmother, still lovely at nearly 81.

Takin' it for Cane-iac!

2012-02-06T23:31:00.000-08:00

Recently, the good folks at Cane-iac wrote and asked if they could send me a few new things, so I could test and review them. Naturally, I said yes, without even asking what was coming my way.

Their package arrived late last week, and I opened it to find the Pink Stripe Rubber Loop Set (two sizes: 12" and 18") and the Lexan Paddle OTK, a 12" paddle sized perfectly for over-the-knee.

(gulp) Rubber? Lexan? I hadn't experienced Lexan before, and I'd heard it described in many colorful ways, from mild (it's not very forgiving) to strong (it sucks). But I was determined to be a brave spokesperson and put myself in ST's capable hands with these ~~beasts~~ beauties. After all, I do believe in this company and their product.

So tonight when ST arrived, I showed him the new toys (and watched his eyes light up, the sadist), and we talked about how we'd handle the testing. I remembered the last time I'd done a demo with their implements, ST had given me a nice long warmup, and as a result, I didn't get lasting color or any marks. Bravely I suggested that perhaps we should forego the warmup and go straight to the new implements. His eyes lit up even more and his grin was positively diabolical. Of course HE thought that was a good idea.

Off to the bedroom we went. I tried taking a "before" picture, holding all three implements, but as it turned out, they didn't show up well against my sweater:

So we did this type of before picture instead:

We decided to do 20 strokes of each toy per round, taking pictures in between.

He began with the Jr. (12") rubber loop, which is a great OTK toy. Without a warmup, the first round with the implements hurt like crazy, but I could still get a clear sense of how each one felt. The rubber loops were very snappy, more of a sting than a thud (which I like), and the loud CRACK they made was impressive. After 20 each of both the Jr. and the Sr. (18"), ST picked up the Lexan paddle.

Perhaps it's a good thing we weren't filming. Upon my first taste of Lexan, I used some language that would have been inappropriate for Cane-iac's site. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Once I acclimated a bit, I realized it had a feel that's unlike leather or wood. It's not as thuddy as wood, even though it's more solid and firm than leather. It has a very crisp sting and a bite upon impact (this particular one is 1/4" thick). Cane-iac's Lexan paddle is well made, with smooth, rounded edges and a non-slip vinyl handle. ST wanted me to mention that it felt very good to him (rolling eyes) and it was easy to use.

Here I am after two rounds of 20 with all three (120 strokes total):

We're just getting started!

Time for another position -- instead of on the bed, now it was bent over a chair. By now, I was quite warm and that sweater had to go.

Third set of 20 with all three -- bit more color now. And I was stamping and fussing a lot more.

(Big thanks to Zelle for Photoshopping the damn tag out of my bra! ♥)

But wait, there's more! All three of these toys could be used OTK, even the 18" loop. So over his lap I went.

We stopped counted the sets of 20; he just whaled away at this point. ST takes his product testing duties very seriously.

After three positions and countless strokes, I'd say we'd done a good test, and all three implements passed, even the Lexan. Once I was warmed up, I sorta kinda didn't completely hate it. OK, I loved to hate it. Or I hated to love it. Something like that.

So now I have three new additions to my collection, and I would recommend these to anyone who wants something different from the usual. The prices are excellent, and you cannot beat Cane-iac's customer service or quality of craftsmanship.

My one caveat about the rubber loops? I would say exercise caution about using them anywhere you're concerned about noise, because they do make a distinctive and loud snap. But as I always say, if your neighbors don't hear an accompanying shriek, they can't say for sure what you're doing. So make sure you stifle your reactions with a pillow or bedspread and you should be fine.

Oh... did you think we were done?

Hell, no. I had to retrieve the rest of my Cane-iac arsenal.

I was so sore after all those, he even let me rub:

However, despite it all, I couldn't stop giggling. I tried to tell him it was hysteria, but he didn't buy it. I pushed him a bit too far with this pose -- you can't see it very clearly, but I have my middle finger stuck through the loop:

OK, OK! I'm sorry! Sheeesh... Some people have no sense of humor.

By the way, I broke my Junior rattan cane. I would have taken a picture of it, but we couldn't find the piece that flew off. Honest to god, we searched all over the bed, on the carpet, under the bed -- that damn thing just disappeared. Knowing me, I'll find it with my bare foot eventually.

Even without a warmup, I didn't mark. Scary. But ye gods, I'm sore. Happily so, though. I needed this tonight.

(Right, Erica. When do you not need it??)

Thank you, Cane-iac. And thank you, ST, Testing Partner Extraordinaire. :-)

"Stop calling me 'ma'am,' you jackass!"

2012-02-03T13:14:00.000-08:00

That, ladies and gentlemen, was the line that sealed my fate in the latest clip on Spanking Court. I was happily surprised to see Clip #5 up so soon after #4. One more to go...

This is the one where the Judge oversaw my punishment and I broke down in tears on camera. Watching it yesterday made me squirm!

I think I was wiping my eyes or my nose or whatever in this shot. Look how heavy that paddle is. But I'd earned it.

Some excellent news! For those who would rather not join the Spanking Court official site, they have just opened a Clips4Sale store! For now, there are just a few of the early videos, but they will be adding new ones in succession and I assume their full library will up on there eventually. Very cool!

In other news, it's a great Friday. Not only did I get Chrossed (and congrats to all the others as well), but my beloved finally went to the doctor this morning. His knee hasn't been getting any better and it's been two weeks.

He's improving, folks. Last year, it took him five weeks to go to a doctor when he was sick, with some rather dire consequences, as you may recall. This year, it only took him two. (sigh) I've never met anyone so averse to seeing doctors in my life.

Or to taking anything. I had suggested he take Advil for the inflammation, but he refused. He iced it every day, but that's all he would do for it.

So, double good news. First, nothing is broken. Second, the doctor told him to take Advil, every day, for the inflammation. Yes, you stubborn man, love of my life, I told you so. (Don't worry, I didn't actually say that to him.)

Happy kitty, purr purr purr! (Any Big Bang Theory fans among us?) Have a great weekend, y'all.

Odds and ends not in my book, part 7

2012-02-01T12:19:00.000-08:00

The Bar Mitzvah Story

Most of you know that a Bar Mitzvah is a Jewish coming-of-age ritual for 13-year-old boys. A similar ritual for girls is the Bat Mitzvah, but when I was growing up, they were far less common. I'd been to several in my formative years -- my brother, a couple of cousins, some friends. To be blunt, in general, they are all a crashing bore. They go on and on, and the only reason you endure them is you get to go to a fun party afterward with dancing and catering at some posh ballroom.

Anyone who has read me for a while knows I have a cousin famous in the TV industry. Because he married a younger woman late in life, he has young kids. About 10 years ago, his son was Bar Mitzvah'd. John and I went, along with my mom and stepdad.

The ceremony itself was the usual protracted yawnfest. Celebrity's child or no celebrity's child, the ritual was the same, with endless readings, getting up and down (for whatever reason, they keep having you stand up for certain readings -- perhaps it's so your legs won't go to sleep), singing, Hebrew passages, yada yada yada. John and I were squirming in our seats.

Of course, there were Hollywood touches. At one point, the boy read a poem that had been written for him. OK, that's nice; any kid can have a poem written for him, I guess. But this particular poem was written by renowned author Maya Angelou. And signed, "Auntie Maya."

Whatever. By the time it was over, we fairly ran out of that shul (temple). Once outside, a few feet from the doors, John grabbed me, pulled me to him and laid a huge kiss on me.

"I saw that!"

We turned to see who'd called that out -- it was Carl Reiner.

OK, for those who don't know the name, Carl Reiner is one of the few people from vintage TV who is still with us (he'll be 90 in March). He is an actor, writer and director, and his TV career spans from Your Show of Shows (with Sid Caesar) in the 1950s, to the Dick Van Dyke show in the 60s (he played Rob Petrie's boss Alan Brady) all the way to the present, playing Betty White's love interest on Hot in Cleveland. He did The 2,000 Year Old Man with Mel Brooks. He's won nine Emmys and one Grammy (for comedy album). His son is Rob Reiner, who played Mike on All in the Family. Oh, and his wife Estelle delivered one of the most well-known lines in movie history -- "I'll have what she's having" from When Harry met Sally. You can read more about him here.

Anyway, so here we are with this TV icon mock-glaring at us. I laughed and said, "Wanna see it again?" "Sure!" he said.

So John and I went at it again. Carl then shot his hands up in the air dramatically and blurted, "No tongue! You're in front of a shul!!"

Later, when he came over to say hello to my mother, he nodded toward us and asked who the "kissing fools" were. Too funny.

The long-awaited reception was held at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, or was it the Beverly Hills Hotel? One of those Beverlys. Once there, we mingled among throngs of people and enjoyed huge shrimp and baby lamb chops (and those were just the appetizers). There was also a full sit-down dinner, with entertainment.

Often at a Bar Mitzvah, "entertainment" consists of a cheesy band playing old standards for the adults and elevator versions of rock tunes for the kiddies. Not this time. This Bar Mitzvah had a stand-up comedian.

Was it Uncle Morty, fortified with a couple of belts of Manischewitz, telling the old chestnuts about how a Jew, a Catholic and a Protestant meet in a bar?

Nah. It was Lewis Black.

I don't remember whether or not he downplayed his usual angry, epithet-laced style of delivery. I'm thinking not. What a night.

I've been thinking about Hollywood stuff this week, after seeing an obituary in the news on Monday. Another one of my father's peers, a director of comedy TV shows. I'd met him several times when I was a kid. He and my dad had an extra connection besides show biz, though. My dad's second wife, S? (not Vampira; this was the nice, pretty one, the dancer). She was this director's first wife, before she met my dad. It's a small world.

I dropped her a note to express my condolences (she did have a child with him, after all). I haven't seen her in over a year, but we're having lunch next Tuesday. I look forward to that; I just adore that woman. She's 80 now; I hope she'll stick around for a while.

She knows nothing about Erica Scott. Sometimes, I wish I could tell her, share my deepest secret with her. She's known me since I was eight. But I can't, and I won't. I doubt anything would faze her, as she's seen and heard it all. But it's still TMI.

Hope everyone's having a good week so far. :-)

Well, what do you know

2012-01-30T23:09:00.000-08:00

Tops can be fair every now and then!

When ST showed up tonight, he said, "So, I read your blog." Uh oh. But then he continued with, "I'm not going to spank you for defending yourself, or your friends. You're perfectly within your right to do that."

Hot damn!

And then he added, "I'll just have to spank you for something else, or make something up."

So much for that brief moment of fairness. Humph.

I told him that John had groused about the efficacy of his spankings. I quote, "Tell ST that whatever he's doing, it's not working! He's been there every week for well over a year and you're as big a brat as you ever were."

"There's no pleasing him," I grumbled during the warmup. "And there's no pleasing you either!"

"Oh, I don't know," he mused, running his hand over my bottom, still with leggings on. "This is a very pleasing backside."

"Thank you."

"It will be even more pleasing after your pants come down. Yes, this pleases me very much."

"Well, if you're so pleased, then why the @#$% are you spanking me?"

I never know when I'm ahead.

Here's an interesting discovery from this evening -- do you know that even a leather spanking buddy, when used with a very powerful hand, can feel like a club? I had no idea. But I'd swear that thing was a meat mallet, not a strip of leather, by the time he went full force with it. I was actually grateful when he switched to canes!

Still not all that red, is it? There was a lot more ahead.

No tears tonight; I was in a better frame of mind. But I had so much pent-up tension after dealing with the various asshats, I could feel it coming off me in waves. I struggled very hard not to scream, but a couple of yelps slipped out before I finally mashed my mouth into the bedspread.

Will you look at all these freaking implements?

But at last, it was the final ten with the wooden paddle. And then I curled up into a ball on the bed, bunching up the bedspread in my fists. He went to get the lotion; it stung, but felt cool as well. After a while, he got onto the bed and spooned with me from behind. We didn't speak for a long time.

I love aftercare. I love that connection, that time to transition back, slowly. I so adore how gentle he can be, after being so harsh.

Now, ready for something scary?

Here I am, still kind of in subspace, sprawled out on the bed among the toys. Check out my bottom. This is about 20-25 minutes after we stopped.

Looks like he hasn't even started yet, right? WTF?

Well, I can guaran-damn-tee you that it sure feels like he started, and finished too. But of course, to look at me, no one would believe it.

(sigh)

I can honestly say that at the moment, I couldn't give a rat's aspirator about whatever nonsense is happening on FetLife. :-) That should last me, oh, until tomorrow.

Oh! One more thing. Spanking Court put up another promo clip of that preview, and this one is much longer than the one on SpankingTube last week. You see more of the spanking, and get to hear more of my smart-ass lines. Also, watch for the moment in court when I temporarily crack up the Disciplinarian; I say something snotty and he abruptly turns his face to the wall. :-D Check it out here.

(Note: For whatever reason, the link above to the SC promo works in Google Chrome, but not IE. Don't know if it works in Firefox or not, since I don't have that browser loaded.)

Blissfully sleepy. Sweet dreams, ST.

"Oh, put a sock in it"

2012-01-29T23:22:00.000-08:00

It's been a strange, unsettling and combative week on FetLife. Granted, there are tons of members and a constant swirl of activity, and some things are bound to touch a nerve now and then. But this week really got under my skin. I allowed things to get to me more than they should, and I'm not thrilled with myself over it. And at the same time, I got sort of a heady thrill getting up in certain people's faces. I don't know what that's about, really. I don't like it, but sometimes, I can't seem to help myself.

It started earlier this week, with a man who posted a piece of writing about "what to do with your sub when she gets too full of herself." He then went on to describe in excruciating detail how you first put her in a hot bath, then tie her down naked to a bench, strap her with all your might for 15 minutes straight (not just on the bottom, but on her back and all the way down to the backs of her knees) until she's covered with welts, then give her an enema with hot soapy water. Guaranteed to change her attitude.

I wrote that yes, people tend to have a different attitude when they're in the hospital. Others chimed in, saying that punishment sounded excessive and irresponsible. He then wrote to me, "Erica, save the drama for your books" and went on to say that my books are lame. He also put down the others who agreed that what he'd described could seriously injure someone. Well, it turned into a free-for-all, and the moderator closed the thread. Should have ended there, but then this idiot, assuming three different sock-puppet names, went around to the profiles of everyone who challenged him, myself included, and posted insults to their pictures. One woman was fat, another one was ugly, etc. Me? He said I have yellow teeth.

I could have ignored it. But instead, I posted to all my friends that I'd discovered his sock-puppets, and I made fun of him along with several others. He started it!

Later, a particular political group posted something so offensive, a couple of my friends with opposing views joined the group to say what they thought. They were non-combative, not at all disrespectful. I did not join in -- I don't join political groups. Period. But I watched what was going on; watched as my friends were censored and banned for disagreeing. One of my friends wrote to the moderator, respectfully and politely, trying to get him to change his mind and allow a healthy debate. The moderator wrote back all sorts of rude, condescending crap, like "Give it up, boy." Boy?? Good Christ, I thought. People like this are voting in the next election. I'm scared.

Finally, another friend posted an announcement that she would be traveling soon and she was booking spanking sessions. She posted it in a spanking group and she got permission from the moderator to do so. But then it rolled downhill into one of those "spanking models are akin to prostitutes" flame wars.

And several pages into it, one of my favorite people (not) had to chime in, as always. A bitter, unpleasant, condescending woman who manages to start or exacerbate flame wars nearly every time she posts. She's been doing so for years, starting on the old Shadow Lane message board, and she continues to do so on FetLife. I have met her in person and I've gotten into it with her a few times online. She has a passive-aggressive, snarky, bitchy way of posting, with thinly veiled contempt for anyone in the pro spanking industry (she writes of "models" and their "work" using quotes). Even her punctuation is annoying. She never uses a period, a comma or a semi-colon; no, she ends every sentence (and mid-sentence) with ellipses. So her posts go on and on and on, several paragraphs, filled with "... ... ... ... ... " And it's never one question mark; it's always three. (???) She has these crappy little parties in her home, and she's always talking about MY parties, MY rules, MY way of doing things, as if hers is the benchmark to follow. (I heard from someone who went to one of her parties; she said it sucked.)

Last year, when there was a nasty thread going on about spanking models doing pay sessions at parties, she was so offensive that I blew up and told her publicly to put a sock in it, and that she didn't need to keep going on about HER parties, because we heard her the first 100 times. Several people messaged me and thanked me.

So this time, when she started up again (ending her rambling tome with her usual "Just my two cents"), I commented how it was amazing how her two cents cost us so much of our precious time. Then I posted "... ... ... ... ... ... ... ad nauseam. Yawwwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn."

Again, people wrote to me and cheered. How sad that she's so universally disliked. I could almost feel sorry for her, if I didn't find her so personally objectionable.

The thing is, I'm not usually into engaging like this. Truly, I'm not. I hate fighting, and I don't get off on being mean to people. But if certain people provoke me first, I take an almost perverse delight in poking them back. And I know I shouldn't, but dammit, sometimes... it's irresistible.

Maybe it's a holdover from my childhood, when I was bullied. Perhaps it's my righteous anger side, roaring to the forefront: "If you fuck with me, or my friends, I'm NOT gonna be quiet about it anymore!"

Or maybe it's simply that I have very little patience and people across the board annoy me. (sigh)

Regardless, I'm sure ST will take me to task for this bitchiness tomorrow. I welcome it. But damned if I'm going to take back anything I said. :-Þ

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 1/27

2012-01-27T13:34:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Friday. There must be something in the air this week -- I have seen more asshattery on FetLife the past couple of days than I have in months. Perfect timing for one of these columns, so I can blow off some steam.

wow sexy and u have sexy feet i like to lick and kiss your feet

That's nice. Go find someone who would enjoy that.

Are you into animalsex also ??

Does the occasional and regrettable encounter with swine count?

love how you're bottom swells after a good spanking.

Does it? This is news to me. Perhaps I should give ST a tape measure for a before-and-after. Or maybe I've been eating too many peanut butter Oreos.

When you get your bare ass spank does the man stop now an then to rub an massage your bare ass to keep it from tighten up an keep it loose so you could feel every smack sure hope so.

Please tell me I just imagined this one. It's too depressing to think people actually write this badly. Trust me, I feel every smack, tight ass or loose ass.

And now for fun with search phrases. I don't usually get into these, as most of mine are fairly straightforward, but I've gotten a batch of such bizarre ones lately, I had to share.

Sarah Gregory nude

Ummm... OK. Sarah Gregory is lovely naked. But how on earth did this phrase bring anyone to my blog?

Erica Scott is ticklish

Why yes, I am. But what does that have to do with anything?

ohmyhead model mayhem

WTF?? I do have a profile on Model Mayhem, but it doesn't give me a headache.

spanking pedicure

Again with the feet. How would one get a pedicure while being spanked? Wouldn't the polish smear all over?

And finally, can someone please explain this one to me? I swear, I'm not making it up.

facial waitress

For one thing, the phrase itself makes no sense. And for another, in what universe does anything to do with facials or food servers connect with a spanking blog? Perhaps an inept waitress tripped and gave a customer a facial with a bowl of soup, and got spanked for it. Oh, my head, indeed.

There are times when the Internet -- no, the world in general -- makes no sense to me. I'm very grateful it's Friday and I get to escape to John's for a couple of days. His knee is better, although now the bruises have bloomed and it looks scary, he says.

Have a great weekend, y'all. :-)

A Poem

2012-01-26T11:50:00.000-08:00

(Holding a flower and doing my best Henry Gibson impression. Who's Henry Gibson? He was on Laugh-In. What's that? Oh, Google it, for Chrissake.)

Some say that I have bratitude,

They claim I can't be good

But I'm not bad, I'm not, I'm not

I'm just misunderstood!

(Photoshop by -- who else? -- Zelle! Thank you, darlin'.) :-D

Spanking Court preview up on SpankingTube

2012-01-25T12:09:00.000-08:00

First things first. Thank you, everyone, for the comments and the private messages yesterday. I'm sorry I didn't do my usual replying to each individual comment, but I appreciated them all very much. Time for a bit of balance now and onto something a little more fun.

There is now a 4-minute+ preview clip on SpankingTube of my latest visit at Spanking Court. For those who haven't joined the site, I hope you'll check out this clip and it might get your curiosity going. At any rate, it's a fun clip, clearly showcasing the battle between the Court Disciplinarian and me. :-D Check out his gloating face when the Judge says I'm getting 150 strokes.

So far, the comments on the clip have been positive, but a couple of naysayers have complained that it's too much "blah blah blah" and not enough spanking action. It's a preview, kiddies. Of course they're not going to show a lot of action. If they showed all the spanking, you wouldn't bother looking up the entire video, now would you? Now go watch some of those delightful long clips of screaming, crying women being beaten into hamburger, jack off, and shut your yaps. :-)

Oh, and there's a fun little write-up of the preview on the Spanking Court blog, too.

Hope everyone is having a good week so far. And if you're lacking in laughs, may I suggest checking out Lea's uproarious treatise on cursing?

Raw

2012-01-23T23:09:00.000-08:00

This will not be the typical Monday night blog. Tonight was much more personal; there are no pictures. In a way, I don't feel like blogging about it. But I know I need to.

