Shadow Lane reminiscing

Still have to wait one more day before we head to Vegas. Several people are already there partying up a storm and I'm envious! But there will be plenty of fun left to be had when we get there.

I was thinking about all the parties we've attended, the fun memories that stretch all the way back to 1997. I thought I'd share a few.

This one really takes me back -- this was at the Sportsman's Lodge, one of the Valentine's Day parties. Yours truly is second from the right. Sadly, none of the other three women attends Shadow Lane anymore.

One of my favorite people in the whole wide world, Danny Chrighton. I'm mad at him, though. He chose to spend his money on a camping trip this month, instead of coming to SL. CAMPING??? Let's review: bare bottoms, gambling and general debauchery, vs. cold, hard ground, bugs galore and stinky bathrooms. Yeah, I can see why he chose the latter. Not.

This is from the first party (2009) where I met the beautiful Sarah Gregory. What I wouldn't do for those curls!

Me with the handsome Razor Ryan, who did two Shadow Lane videos plus a bunch of others for several companies. He hasn't been to a party for a couple of years; wish he'd come back!

Finally, one of my favorite photos of John and me. It was taken by our photographer friend Andrew Morgan. And yes, we're sitting in an empty Jacuzzi.

Can't wait to make another batch of memories, and hopefully get some new photos. Is it tomorrow yet??

Excited? Who's excited?

I AM!!!!!!!!!

Some people are already in Vegas. We will probably be arriving just about this time, two days from now.

Rental car booked? Check. Hotel reservation and tickets? Check check. Snacks for the room? Yup. Nerves? checkcheckcheckcheckcheck to infinity.

I can't help it. It's just what I do. I worry about everything that can go wrong, that will keep us from getting there. Last year, I heard about how a fire started on the Cajon Pass and the freeway was closed... a mere two hours after we drove through it. Stuff like that gives me a heart attack.

John will say, "When have we not gotten there?" And I'll reply, "Never, but there's always a first time!" Poor John. The things he puts up with.

But nerves aside, I am so, so looking forward to this. It's funny... it used to be that I looked forward to tons and tons of spanking, as much as possible with as many men as possible. In recent years, my focus has changed. I still love the play, but what I relish most is seeing all my friends and meeting new ones. The sheer joy of being among hundreds of spankos.

(the ladies will relate to this part; the men can skip it)

The all-important Friday and Saturday night outfits have been selected! I managed to score a fabulous new dress for a whopping $18. Yesterday, I tore my bedroom apart, trying on clothes, pairing dresses with panties, stockings and shoes, choosing this, rejecting that. And of course, must have spares for everything. I must remember my PJs, because there's a pajama party on Sunday night. Also shorts and tops, comfortable shoes (one can stand on high heels only so long), and of course, panties, panties and more panties. A spanking bottom woman cannot have too many pairs of panties at a weekend party. I'm even bringing a garter belt and stockings for Saturday night, much as I don't like hassling with them. After all, John will be there to fasten the garters for me. (It's a tough job, but he's willing to fall on the sword.)

And if I didn't already have enough to be excited about, I had a long phone chat today with someone I haven't talked with in years -- Bethany, from Spanking Epics/Bethany's Woodshed/Blushing Books. She wants to distribute my books! Her publishing company is doing very well and this would be a fabulous opportunity for me to bring my books back into the spotlight a bit, particularly Late Bloomer. It's such a weird niche book -- part scene, part autobiography, part sad stuff and part sexy stuff -- and I never really knew how to market it. Perhaps with Bethany behind it, it will do better. I hope so!

I have sent her all the files, and I'll let you guys know when everything is up. Also, she's going to prepare a blog interview for me. This is very cool! I loved working with Bethany and her husband when I shot for Spanking Epics years ago. They treated me very well and I'm thrilled to be in touch with them again. :-)

So, I'm off to the gym to blow off some nervous energy. For those who have already arrived, don't party too much without us! We're coming!

Sooooo much better

Thanks to everyone for your support on Friday, both on here and in private messages. There was a time that day when I thought we'd have to cancel our trip to Shadow Lane, and the frustration over that possibility and not knowing for sure was making me nuts. That, plus some hurt feelings over another issue, sent me into pressure-cooker mode and if I didn't blow off somewhere in a neat and controlled manner, things were going to get messy. It really helped, writing those few paragraphs and then sharing the full story with a couple of friends. Later, I was calm and resigned, not heading for John's feeling like a human hornet's nest. And as it turned out, our trip is safe after all.