Looking at all those old photo albums kind of stirred up a hornets' nest. Feelings and memories resurfaced. I hated most of those shots; I hated my life when those shots were taken. So I ridiculed them. And I invited you all to ridicule them with me.

None of you did. And ST was none too pleased with me.

There was no opening small talk when he came in. He grabbed my hand, pulled me into the bedroom and sat me down on the bed. Then he told me what he thought of my last couple of blogs, and of the awful things I'd said about my pictures.

"You knew a lot of assholes back then," he said. "But you don't have to keep buying into and perpetuating their lies."

I was honestly bewildered. "I'm not," I said. "I'm just being honest. Those pictures are ugly. I WAS ugly."

"No, you weren't. What did you expect people to say when they saw them?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I dunno -- 'Gee, Erica, you sure cleaned up good'?" He laughed.

"I want you to recognize the lies; I want you to see what everyone else sees," he said, sitting next to me. "That you were beautiful then, and you're beautiful now."

Fucking tears. Always at the ready. Endless, bottomless well of the damn things. "Stop it," I mumbled, ducking my head. "You're going to make me cry. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at those pictures and not find them hideous." And then the waterworks started.

He pulled me close. "Don't think because you're crying that I'm not going to spank you," he warned. But he was too tender-hearted to do it at that moment. I lay in his arms, facing away from him. Even then, the internal nattering wouldn't stop. Don't look at me. I look ugly when I cry. My eyes swell, my makeup smears, my nose gets red like a boiled lobster. Don't. Look. At. Me.

Quite the opposite from my usual "look at me! look at me!" demeanor.

We talked a bit, my tears dribbling down the whole time, him stroking my hair. I felt embarrassed about my recent blogs, ashamed of still being so goddamn full of grief over my past. I thought I'd exorcised a lot of that, writing my book. But then all that old crap comes back and feels as fresh as is it were yesterday.

"You can talk about your feelings," he said quietly. "You can tell people about what happened to you. But you don't get to put yourself down. You don't get to continue where they left off."

I told him random things, fleeting thoughts and memories that skittered into my head. I talked about the time John was getting his hair cut and I was reading a magazine, and his barber called across the room, "And how are YOU, gorgeous?" I heard him. I went on reading and didn't answer. "Um, sweetie?" John said. "He's talking to you." My head jerked up in shock. It honestly didn't occur to me that he'd meant me.

"He couldn't have been talking to me," I murmured to ST. "Who would call me gorgeous, right?"

"I would," ST replied. Oh, damn him and his being so nice. How did he expect me to stop crying when he was being so sweet?

Finally, I did. And he took me across his lap. Rubbing my back, he said, "I don't really feel like spanking you now."

But of course, he did. Lightly at first. Then not so lightly.

It went on for a long time. I don't know how long. He kept it simple: just his hand, one small leather strap and a wooden paddle. We did not switch positions; he kept me OTK for the whole thing. And -- definitely a first -- neither one of us spoke a word. No banter, no dialogue. No sending me to get more implements, no stopping to take pictures. We kept going -- him silent and determined, me accepting and absorbing. The pain was love and comfort and I wanted it.

I didn't shed a tear during the spanking itself. When he stopped, I cried again then. I felt like one enormous exposed nerve. But safe. And so, so very grateful for his presence. For the caring. For his not abandoning or rejecting me.

It was a long time before we talked. Talking would bring me back to reality, and I wanted to stay in the bubble for a while. I guess he did too. Eventually, though, we slipped into comfortable chitchat. Then it was time for him to go. It was raining out, and his pup was home waiting for him.

Because we took no pictures tonight, I'm going to post another old one. But this time, it's one of my favorite photos. Many of you have seen it; I had it up in my old MySpace album, and I have it in my Facebook album. Some of you have not. I was 23 years old.

To this younger version of myself, I share these thoughts.

I'm sorry we had so much pain. Being shy, painfully self-conscious and awkward shouldn't be an invitation for ridicule.

I'm sorry people exploited our vulnerability and desperation to belong, and we were too sensitive to let it roll off. Instead, we absorbed it and believed it all.

More than anything else, though, I'm sorry I wished you were someone else. I'm sorry I ridiculed you and put you down. Because I was the last person in the world who should have done so.

I am 54 years old. Lifelong habits are hard to break. But it's not enough to embrace who I am now; I need to make peace with who I was, as well. I have, somewhat. Just have some more work to do, I guess.

And now, before I lose my nerve and delete all this, I'm going to hit Publish.

All over the map on Sunday night

2012-01-22T23:11:00.000-08:00

Not literally. I'm home and it's rather cozy and quiet in here, with the heater going to combat the chill from outdoors. My mind is wandering, however, as it does often.

On Thursday night, John was walking down the street in the dark, and didn't see a coil of wire lying on the ground. In a freakish accident, he stepped on the wire and it sprang up, tangling itself around his feet. He went down hard, bearing his full weight onto his right knee. He'd put his hands out and both got scraped/bruised, but the impact was on the knee.

Friday, I was distracted and worried about him and had a crappy day. Capped it off by misjudging the distance from the wall while exiting my garage space. I've lived in this apartment for nearly 21 years and have never done that... until now. Scraped up the driver's side of my car. It was dark and I was disoriented, and the sound was awful; I made it worse by trying to extricate myself. Ugh. Finally got onto the freeway -- and landed in the midst of a Sig-Alert from a very bad wreck. Took me 1 hour and 40 minutes to get to John's, normally about a 50- to 60-minute drive. By the time I got there, I was not a happy camper. And John's knee was the size of a cantaloupe. It didn't even look like a knee. Poor baby. He'd been icing it; he said it was even worse before.

So we spent most of the weekend home, parked on the couch and watching stuff, elevating and icing John's knee. By today, it was starting to resemble a human knee once again, and he said he could feel his kneecap (which he hadn't been able to do for two days). Icepacks are wonderful things. When we went out to eat, we made sure to get booths so he could prop his foot up on the opposite seat. He wasn't in much pain, but every time he stood upright or kept his leg down, the damn thing would swell. He promised me he'll take it easy this week at work.

Got home late this afternoon. A couple of scene friends are in town for a few days and one of them had messaged me about a spanking party they were going to this evening, saying John and I were welcome to come and if we wanted to, just text him and he'd send the address. Well, of course John was out, but I could have gone. If I were a different sort of person, that is -- more spontaneous. But I can't do anything last-minute to save my life, even if it's something I'd enjoy. Here I was, in sweats with grubby hair and no makeup, feeling kind of sleepy and glad to be home, and the thought of jumping in the shower, washing my hair and blowing it out, putting on makeup, dressing up and driving somewhere in the Hollywood Hills sounded about as probable as flapping my arms and flying to the moon. (sigh) I am who I am. Would have liked to be there, though. But I don't think I would have had as much fun without John, anyway. I don't like going to things alone. I did enough of that in my earlier years to last a lifetime.

I confess, I was bamboozled by the reactions to the photos I posted in the last blog. I'd expected that everyone would laugh with me and tactfully agree that yes, I looked hideous. Instead, one after another, you all said the opposite. So I wondered, just what the hell happened? Had I imagined it all? All the ridicule, the insults, the teasing, the unkind names, the snubbing? If I wasn't that horrible looking, why was everyone, including my own family, so damned mean?

I talked about it with John; he said it probably wasn't so much about how I looked, but what kind of vibes I put out. Very good point. I had no confidence, I was shy and awkward, desperately wanted to be accepted and popular, and that hunger and vulnerability rose off me like an unwelcome stench. I was wide open for being picked on, and when I overreacted to it, I invited more.

Being hypersensitive is not an asset, sometimes. What he said made sense. Add to that growing up in a Hollywood family in Beverly Hills; I was held to a ridiculously high standard. But perhaps if I'd had a confident, outgoing personality, a relaxed demeanor, instead of being this uptight, frightened little mouse, people would have overlooked the baby fat, the braces and the kinky hair.

Doesn't really matter, I guess. It was what it was. Everyone who posted nice comments, thank you. They all came as a shock, but I appreciate them.

Trust me on this, though; I was somewhat overweight. No, not morbidly obese. But y'all have seen me for years; you're used to seeing my body a certain way, the way it's been for a long time. Now picture it packing on another 35 pounds. Again, not obese, but definitely an Erica you wouldn't recognize. One who wore clothes that were several sizes larger.

Can you stand one more picture? This will surely crack you up; it's a 70s relic. In 1971-72, I used to hang out at a rec center in a nearby park, shooting pool, watching movies they screened, etc. On my 14th birthday, the gang there gave me a goofy card they'd drawn up and signed. On the front, someone had drawn a girl's body in a crop top and bell-bottom pants, and then they'd found a picture of me somewhere, cut off the head and shoulders and pasted it on top of the drawing. I just found that old card in a drawer a couple of days ago. Ready?

Happy BIRTDAY, indeed. And yes, I was a BIG girl. Here's a close-up of that top portion:

Ye gods. Come on, you can say it, that's a chunky face. I won't get mad. :-) Jeeez, who would have thought I'd look so much better a full 40 years later?? LOL

Anyway, enough of this. Tomorrow it's play time!

Hope everyone had a nice weekend.

OT: Embarrassing fun with my new scanner

2012-01-19T13:09:00.000-08:00

In my plodding, reluctant efforts to drag myself into more up-to-date computer equipment, I recently chucked my fax and my really crappy old printer and bought a new combo Epson printer/scanner/copier. I even set it all up myself, which is no small feat, considering that electronics and I are not friends. And I've never had a scanner before, so this is a fun new treat. Did some digging into antiquated photo albums...

For those who read my book or who have known me for some time, you'll recall that I've said I was a cute baby and little girl, but then things went awry and I went into an Ugly Duckling phase that lasted from around age 8 to my mid-teens. People tell me that I'm exaggerating, that I should produce pictorial evidence. Honestly, there isn't much of it. Aside from school photos, there are very few pictures of me in existence during that phase, and thank goodness. However, I did manage to dig up a few, so you can get some inkling.

First, we'll start with the cute stuff. Here I am on my first birthday. Yup, you can tell it's me -- my mouth is open.

OK, here comes the big "awwwwwww" moment. My brother's Bar Mitzvah -- I was three weeks shy of five years old (and I'd already learned how to smirk):

Look at those little gloves! "Hee hee, I look adorable and I know it." Yeah, enjoy it, little girl. In a few years, you'll look like this:

AAAACCCCK! My sixth-grade school photo; I was eleven. Braces and chubby face in full splendor.

Here I am at 13, holding our enormous orange cat Henry:

Will you look at that schnozz?? Now you know why the other kids called me Pinocchio.

Trying to hide behind Henry and failing utterly:

Back then, when people told me to haul ass, I had to make two trips. And I hadn't even reached my peak weight yet; that was at age 15. And no, I have no photos of that, mercifully.

Oh, and speaking of my book, you'll also remember my father's evil third wife, Vampira. Here's a rarity -- me, my dad and the wicked witch in one photo, on my 18th birthday:

Get a load of those nails! No wonder I had nightmares of her clawing me to shreds. Of the three smiles in this picture, I'd venture to say the only one that's genuine and heartfelt is my father's. ("Whew, my two girls are getting along tonight.") Right, Dad. Have another drink. (sigh)

Gotta love those old photo albums! The pictures have been in them for so long, they were stuck fast to the pages and I couldn't peel them off, so I had to stick the whole album in the scanner. Still worked, though.

Hope y'all got a few giggles out of this. I'll see what other treasures I can find in the pictorial archives. :-D

What do you guys make of this?

2012-01-18T13:06:00.000-08:00

A couple of months ago in a CHoS, I included a rather disconcerting correspondence I had with a guy from Alt.com. You may recall -- nice at first, talked with him, then he morphed into a dick (literally). Rather than link to that entire post, I'm pasting the pertinent section below for a refresher:

Last week, I got a reply on my Alt.com profile from a man who lives four miles from me. His note was brief, but respectful, and he attached a photo, a face shot, just as I requested in my profile. Nice. He also included his phone number and said "let's talk."

We had a nice conversation. He asked me a lot of questions, wanted to know about limits and tolerance, preferences, etc. Among other things, I told him that I love scolding, but I do not like verbal degradation and rough talk. "I totally get it," he said. Then he said that because he wasn't a top tier member on Alt, he couldn't see my pictures, only a thumbnail of the profile shot. Could I send him a few photos? Sure, I said, and he gave me his email.

I selected a couple of shots and sent them to him. And then I got this in return:

Very nice. I'll enjoy brutalizing your ass.

I felt like I'd been socked in the gut. Did he not hear a word I'd said? Brutalize? I don't want to be freaking brutalized.

I didn't reply. Then, last Monday, I got another email from him. This time, a close-up shot of his hand clutching his erect member. This is what's in my pants. Call me.

My Alt profile clearly states, in bold: "I want to see your face, not your dick. Please don't send me X-rated pictures."

I felt violated, like I'd experienced some sort of bait-and-switch. He was a gentleman at first, then as soon as he got me to nibble the bait, he became someone else. I thought I had better instincts than this; why was I so fooled? Was it because he was good looking? Am I that shallow? (yeah, I am, somewhat. Who am I kidding?)

I wrote back: "(sigh) If I wanted to see that, I would have stayed at my boyfriend's house." He wrote back: "I am not your boyfriend." Well, duh.

The next day, he wrote once more, asking if I was ready to come over for a spanking. I didn't reply. I was done. When he didn't hear from me, he sent me this: Clearly u r not ready to be spanked by a man like me. I thought we had a very clear and connected chat.

I didn't reply to that either, and figured that was the end of it. Here's the weird part: Ever since then, whenever I check my "Who's Viewed Me" page on Alt, his face pops up. He has looked at my profile nearly every day for two months. Why is he still looking at me? I've updated the verbiage a little bit, but nothing major is new. No new pictures. Certainly no reason for him to keep viewing.

Then a couple of days ago, lo and behold, I get a message from him:

well... r u finally ready for an intense spanking session. You know you want it. (his name and phone number)

No, honey. Clearly, you want it. I already have it, every Monday.

I didn't answer that and I don't intend to. But it baffles and amuses me. I wonder many things. First, this may sound like I'm putting myself down, but it's just reality -- he's a very handsome and fit man, and he's 15 years my junior. He could have his pick of the cute young things who don't necessarily care that he's an a$$hole. Why is he persisting with me?

Is it because he's not used to women turning him down, and that sticks in his craw? Or is it because he's not doing as well on Alt as he thought he would, so he came back to someone he managed to semi-fool once, in hopes that he could pique her curiosity? I just love how he puts it off onto me -- am I ready for him? Like he's the Holy Grail of tops and I should be honored that he's giving me another chance?

Same kind of deal -- it's tempting to write back and tell him what I think of him. But I think it will be more frustrating, ultimately, for him if I say nothing at all.

Takes all kinds, y'all. Once again, a million kudos to the Good Guys out there. :-)

"They all @#$%ing hurt"

2012-01-16T23:45:00.000-08:00

That title is the short version of tonight's blog. :-)

OK, so I'm not going with the short version. There's a surprise.

I had decided to be brave and try something new, toy-wise. I'd read on Cane-iac about their Delrin canes, made of a "thermoplastic polymer" that is flexible and virtually unbreakable. I figured since I'm constantly breaking rattan canes, perhaps one of these would be a better investment.

So I chose a basic short Delrin cane, 18" long. After I ordered it, I heard from the Cane Master, informing me that they were including a few extra treats for my testing/playing pleasure, to thank me for all the kind words in my blog. How nice!

The package arrived and I unwrapped my new Delrin cane, plus: 1) another Delrin they call the Tearjerker; a red rubber paddle; and a spiral acrylic cane. All of these were atypical for me and I knew I was in for a challenge. Especially when ST came over tonight and I told him about them; he was practically falling over himself dragging me into the bedroom to experiment. "There's work to be done!" he crowed. Oh, brother.

Unfortunately, someone was so eager to try the new stuff, he completely forgot the warmup, so I was feeling these new items cold. Aggghh! I complained so vociferously, he said I was ungrateful about my presents. I then had to take five from each toy, repeating after each, "Thank you, Cane-iac, for my wonderful gifts." And that was just the beginning.

A little after the fact, he then gave me a bit of warmup with the leather spanking buddy, which I'd given him for Christmas. We both love that one! Then it was time to put the Delrin and acrylic up against good old rattan, so we could compare the different sensations. (We?? What's this "WE" sh*t?) For a while, I could tell which was which, accurately describe the varied feelings. But as I became tenderized, they all blended and no matter how I tried, I couldn't compare them any more. "You sure?" he teased, alternating between them, trying to make me guess, but I just grumbled, "I don't know! They all fucking hurt!"

He didn't appreciate my language. Big surprise there, too.

Anyway, here is each implement individually:

This is the 18" Delrin cane, the one I ordered. As promised, it is flexible but very sturdy, and the length is perfect for OTK. I tend to like these shorter canes, since they don't wrap. This one is about as thick as the Senior rattan cane, so it's more on the thuddy side.

The other Delrin cane, the Tearjerker, is 30" and thinner, only 1/4". You can bend it into a circle and it won't break. This one is whippier and stings more.

Below is the spiral acrylic cane. It's a very pretty piece, and the spiral cut of the cane is perfectly smooth, no sharp edges. It's light, but it's very thick and packs a wallop.

And finally, the red rubber paddle:

Looks like it would be stiff, doesn't it? It isn't; it's actually very flexible and floppy, like a slapper. There are two textures; one side is smooth, and one side is rough and nubbly. I preferred the smooth side, so of course ST took great glee in using the rough side. (snort)

So, what's the verdict? My favorite of the four is the Tearjerker, believe it or not. "Favorite," however, is debatable, since it still hurts like hell! The regular Delrin and the acrylic were more on the thuddy side; not as much my cup of tea as I prefer snappy/stinging, but they are beautifully made and bottoms who enjoy thud will definitely go for these. The paddle was slappy and fun, although that rougher side made me cuss.

Here I am, having survived my product testing session:

But wait -- you think that's it?? Think again.

We went into the living room to watch my latest Spanking Court clip. Yup, it finally went up; the version that had gone up two weeks ago was corrupted and there were still a few issues with that clip that couldn't quite be fixed. However, it was up in its entirety and it had sound, and it was still a hell of a lot of fun. :-) By now, all pretenses of niceties between the Court Disciplinarian and me were off the table and it had become an open battle of wills. The zingers and sarcasm flew, and his facial expressions alone were worth the wait.

ST watched intently, and after it ended, he said, "You really need a good spanking for that. You have no respect for the Court's authority."

Say what? "Don't you think HE took care of that?" I snapped. "No, because you were being a smarty-pants all the way to the end!" ST replied.

"What about him? What was all that crap about 'oh, what a pleasure this is' and everything else he said?" I cried. But by then, ST had snatched me by the hand and dragged me BACK into the bedroom. Over the bed I went again.

He picked up his heavy leather strap, similar to the one used in the clip. "I think 50 with this might help remind you to be more respectful."

Good God, y'all. Usually, I take that strap very well. But now, after being Delrined and acrylic'd and rubbered and caned and what-all, I was already one hot mess of soreness. Those 50 strokes nearly sent me through the ceiling! At one point, I even rolled over onto my back, away from him. But then I rolled back and repositioned myself. He didn't have to say a word; just waited.

Owwwwwww...

Big meanie was snickering at me because I was wincing when I sat, wincing when I walked, rubbing my butt without even realizing I was doing it. (sulk) Oh, he was proud of himself. I could tell. Freaking tops and their sadistic glee.

Yeah, yeah. Poor me. I hate it so much, I subject myself to it every single week. :-D

Thank you, Cane-iac. You guys are a class act. And thank you, ST. You are too, always. ♥

Oh! Almost forgot. You might remember this photo from last week. Here it is again, after my buddy Dave Wolfe got a hold of it. I have to admit, I looked and looked at it before I finally saw what he'd done to it. Did you guys see it right away? :-)

"When Danny Met Erica" has a home!

2012-01-13T12:43:00.000-08:00

Happy Friday the 13th! I hope everyone has good luck today. I know that my fellow Chrosslings and I did. :-)

For those who have been following me for a while, you know about the video Danny Chrighton and I produced four years ago, called "When Danny Met Erica." It was our baby, written and done exactly the way we envisioned it. For a while, Shadow Lane was distributing it for us, but they have stopped the practice of distributing videos from other producers. So the video was homeless for a while.

I'm proud of that film and I wanted it to be available somewhere, dammit. I tried to open a Clips4Sale store, but there was just too damn much rigmarole involved. Scan and send them my driver's license! Scan and send them one of my bills, for heaven's sake. Ten-clip minimum to start a store! Screw that noise. So instead, I went to Spanking Library. Granted, they don't get anywhere near as much traffic as C4S, but it's OK.

Tony from SL was kind enough to break the video into three clips for me, and so I opened a new store and uploaded the clips yesterday. Here is my official Spanking Library store: Erica Scott clips. Three clips isn't much of a store, I admit. But I really don't have anything else to put on there at this point. ST and I have the fun stuff we've shot over the past year, but I've already posted everything for free, plus they aren't quite the quality for selling, I don't think. But that's all right; really, I just wanted WDME to have a place where people could find it. I do love that film, and I'll always be glad that I finally got to shoot with Danny. We wanted that for so long.

So I hope anyone who hasn't seen WDME yet will check it out! Lots of good spanking action -- OTK, strapping, hairbrush. And great chemistry, which we had from the first time we met.

Ah, don't be so mad, sweetie -- we're back on sale! :-D

And speaking of new clip stores: For those who enjoy F/M video, there's a newbie in Clips4Sale -- Dana Kane Spanks. She has recently started shooting premium video and has a small selection of clips to which she will be adding lots more, including some F/F content too. Please drop by and show her some love -- she's fun to watch!

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Thoughts on photo blogs

2012-01-11T14:12:00.000-08:00

First, the disclaimer: I mean absolutely no offense to anyone who runs a photo blog. Some of my friends have photo blogs that are adjuncts to their regular blogs, and that's fine. These are simply my observations and opinions, and I welcome yours, as I'm curious about what others think.

Is it my imagination, or is it true that practically every time I log on, there's a new spanking-oriented photo site in the blogrolls? Pictures, pictures, pictures. No words. No stories. Oftentimes, not even a reference as to the origins of the photos. Just photos, one after another after another, every day, all over the place.

Can these really be considered a blog? Isn't a blog a web journal? Doesn't that imply that writing and creative expression is involved? Where is the creativity in copying and pasting pictures?

Please don't misunderstand me -- I love pictures. I post plenty of my own. But they are always accompanied with writing, a background, a setup. They have a story. They are not there just for the sake of being there.

Granted, I am female, and according to the gender cliches, we are not as visual as males are. But really, how many pictures can you look at before it all becomes redundant? One trend I notice is that the same pictures make the rounds of many of the photo blogs. Click on one blog, there it is. Click on another, there it is again. Posted and reposted. And reposted again.

You don't even get to read interesting comments on these photo blogs. All you see are lists of people who liked them or reposted them.

Again, where is the creativity? I am old school, I guess. I like the written word. I like to read someone's thoughts and feelings.

Also, in some of the so-called spanking photo blogs, the photos have nothing to do with spanking. They are simply cute young girls with their butt to the camera. That's not spanking. And this is my own personal distaste, but I'm really, really getting tired of seeing the straight-on, spread-open kitty and back door shots. Jeeezus.... if I click on a blog looking for a spanking picture, I don't want some woman's hoo-ha in my face, so close up I feel like a damn gynecologist. Sure, there are glimpses of private bits in spanking pictures. But I'm talking blatant display here.

Even though there are thousands, perhaps millions of pictures out there, you're going to get repeats when so many people are posting them. Am I the only one who finds this boring?

Granted, not all the photo blogs are created equal. Some are more varied, some have a particular theme, etc. I didn't want to name names in this post, but I'd like to call attention to one photo blog I find exceptional -- At a Kinky House. Not just a spanking photo blog, but an exploration of kinky romance with gorgeous pictures.

What are your thoughts? Photo blogs, yea or nay? What do you like about them? What do you dislike? If I could make only two suggestions to the photo bloggers, I'd choose these: 1) credit the photos whenever possible, and 2) find some variety, please. Don't just copy and paste something that's already been on a dozen other blogs.

Again, I mean no offense, and I am not anti-photos. I just don't want to see the death of writing; it's already being tortured by text-speak and crappy grammar.

Are you ready for this?

2012-01-09T23:10:00.000-08:00

You may want to sit down. I don't think y'all have ever seen me quite like this. And you probably won't again, so you'd better memorize it. I may come to my senses tomorrow and take it down. :-)

OK, so the naked thing is nothing new. The collar? That's another story.

Allow me to backtrack to the beginning of this evening, if I may.

When ST first arrived, he asked me how I was doing. He already knew, having read my blog. And I'm sure he knew I needed to blow off some details. I can talk to him about this stuff. He is as discreet as the day is long. And he's a switch himself, so he understands.

He sat quietly and let me vent a bit about my frustrations with the domme/slave thing. When he sensed I was finished, he did an assessment -- perhaps it was subconscious on his part, or maybe it was deliberate. He knew I wanted and needed to be edgy tonight. I craved to be pushed, challenged, unnerved a bit. I needed to let go.

"I could use a beck-and-call girl, myself," he mused, winding his hand into my hair and tightening his fist. "I think I should make you MY little spank slave."

"Right," I scoffed.

"I have a collar and leash right here in my bag," he said, watching my face closely. "I think I should put it on you, what do you think?"

He was checking with me. I knew it. I blustered, "Oh my god! You've GOT to be @#$%ing kidding me!"

But I didn't say no. And so the collar went around my neck.

Only with someone I trust this much, would I go there. I constantly amaze myself with the things I'm willing to do with him, things that are so out of my little play box. And tonight, that was just what I needed.

He made me crawl into my bedroom on my hands and knees, and once I was on the bed, I had to take off all my clothes. But not before I had one last moment of defiance.

After that, I was subdued rather quickly. Especially when the clothes came off and the ropes came out. Collared and tied, I was helpless.

"Now I can do anything I want, can't I," he taunted. "And you can't do a thing about it."

No, I couldn't.

And oh, it hurt.

"You're not going to scream, are you?" he growled in my ear. I shook my head vigorously. "Perhaps I should MAKE you scream."

But somehow, I didn't. I cried, I smashed my face into the bedspread. But I did not scream. I did say please, please... "Please what? Please show you some mercy?" "Yes, please," I sobbed. "I'll think about it," he said.

After the tears began, he softened a bit. He untied the rope and took off the collar. But the spanking went on for quite a while after that.

He paused, hovering over me. "Are you getting what you need?"

"Yes."

"Do you need some more?"

"Yes, please."

He obliged.

"Go on, let it out," he murmured as I wept. I did. It felt so, so damned intensely good. The knots in my stomach and chest dissolved. All the tension flowed out with my tears.

I don't know how he always knows just what to do, where to take me. He asked me if I liked it. I answered as honestly as I could: "I liked it with you." I don't believe I'll ever fetishize that degree of D/s. It's not me. But freefalling a bit, knowing he's there to catch me, is damned hot.

Reluctantly, he finally let me put some clothes back on.

But just for the record, we did do another scene. This time with canes. Dammit, canes really hurt when you're already sore. I had some choice utterances.

"You've invoked both God and Jesus -- want to try for the Holy Ghost?" he teased.

"I wish you were a ghost," I snapped. "Then you could disappear."

I never learn. Fortunately, he's willing to come back, again and again, to try to teach me. :-)

Thank you for being here for me.

How much does one share?

2012-01-08T23:07:00.000-08:00

We live in the age of social media, of anything and everything being fodder for the Internet, for the tabloids, for blogs. People post their deepest, darkest secrets, their pain, their joy, their Achilles heels. They play out their lives, all grossness intact, on reality TV. So what are the rules, if any? How much is too much? When does sharing encroach upon TMI? When does it violate another person's privacy?

I am very open about my life, and I also find writing to be a therapeutic tool. When I blog about my life and my struggles, it makes me feel more connected and less alone to know that others are reading and relating. But sometimes, my struggles involve other people, and then I have a dilemma. If I don't write, I don't feel like I'm being true to my blog or to my readers. But if I do, I feel like I'm running the risk of saying too much about another. I am very discreet and I never reveal things over which I've been sworn to secrecy. Still, I hesitate over many entries sometimes, and end up scrapping them, even though they are things I desperately want to talk about, get a broad variety of viewpoints.

You all know I love John dearly. However, like all couples, we have our struggles. I've made no secret of the fact that we both play with other people because we cannot fulfill each other's fetish fantasies. I cannot top him, and while he can top me, I can't take him seriously. I'm too close to him.

So he plays with femdoms and I play with male tops. I have a distinct advantage: I have a flexible schedule during the week and I can meet with ST or other tops I've known on my own time without impacting my time with John. Unfortunately, John cannot say the same. He works 12-15-hour days during the week and the only play time he has is on weekends. The time we spend together. So whenever a femdom comes into his life, it impacts us, sometimes a great deal.

John does not play with pro doms. It would be easier if he did; then he could set the time and date, have his sessions, get his needs met. But he doesn't want that level of control. Part of his need is for the domme to have complete control, so he doesn't play with scheduled pro tops. He really doesn't play, period. He enters into service with lifestyle dommes. The ones who expect their subs to be at their beck and call. And he gets consumed. I watch his usual logic and reason and priorities go *poof*.

Because of how I play, I am able to completely compartmentalize and schedule what I do. John cannot. So whenever a femdom comes into his life, it's very disruptive.

Pro dommes, while they may be strict, play hard, etc., ultimately do what their clients wish them to do. They are in a business of fulfilling fantasies. Not so the lifestylers; not with John's and my experience, anyway. They want what they want when they want it. And part of John's desire is to give it, without limits. It's pure submission. If he hooks up with someone sane and reasonable, it's not a problem. However... there are a lot of extreme femdoms out there. It's not just male tops who can be dangerous, kids. There are some John has been with who have scared me half to death. He'd tell me stories about things they'd done to their slaves and I'd feel sick with fear when he went off to scene with them. The best female tops love men, just like the best male tops love women. But I have seen more men-hating femdoms than I care to think about.

Long story short? It's starting again; he's met a new one. The last one was so bad, she nearly broke us up. He says this one isn't crazy. For one thing, she knows all about me. That's an improvement; in the past, he's denied my existence to these women, claiming himself single and unencumbered. He says he has to; that if he tells them he has a girlfriend, they'll dismiss him. The last one actually came to his house and went through his trash, searching for evidence of a woman's presence. So who knows. Maybe this one will be different.

But after over 15 years of bad experiences, I'm skeptical. The old fears kick in. No, he won't leave me for a femdom. He loves me. But when he's enthralled with a domme, he becomes a man I don't know.

I don't want to go into the details of his relations with femdoms and the specifics of things that have happened over the years. Because then I think I'm crossing the line into his life. Which brings me back to my original dilemma... I don't know how much to share. I want to talk about what's going on with me and how I'm feeling about it, but I know I must stop at some point before it becomes TMI about John. Even this post feels like too much, and yet I'm sending it. Because it's something that's looming very large in my mind and I need to talk about it.

Not easy.

Please don't worry; the relationship is good. John has his weaknesses like any other (including me, heaven knows), but he is one of the best people I know. Today, when we went to brunch and we were at the register paying, he glanced over and saw a grizzled older man sitting by himself eating. He had an oxygen tank sitting on the booth next to him and tubes going up his nose. John handed the cashier a $20 and asked her to please use it to pay for the man's lunch.

I can't stay upset with a man like that.

I guess time will tell. I need patience and flexibility, and I don't have either one of those in abundance. Oh hell, I don't have either one of those at all. But somehow, I need to find them. Or learn how to fake them.

I want him to be happy. I want him to have the same fulfillment I do.

Thanks for listening.

Odds and ends not in my book, Part 6

2012-01-06T13:16:00.000-08:00

Life's Small Triumphs

When I was in my early 30s, I had just joined a new gym. I didn't know anyone there, so when a girl who took the same classes I did started chatting me up, I was responsive.

I don't wish to use her name, as it has an unusual spelling, so I'll just call her S. She was in her mid-20s, married (unhappily, but hubby was very wealthy), and her insecurity made my own crappy self-esteem look like the benchmark of confidence. In 20/20 hindsight, it never was much of a friendship, being so one-sided. She did most of the talking, I did most of the listening. But at that time, I was lonely, and it felt good to be needed. Plus, we did have some fun. We went out to dinner frequently, and it was fun taking the aerobics classes together. We both liked one instructor named Jim -- actually, I had a ferocious crush on him, and I confided in S about that.

Of course, as most of my crushes were back then, it was unrequited. Jim would flirt with me in class, but he flirted with all the women. In fact, there was an inner circle of girls I used to call the "Jim groupies" -- his pets, the ones he hung out with, bantered with in class the most. I always wanted to be in this circle, but as was my M.O., I was on the outer fringes, looking in.

Long story somewhat shortened, SF got into this inner circle. She hired Jim as her personal trainer and she got close with the other groupies. And I guess she didn't need her sounding board anymore. It was subtle at first, but it became more and more obvious -- she turned into a Mean Girl. She'd ignore me in class and in the locker room, and when she did talk to me, she'd make little digs, especially about Jim. How wonderful it was training with him. What a great guy he was. How funny. And oh, I hadn't lived until I had one of his neck massages. (Of course, I hadn't.)

I really didn't understand why she was doing this, and it hurt. But there wasn't much I could do about it, so I carried on, going to classes and watching her and her fellow Jim groupies carry on. Christ. I thought I'd seen the last of this kind of thing in grammar school.

One day in class, we were doing cool-down stretches and Jim was blathering on and on about some flavor of Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Then he asked, "Has anyone in here NOT tried Ben & Jerry's?" I raised my hand, and he flipped. "Erica! You're kidding! No way! Oh, you've GOT to try Ben & Jerry's. How could you not have ever had Ben & Jerry's?"

Simple. I had an eating disorder. Ice cream was a binge food for me -- I couldn't stop at one scoop. I'd eat the whole pint. Or the quart, as the case may be. And B & J's was just too damned caloric. At least if I ate a pint or more of fat-free frozen yogurt, it wouldn't go right to my ass. But I wasn't about to tell him any of that. So I just shrugged.

After class, I went into the workout area to stretch a bit more. A few feet away, Jim and S started her training session, and I could hear her giggling and nattering at him. I looked away, but I could still see them from the corner of my eye. I saw her glance in my direction, then whisper something to Jim. He looked over at me and grinned. Oh, hell, I thought. What was this about?

Jim then sauntered over to me, squatted down and smiled into my face. "Hey, Erica," he purred. "If I came over to your apartment and got naked, then would you eat Ben & Jerry's?"

I looked over and saw S smirking. That bitch. She'd told him. He knew I had a stupid adolescent crush on him, and now they were trying to embarrass me.

It would have been typical for me at that point to blush furiously, duck my head and stammer out some lame reply, then go home, kick myself 500 times and think of the perfect thing to say after the fact. However, life decided to bestow one of its Golden Moments on me. I looked Jim right in the eye and purred back, "Honey, if you came to my apartment and got naked, I'd eat gravel."

I'm not sure why I chose gravel, but it worked. It sounded funny without being gross. Jim's eyes widened, and then he gave me a genuine smile before he backed off. S was speechless. That wasn't the reaction she'd expected, clearly.

After that, she left me alone. Eventually, she stopped coming to the gym, and I never saw her again.

What made me think of her, after over 20 years? I recently saw her name and her photo in the newspaper... in an article about mothers with autistic children.

I never pictured S being a mother, let alone one of a child with special needs. This is the same woman who once told me that she couldn't clean her own house because it would ruin her manicure.

Life certainly takes some strange turns, doesn't it.

Speaking of my book, I recently received a tweet that read, in part: "50 pages into your book & I've cried 3 times. You're an amazing woman." Thank you, dear. That made me cry.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Some fun photos for your Hump Day

2012-01-04T11:57:00.000-08:00

OK, so two weeks ago, I noticed that some pictures from my 4th clip were up at Spanking Court. Cool, I thought -- that means the clip is forthcoming. However, then I saw the notice that court was in recess for the holidays and instead of putting up new clips during that period, they showed some out-takes. Nuts.

Yesterday morning, I checked back at the site, and hallelujah! My clip had been added. I grabbed my coffee, sat back and prepared to enjoy watching the spirited, snarky debate as I hauled the Court Disciplinarian in front of the judge to complain about what I considered his inappropriate behavior...

Picture, yes. No sound. (sigh)

I wrote to Cali to give her a heads up; she wrote back and said their webmaster would take care of it right away, that it was a great scene and they were going to put up a preview of it on SpankingTube as well. YES! But so far, the scene has been taken down, but it's not back up yet.

You know what? Screw it. I'm going to post some pictures from it anyway, just 'cause I damn well feel like it. :-)

Here we are in court -- as you can see, I'm vociferously protesting. Not that it did me any good, but I certainly gave it my all. Notice the whimsical look on the Disciplinarian's face. He knows it's not going to go well for me.

The next couple of pictures needed a little extra something, I thought. Speech bubbles, perhaps? So I added them. :-)

Poor guy -- it's hard work, that job of his...

Stay tuned!

Oh, wait. Guess there's another picture, isn't there. After all the "yea" votes, I suppose it would be too much of a tease if I reneged.

Yes, John likes to mark his territory. Fortunately, I enjoy that sort of marking. Please disregard the satchels under my eyes -- I'd just gotten out of bed.

Hope everyone is doing well on this back-to-work week. :-)

First spanking of 2012

2012-01-02T23:34:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! So what could I possibly have done to get myself in trouble so early in the year?

Did I break a New Year's resolution already? Nuh uh. I didn't make any. Apparently, His Toppiness thought that was inappropriate.

"Come on," I protested. "What do I need to make resolutions for? I don't smoke. I hardly ever drink. I don't need to lose weight. I already exercise."

"Well, aren't you Little Miss Perfect!" he said.

"Why, yes, I guess I am, now that you mention it."

That didn't fly at all. It seems that not making a NY resolution is the height of arrogance and is a spankworthy offense. Gee, what a surprise that is.

He's enjoying his Leather Spanking Buddy way too much. He did the entire warmup with that thing. Oh, but he hastened to inform me that even with the spanking buddy, his hand still stings a bit. Poor dear.

"Life's a bitch," I muttered. "Or a bastard, as the case may be."

"Are you calling me a bastard?" Oh, for God's sake. I said life, not you.

To be fair, however, once he broke into the heavy artillery, he started out fairly light. Until I opened my big yap and said, "What style is that from -- the Lame-Ass School of Spanking?" So much for light, after that.

Yikes -- even with the "white-spotting" on the right cheek, still not that red. I thought I was done with the final 10 that I could barely count because I was fairly incoherent. And I was done, for a while. But then...

ST and I are both creatures of habit. On occasion, I know what he's going to say before he says it, because I know his phrases. For example, when it's getting to be about that time, he'll take a breath, kinda sigh and say, "Well, I guess I ought to be going." Sometimes, I say it with him. Other times, like tonight, I repeat it, mimicking him.

Someday, I'll learn that tops don't like being mimicked. Maybe. Or not.

I got much redder with Round #2. Ouch.

It's going to be wonderfully ouchy year. :-) ST's resolution is to keep my bottom red on a regular basis. I'll drink a cup of kindness to that! (What the hell does that mean, anyway?)

Speaking of 2012, did everyone have a nice New Year's Eve? John and I went to Old Town Monrovia and saw the movie "The Descendants," then we had dinner. The restaurant was lively with people partying, drinking and wearing NY's Eve hats, so we asked a friendly man at the next table to take our picture.

Later, we came home (and John's next-door neighbor was out for the night; blissfully quiet!), watched the Twilight Zone marathon until it was time for the ball to drop, then had champagne at midnight. I had one full flute and was pleasantly buzzed.

He'll kill me for posting this, but I just have to show him off. Here's John, preening in the shower on New Year's morning:

How many 53-year-old men do you know with a body like that? Mmmmmppph.

Of course, he took a shot of me that morning too. Bedraggled mop of hair, no makeup... and hickeys on both breasts. Hmmm. Shall I post it? If I get enough "yea" votes, I'll think about it. ;-)

Reflections on 2011

2011-12-30T14:15:00.000-08:00

Last Chross Day of 2011, and I made the cut. Way to end the blogging year! Congratulations to all my fellow listees today.

This has been quite a year for me, with some amazing highs. First and foremost, I published a book. Not just any book -- my autobiography. It took a year-and-a-half to write it, and after that, the process of formatting and pulling it all together for publishing began. With the help of a talented photographer and the uber-talented Zelle, I got a spectacular cover. In August, it officially went on sale.

The feedback has been beyond gratifying. To everyone who has purchased it, reviewed it, commented about it, written to me about it... thank you. So far on Amazon, I have sixteen 5-star reviews, and I have a collection of heartfelt private messages that I treasure. And shooting the promo video with Richard Windsor was great fun.

Other experiences this year: Last January, I flew to Connecticut to work with Sarah Gregory and "Tubaman" Paul for a few days. That was unforgettable; not just the shoots themselves, but hanging out with them, the house we stayed in (complete with two dogs), the snowstorm, the laughs. Such a blast!

Spanking Court came into my life this year as well. Again, it wasn't just about the shoots -- I met a group of wonderful people who were all so very kind to me, told me I was a joy to work with. I'm not the easiest person in the world to get along with, but when I'm with people I like, my hard edges soften and my fun side emerges. They have moved from Hollywood to Northern CA, which saddens me, but who knows what 2012 will bring. They have lots of plans for new content and I hope there will be a place for me in them.

This time last year, John was recovering from a strep infection in his blood that nearly killed him. He has since gained back all the weight he lost and his physique is the best it's been since I've known him. Fifteen years plus, and I still can't take my eyes off him. :-) He has been healthy all year and I am so, SO very grateful for that. Neither one of us is perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it seems we are perfect for each other.

He still thinks I'm beautiful, no matter how old I get. Last night when he called, he said, "I'd like to speak to the cutest girl in the world, please." Of course, I had to be a smart-ass and reply, "I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number," but it still gave me a big smile and warm fuzzies.

I had a fabulous year with ST, the top formerly known as New Guy. Week after week, we've had amazing scenes, but more than that, we have a close friendship that means a great deal to me. He's a special guy and I'm very lucky to know him. Here's to 2012 and lots more fun (and maybe some more videos!).

Of course, what goes up, must come down, and there have been some spectacular lows, some hurts and losses. I'd rather not dwell on those, however. They'll just start the waterworks going again, and really, I'm so fucking sick of tears. Overall, no one died, I have no work but I have money in the bank, I have a home I love, I have friends, I have John. If I were to make any resolution for the New Year (and I avoid them, as I don't believe in changes being dictated by a date on the calendar), it would be to try to focus a little bit more on the positives. Easier said than done, given my naturally pessimistic nature, but I'd like to try.

No big plans for New Year's Eve. Last year, John's next-door neighbor had one of his huge, noisy blow-outs that went all night, so I'm hoping that won't be the case again this weekend, but if it is, it is. At least I don't have to live next door to the guy; I can put up with him for one night. We will most likely see a movie and have a nice dinner out, and he has champagne waiting in the fridge for midnight.

I hope everyone will have a safe and happy New Year's Eve. May 2012 be a good year for us all. Thank you for visiting my little corner of the spanking blogosphere and I hope you'll keep returning. ♥

I had to laugh

2011-12-29T13:34:00.000-08:00

Some of my readers will remember posts from a couple of years ago, when John and I were scening with Craig Aych and his wife at the Lair de Sade dungeon. As you may recall, my scenes with Craig were awesome, but I didn't like the place or most of the people there. Way too much ADD (Almighty Dom Disorder). (No, I can't claim credit for that initialism.)

In particular, there was one DM (Dungeon Master) who used to strut around like a pompous peacock, implements sticking out of his pockets, flexing his muscles and talking tough. He and I never spoke to one another, but I was always aware of his presence (it was hard to miss him, really).

Here's an excerpt from an April 2009 blog, after playing:

We ended up hanging out in the kitchen for another hour, although I did very little talking. I sat and listened, this idiotic glowing grin on my face, feeling myself fade. Just one sour note marred the bliss; there was a guy in the kitchen (not going to give any name or details) who was talking a mile a minute, blustering away about how he manages his slaves. He beats this one, fucks that one, beats AND fucks this other one. None of his slaves is allowed to close the door when she uses the bathroom ("It's MY house, and I have complete access to EVERY room, ALL the time"). He went on and on about what he won't accept, and said, "You can tell me no, but only once. You say it a second time, and you're out the door." Charming.

I was leaning my head against John's shoulder, looking the other way and allowing myself to make disgusted faces. Part of me was thinking, "Turn it off, Erica, turn it off, don't listen, don't listen." ... there was nowhere to go but outside, and it was too cold and I was just too damned sleepy. I have to tell you though, folks, it took all my restraint to not snap, "Oh, Jesus Christ, get over yourself." What good would that have done? He'd just laugh it off and probably tell me something like I needed a few hours with him to set me straight. And I would have embarrassed John. I have to remember where I am, and behave accordingly. I just wish I could understand why this sort of thing makes me react so strongly. At least John validated me. He's usually the first one to chide me for being judgmental, but when I brought up how I felt about our blowhard buddy, his first words were, "Oh god, he was a BORE."

So why am I laughing? Well, this guy basically looked down his nose at me every time I was at the Lair, since I was so obviously a misfit there. Spanking? Meh. Cotton candy. He's into REAL submissives and slaves. Right?

Right. Guess who answered my Alt.com ad? LOL!

Give My profile a read If you want to talk write Me back

Yup, same guy. Writing to a clearly non-submissive, non-slave type, 14 years his senior. How desperate is he? What's the matter, Hot Stuff -- did your harem get sick of your domineering ass? Guess he doesn't recognize the sassy brat at the Lair who had a mouth and a voice and who rolled her eyes at him every time he used his.

Part of me wanted to reply: "I know who you are. I've seen you, and heard you, at the Lair. No, thank you." But then I figured it's even more of a diss if I just don't answer at all, or look at his profile. He's been looking at mine every day. And he can see that I haven't looked at his.

It's a strange world, folks.

Interesting Xmas Eve

2011-12-27T23:09:00.000-08:00

Y'all know where I stand with the holidays and with family dynamics (particularly dysfunctional ones). But I have to say, Xmas Eve at John's sister's house was remarkably pleasant. And since I'm more of an observer and bystander in these events, it's interesting for me to sit quietly, watch and listen.

I know John was hurt that all three of his siblings dropped the ball on Thanksgiving, so I was kinda relieved (albeit annoyed that it was at the last possible minute) that we got the invitation from his sister S for dinner. It turned out to be a very low-key time, with just eight of us. Not as overwhelming as past gatherings.

When I first met John's oldest niece and nephew (M and P), they were 14 and 12. And obnoxious. They displayed what I soon learned was the typical collective family attitude toward John -- a kind of disdain. Yeah, that Uncle Johnny sure is weird, isn't he? Never mind that he's the smartest of the four, or the most successful, career-wise. He's still the oddball who gave everyone compact fluorescent lightbulbs for Christmas ten years ago when they were new and expensive, because he's into saving energy and the environment. He's still the only one who never married or had kids, so he's not normal. He's still the one they always teased, picked on and made fun of. "We think you're a saint for putting up with him," his sister said to me, during my first year of dating John. Of course her kids were going to pick up on that attitude.

But now, M and P are 29 and 27, and they've grown into nice adults. They are warm and affectionate with both of us and show a lot more appreciation and respect for their uncle than they ever did growing up. I watched John bask in this and it did my heart good.

He was the superstar of the evening, because he went into his wine cellar and contributed not only a bottle of 1981 Vintage Port, but a magnum of champagne. This is a hard-drinking crowd, folks. Both bottles were consumed (and do you know how freaking huge a magnum is??), and they wanted more. He also knew how to get a very old cork out of the port bottle without crumbling it into the wine. And, for presentation, he'd brought along a Waterford crystal decanter.

M just got engaged to her long-time boyfriend. He's going to be an engineer -- and John has been one for over 30 years. So he was the go-to guy of the night for answers on an engineering career. It made me happy to see that too. His family has always had this "Oh, John's such a know-it-all" air. His brother-in-law once said to me, "There are two ways to do anything -- John's way and the wrong way," which really pissed me off. So this was a pleasant change.

His sister, of course, was plastered early on. But I have to say, she was very nice to me. And so accepting of my food oddities. His other sister (you know, the one who can't cook anything without a quart of oil, several sticks of butter and a pound of cheese) certainly isn't. When we came to the dinner table, I saw that S had set aside a bowl of salad for me, before she put a rich and creamy dressing on it. My salad was plain, and there was a cruet of fat-free raspberry vinaigrette by the plate. She also filled my dinner plate with plain steamed cauliflower, before she poured cheese sauce over the rest of it. I thought that was quite considerate; stuff like that goes a long way with me. I feel self-conscious enough about being a picky eater and having an abhorrence for butter/cheese/heavy sauces, and I'm usually prepared for people to give me a hard time about it, not willingly accommodate it.

I was quiet most of the evening. We lingered at the dinner table for a long time; others were chatting it up, but I just sat and listened, fighting a bit of drowsiness from the champagne. I've never been much of a talker among John's family, which is one of the reasons they've always thought I was such a stiff. But then P started talking about a word game they all like to play (Bananagrams), and S said, "Oh, Erica would KILL you in that. Erica, have you ever played Bananagrams?" I'd never heard of it, so I said no. "Oh, you have to play! Wanna learn?"

I love games. I grew up playing every conceivable board and card game (and billiards, too), but I got out of the habit because John doesn't enjoy games. So I felt my enthusiasm and competitive side kicking in as we went into the living room and they showed me how to play.

John told me about this later: While I was in the living room, he'd lingered in the kitchen, helping to clean up. (I know John... part of this was to be nice and helpful, but most of it was so he could wash his own Waterford decanter and not have his intoxicated sister handling it!) He said S came into the kitchen and shooed him out, telling him he really should go in and watch us playing Bananagrams. "You have to see Erica -- I've never seen her so excited or animated! Go enjoy it!"

Sheeesh. How little she knows me, really. John said he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't answer, "Oh, I've seen her like that before. You should see her at a spanking party." (snicker)

We had thought we'd be ducking out around 8:30-9:00, as soon as we could politely escape. We ended up leaving at 11:30.

The family won't change. His siblings will always be people I really don't care for, and they probably won't ever regard John any differently. They're never going to be the close and supportive family he yearns for. But it sure was nice to hear M call out the door as we walked toward my car, "Love you, Uncle Johnny!" And he was cheerful the rest of the weekend.

Ugh. I'm so glad I was able to let go of the need for family validation. John hasn't been so fortunate. So, these good times mean a lot.

I guess the best I can do is keep reminding him what a wonderful man he is, and how I got the best of the [his last name] family. :-)

Well, THAT didn't take long, did it...

2011-12-26T22:53:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know. I'm obnoxious. :-)

Technically, it's still usable. It was the 26" Junior cane, and just a couple of inches snapped off. ST says he can sand and file the tip and it will be good as new, just a little shorter. But it seems I need to consider getting one of Cane-iac's tougher canes. One of those flexible ones. But I admit, I'm a little nervous about those! Someone on FetLife said I should try a Dragon Cane. I don't even know what the hell that is, but it sounds evil.

However, let's not be hasty. I do still have two other canes, you know. Which ST put to good use tonight, along with the leather slapper and all his other damn weapons of ass destruction. He was rather smug and gleeful about it all, too. "Oh, does that hurt?" Again with that! (snort)

I made it quite clear what I thought of his attitude.

He then made it clear what he thought of mine.

"If it makes you feel any better," he teased, "I'm not going to spank you again until next year." Oh, har har har.

We then watched our video on my TV, since he burned it to a DVD for me. After that, it was time to load the photos from his camera onto my computer. Of course, my computer decided to be temperamental and completely froze up, and I had to restart it. So we had a couple of minutes to wait...

Yup. Over the chair.

"Your computer was conspiring against you," he said. "It knew you needed more." Oy.

"Are you done now?" I snapped.

"I'm never done spanking you," he replied. "I just take breaks."

The man is insatiable. How fortunate, considering that I am, too. :-)

Less than one week and all this holiday business is over for another year. And can someone please explain to me why they're still showing Christmas commercials when it's December 26th? Feliz Navidad, my ass!

Off Topic: Holiday Reminiscence

2011-12-25T16:48:00.000-08:00

(Yes, this post will be out of character for me. Have to keep y'all guessing once in a while, don't I?)

Something you might not know about me -- I love classical music. When I was growing up, I was exposed to three types of music in my home: 1) from my brother, rock and roll, 2) from my father, movie/theater soundtracks (yes, show tunes), and 3) from my mother, classical music. I had a special affinity for the latter and loved to listen to it at night before I went to sleep. I was familiar with many composers and their various pieces.

One piece of music I adored was Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker Ballet." I think everyone has heard bits and pieces of this ballet in their lifetime; for example, who hasn't heard this? Anyway, it's a Christmas-themed ballet, so every year at the holidays, there are several live productions of the Nutcracker. But when I was little, I never saw the ballet, just heard the music. I didn't know the story behind it.

When I was in my early 20s, I finally saw The Nutcracker. A friend and I got tickets and went to the Music Center in downtown L.A., and for the first time, I got to see the beautiful tale that went with the music. Briefly, it is the story of a lonely young girl named Clara, who, on Christmas Eve, is given a handmade Nutcracker doll by her uncle, who is a toymaker. She is so enamored of it, she can't sleep that night, and sneaks downstairs after everyone has gone to bed. She finds the doll under the Christmas tree and falls asleep there with it in her arms. At midnight, everything around her changes, and her Nutcracker doll changes into a handsome Prince, who whisks her off on a magical journey with lots of treats and surprises.

Over the years, the ending scenes of the ballet have changed, but in the original version (the one I saw), toward the end, Clara and the Prince dance together, and the music takes on a somber, dreamy tone. You sense that something sad is about to happen. Sure enough, her uncle comes into the scene; he has come to take her back home (or, if you will, it's time to wake up from her dream, and her uncle is a symbol of reality). The dance becomes a poignant struggle for Clara -- you can see that she knows she must go with her uncle, she wants to obey him... oh, but how badly she wants to stay with her beloved Prince. The two extremes are highlighted by the fact that the Prince is all in white, while her uncle is in black.

As I watched this unfolding on the stage, over 30 years ago, I bawled like a baby. Not just because the music and the dance were so achingly exquisite, but because it touched me personally. After all, at that time, I was well acquainted with having dreams and fantasies that felt so real, were so compelling, that I wanted to immerse myself in them and never come back.

My life is not the same now. I have a prince of a man, and I made many of my fantasies come true. But I still love The Nutcracker ballet. And I still can't watch that scene, or hear that part of the music, without my eyes welling.

For those who might enjoy this, I did some digging through dozens of clips on YouTube and found my favorite version of this scene I love so much, with Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gelsey Kirkland. It starts out energetic, but the poignant pas de deux (French for "steps for two") begins about a minute-and-a-half into the clip.

I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend.

Happy Merry Joyous etc.

2011-12-23T15:41:00.000-08:00

Or not. Whatever you're celebrating this weekend, enjoy it. And if it's like every other weekend for you, then that's OK too.

I am so jazzed that ST got our video, "It's a Wonderful Spanking," done and I was finally able to get it posted last night after several failed attempts. Just in time to be Chrossed! And I am in wonderful company this week with lots of fun holiday-themed blogs. The video has gotten a ton of hits; now, can we have a few more comments, please please please? :-D

Yes, I'm an attention whore. This can't be news to you. Well, if not for me, then definitely for ST. He worked hard and did a fabulous job cutting it all together.

A couple of shout-outs today. First, if you'd like to hear Richard Windsor's annual Christmas program (cool music and recorded greetings from several spanko people, including Pixie and Dana Specht), go here. Rich puts a lot of work into these shows and they are clearly a labor of love. I was very pleased to be included, as I was last year.

Also, Pandora Blake's Dreams of Spanking production site has officially launched! I know she's thrilled to pieces over it and I wish her all the best. Go take a look around.

And finally, for the F/M spanking aficionados among us, check out Dana Kane's latest hilarious Product Testing video. This woman has way too damn much fun. Cute apron, too!

So, what's everyone's weekend looking like? John's sister pulled one of her famous last-possible-minute "Oh, by the way, we're having dinner" invitations for tomorrow, Xmas Eve, so we're headed to her place for the festivities. John will bring champagne, for which I am grateful. Of course, ~~we're stuck with~~ we look forward to picking up his mother and taking her there. The good news is, she'll want to go home early, which is fine by us! More good news -- John's brother and sister-in-law are having Xmas Day dinner, but we weren't invited to that. Also fine. One dinner is enough, thank you.

Family or no family, I look forward to being with my beloved. ♥

Whatever you're doing, whomever you're with... have a great, stress-free, fun holiday weekend, y'all.

It's a Wonderful Spanking!

2011-12-22T21:49:00.000-08:00

Here it is -- our 2nd annual holiday video! Thanks to ST and his intrepid editing, we have 16 minutes of spanking silliness for you. So without further ado, I present: My visit from Santa's demented lisping elf, Seymour. :-)

(oh, and because I know there are perfectionists like me out there who will point this out, I'll do it for you -- I got my cartoon characters mixed up. Yes, I know... it's not Elmer Fudd who lisps, it's Daffy Duck. Oh well!)

Hope you enjoy! For reasons unknown, the full version absolutely refused to upload, even after three attempts. So it's in two parts.

Part 1:

And Part 2:

Who are you calling an "old, wrinkled jerk"?? Bah.

2011-12-21T12:49:00.000-08:00

Put down your coffee cup, your water, your juice, whatever, or you'll spew it. Check out Zelle's JibJab holiday card to me. :-D

~~Make sure you click on the Full Screen icon (lower right corner) to expand the screen and see the faces more clearly.~~ Forget that! I made the screen bigger. Did you recognize everyone? (I can't believe she put David Selby in there. LOL!)

Oh, and she made a point of telling me she did NOT write the script. (snicker)

And why the hell is the turkey stuffed with broccoli?

Thank you, Zelle!

Today at the mall

2011-12-20T16:44:00.000-08:00

Went against better judgment in hopes that an inspiration for John would strike. The man is impossible to buy for, but every now and then, I get lucky. This year, no ideas.

Parked two blocks away on residential street to avoid the crazily crowded lots. Walked in and looked at mall directory. Five million stores. He likes Old Navy. Every other store but Old Navy. He likes books. Five million stores, but not one book store. He likes CDs. No music stores left, either. It's a Kindle/MP3 world.

Wandered through mall. Walked into a couple of clothing stores to look at men's shirts. Very specific taste -- collared shirts, short sleeves, 100% cotton. Saw nothing like that. Left clothing stores.

Bought myself a 2012 calendar. Bad Kitties. Thought that was apropos.

Thirsty. Stopped at Food Court to get a soda. Stood in line 15 minutes for one freaking drink.

Went into Target, hoping music section might have some CDs. Nothing but rock and rap -- no classical or jazz, his two favorites. Left Target.

Saw a mini-train chugging through the mall, shuttling small children. Looked at the side and saw it was named the "Red Caboose Express." Stood there staring at it and giggling. People passing by looked at me funny.

Went into one more clothing store, but sensibilities were assaulted by over-loud Xmas music. Left store without looking.

Went into Things Remembered (personalized gifts) and considered a nice coffee mug. They couldn't engrave it while I waited -- I'd have to come back to the mall later in the week. Forget that. Left Things Remembered.

Figured this was hopeless and left the mall.

Drove home in traffic. Took a gulp of my soda at a red light and it went down the wrong way. Had to pull into a parking lot until I stopped wheezing.

Got home. Went online and ordered John a gift card on Amazon.com.

Probably what I should have done in the first @#$%ing place.

Preview of coming attractions

2011-12-19T22:44:00.000-08:00

Tonight, ST and I shot another Holiday Extravaganza! He showed up with his video camera and a fun idea; he even had a few props. I was laughing and clapping my hands like a kid -- yup, Ericaneezer Scrooge took a hike for a little while.

We were a little more ambitious this time, fooling around with different camera angles and shooting/reshooting the same scenes. And ST is going to be doing some very creative editing and special effects. OK, so the lighting wasn't perfect and we were a little off in our angles and we flubbed some lines, but we shot lots of variety and I know he'll have plenty to cut together and make something terrific out of it. It was hard not to crack up through it all -- in fact, I believe I did, several times, as did he. :-D How can you not laugh when you're being spanked by a demented elf with a speech impediment? (yes, really)

One goof we made -- we shot all the scenes, got all the extra snippets we needed, and then he put the equipment away while I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Only then did we realize we hadn't taken any stills! Arggh!

Oh well. You'll just have to wait for the video. But in the meantime...

I gave ST his gifts. I'd made him some brownies from scratch and had them nicely packed in a Tupperware container with a bow on it. Along with those, I'd gotten him the Leather Spanking Buddy from Cane-iac (I'd ordered it at the same time I ordered the first cane). Naturally, he just had to test it, immediately. And he passed the elf cap onto me.

Yeah... we're not too hammy, are we? ;-)

Poor sulky elf...

I love the Spanking Buddy! It packs a wallop, but it's a stinging, slappy, leathery wallop, not a thuddy wallop.

ST felt bad; said he didn't get me anything. I told him his gift to me is year-round. :-)

Stay tuned -- I'm hoping to have the first clip or two up by Wednesday.

And speaking of clips -- forget Clips4Sale. Not only do they have a 10-clip minimum, but someone told me they now require you to update and add new stuff monthly. Screw that! Something will work out. W.D.M.E. will be available again, somewhere. :-)

Things are never as simple as they seem, are they?

2011-12-18T23:21:00.000-08:00

As you guys may remember, I've been trying to figure out what I want to do with "When Danny Met Erica," the video Danny and I shot and produced together. For a few years, Shadow Lane was distributing it for us, but they're no longer distributing other people's material. Same deal with other video companies.

So I thought, OK, since everyone seems to have a Clips4Sale store these days, I might as well join in. I wrote to Tony and asked what I needed, since he had the master DVD. He said he'd break it up into three clips for me and then, if I had a C4S store set up, he'd upload them for me, or send me a disk, whichever I preferred. Very nice of him.

I'd heard setting up the C4S account is quick and easy. Not quite.

First, they require a scanned file of your ID, plus a scan of one of your bills (with your real name and address on it). I still don't have a scanner. I meant to get one -- I've been researching all-in-one printers and had finally narrowed it down to the exact make and model that I want. And it's out of stock everywhere. I called Epson and they said it's back-ordered, and they'll email me when it's in stock. So, still no scanner.

OK, that's an inconvenience, but doable. I just have to go to Fedex/Kinko's and use their scanner. However, there was another requirement. I have to have a minimum of 10 clips to establish a store.

I don't suppose they'll accept 3 instead of 10, huh? Even if I ask real nice? Blech.

So I checked out Spanking Library. I didn't see any minimum requirement there. But they said it's mandatory to give an address where 2257 documentation is available.

OK, I know what 2257 is -- that's the bit where you have to prove all people on camera were over 18. I don't have documentation and papers and photos and all that crap like the studios keep -- it was just a private little thing between Danny and me. He did put the 2257 notice in the video, because that's required. But I have no address to give them. Mine? Sure, I could do that, but what happens if they ask me to produce papers?

So forget them too.

Dammit! All I want to do is sell this film somewhere. It's too good a piece of work to not be available. And it breaks into three perfect clips, since it's comprised of three separate scenes.

Wish I were more savvy about these things. It's rather frustrating.

Oh well. In other news, I got an unexpected reprieve this weekend. John's sister and brother-in-law, for whatever reason, didn't have their annual holiday blow-out party this year. They've done it every year for the past 30 years or more, and I've gone with John every year since I've known him. I've written blog accounts of a couple of them, too. Basically, it's the same scenario each time: tons of people, live music, food I don't like, lots of noise, copious quantities of alcohol and pot, people getting progressively louder and drunker as the night goes on, dancing in a tiny area where there isn't enough room and people crashing into each other and stepping all over each other's feet, and me wishing we could go home. Yes, I know. I'm such a fun party girl.

I think I mentioned this before, but John's bro-in-law once made fun of me in the party invitation, writing, "You'll like this one, Erica -- we've invited several librarians and we'll be playing chamber music." Asshat. What can I say -- I'd much rather spend a few hours with a couple of good friends, a good meal and some champagne. Have a conversation during which I don't have to scream over a racket. I really can be fun in that kind of scenario. Honest. And if you think I'm some uptight librarian type, you lecherous boob, I've got a few websites I can show you.

One more bit of news: Since Late Bloomer came out, I've had a resurgence of sales for What Happens to Naughty Girls? However, I've been informed that it's no longer on sale at Amazon.com. No worries, as it's still very much available from its original site at Lulu. If you click on the picture of the book on the right (just below the picture of Late Bloomer), it'll take you directly to its Lulu page.

And don't forget, y'all -- if you've read LB and you liked it, and you haven't already done so, please drop by the Amazon page and leave a review. I have 15 so far, and every single one helps. Thanks. :-)

Anyway, tomorrow is the last chance before Hanuchristmakwanzadanivus for ST to spank the Scrooge out of me. Let's see if he makes any progress.

Time for a Christmas carol parody

2011-12-16T12:20:00.000-08:00

Several of us trot these out during the holidays; here's a few examples from the ever-brilliant parodist Lea. As it happens, I've borrowed one of the same songs she did, but I've gone in a different direction with it. I now present my ode to spanking implements, O Bag of Toys (to the tune of O Christmas Tree).

♪♫ ♪♫

O leather belt, o leather belt,

Your SNAP has my ears ringing

O martinet, o martinet,

Your tails are really stinging!

That hairbrush is,

One nasty pup,

I’m eating dinner

Standing up!

O leather belt, o leather belt,

It’s pain that you are bringing.

O razor strap, o razor strap,

Upon my bum you’re crashing

O wooden spoon, o wooden spoon

I don’t deserve this thrashing

The paddle makes

My bottom red

Why can’t he use

His hand instead??

O razor strap, o razor strap,

Straight to the Dumpster dashing!

O Cane-iac, o Cane-iac,

Your canes came in the mail,

Both 5/16” and 7/16”

Were whacked across my tail

I never mark, the stripes don’t last

But oh they smart, I’m learning fast

O Cane-iac, o Cane-iac,

My neighbors heard me wail!

O bag of toys, o bag of toys,

With nerves of mush you fill me

But if I threw you in the fire,

My top would surely kill me!

But when it’s all,

Been said and done,

I must admit,

You’re kinda fun.

O bag of toys, o bag of toys,

Don’t tell, but yes, you thrill me. ♥

(shhhhhh... that last part is a secret!) ;-)

Have a great weekend, y'all. Don't forget to vote for your favorite Blog of the Year.

Very tough choice, I know

2011-12-15T12:26:00.000-08:00

This year's Spanking Spot "Blogger of the Year" award nominations are up; a list of ten, and yours truly is among them.

I know it's cheesy to say it's an honor to be nominated, but honestly, it is. I mean, there are so many spanking blogs and talented writers, and to land on a short list of ten is an amazing compliment.

It's a difficult choice this year. I am in great company, including the P's -- Pink, Pixie, Poppy and Pandora. And of course, Chross. So winning isn't happening, but some votes from friends would be lovely and validating nonetheless! :-)

Voting is open until 12/21. Good luck, everyone!

Buns of Steel Award + miscellaneous

2011-12-14T12:56:00.000-08:00

On today's Spanking Court blog, I was named one of four recipients of the Buns of Steel Award (the others are Alex, Katarina and Cookie).

Here's the funny part, though. Cali wrote that all four of us broke an implement during our sessions. For the life of me, I can't remember breaking anything! I mean, wouldn't I have crowed about it endlessly on here if I had? Now Alex, she broke something. She snapped a paddle in half.

So, I wonder what the BOS award looks like. Will it look good next to this? :-)

In other blog news -- want a giggle? Check out Hermione's Wednesday WIN today. I don't know where she finds so many great pictures, but it made me laugh out loud.

And finally, in today's Idiocy Award:

(Warning: Men, you may want to stop here. Girly hormonal stuff ahead.)

Without going into too much detail, let's just say that when a woman is in menopause, her estrogen levels are reduced, which can affect her sex life. So, I have been recently prescribed low-dose estrogen cream. Now, considering that the word "vaginal" is in the cream's name, that's pretty much a no-brainer, right?

Wrong. On the package is a bright red warning label: "For vaginal use ONLY."

Really? What did they think I was going to do, stick it in my ear?

What's next? Warning labels on K-Y Jelly? "Not for use on toast."

(massive eye roll)

My second purchase from Cane-iac

2011-12-12T22:59:00.000-08:00

OK, I confess -- I didn't get a new cane from Cane-iac.

I got two new canes. The Master's Choice JR 26" cane, and the OTK cane, which is 18". So now I have three total.

Some of you who find canes a bit horrifying are thinking, "WHY???" Others didn't even blink. John said, "Why didn't you order a whole bunch more? They break!" Oh, please. I'm breaking my own rule here as it is! What is it I always say? "If a top wants to use implements on me, he can damn well buy them himself!" Ah well. I guess ST shouldn't have to foot the bill for everything.

So tonight I got all three. Of course, two of them were the same thickness, so they felt similar. But the longer one was whippier. Overall, I'd say the 7/16" one is a bit thuddier and the 5/16" versions sting and bite more. And the 26" version whips more than the 18".

Oh, that's too damn specific for overall, Erica. OK. They all effing HURT! Is that better?

I confess, we didn't go for the "no warmup, more stripes" caning. In fact, we almost forgot the canes altogether, as ST went to town with his usual bag of tricks. But after I'd recovered a bit, I went to my bedroom and retrieved the canes. Yes, I'm insatiable. And I was curious.

ST had a grand old time doing the Three Bears routine with the three canes. Or should I say, the three bares. Although there was just one bare (mine).

I think the 5/16" version shows the striping a little better, don't you?

"Oh!" I said when we were winding down, "we need some product placement shots!"

No, this is NOT what I meant, smart-ass.

Sheesh. Everyone's a comedian.

Let's try this again, shall we? Here I am, happily showing off all three of my new toys.

As with the first time, quick delivery and excellent packaging. I am singing their praises once again. In fact, I posted something on Twitter about becoming a "Cane-iac Maniac," and Ms. Zelle happened to see it. Her latest creation:

(giggles) I'm quite the muse, aren't I?

I had a gyno appointment this morning (always a barrel of fun) and while I was there, they told me I should get a flu shot and a "dtap" shot (combination of diphtheria, tetanus and pertussis, AKA whooping cough). Ugh. I got one in each arm, and they warned me that I would have a fair amount of soreness, because they shoot directly into the muscle. Holy crap, they weren't kidding. Here's the good news: thanks to ST, I'm not thinking about the pain in my arms at the moment. :-)

Odds and Ends not in my book, Part 5

2011-12-11T22:21:00.000-08:00

Since many of you seem to enjoy my "old Hollywood" recollections, here's another one -- the Marty Feldman story.

Even if you don't recall the name, you know when you've seen him and you'll never forget one of the greatest comedic faces of all time.

Here he is as Igor (pronounced Eye-gor) in Mel Brooks's "Young Frankenstein":

Many remember him this way. Me? I remember him as a frequent houseguest, and a sweetheart of a guy.

When I was in my early teens and living with my dad and his second wife S (the nice stepmother, not the mean one), Marty and his wife Lauretta (who looked a lot like S, with long dark hair and high cheekbones) came often from England for Marty's work here in the States. Whenever they were here, they stayed at our house. It was entertaining, to say the least.

Marty was pretty much the way you saw him on TV and in movies -- very hyper, energetic, wildly funny. He drank a lot of coffee (and alcohol), smoked like a fiend and couldn't sit still for five seconds. But so charming and very endearing. He was a vegetarian, and I remember S cooking separate vegetarian meals for him. Whenever there was a party and she'd make one of her favorite crowd-pleasers, lasagna, she'd make two -- one with meat and one without -- if Marty was there.

Not only was he hyper, but he was accident-prone. One summer night during one of our pool parties, he went charging through the patio door to the pool, intending to jump in, I guess. Unfortunately, while the glass door was open (thank goodness!), the screen door was closed, and he ran into it so hard, the screen split open the bridge of his nose. I still recall him sitting in one of the deck chairs, looking rather dazed, while his wife held tissues to his profusely bleeding nose.

It was so much fun having them as houseguests. But after my dad and S split up and we sold the big house, that all changed. Now he was with Vampira, and God forbid she associate with any of Dad's old friends who had also been friends with S. Stupid cow. So when Marty and Lauretta came to the States after that, they stayed in a hotel, and Dad and I would go visit them.

My #1 favorite memory of Marty is from one of those visits. (Some of you have heard this story before, so please bear with me.)

One Sunday, we were at the Feldmans' hotel; several others were there and they'd ordered a spread of food. I was 16 and already in the throes of my eating disorders, so I sat quietly without touching any of the food. Marty, fresh from all the wonderful treatment he'd had at our house, was determined to be a good and proper host himself, and he was also determined that he was going to get me to have something, even if it was just a beverage.

So, basically, he offered me just about everything liquid in existence, in rapid-fire succession. The conversation, very brief, went as follows, the replies flying like bullets. I don't think either one of us drew a breath.

Him: Erica, love, would you like something to drink?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Are you sure? A glass of wine?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: How about a soda?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Juice?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Water?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Coffee?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Tea?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Well, fuck you, then.
Me: Fuck you, too.

Very calm, very matter-of-fact, in that perfect English accent of his. Of course, afterward, he gave me a big hug and we both laughed.

Marty died in 1982, at age 48, of a heart attack. Way too damn young.

I'll never forget him.

Things That Annoy Me, Part Whatever

2011-12-09T13:15:00.000-08:00

That's right, I've lost track. Really, it would be much easier to list the things that don't annoy me. But not as much fun and certainly not as cathartic.

Every now and then, I feel like ranting about a phrase or term that irks me. The last time I did, the phrase was "I'd take a bullet for you." First of all, that's a stupidly empty phrase -- people just say it to sound like Friend of the Year, when they know damn well they'll never have to prove it. And second, who says I want you to take a bullet for me? Then you're dead or maimed, and I'm left with lifelong guilt. No, thank you.

Anyway... today's phrase is the feel-good saying: "Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened."

OK, on its sweet and shiny surface, it sounds nice. Scratch off the veneer, and you'll see that it's utter BS.

Sure, it would be nice to completely bypass the normal grieving process of loss and skip straight to the warm and happy fuzzies. And maybe some people can do that -- if they are robots, or if they're lucky enough to be sociopaths who are devoid of those pesky human emotions.

Along the same lines, I recently came across a post where the writer was talking about the transience of some relationships. I can't remember the exact wording, but it was something along the lines of, "People come and go in our lives. There is no point in morning [sic] those who have gone; we should simply focus on what we learned from them."

Oh, kiss my ass. Tell you what, folks. Don't tell me not to cry, and don't tell me not to mourn. Don't invalidate my feelings. And if you don't, I'll do my part and I won't call you an idiot for spewing such drivel.

I'm not saying we should steep ourselves in grief and stay there indefinitely. But feeling sad, crying, etc. over something we've lost is part of the process, a step that cannot be skipped. It deserves acknowledgement and patience. Telling someone they shouldn't cry or grieve is the very thing that's going to keep them stuck. Because they'll shove down the feelings and never process them properly.

I know what you're thinking. "You have your own feel-good phrase that you trot out, Erica." Yes, I do. "The depth of your despair will be the height of your joy."

Let's review. Is there any part of that saying that tells the person not to despair? That denies or invalidates the existence of the sadness? No. It is merely a statement of hope, reminding the person that if they are capable of feeling deep pain, then in turn, they can also feel great joy. And they will, sooner or later. When I'm in the pits, I tell myself this, and I know that at some point, the tide will turn.

Here's a thought, folks: Next time you talk to someone who has just suffered a loss of whatever kind, spare them the invalidating homilies. Instead, simply offer them your most heartfelt "I'm so sorry."

Enough of that. In other news, my Cane-iac blog got Chrossed today, which makes me happy. That will bring even more attention to them, which they deserve. I received my second cane in the mail today, so it will be tested next Monday. :-)

And finally -- I may be an Uber-curmudgeon this time of year, but let it not be said that I can't laugh at myself. Check out my December persona, courtesy of the brilliant Zelle. :-)

Those glasses are not mine; she Photoshopped them on. Damn, she's good! Oh, and where did she get a photo of me making such a smug face? Where else... it's my mug shot from Spanking Court.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Implement Aversion

2011-12-07T12:34:00.000-08:00

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?

My first purchase from Cane-iac

2011-12-05T22:55:00.000-08:00

I've been hearing about Cane-iac for a long time now; the buzz was good products, good prices and good service. Well, I could use a new cane, considering that ST busted mine earlier this year. And his as well. Remember?

So last Monday, I ordered their Master's Choice SR 28" rattan cane. This is their best-seller, and it was only $9.99. It arrived on Thursday -- talk about speedy! Nicely and discreetly packaged, thoroughly bubble-wrapped. I was impressed. I noticed it was a little thicker than my last cane had been. I know nothing about cane thicknesses, so I assumed this one was standard.

ST and I had a missing week to make up for; I was very glad to see him. We chatted a bit and caught up, and then of course it was time to get down to business. Fortunately, he was kind enough to give me a thorough warmup before progressing to my new toy.

Oh damn, it's cane time.

ST also noticed the cane was a little thicker, so it wasn't just my imagination. It was a substantial, well-balanced cane, strong yet flexible, but a little more on the thuddy side, rather than the stinging. However, that also means it won't break or wrap as easily.

It had been a long time; I'd forgotten how canes feel. Ouch.

ST, of course, was having way too damn much of a good time. "It's been so long, I'd forgotten how much fun this is!" he teased.

"It's only been two weeks!" I snapped. "Longest two weeks of my life," he replied.

Awwwwwww. The big lug.

He didn't stop with the cane, of course. I clearly wasn't done, as my mouth was still running. "You just can't stop wisecracking, can you!" he said.

"What do you want, stupid-cracking?"

No. Evidently not. Out came the paddle, his belt and the big strap. Soon after that, I finally shut up. Isn't that amazing.

For the finale, he gave me a choice: Belt, strap, paddle or cane. I could barely think of my own name at that point, let alone make a proper decision. But I figured if I didn't decide, he'd use all four. So I chose the belt.

This is me after a session with four implements and a hand. Barely anything, and it's pretty much gone now. I swear, I have freaking Kevlar down there.

Also, it seems that the thicker canes don't make tramlines as easily. So, I'm going to purchase the companion to the Master's Choice SR -- the Master's Choice JR. While the SR is 28" and 7/16" thick, the JR is 26" and 5/16" thick. So, a little shorter and thinner, a bit more sting. And only $9.50. At those prices, one could have quite a collection. But I think I'll just have the two, thank you.

Cane-iac.com definitely has a new fan! Check them out; they have all kinds of fun stuff, not just canes.

ST not included with purchase, though. :-)

Really??

2011-12-05T14:50:00.000-08:00

OK, if people want to put up holiday decorations, that's their business. But I think my neighbor across the hall has gone a wee bit overboard.

Check out what I get to look at every freaking time I open my door:

Is it me, or is this a bit much for one little apartment door? The up-close-and-personal effect is rather cluttered. "Let it Snow"? We're in California, toots. Not happening.

And will you look at the size of those balls!

(yeah, that's what she said)

I wonder if she's rigged her doorbell to play a Christmas carol.

Weekend update and the VBA

2011-12-04T23:35:00.000-08:00

John went home today; his neighbor called and told him the power had been restored. He had gone there on Friday afternoon to check out his house; said things were OK there and with his surrounding neighbors, but the town was completely dark and you could barely drive through there for all the trees and branches and other detritus in the streets. Several cities are in the same condition. It's been a very strange and surreal time. So we hung out here at my place, he brought his laundry, etc. I have to admit, it was fun having him here for a change. He almost never comes here. Not that I blame him, really. For one thing, the parking is impossible here, and at his place, there's a two-car garage.

Now they're talking about more winds coming. Not as strong as last week's, but with so many weakened trees and structures, there may be more damage. Have you ever seen a power pole snapped in half? Or trees that uprooted and tore the lawn right off the ground, like a grass blanket? Back east in hurricane country, I guess that's pretty standard stuff. Here in So. CA, it's unheard of.

They're calling this an "event" that only happens in these parts every 10-20 years. I've been here all my life and I've never seen it. Mother Nature appears to be losing her mind.

Enough of that. This weekend, I discovered that I'd been bestowed a Versatile Blogger Award from both Kaelah and Pandora. Thank you, ladies! This meme has been going around for a while now; part of me feels like I can't really add anything new to it, but another part wants to play. I am to list 15 bloggers I read, passing the VBA onto them, and then list 7 bits of trivia about myself. Probably most of these bloggers have already been awarded, but one can't receive too many accolades, can they? To help cut down on a little of the redundancy, I'm keeping my list to 12, in no particular order.

1. My Bottom Smarts -- who in the spanko blogosphere doesn't know and love Bonnie? She was the first blogger to link to me, way back when. And she's where to go to keep up with all the blog news, with her "Good and Hot" list.

2. Chross -- the only blogger I know whose name has become a verb ("I got Chrossed last week"). If a photo, video or clip is in existence, he has it or knows of it.

3. Hermione's Heart -- Hermione gives us something fun to read every day and finds some of the most amusing and outrageous photos and products out there. Fun features include photo captions, Wednesday Win and Friday Fail.

4. No Domme Blonde -- my buddy Zelle's blog. Richly entertaining, humorous and chock full of pictures. My one complaint? She needs to blog more often! (hint hint, Zelle!) :-)

5. The Pink Report -- intelligent and sexy as hell! And a real sweetie, too.

6. Spanking Pixie -- even if I didn't know and love this woman, I'd enjoy her creative and interactive posts.

7. Dana Kane Spanks -- the only F/M blog I read. Even this die-hard M/F girl loves reading Dana's adventures; not just because she's someone I like a whole lot, but she's fun and sassy and could be my femdom (and much younger) sister.

8. Lea's Corner -- this woman makes me laugh. A lot. Wait'll you read her song parodies. Or her post about "Why I Won't Be Playing With You." Priceless.

9. Dark Musing -- my friend Craig and his witty, irreverent views on this thing we do.

10. XOXO, Beth -- a little on the quiet side, but when she posts, it's an engaging and thoughtful read. And she definitely has a mischievous side.

11. Poppy's Submissions -- playful, vulnerable, creative, and very, very real.

12. WolfieToons -- our resident cartoonist, punster and comedy trivia buff, Dave Wolfe is simply a joy.

And now, I'm supposed to tell y'all seven things you don't know about me. Sheesh, what's left? I've been blogging for years and I've written an autobiography; is there anything I haven't told?? I'm left with the uber-obscure, I'm afraid.

1. I can snap my fingers with my left hand, but for the life of me, cannot do so with my right.

2. I love tomatoes. I love them in salads, sandwiches, in sauces, as snacks. But I hate tomato soup.

3. If I'd used that formula of "first pet, first street you lived on," my scene name would be Lucy LaPeer.

4. I have never seen any of the Star Wars, Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings movies. Nor do I intend to.

5. I once won two tickets for "house seats" (the best) to the musical Cats, by playing a call-in game on the radio called "Sing the Next Line" (yes, I sang on the radio).

6. I have never learned to cook a turkey, change a tire, ride a bicycle, or many of life's other little basics. All part of that late bloomer business.

7. I still miss Johnny Carson. (and don't say who?? or I'll cry.)

Tomorrow night, ST returns. I've had a week off and I'm more than ready to play again. Now, I think I've blathered on long enough. Hope everyone had a nice weekend.

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 12/2

2011-12-02T12:37:00.000-08:00

We interrupt the ongoing drama with a humor break.

can u handle powerful MASTER?

Yup -- I click DELETE.

Hey sexy gorgeous I will u a full body with candle lights and shared some wine with you and giving u a nice kiss!! How are u?

At the moment, perplexed. You will me a full body with candle lights? I'm sorry you died, but really, couldn't you just give it to charity? There are so many unfortunate half-full bodies out there.

I wish I had a room with cages, chains, whips and other toys for you...desire to have you tied up with ropes

give you spank, whip, hear moaning, suck and bite your breasts, bite your buttocks, penetrate your vagina and your anus all night

fornicate in the streets, in the forest, in the car... but also want a wife, a girlfriend, a friend, a lover

You want four women? How greedy of you.

I had to laugh -- notice how he used all the proper formal words, even though he was discussing my complete defiling. Fornicate??

i want to expierence what you like. i want to do something other than just fuck....maybe i might like spanking you.i do not know.

And you never will know, I'm afraid.

I'm still amazed buy the shape of your but

My but what?

And finally:

For the last 18 months, I have been "involved" with a lovely, stacked redhead who just cannot get enough spanking ... seeps as if the harder I spank her, the hotter she gets ... we work on squirting as well, and during our last "session" she got so hot being spanked that she soaked the bed with her ejaculation ... which was HOT.

If you are interested in an encounter with a mature couple ... participating in hard spanking threesome fun, let me know and we can set up a "spanking conference" to introduce ourselves.

(scrubbing vigorously with brain bleach) Ummm... no. No, thank you. And speaking of bleach, you may want to do some laundry.

In other news... Mother Nature had a major tantrum here in Southern CA this week, with a "Santa Ana wind event" the likes of which are seen only once every 5-15 years. Hardest hit was the San Gabriel Valley... where John lives. He stays in Orange County all week for work, but he'll be coming home today, to a completely dark town. Thousands of people in several cities have no power, and the power company is restoring it, city by city. It's estimated that John's town may not have power for another two to four days.

I called him last night and asked him to please call one of his neighbors and get the lowdown from someone who's there, because the news always makes everything sound so much more horrible. He said he'd call me back if he heard any bad news about his house, and he hasn't called, so no news is good news. I'm hoping he will come home later today and find nothing more than a lot of leaves and branches to sweep up and some spoiled food in the fridge. And then he'll be coming here for the weekend.

Always something, isn't it?

Stay safe, y'all. And have a great weekend.

Ho Ho Ho

2011-12-01T12:40:00.000-08:00

Apparently, I am not the only one who needs therapy at this time of year...

Contrary Action

2011-11-30T12:10:00.000-08:00

That's a tool we shrinkees learn early on -- contrary action. You get a negative impulse, you counteract it with a positive action. You don't feel like doing something that's good for you, do it anyway. Do the contrary. For a contrarian such as myself, you'd think that would be a piece of cake. Not so, however.

So, I don't feel like writing. Tough. I'm writing anyway. Because I need to.

I didn't see ST on Monday night. I've had a bit of a wonky stomach on and off since last weekend, and on Monday when I tried to push through it at the gym, I got dizzy and broke out in a cold sweat. I knew something was off when the thought of lying on my belly and getting whaled on made me feel nauseated. So I cancelled. I didn't cancel because I've been depressed, because I really did want to see him. Anyway, I had nothing else I felt like writing about, so I took a break.

Yesterday came and went. Despite the fact that I didn't post my usual Monday night blog, it apparently didn't register on the blogosphere radar. I got four messages asking where my post was and if I was OK. Four. Talk about humbling. Surprise, surprise -- Erica isn't the center of the universe.

So all day yesterday, I isolated. I didn't tweet, post to FetLife or anything else. I thought, fuck 'em all. I could completely disappear and no one would notice or care. Familiar territory, one I've visited many times in my life.

That got old. REALLY quick. I never wanted children, so having an inner five-year-old got tiresome immediately. Isolating and withdrawing is my go-to mechanism, but time and again it has proven that it doesn't work for me.

Last night on the phone with John, I said that I don't know why I can't break out of this loop. I am consciously aware of all the good things and good people in my life, and yet, all I seem to be able to do is focus on the negatives and the losses. I know I'm being ridiculous, I know that others are probably looking at me and wondering what I'm crying and whining about. So why can't I just knock it off?

He said because that's how you are. It's what you do. You can't help it.

Yeah, I guess.

I know one thing for sure. Beating myself up and saying I should be feeling this or that doesn't work. And completely removing myself from everything doesn't work either. So fuck it. I'm writing.

Recently on FetLife, someone posted a journal entry, a poem about her depression. It reminded me of something I'd written a couple of years ago; I think I posted it on my old MySpace blog, but I'm going to repost it now. She wrote of hating her depression; I chose to write of accepting it. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If I embrace it, perhaps it will settle down and leave me be for a while.

Guess I'm not going to get Chrossed this week. Oh well. I can't always be entertaining, interesting or titillating. Sometimes, I'm just plain neurotic little me. But I'm here. I do not plan to disappear. It's too lonely, even for me.

MESSAGE TO DEPRESSION

Hello, old friend
Been a while.
More time passes between your visits these days.
Sometimes, I even forget you’re out there.

But I know you wait for me.
Wait for a chink in my armor, for a weakened state.
Then you slip inside and make yourself at home, in your old familiar surroundings.

I feel you deep within my bones, weighing down my every step.
Sucking the color and light from my world.
Singing sad songs to me, telling me lies.

I look in the mirror, and I see you reflected there.

But you know what?
Your visits are shorter.

You may be strong-willed, but my will is stronger.

The love of my friends, the love I have for myself, is more powerful than your malevolent force.

I know I will never fully vanquish you.
You’re like a virus lying dormant, waiting for its host’s vulnerability.
But while you used to stay with me for months, for years, now your duration is merely a week or two, sometimes days. Or even hours.

Suddenly, a day goes by, and I realize I haven’t cried.
My bed once again becomes a vehicle for peaceful sleep, rather than a refuge from the world outside.
I remember that life is good.

So, while you’re here, enjoy yourself.
Come join me under the covers in the darkness.
But don’t get too comfortable.

Because you’ll be going. Soon.

Confession is good for the soul... right?

2011-11-24T13:23:00.000-08:00

Last night, a special friend wrote to me and said she was sad on Thanksgiving Day, because she couldn't be with everyone she cared about; they'd either died or gone away. I wrote back to her, saying I empathized, but I hoped she could focus on who is here now, because people come and go in our lives and if we spend our time missing the ones who are gone, we forget to appreciate the ones who are very much present.

It occurred to me after I hit Send that I need to take my own damned advice.

Confession time: I'm stuck in a depressive spiral, and have been for weeks. My weekends with John and Mondays with ST have been bright spots, but the rest of the time has been rather bleak. I have been crying every day and struggling to do even the simplest of routines. And I'm fucking sick of it.

Those of you who know me, know I have a lifelong bad habit. I have abandonment issues that run deeper than the oldest oak tree, and I don't take losses well. When they happen, I fixate, and pretty soon, I'm missing everyone who's ever gone out of my life. I'm feeling every slight and imagining the worst in all scenarios. It's self-centered and I'm just so damn tired of my own head. But the insidious thing about depression is, I don't have the energy to push myself forward, to do what I need to do to get OUT of my head. And so it goes.

I know everyone thinks I should go to see ST today. I would if I could. I just can't get myself out today. He understands. I am there in spirit.

I have done all the things I can, used all the tools I have in my psyche. Reached out to others, showed an interest in what they're doing today, sent wishes to loved ones. I know some people would say, "Get out of yourself and go volunteer in a soup kitchen." Yes, that's a good idea. But not something I'm capable of doing.

I've been down this spiral before, and I will come out, when I get good and sick and tired of being sick and tired. When I'm tired of shedding copious tears over people who aren't shedding them for me. When I come back to reality and see that it's not all about me.

Depression SUCKS.

I have an appointment with my gyno in a couple of weeks, just to check on things and see if some of this could be post-menopausal hormone hell. Chances are, though, that it isn't. It's just circumstances that triggered the demons.

Today, my apartment is quiet and peaceful. I am grateful for that. Whoever finally moved in next door hasn't made a peep. The gym is closed, but I'm going to work out in the apartment gym and get some endorphins going. The Marx Brothers' "A Night at the Opera" is on cable later. And I may not be feasting, but I did buy myself a piece of pumpkin pie for tonight. :-)

So, I'm coming clean. All the sarcasm and jokes and spanky patter have been put aside for today -- I'm admitting I'm scraping along the bottom and I'm tired of being there. I am going to come back up. Again.

Thanks, everyone, for putting up with me. Sending you all much love and best wishes, and yes, gratitude, on this holiday. For everyone who is dealing with pain and grief, I'll share my favorite "ism," once more: "The depth of your despair will be the height of your joy."

Pre-Thanksgiving thoughts

2011-11-23T12:54:00.000-08:00

Of top importance: ST's dog is OK. He had a growth on his back that was increasing in size, but it turned out to be a benign tumor. He has a big incision and staples, but he will heal up just fine. And fortunately, the area is out of his reach so he can't bite at it, so I guess he doesn't have to wear one of those stupid head cone thingies. What a relief!

In other news, my third Spanking Court clip went up on the site yesterday. It's been a while since we shot it, so it was fun to see and remember. Unfortunately, because of the camera angle this time, V's head is cut off through most of it, so you don't get to see his priceless facial reactions. But it's still a lot of fun. I love the unexpected twist at the end. ;-)

So... tomorrow is Thanksgiving. What is everyone doing? Who's cooking? Who's going out? Family? Friends?

All three of John's siblings are going to other homes tomorrow, so no family gathering, thank you. However, John was the only one of the four to say, "Hey what about Mom?" I swear, they don't deserve him. So, his little canyon area has this thing every year at TG and Xmas, where they have a potluck dinner for the neighborhood; he's taking his mom to that. And fortunately, while he's made it clear that I'm welcome to join them, he hasn't pushed it. Let's see: lots of people, mostly ones I don't know. All crowded into a small space. Lots of noise. Nothing to do but eat, and babysit John's mother. I love you, honey, but I'd rather suck down an arsenic and cyanide smoothie.

On the flip side, ST is having a quiet TG dinner at home and has invited me to join him and the furry invalid. If I were going to do anything, it would be that. But...I dunno. I'd like to BE there. But I don't feel like going there, if that makes any sense. I don't want to dress and put on makeup and fix my crazy hair and make the drive. I just don't feel like it. Welcome to the life of a depressive isolator.

I actually have some work to do (yay!), and laundry as well. There are some good movies on Turner Classic Movies tomorrow. It's probably going to be rainy. I think I will cozy up with sweats and fuzzy slippers and pretty much treat the day like Thursday.

However, in the spirit of thankfulness, I am grateful for the loved ones in my life. John, ST, my friends... you have expanded my curmudgeon's little world and brought me much joy. I love you guys. Thank you.

Have a wonderful turkey day.

Mercy

2011-11-21T23:01:00.000-08:00

I hear that's a good movie. Never saw it, myself. Kathy Bates won the Best Actress Oscar for it. But that's not what I'm going to talk about.

EDIT, 11/22: Aaaaaggggghhh! It's just been brought to my attention that the name of the movie was Misery, not Mercy. Of course. I knew that. Chalk it up to being incredibly spacey last night. Sometimes, I try too hard to be clever and it backfires on me.

ST and I both had things on our minds tonight. We spent about a half-hour talking before we started to play, and I was up for a distraction and some fun.

We started out silly -- actually, we were silly for a long time. I was challenging him as per usual.

"You just can't keep your pants up, can you?"
"Not around YOU, I can't!"
"Why? Am I that hot?"
"You're full of hot air -- does that count?"

He sent me to my bedroom to get the heart-shaped paddle. "And leave those pants down!"

"OK," I said, leaving them down, but pulling up my panties.

"I said leave them down!"

"You said pants! Make up your mind!"

He had me OTK for a while, but then decided he liked me on my hands and knees. Figures.

I was NOT feeling the love...

Then it was time for the ottoman, where belt, strap and flogger commenced. Finally, I started to settle down. Stopped saying words and just made sounds. Got into the zone.

He gave me a long, hard flogging, interspersing the hard strikes with light, caressing slaps, keeping me wondering. It got progressively harder, and I struggled a little, but recovered each time. I wanted to go on.

I'm not sure what happened. Maybe my mind was askew tonight, because I was worried about something. Maybe it was the combination of hard AND fast. I'm not sure. But then he switched from the flogger to the heavy strap and really let me have it with that. Usually, I roll with that and am able to absorb it. Tonight, I couldn't. My brain couldn't process the pain fast enough and I wanted to scream to release, but of course I can't scream here. So the pain had nowhere to go, and that inner battle started up.

Take it. I can't. You have to. Don't be a wuss. I can't, I can't. Just push through it, it's almost over. NO.

"Mercy!" I cried. And of course, he stopped immediately.

I hate safe words. I hate using safe words. If I'm in a scene with a brute/jerk/Uber-Dom, then I refuse to use one, because my pride won't allow him to see that he broke me. And if I'm playing with someone I care about, I don't want to hurt his feelings or make him worry that he did something wrong. Either way, I feel like an ass if I mercy out.

But this was ST. I had nothing to prove to him. We were way beyond this kind of nonsense. So I said it.

He soothed me with lotion, rubbed my back, stroked my hair. He asked if I was OK, a couple of times. I assured him I was. He asked what had happened -- was it the pain? Was it too intense? I said I didn't know for certain. I just knew I'd gone as far as I could go, this time.

I apologized to him. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said. I felt like I needed to, anyway. I wanted him to know for sure that it was me, not something he did wrong. I would never, ever want him to think he did anything bad to me.

Silly, stubborn pride. Erica must maintain her bionic reputation! Oh, bull.

After I calmed down, I felt fine. Relaxed. Sleepy, almost. My mind was quiet for the first time today. And if it was possible, I felt even closer to him than before. Because I was able to say mercy to him, when I can't say it to anyone else.

"There is no such thing as a bad scene with you," I told him. I meant it.

Please hold good thoughts. ST is bringing his dog in for a bit of surgery tomorrow. I know this time tomorrow night, he'll feel very relieved and glad it's done. So best wishes for his beautiful boy.

Hmmmm... I do believe he accidentally took my heart paddle with him. Don't tell him I said so, but I hope he brings it back. :-)

A happy post for a change

2011-11-18T12:24:00.000-08:00

Happy Friday, everyone. In direct contrast to my last two cranky, Grinch-y posts, I've got some fun things to share today.

First, I have a new interview up on the blog Spank Place. If you haven't seen this site, do check it out. Every month, Mark interviews someone in the scene, and I was very flattered when he asked me.

He made the effort to ask several questions specific to me, which I appreciated. One of them was "What is Spanking Court?", so I was very happy to give them a big plug. He asked for a selection of pictures and so I sent him a head shot plus six random spanking shots. He put up five of the seven, so there's a nice pictorial along with the interview. You can read it here.

And even better -- I sort of got Double-Chrossed today. My Rough entry from Monday was included, plus my interview. Thank you, Mr. Chross! That does my little attention-whore heart good.

This was a weird week. I have been feeling especially square-peggish, and it seemed that wherever I went, cyber or real, I clashed with someone. On Twitter, someone jumped on my ass because she didn't like something I posted. Yup, I said I didn't like seeing Bible study posts on my FetLife feed, and she said I was judgmental. Oh, please! I wasn't judging people who study the Bible. But some things just aren't a good mix. Do you see me going to church study groups and talking about spanking, bondage and other forms of happy debauchery? Especially since most religious groups think people like us are going to fry in hell? Whatever.

Then on FetLife, I expressed some thoughts on a controversial topic and was laughed at by a condescending know-it-all. Frustrated, I went to the gym later that day to blow off some steam, and had a particularly unpleasant encounter with a pair of women in my class. They were making so much noise right behind me, talking and laughing, and I couldn't concentrate on the really tough moves the teacher was putting us through. So I politely asked them (yes, I was polite) if they would please take it down a bit. Their response was to glare at me, then spend the rest of the class whispering and snickering behind me. I felt like I was back in grade school.

I came home thinking, Jeeeezus, I can't get along with anyone. I really need my own island. Perhaps my own planet.

Then yesterday, I got a lovely present.

A while back, I had a correspondence with a young woman just breaking into the spanking scene. She had read my book and had many questions, so we passed some lengthy emails back and forth. After a while, she joined FetLife, and I've seen her bloom. She's posting pictures, making friends, getting tons of comments, and it's like watching a kid in a candy store. I was very happy for her.

Yesterday, she posted this on my wall:

Erica, just wanted to send you yet another quick soul-felt thank you. If it weren't for you, I might never have started down this path of experiencing these things. You were so kind and gentle with me, right from the start, so willing to communicate so openly. Your kindness has opened so many doors for me. Thank you.

She may never fully comprehend how much that meant to me, and how timely it was. If I'd received this a year ago, I would have included it in my book. What a keeper.

Thank you, dear. Enjoy and embrace your journey. You have so many treats ahead of you.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

An addendum to last night's post

2011-11-16T12:00:00.000-08:00

Since my buddy Zelle posted three anti-Christmas links in comments last night, I was reminded about this bit of footage, the mother of all Grinch-y sentiments. And because I'm just in that kind of mood, I'm going to post it. If I don't laugh, I cry. Laughing is more fun.

WARNING: This is RUDE. Please, if you do love Christmas, or you don't like the f word, don't watch this. But if you do, make sure you listen all the way to the end, after all the clapping. :-)

It's that time of year again!

2011-11-15T23:03:00.000-08:00

Yup, those of you who know me, know what I'm talking about. Time to break out this little guy, once again:

Today in the dentist's office, I heard Johnny Mathis's "Silver Bells." I wanted to barf.

Tonight on the phone, John was talking about Thanksgiving. Oh, goody. He asked, "On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about our going to [his sister's] house? And no, you can't use negative numbers." Damn. He read my mind.

I am so not in the mood for the annual turkey-fa-la-ho-ho shit. But then again... when am I? Every year in November, I wish for an IV drip that will put me peacefully to sleep and leave me there until January 2.

This sentiment seems to worsen as I get older. Really, I don't know what happened. Would you believe I actually used to bake cookies as gifts? From scratch, too. Those pain-in-the-butt sugar cookies where you have to mix the dough, chill it, roll it, cut out the cookies one by one and painstakingly decorate them.

Got a little older, and switched to mini quick breads from a mix. Few years later -- ah, screw baking. Cards. That's the ticket.

Now, I don't even feel like sending those.

I had to laugh. In my blog's keyword search phrases today, I found "grinch spanking." Grinch = Erica. Nahhh... I don't really want to take away everyone else's holidays. I just wish I could go somewhere and avoid them. Preferably into a coma.

At least this year, John isn't sick. I am very grateful for that. The only thing that kept me sane last year was knowing I had my Connecticut adventure coming in January, when I went to shoot with Sarah and Paul. I have no such adventures to look forward to this time.

Someone, very well meaning, suggested that I could distract myself and make a few bucks by doing some seasonal work in retail. I appreciate that they were caring enough to try to come up with something for me. But, to quote Weird Al, I'd rather dine on shards of glass for all eternity than deal with a teeming mass of harried holiday harridans.

Thank goodness for ST. He'll be here. I wish I could bring him with John and me to the family dinners. We joked about how he could grab my butt in front of John's horndog brother-in-law. But you know, I like ST too much. I wouldn't subject him to that. I'm sure he'll have a better time with his dog.

It's stinking thinking to say, "If I just had something special and fun to look forward to, I'll get through." I know this. I need to cope without having carrots dangled in front of me.

So herein begins the countdown. Tonight is November 15th. Forty-six days until January 1.

I hope y'all don't hate my crabby guts by then. :-) Bear with me.

Rough

2011-11-14T23:23:00.000-08:00

Warning: Some of you might not like what I describe below.

But please believe me.... I sure did.

You guys pretty much have my number by now, right? You know what kinds of scenes I like -- I like to be playful, I'm sassy, I love the banter and push-pull. Overall, I am a feisty and spirited bottom.

But sometimes... I really, really like the damsel-in-distress scenario. I don't know why. It so completely goes against my personality. But damn, it's so hot.

I like the fear factor. It isn't real fear... I know real fear. I'm afraid of many things. No, it's the good kind of fear... the trepidation, the not knowing, but trusting that ultimately, you'll be all right because you're in the best of hands. It's the thrill and terror of free-falling, and yet knowing someone is there to catch you. It's knowing that he could do some terrible things to you if he wanted to... but he won't. He'll just make you think he will. For those moments, you believe.

I didn't know we were going there tonight. I don't think ST did either. It just sort of happened.

Our scene started like most others -- OTK warmup, me running my mouth. When he said, "You need a good spanking, don't you," I snarked, "What was your first clue, Einstein?" He then whaled so hard and fast with his tawse, I squeaked, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!!"

"Yeah, you will be," he said, fishing around in his bag. I thought he was going for a heavier implement. Then I felt him pull my arms back behind me. Then I felt the ropes. He tied my feet, too.

"Now you don't know WHAT kind of nasty things I'm going to do to you," he said coolly. "And there's nothing you can do about it, either. Is there!"

I went from smartass to shaking in a matter of seconds.

What happened after that is a blur of sensation and emotion. He used a lot of implements, I know that. Hard. But more than that, he teased me. He made me look at him. He leaned down and hissed in my ear. He tightened his fist in my hair. I was wearing a strappy sundress and he yanked the dress down past my shoulders.

He never raised his voice. I hate raised voices. But his smooth and steely tones made me tremble and put tears in my eyes.

It wasn't the same kind of crying as last week. Last week was pure emotional release. This was... I don't know what this was. Just feeling wound up, hyper-stimulated, beyond excited. I strained against the ropes and scrubbed my face into the bedspread, praying he wouldn't make me scream.

While I appreciate the intensity of tears during a scene, I am self-conscious about mine. As our beloved Pixie likes to say: "Tears are hot -- snot is not." In bondage, I couldn't wipe my face or my nose. When he leaned down to look into my face, I turned away.

"Are you trying to hide from me?" he asked. "Yes," I murmured.

"You can't hide from me. Maybe I should just put you in position so I can look at you," he said, grabbing my shoulder and rolling me onto my back.

I twisted my head to look away, rolled my eyes back. No, no, don't look at me. But I could still feel his eyes on me, his hands. Enjoying himself. Enjoying my discomfort.

Only with someone I trust so completely could I do this. He knew that. And he knew just what he could do, and what would violate me. The latter wouldn't happen. I knew that logically. But still... when he's in Dr. Hyde mode, he knows how to make me wonder.

Finally, he rolled me back over onto my belly and finished me off with the strap. "If I let you go, will you be a good girl?" I nodded vigorously. He untied me.

And just like that, the sweet and gentle ST reappeared.

Several minutes later, he asked how I was feeling.

"Very relaxed," I replied. After a moment, I added, "And absolutely amazed at the places I can go with you."

"Me too."

I suppose I could analyze and overanalyze why I want to go to this edgy territory sometimes. But I'd rather not. I'm just grateful I have the perfect companion who goes there with me. And when I go over the edge, he's my net.

When Worlds Collide

2011-11-11T12:36:00.000-08:00

Vanilla and kink worlds, that is. That happened to me this week. Bear with me while I set up the story.

A couple of months ago, I received email from a friend who knows who my father was. He wrote, "Did you know that your dad is mentioned in [name deleted for discretion]'s autobiography?"

I was confused. I knew who the author is; she's an actress and comic, around my age, and she has a disability which she often pokes fun at in her standup act. "Do you mean my cousin is mentioned?" I wrote back. I know she worked on one of my cousin's TV shows in the 70s-80s.

"No, your dad," he replied. He went on to explain that in the early 80s, my dad pitched a TV pilot for her and they had several meetings. The pilot didn't sell, but they became good friends. And he gave her a very special gift, one she never forgot.

Wow. Yet another story I didn't know about my father. Now that he mentioned it, I remembered Dad talking about that pilot. I remembered the name.

I Googled the actress, whom I will call G, and found that she has her own website, which I searched until I found a contact email. I then wrote to her, introducing myself (with my real name, of course) and thanking her for the kind mention of my dad in her book.

Her email back to me was lovely, bubbling with enthusiasm about how delighted she was to hear from me, that she'd always hoped that somehow we could connect but she had no idea how to find me, how much she'd loved my dad, etc.

She also sent me a friend request for Facebook. I'd written to her with the address that's connected to my Facebook account, and she found me that way.

Except on Facebook, I'm Erica Scott. Oops.

I really don't know why I'm even on Facebook. It's so relentlessly vanilla and boring, and even though a lot of fellow spankos are on there, they're on with their real names, family and work connections, etc. I have no interest in apps and games, and I couldn't care less about Farmville, Zooville or any other ville. If you look at my profile, it's not readily obvious what I'm into; I have no spanky pictures, and in my description, all I say is, "There is more to me than meets the eye, and let's just leave it at that." However, my friend list has a lot of kinky-sounding names in it. And I list my blog under Website. So anyone with even a modicum of curiosity could figure it out with a couple of mouse clicks.

I accepted her friendship invite. She wrote me a couple of messages on there, but all she commented on was my love for Dark Shadows, which she shared. On my birthday, she posted a greeting on my wall and said that when her schedule freed up, she'd love to meet for coffee/dinner.

Very long story somewhat shortened, we met this past Wednesday at a local deli halfway between us (turns out she lives about 10 miles from me). I felt instantly like I'd known her for years.

We talked and talked and talked. She'd brought me a copy of her book, and told me about a lot of the stuff in it, how she'd revealed a lot of secrets (about herself, about Hollywood, etc.), bluntly discussed her disability and what it was like growing up with that, and so on. She talked about my dad and cousin, and shared stories of them. I ate it all up.

And then G said, "So, what about you?" "What about me?" I hedged. "Tell me about you," she said, picking up her sandwich. Clearly, it was my turn to talk.

So I told her the usual boring stuff. Never married, no kids. Lived alone since I was 17. With the same man for 15 years, but we don't live together. College grad, work as a proofreader/copyeditor. Blah blah blah.

"And? What else?" she asked. Her gaze was calm and direct. I wondered how much she'd figured out. If she had questions, she wasn't asking them. She was letting me decide what to tell.

I don't understand why, but this woman, whom I'd known for about an hour, suddenly seemed like an old, dear friend and I wanted to tell her. I knew so much about her, and I wanted her to know about me. And my instincts told me I could trust her and she wouldn't judge.

"Well," I said, fiddling with my coffee cup. "Did you wonder why I'm Erica Scott on Facebook?" "Yup, that thought crossed my mind," she answered.

"And did you happen to look at my friends list?" I went on. She nodded. "I did... interesting collection of names," she said, smiling. Oh, screw it, Erica. Tell her.

So I did. I told her who Erica Scott is and what she's into. Not in detail; she didn't need to hear all that right off the bat. Just a brief outline -- the kink, the wiring since childhood, "coming out" later in life, finding John, getting into videos. I said that in a small circle, I was well known. I also told her that no one in my family knew.

Her gaze never wavered, she didn't bat an eye. She got it. She may not be kinky, but she knows what it's like to feel different.

I told G about my book and shared my own process of writing it. She said she wanted to read it. I hesitated. "I hope it won't offend you," I said. "There's some pretty explicit stuff in there."

"Please," she scoffed. "Don't you get it? I'm a comedian. Nothing offends me!"

Three hours flew by. I was so overjoyed to meet her, to talk with her. She was a connection to my past, to my father. Pretty much everyone in his world has died, but here was someone my age, full of stories and memories. She told me things my father had said to her and I could practically hear him saying them.

And it felt SO good to hang out with a new friend and to be able to be both Erica Scott AND Erica [real name], not just one or the other.

Before we left, she autographed her book for me, signing it "Your new old friend, G." I got her mailing address and the next day, I arranged to have one of my books shipped to her. I also got a sweet message from her, saying what a pleasure it was to meet me and she looked forward to getting to know me better. And that she honored my trust.

How about that, huh?

In other news: Looks like LOL Day #6 was a success. I feel like I spent most of my day yesterday reading all the LOL blogs, reading comments and adding my own to others. For everyone who dropped by and said hello, thank you!

My third Spanking Court clip may go up this Monday. I hope. Stay tuned. Cali said the remaining three will go up one per month (December, January, February). I can't wait! Meanwhile, she sent me some fun pictures to tide me over. I posted this one on FetLife, so I'll put it up here too. It's from Scene #4, when I dragged the Disciplinarian into court with me, complaining about him to the Judge. Check out the look on V's face!

This makes me snicker every time I look at it.

Have a great weekend, y'all. And to our vets: THANK YOU.

Love Our Lurkers Day, #6

2011-11-09T21:19:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the sixth annual Love Our Lurkers (LOL) Day. Spearheaded once again by our brilliant blogging queen Bonnie, it's time to say how much we appreciate our readers, quiet ones included, and invite them to say hello.

OK, so technically, LOL Day is supposed to be Thursday and it's still Wednesday. I was going to be a proper OCD Virgo and wait until after midnight to blog. But then I saw that several of my fellow bloggers had already posted, so I thought, ah, screw it. Ooh, I'm posting three hours early! Watch me run with scissors next! :-)

So anyway... you guys know the drill. Bloggers love their viewers, and we love comments too. If we didn't want readers and comments, we'd write a private journal. Or we'd just talk to ourselves. We want to know who you are.

C'mon, it's easy. You don't have to recite a Shakespearean soliloquy. You don't have to explain particle physics. You don't have to hand over your credit card number, your social security number, or even your name. Just say something. Hi, Erica. Love your blog, Erica. Up yours, Erica.

Here, how about a multiple choice, and then all you have to do is post a letter?

a) I read this blog for the scintillating spanking adventures
b) I like the acerbic humor (oh, for Christ's sake, look it up)
c) I'm just here to see pictures of your butt
d) Other

Whatever you choose to say (or even if you don't), thanks for visiting my little corner of the blogosphere. Smooches to you all!

See Me, Feel Me, Spank Me, Heal Me

2011-11-08T20:48:00.000-08:00

(with all apologies to The Who)

I'm definitely in a strange place as of late. Offhand, I can't remember when I last had a day that didn't include shedding tears. Why? Doesn't matter. It just is. I ride these peaks and valleys and accept them. They pass.

It's annoying, though. In this place, it takes very little to start the waterworks. A kind gesture or some sweet words will set them off. Today, I got email from Cali, thanking me for the "wonderful grand finale." And there they went again.

Still, I pulled myself together, ran errands, straightened up the place, changed my clothes. ST was coming over, after all. And by the time he arrived, I was in quite the good and chipper humor.

We bantered a little as the scene started. I told him about the particularly dastardly move from V on Saturday -- 50 paddle swats in a row on the right cheek only. So of course, ST thought it was only proper to give the left cheek a lot of focus. Said he wanted me to be well-balanced. (Me? Not in this lifetime, toots.)

But then we settled into a rhythm and fell silent. I wasn't sure whether or not my new neighbor was home, and I wanted to be cautious. So I clamped my hands over my mouth, buried my face. Still, I arched my back and thrust up for more. He couldn't see my face or hear my voice. But he read my body language, sensed my need. He laid into me harder and faster. My feet flailed, but I held my position.

The tears came early, and they came fast. Good tears. Cleansing and sweet. And the harder I cried, the harder he spanked, strapped and paddled. How does one explain the bizarre dichotomy of feeling pain and relishing it so thoroughly?

His voice, normally so gentle, took on that rough edge. He grabbed my hair. "You need this, don't you," he growled. Oh yes. Yes, I certainly do. More, please. More.

He had me count the final 20 with the strap, 10 with his belt and 10 with the paddle. I barely whispered the numbers, but he heard me. Then held me close as I sobbed and sobbed for a long time afterward. It took quite a while before I was able to raise my face and look at him.

No face pictures tonight. He didn't even try to take any. I was grateful for that.

The first thing I said, when I could speak, was, "So, what's it like playing with a basket case?" "You're not a basket case," he said, stroking my hair. "What makes you say that?"

"Because," I sighed, "it's always something with me. I'm either angry about something or sad about something else."

"Well... so are a lot of people."

Sadly, I guess that's true. But not all of them have the magical pressure valve that we do.

He'd come over earlier than usual, and asked me if I'd like to go to dinner. I had to decline. All I wanted to do was lie in a boneless heap on the bed... the thought of getting up and going out sounded as impossible as flying to the moon. So we talked about odds and ends.

He said there should be an Erica Scott doll, one with a string you could pull and she'd say bratty things. I could dress up like a doll for Halloween next year! "I'm too old to dress like a doll," I muttered, and he said, "You look like a doll to me." Goddammit. Nearly set me off again.

Time for a shower and then perhaps a little something to eat. I believe I will sleep like the dead tonight.

And guess what? I have a small mark -- on my left cheek. :-)

Thank you, ST. ♥

Spanking Court weekend

2011-11-06T22:39:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I went once again to Spanking Court, this time to wrap up the story line of my seeking spanking therapy as an aid to depression. As y'all know if you've been following along, my initial goal sort of morphed into a battle of wills with the Court Disciplinarian, which culminated in a showdown with the Judge last time.

I figured since the scenes I did last month were a turning point, this last time would bring it all back around and I would come clean, explain why I got so far off the rails and apologize to the Court. Then I would request of the Judge that he let me have one final session with the Disciplinarian, so I could apologize to him as well.

So, that's what I presented to the Judge, and he granted me the final session, saying it would be good for both of us to have some closure. Once the court scene was shot, it was time for me to get into the scrubs and face my nemesis, who was waiting for me in the sentencing room, his eyes shooting darts at me.

My apology was sincere. I told him I'd specifically requested one more session not just so that I could tell him in person that I was sorry, but so he could have his moment of payback, as it were. He could choose the implement(s), the positioning, say and do whatever he wanted, as much as he wanted, and I would take it gracefully and without any of my former defiance or rudeness. "I'm all yours," I said.

So what did the Court Disciplinarian decide to do to me, for my final punishment and to settle the score between us? I'm not telling. :-)

Come on. Did you really think I was going to give away all the details? I will tell you that we shot a great scene, fun and real and deliciously intense. You'll just have to wait and see!

This story line ended up being six separate scenes. So far, two of them are up on the site, and I believe Cali said the third one will be up this week or next. Plus, I asked her if she would please send me pictures, so I can share some of them.

Oh, and she and Heinz are putting a limited amount of my books on sale at their "Paddles and Panties" site! I autographed them all and they'll promote them. These people are so good to me. :-)

After we wrapped my scene, I got dressed, but didn't leave for a while, opting instead to hang out with them in the conference room while they waited for their next "defendant" to show up. I didn't want to go! Once she arrived and had her makeup on, though, it was time for me to head out. They all hugged me in turn: Heinz, Cali, Dana and V. "We love you!" Dana said as she hugged me, and I damn near lost it. But I managed to keep myself together until I'd left the building and got to my car, where I started to bawl.

I will see them again. Can't go into the details of this either, but they will be shooting additional types of content next year and they'll hopefully work me into that. But it's going to be a while. And certainly won't be a regular monthly gig again. I'll miss that; it's been a great joy.

John was so sweet. He insisted on taking me to one of our favorite restaurants, lavished attention on me. Made me laugh with all his silliness. And you'll be happy to know that today, our brunch was completely undisrupted and everyone surrounding us was adult. Hallelujah.

I'm not seeing ST tomorrow, but I will see him Tuesday. It's for the best, I think. I'm sore. ;-)

Hope everyone had a nice weekend. Stay tuned; I'll put up some SC pictures when I get them.

Rainy Friday

2011-11-04T13:09:00.000-07:00

My favorite kind of day -- gray, rainy, quiet. No one is outside, everyone's windows are closed; all I hear is the sound of raindrops. I'm in comfy sweats with Beethoven playing on the stereo (yes, I like classical music). Because John is working late and I have Spanking Court tomorrow, I won't be going to his house this evening. I will miss him, but part of me is relieved that I won't need to drive 30+ miles in Friday traffic plus rain. Southern Californians do not know how to drive in rain; they either crawl along at half the speed limit, or they tear past you and send mini-tsunamis splashing onto your windshield.

John and I hadn't talked for a couple of nights, so last night we played catch-up. Or rather, he did. He'd had a jam-packed week; lots of stuff at work (including being transferred to another department, which he thinks will be a very good thing), plus contact with a new domme, so he was all excited about that. I said little, just interjecting "uh huh," and "oh, good" and so forth where appropriate.

Then he said, "So what about you? How are you doing? What's new with your friends?" etc... My answers were monosyllabic: "OK." "Dunno." "I guess." My voice sounded half-dead in my ears. Then John said, "Life is kind of flat for you right now, isn't it."

He knows. Flatlining. Gray. Blah. Sad. The specific reasons don't matter; they just are. No work. Lackluster book sales. Upcoming holidays (and we know how much Erica loves the holidays). My mother just turned 90. For most, that would be a milestone worth a celebration, but for her, that's just another one of life's cruelties. Worries over people and things I can't control. Blah, blah, blah.

I know I have a wonderful man, and a wonderful top. I know I could be homeless, penniless, whatever-less. I AM grateful for what I have. But depression defies this logic. Like I said, it just is.

Just knowing that John totally got it broke through the thick fog and tears started pouring. It's weird, how I cry when I'm down. It's an expressionless crying -- no sobbing, no sounds, just a steady outpouring from my eyes, like I have mini-faucets behind each one and they're stuck in the on position.

Bless his heart, he tried to fix me. Started suggesting all sorts of things I could do. It's one of those guy things, I guess -- I appreciate his caring. He did make one very valid point -- I need some fun. Something, some sort of adventure, to look forward to. Something for balance.

So. How to achieve balance. Not sure. But it's something to think about. Find some fun, something that will inject some joy and anticipation, bring the color back. We're not talking anything monumental here, folks. Remember, we're talking about Ms. Routine who has to mentally prepare for days in the case of a change in her schedule.

Speaking of schedule changes, ST can't make it Monday, so he is coming over on Tuesday instead. Wow. Now you know how much I like him, folks.

Anyone watch The Big Bang Theory? I swear, in some ways, I think Sheldon Cooper is a long-lost (and fictional) brother. Not because of his genius level or his asexuality (I am no nuclear physicist, and I love physical intimacy), but his need for sameness and routines (and his anxiety when they are disrupted). They've never established exactly what it is with him; many think it's Asperger's, or OCD, or a combination of both. I love one of his catchlines: "I'm not crazy. My mother had me tested."

Enough with this blathering. I got Chrossed today, so that's good (and congratulations to everyone else who did also). I'm going to get a pedicure -- it's hard to feel down with sparkly red toenails. And I do have SC tomorrow; a fun final scene is planned. And hopefully, my as-yet-unseen new next-door neighbor will move in sometime this weekend while I'm gone, so I will be spared the hours of racket. Because, as you know, outside noises distress me as well.

Sometimes, it's a wonder I don't spontaneously combust.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Odds & Ends not in my book, Part 4

2011-11-02T12:43:00.000-07:00

A favorite John story, which really should have been in the book. I confess, I completely forgot about it.

For those who have already read the book, you may recall I mentioned a couple that John and I befriended in our early scene days -- I referred to them as A & C. But I didn't explain how we met them.

In the late '90s (before Erica Scott was born), John and I used to go to a lot of local BDSM parties, including a regular gathering at a private house. This house was set far back from the street, behind a parking lot that was empty at night, so it was perfect for guest parking. People could play inside the house, or in the garage, which the owner had fashioned into a dungeon.

I was still fairly new to all this and even then, I knew I wasn't much of a fit in these BDSM gatherings, but I did the best I could. John would help -- he'd scope out the crowd with me, ask if I saw anyone I thought I might like to play with. If I was too shy to approach someone (and I usually was), he would do it for me.

One Saturday night, the party was particularly crowded, and one man stood out above the rest -- literally. He was very tall, with dark hair and eyes, wearing all black, and my "oh my God, who is that" radar went off. So when John sidled over to me and said, "See anyone you like?", I pointed right at the aforementioned gentleman and answered, "Yeah. Him. I want him."

John looked over, then snorted. "Oh, you would pick him!" he laughed. "No way! You'd go home with him!" Then he took my arm and led me out of the room and into the garage. There, we found one of our friends and started chatting, and I temporarily forgot about the handsome stranger.

"I'm going to get a Diet Coke," John announced. "You want anything?" I said no thanks; he told our friend to keep an eye on me, and he made his way through the crowded dungeon out the door. A few minutes later, he came back in with a glass of soda and rejoined us.

I was feeling a bit restless, wanting to play, and my eyes wandered. I watched people coming in and out, and then -- (gulp). I saw Mr. Handsome walk in. He stood near the doorway, looking around the room... and then he looked right at me. And didn't look away -- his eyes held mine.

Breathe, Erica. Oxygen is your friend.

Not only did he not break eye contact, but he smiled. And started walking toward me. Slowly.

It's just a coincidence. There are a lot of people here; he's coming over to talk to someone else. Get a grip.

And then there he was, right in front of me. "Hi," he said. "Are you Erica?"

Does this dungeon come equipped with a defibrillator?? "Yes," I croaked.

"I'm A," he said, extending his hand. I shook it, but he didn't let go. Instead, he gripped it more firmly, then leaned down to whisper to me, his breath tickling my ear. "And I hear you need a really good spanking."

John, of course, was sitting right there, observing with great amusement. "JOHN!" I blurted. "What did you do??" He just gave me a wide-eyed innocent look, and A laughed. "Come with me," he said, pulling me to my feet.

Was the spanking scene hot? Of course it was. But that build-up was one of the best I'd ever experienced. It couldn't have been a more perfect surprise. I was beaming and giddy for the rest of the night.

I heard the story later. John had gone back into the house, gotten his drink and then found A, introducing himself. "Look," he said. "I know this is going to sound weird, but go with me for a second. Do you spank?" A said yes. "My girlfriend really wants to play with you. Would you mind?"

A hesitated -- kind of on the spot there, right? I mean, he didn't know me, he didn't know what he was signing on for. John hastened to assure him. "I think you'll like her," he said, "but you don't have to commit to anything. She's in the garage talking with a friend of ours; go check her out first." He then went on to describe me and what I was wearing. So A said sure, why not.

What a sport, huh? :-D

As it turned out, A was there with his own girlfriend C, and the four of us hit it off immediately. We were friends for years, before the two of them dropped out of the local scene. Last I heard, they had relocated in Europe. I have so many fond memories of the two of them. A and I went on to have many more scenes together.

See, now you guys get even more why I love John so much. It takes a very special man to pimp out his girlfriend to handsome strangers for a spanking. But of course, I still went home with John. Always did, always will. ♥

An All Hallow's Eve Visit From Super Spanko!!

2011-10-31T22:58:00.000-07:00

It started out like a normal Monday night. I put out a bowl of candy and greeted ST when he arrived. He was a little late, saying the traffic was bad. Before he even put his stuff down, he said he needed to use my bathroom.

I did think it was a little strange that he took his toy bag in there with him, but I figured he was in such a hurry to go, he didn't even think about putting it down.

Several minutes passed, and I wondered what was going on. Finally, the door opened, but there was no sign of ST. Instead, a masked stranger leaped into my living room.

(gasp!) Super Spanko! Who the hell was that?? As you might imagine, he didn't give me any time to think about it. I've never been spanked by a superhero before. It's quite surreal, let me tell you. And for whatever reason, I couldn't stop laughing.

"You think this is funny?" he thundered. "You won't laugh for long!"

"Wanna bet?" I snickered, giggling so hard I could hardly catch my breath.

First I was over his knee for a while. Oh, the horror!

"Are you learning anything?" he scolded in his gravelly superhero tones.

"Yeah," I gasped. "I'm learning that I really, REALLY need to be more careful about who I open my door to!"

"That's right. I thought that issue had already been addressed, by that wonderful man, Mr. [ST's last name]."

"Who??" I said.

"You know...I believe he goes by the name Spanko Tango. Great guy. Great spanker!"

"Oh, him," I yawned. "He's not so great. I'm still opening my door to strangers, so obviously I didn't learn anything."

Wrong thing to say. Over the ottoman I went. Still couldn't stop laughing, though. Here's me, laughing my head off at Super Spanko.

He blustered that he wasn't going to stop until I confessed that I was a Naughty Girl, and that naughtiness doesn't pay.

"It does TOO pay!" I jeered. "I've gotten paid for naughtiness lots of times! I'm getting paid for it this Saturday!"

Unacceptable. He broke out the heavy artillery.

"Does it pay?" "Yes!" "Does it pay?" "Yes!" "Does it pay?" "Yes!" "Does it pay?" "NO, goddamn it!"

What can I say. Wood works wonders.

"My work here is not quite done," he said. "You need 15 more of these. And you will have to count them!"

"Why... because you can't?" I quipped. Damn, I'm a fool sometimes. But it's so worth it. :-)

Afterward, he dramatically announced that at last, his work here WAS done, and he left... but he didn't go out the front door, he went into the bathroom. Weird. But I guess even superheroes have to pee.

Once again the bathroom door opened, and this time, ST emerged. "Sorry I took so long in there," he apologized. "I wasn't feeling very well." TMI, honey. Really. I don't know what you were up to, but I had one hell of an adventure while you were gone. Who was that masked man?

We relaxed for a while, chatting away and eating chocolate. Perfectly hysterical end to a hilarious night? Weird Al Yankovic was on the radio, and they played something of his I'd never heard before. What is it about polka music that's so damn funny? And his polka parodies of rock songs absolutely slay me. I was laughing myself sick with this, so I hope y'all like it too -- Bohemian Polka. Happy Halloween!

Sunday blather

2011-10-30T22:05:00.000-07:00

Hope everyone had a nice weekend.

John had his own theory about my Jekyll/Hyde correspondent last week. He said the reason why the guy was nice at first, and then changed so drastically, was because he had no intention of meeting with me. That first photo he sent me, of Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome with the shampoo-commercial hair? Fake. He's really a 300-pound toad. (that probably wasn't his real dick, either, but that's beside the point.) Apparently he gets his jollies by engaging with women and messing with their heads, without having to actually meet them.

OK, that makes as much sense as anything else, I guess. "Why would he suggest you come right to his house to play, rather than meeting for coffee first?" he asked. "Because he knows most women won't go for that. And if they do, he'll give them a fake address."

Takes all kinds, doesn't it. Yeeeeesh.

So here's a thought; someone suggested this a while back, but I can't remember who it was. I have enough CHoS material accumulated from the past few years; what if I pull it all together, organize it and make a book out of it? I could have different chapters, like one just for the age comments, one for those special form letters that go on and on, one for entries from women (yes, I do have them), and so on. Could be fun. Perhaps I could have a chapter of contributions from friends, of their own charming missives.

Something to think about. I can't seem to find any work, so perhaps that project could keep me from completely losing my mind.

Speaking of losing one's mind... today at brunch, we were seated near one of the dreaded "large party" tables. Toward the back of the restaurant, there are booths on one side and then across from them are tables pushed together for big families and groups. Sometimes we get lucky and the groups are all adults, but not today. This time, it was a large group of mostly kids, chattering and blasting some game with music pumping on their iPad, laughing, kicking the chairs and making a racket. The two adults at the table ignored them, of course.

They left when we were halfway through our meal, and I realized I hadn't taken a proper breath since we sat down. Heaving a sigh of relief, I settled down to enjoy the latter half of my brunch. Five minutes later, another (even bigger) party was seated... with even younger children. And a baby. Which was plunked in a high chair at the end of the table closest to us, naturally. He wasted no time in emitting those delightful ear-splitting shrieks that only babies can do, and throwing things on the floor.

"Finish up, honey, and let's get out of here," I hissed to John. Our server was so frazzled, she forgot to bring us our check and we had to sit there for several minutes listening to the cacophony.

By the time we got out of there, I was so thoroughly rattled, I walked down the wrong aisle in the parking lot. Got to the end of it where I knew I'd left my car, and... nothing. "John, oh my God, where's my car??" I cried.

"Sweetie," he said gently, turning me slightly to look over to the next aisle, where my car was exactly where I'd left it.

I swear, I just wanted to sit down in the middle of the asphalt and scream my head off.

Earlier this week, I was taking an online Myer-Briggs personality test, and one of the items was "Agree/Disagree: I am disturbed and distracted by outside noises." There needed to be a third option for an answer: "That's the understatement of the fucking universe."

It's not easy being me sometimes, folks. Especially the me who goes crazy with stress over noisy children/babies, loud neighbors, people who talk in movie theaters, music/TV blasters, barking dogs... Considering we live in a world that just hit a population of 7 billion, peace and quiet is getting to be a rare commodity that is attainable only by the very wealthy. (sigh)

Enough of that. It's very quiet in my apartment tonight. I have a new neighbor moving in next door and I'm all freaked out about that as well, but for tonight, they aren't here yet.

Tomorrow is Halloween. What's everyone doing? Or did some of you have parties this weekend? I'm not really into it, myself -- i think it's for kids. But I do love the candy.

Apropos of nothing, if anyone else is feeling down or stressed, take a look at the little clip below. This commercial never fails to make me giggle. I love Jimmy Fallon, and it seems he's met his match here! Where on earth did they get that kid??

I love how she says one of my favorite words. ;-) Night, y'all.

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 10/28

2011-10-28T12:42:00.000-07:00

Another one so soon? Sort of. I have a few funnies, and then one that's really bugging me and I want to get it out of my head.

let be friend ples

Well, at least he said ples. But I'm still going to pass.

Hi..there.I'm bored & just checkin things out.I cant take my eyes off your profile pics.I wana say,"u got a very gorgeous spankable firm Bottom.I'm very turned-on by your already stinged redden cheeks.

Stinged? Did he mean singed? Stung?
I'm sorry you're bored. Try reading a book. There are some really cute pop-up ones available on Amazon.

all i want to do is give u a good spnking every time i come to town i visit my kids there in fresno and i pass thru ur town once a month so get back too me and maybe u will be dropping ur drawers for me sometime soon

Dropping ur drawers??
Sure, come on over. I'll drop a fully loaded dresser drawer on your foot.

Last week, I got a reply on my Alt.com profile from a man who lives four miles from me. His note was brief, but respectful, and he attached a photo, a face shot, just as I requested in my profile. Nice. He also included his phone number and said "let's talk."

(groan) I hate the phone, as you know. And I especially hate talking to strangers on it. But his profile was very clear -- he said he hated endless emails and he needed to hear a voice in order to make a connection. OK, fine. It won't kill me. So I called.

We had a nice conversation. He asked me a lot of questions, wanted to know about limits and tolerance, preferences, etc. Among other things, I told him that I love scolding, but I do not like verbal degradation and rough talk. "I totally get it," he said. Then he said that because he wasn't a top tier member on Alt, he couldn't see my pictures, only a thumbnail of the profile shot. Could I send him a few photos? Sure, I said, and he gave me his email.

I selected a couple of shots and sent them to him. And then I got this in return:

Very nice. I'll enjoy brutalizing your ass.

I felt like I'd been socked in the gut. Did he not hear a word I'd said? Brutalize? I don't want to be freaking brutalized.

I didn't reply. Then, last Monday, I got another email from him. This time, a close-up shot of his hand clutching his erect member. This is what's in my pants. Call me.

My Alt profile clearly states, in bold: "I want to see your face, not your dick. Please don't send me X-rated pictures."

I felt violated, like I'd experienced some sort of bait-and-switch. He was a gentleman at first, then as soon as he got me to nibble the bait, he became someone else. I thought I had better instincts than this; why was I so fooled? Was it because he was good looking? Am I that shallow? (yeah, I am, somewhat. Who am I kidding?)

I wrote back: "(sigh) If I wanted to see that, I would have stayed at my boyfriend's house." He wrote back: "I am not your boyfriend." Well, duh.

The next day, he wrote once more, asking if I was ready to come over for a spanking. I didn't reply. I was done. When he didn't hear from me, he sent me this: Clearly u r not ready to be spanked by a man like me. I thought we had a very clear and connected chat.

We did. And then you morphed into Dick Boy.

I don't know why this one is bothering me so much. Maybe it's because I'm disgusted with myself. You're so greedy, Erica. You have a wonderful play partner; why even experiment with anyone else? Or I'm pissed off that I was fooled by a pretty face. Maybe part of me was flattered because he's 39 years old and he could get any cute young thing he wants, but he was writing to me.

You know what? I DO have the best possible play partner in ST. But that doesn't mean I never want to play with anyone else. When The Villain was local, I played with him too. And let's be real. I don't have all that many spankable years left. I want to enjoy as much as I can for as long as I can, while men still want to play with me.

I dunno... this left me feeling both foolish and angry. Maybe now that I've put it out there, I can let it go. It's so not worth the time and space in my head.

Move on, Erica. It's another weekend. And next Saturday, I go back to Spanking Court one last time, to wrap up my story arc. I can't wait.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Odds & Ends not in my book, Part 3

2011-10-26T12:15:00.000-07:00

Today's offering: a favorite Danny Chrighton story.

Most of you know by now that Danny was my play partner for a few years, when he lived here in L.A. He's still a dear friend, even though he lives in CO now. I wrote about him at length in my book, but here's a little tidbit that didn't make it.

We shared an appreciation for Rat Pack-style music, especially Dean Martin. He knew my favorite Dino song is "Memories Are Made Of This" -- when Shadow Lane had their "Brat Pack" party a few years ago, I'd requested that song. (I believe Danny's favorite was "Sway," if I'm remembering correctly.)

Anyway, cut to a private house spanking party we attended one Saturday night. It was a fun, lively gathering, back in the day when L.A. had a great party scene. Our host was in a band, and he and his bandmates were playing for us in the garage.

After the band stopped and most of the people had meandered back inside to eat, play, etc., Danny wandered over and picked up one of the guitars. I knew he could play and sing -- he'd brought a guitar to his first SL party and played on the stage with Bob the DJ. Still, I couldn't resist teasing him. "Hey, put that down. It's not a toy."

He just smiled at me, then began to play. I recognized the song immediately -- "Memories Are Made Of This."

He sang the entire song, start to finish. Knew all the chords, all the lyrics. Some others came back in and a small crowd gathered. But he was playing to me.

I don't know if he always knew the song, or if he learned it after he found out it was my favorite. Doesn't matter. No man had ever sung to me before. Let me tell you, it's a really lovely experience.

When the song was over, people clapped, and there was a chorus of "Danny, I didn't know you could play!" "Wow, that was great!" etc. I stood back, waiting for the group to disperse once again. Then I walked over to Danny and whispered three words:

"Play with me."

More than anything at that moment, I wanted to be over his lap, feeling the intensity of that same hand that had just strummed out a song I loved. He took my hand and led me back into the house, and we found a private area to have an intense spanking scene. Lovely.

"Sweet sweet, the memories you gave to me..."

In case y'all don't know the song, here it is: (click on the arrow, then on the link "Watch This on YouTube")

Tension Be-Gone

2011-10-24T23:22:00.000-07:00

If spanking's stress-release properties could be bottled as a drug, that could be its commercial name. I almost always want spanking, but sometimes, I really, really, really freaking NEED it. Crave it soul-deep. Tonight was one of those times.

I love John, truly I do. His family? Notsomuch, as most of you know by now. Are they rude to me? No, they're perfectly pleasant to me, most of the time. It's John they aren't so nice to. He's always been the picked-on one in the family -- first because he was the youngest, and then later simply because he's different from them. (and thank God for that)

But oh, when they need something? An able body to help move things? Or, more often, money? Then he's Johnny the Cash Cow! And what drives me absolutely spitting insane is that no matter what they ask of him, he does it. He has this blind familial loyalty, and they don't deserve it.

So when he told me that his eldest sister wanted to meet with him Sunday morning, my first thought was, "What does she want?" And sure enough... "We need to talk about Mom." Their 84-year-old mother still lives in her own apartment, with the siblings taking turns visiting, taking her out, etc., and some hired help coming during the week to do things for her. But she's getting too addled to live on her own.

One plan was for John's brother, sister-in-law and nephew to take her in. However, they'd need a bigger house. And that's where John comes in, of course. To chip in his healthy share of the down payment, because he makes more money than the other three. Mom has a good chunk of liquid cash, but not enough.

"I'll have equity in the house," he said. "You already have a house," I pointed out. "You don't need their damn equity." Yeah, he makes good money. But he's going to need that money, for when he has to retire early and have open heart surgery. And I guaran-damn-tee none of his family will be around when HE's in need.

So, I was pissed, I admit it. I get so frustrated at his willingness to always help people who aren't particularly nice to him. Blood, shmud. I hate seeing him taken advantage of. Whenever one of his sisters says something snarky about him to me, I silently grit my teeth. "We think you're a saint for putting up with him." Well, I think he's the saint for living with you guys all those years and not putting arsenic in your Wheaties.

And where exactly will this new house be? If John's sister has her way, it will be right near HER, for her convenience. However, John's mom now lives five minutes from John, and it's easy for us to pick her up each Saturday for lunch. When she's farther away, are we still going to have to take her out every damn week? I'm not all that crazy about it now. I don't see my own mother, for God's sake. And when I did, it was once every couple of months, not every week. Yeah, I know. Stop borrowing trouble.

But I was tense about it yesterday, and to my chagrin, found I was still angry about it today. By the time ST got here, I was ready to ask him, "Please, be extra dominant tonight. I need it." But instead, I just came right out and told him I was in a MOOD, and why. And I spared no expletives or unpleasant rhetoric. Yes, I can be a right bitch sometimes.

Did I get a sympathetic ear?? Noooooooooooooooo! OK, OK, maybe at first. But then he said I needed a damn good spanking for being so crabby and saying those things. "That's not fair!" I snapped. "I didn't say this stuff to John! I'm saying it to you! Aren't I allowed to have a confidante?"

"Yes," he said, "and I'm confidante that you're getting a spanking!"

Oh, grooooaaaaan.

Again with the heavy artillery again tonight, not much hand. But it's fine; I wanted it. I kicked and squirmed, but still raised upward for more.

Candid shot he snuck in of my face; what was I doing, biting my knuckle?

He was laying it on me so hard tonight, he actually let me rub. He usually doesn't, the big meanie-face.

The anger flew out of my pores. I made furious sounds, I pounded the bed and glared ferociously at him. He responded by firmly pushing down on the small of my back or gripping my hair. He wasn't going to let me get away with any of my crap, and I wouldn't have wanted him to.

He was giving me exactly what I needed, and he knew it.

See the fist?

He prevailed, of course. As it should be. I calmed down, stopped fighting, absorbed it with deep breaths and focus.

"You need this, don't you? You need it hard and fast, don't you?"

"Yes," I groaned. "Yes, yes, YES!" If anyone had been listening in, they might have thought we were filming porn. But nope... this was therapy. This was sweet relief, in an unorthodox but most effective manner.

A non-candid face shot -- yow. Good thing he's thick-skinned, huh? One might think I hate his guts or something. :-)

Afterward? Wonderfully, blissfully relaxed. I could have fallen asleep snuggled in his arms. Peacefully happy, smiling, practically purring. He came in to a porcupine and left a kitten.

John and I are OK, by the way. He was even joking with me during brunch yesterday. "So, let me make sure we're clear, sweetie," he said, cutting a forkful of his omelet. "The idea of moving you and Mom into my house, so you could take care of her during the week while I'm at work, isn't an option?" I smiled at him and didn't reply. Instead, I picked up my knife and pretended to cut my wrist.

ST, you are the absolute best. Thank you, my confidante. :-)

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 10/21 / Twitter

2011-10-21T12:52:00.000-07:00

Happy Friday! Today's CHoS is brief, so I thought I'd combine it with some of my observations about Twitter, so far.

i would like to seeyou
i am very healthy not bad looking love oral sex and well off financially

Apparently, he doesn't love punctuation.

This was from a man wearing a Day-Glo purple wig:

how about foot TICKLING???
or role playing ???
I am nearby in SFV
like translesbians in thigh boots like me ???
call me

Umm... if I liked foot TICKLING, I would have said so in my profile. And really, are the triple question marks necessary???

And this, from a man with a nice close-up shot of his erect member:

surrender your mind and body then fuck luke rabbits. Let’s talk and make it happened.

I don't know who Luke is, but I don't want to fuck him or his rabbits.

When I didn't reply, he wrote to me three more times. Some people really don't get it.

Some of you saw me ranting on FetLife earlier this week about how I started a new topic in a group and the moderator deleted it. I sent him a message, no hostility, just a simple question, and I quote:

Why was the topic I just posted a few minutes ago removed?

He wrote back, very snarky and combative, saying my topic was redundant (please! Topics are repeated on FL every damn day), and he didn't appreciate my complaining and questioning him. He ended his missive with this:

Shrugs ..yeah that is right, were all control freaks asshole meanie mods .

No, not all. Just you, stupid.

So I've been on Twitter a couple of months now, long enough to notice some generalities.

1. It has its fun moments. I like to see what my friends are up to, and sometimes people post some really funny comments and pictures.

2. The occasional intelligent conversation between several tweeters does pop up on occasion, but is severely limited due to the character limits.

3. About three-quarters of the time, posting on Twitter is the cyber-equivalent of talking to yourself, because you get no response.

4. People tweet about food, a lot.

5. Some people tweet deeply personal and heartbreaking things. I have been known to blog some pretty heavy stuff, but I think one's personal agony, if it's going to be made public, deserves more than 140 characters.

6. People tweet WAYYYYYYYYYYYY too damn much information sometimes, and I think they forget they're talking to thousands of people, not just IMing with their friends. For example, there has been an ongoing conversation since last night about butt plugs. Please, make it stop! I like these people. I just don't want to read about what's going up their butts.

7. I have 170 followers at this time. Many are scene people, but then I get the occasional Christian fundamentalist or right-wing conservative. And they're following me because....?

8. Twitter is a good place to quickly pass on some information to a whole lot of people. It's also a place where you can waste a great deal of time if you're not careful.

Guess what got Chrossed today? My off-topic Jerry Lewis post! Now that makes me smile.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Odds & Ends not in my book, Part 2

2011-10-19T12:24:00.000-07:00

Since I got so much positive feedback about last Sunday's blog, I thought I'd continue with the trend, using these bits and pieces for fun filler.

My father worked with Jerry Lewis for many years. Back in the Dark Ages (the early 1950s), Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis starred in a variety show called the Colgate Comedy Hour. Jerry was fresh and young and hadn't developed into an egotistical monster yet, and he and Dean were perfect together.

Slice of nostalgia for you:

My mother once told me that back then, Jerry was so hysterically funny (and dirty) in person, she'd laugh until her ribs and stomach ached hours afterward. But cut to the 1960s, when Dad was working on Jerry's solo show, and things weren't so much fun anymore. I have vague memories of my father coming home from work, slamming things around and uttering things I won't repeat. To say he didn't like Jerry Lewis was an epic understatement.

He wasn't alone, of course. I once spoke with a woman who was doing a program on Jerry; she was calling my dad's apartment and I happened to be there, going through his things. I told her my father had passed away, and she asked me if I knew how he'd felt about Jerry Lewis. She said, and I quote: "People tend to feel one of two ways about him -- they either think he walks on water, or they want to hold him under water." I laughed and assured her that my father belonged in the latter category.

Anyway... while going through a chest of drawers, I found a fun little souvenir. (A few of you who know me in person have seen this; most of you have not. And I apologize in advance for the dreadful picture quality.) It was a cigarette lighter, with a caricature of Jerry Lewis plus his signature on the front.

(My thumb is over the top of it for a reason.) I turned it over, and saw that Jerry had taken something sharp and scratched the date and a message:

The date was "12/8/67." The message is a little weird -- personally, "To Eddie, love, Jerry" would have made more sense. (Always a proofreader, that's me.)

But let's go back to the front of the lighter. Apparently, after receiving this gift, my father scratched in a little message of his own.

Did I mention my father didn't like Jerry Lewis? :-D (He did like Dean, though.)

I still can't look at this thing without cracking up. Ah, Dad, I miss you.

And speaking of my book, I'd like to give Hermione a huge THANK YOU for this. ♥

Happy Hump Day!