Still, it was a long and tiring weekend. Visiting John's mom in the hospital, then driving to OC to visit my stepdad. I've been neglecting him and I really don't want to do that, because it makes him happy when we come to see him and have a bite to eat with him. For the first time, he looked feeble and old to me. Well, he is 94. He misses my mother. :-( But he's pleasant to be around and he's still telling the same cornball dirty jokes and limericks that he did when I was a kid (with the same impeccable timing). I hope he sticks around for a while.

Sooooo... by today, I was ready for some stress release. Enter Mr. D to deliver my pre-Shadow Lane warm-up, and not a minute too soon.

He said he would use only his hand tonight, but I didn't hold him to it. He's very strong, but his hand hasn't been seasoned yet. (I have no doubt that it will be after a while with me!) I told him about how Craig actually brought a brick into the house and sat in front of the TV slapping the brick, to toughen up his palm. Hilarious image, but it worked! I like to tease, but really, I want it to become comfortable for him so it won't hurt his hand. What fun is that, if it hurts him?? ;-)

We moved into the bedroom and I got some implements: the Spanking Buddy, two small paddles (leather and wood) and my hairbrush. "I want you on your knees, right here," he said, pointing to the side of the bed. I knelt down and he got down beside me, alternating the four implements. I'd been giggling and sassing with the hand spanking, but not any more. The heat and sting grew and I started squirming around so much, I could feel rug burns starting on my knees. So I waited for him to pause, then asked if I could please lie on the bed.

It didn't take long, with that first round. I was so full of tension and residual aggravation, and I felt my throat constricting and the tears rising. He noticed the change in my sounds, the deepening of my groans, and ramped it up. And I started to cry. Immediately, he stopped, gathered me close and held me as I wept into his shirt. "It's ok, I'm here," he kept whispering. "You're ok, you're ok. I'm with you." He kissed my cheek, kissed my tears. Which, of course, made me bawl harder as I trembled in his arms. But it felt good. I so needed that. I will always need that.

Some people still ask me, how can you have spanking without sex, or at least without some sort of sexual release afterward? If they could see me after a scene, they'd understand. That crying, that shaking, that outpouring of emotion? That is my orgasm.

Oh, we weren't done, mind you. Just resting. :-)  Later, after I'd calmed down, he took me back over his knee for more with the implements. No more tears this time, but it definitely hurt more the second round.

We lay on my bed for a long time, coming down and talking, and hours melted by. I'm enjoying getting to know him. The stereo in the background was, once again, playing the annual Rock and Roll A to Z countdown, and they were still in the A's. They'd just played "America" by Simon and Garfunkel, and "American Pie" has just started. "Oh, they're in the B's already," he murmured.

"Huh??'

"Bye, bye, Miss American Pie!"

I snorted. "It's 'American Pie'! And how the hell could they skip from 'America' to 'Bye,' anyway??" He didn't have an answer for that, so he reached over and gave me a smack. "Watch it," he warned.

And of course, I kept giggling at him, shook my head and mumbled, "Dumbass."

He'd been lying down, but he was bolt upright in a heartbeat. "Oh, you just stepped in it that time, girl," he growled, pinning me to the bed and snatching the paddles and brush again. Damn, that third round was killer! I didn't even try to suck it up; I was thrashing around and shrieking "OKOKOK I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" (But I was laughing at the same time.)

The clip wasn't meant to be, kids. He brought it to me on a zip drive, but it seems to be a bit out of sync and choppy. Plus, I tried uploading it here and it just froze everything up. Ah, well. We didn't take pictures tonight, either. However, after he'd left and I'd gotten undressed, I took one with my timer. I call this: "Mission Accomplished -- Stress Released." Most of my color had faded already, but you can still see a smidgen of it.

I am so very lucky that I met Mr. D when I did. And best of all, I don't have to worry about him meeting anyone. He's already dating a woman and she knows all about me. All is cool and copacetic. He even borrowed a couple of my implements to try out on her (after ensuring that I was OK with this, which I totally was).

As he walked out the door, he turned back and said, once again, "I'm not going anywhere." I made light of it and joked, "Whaddaya mean? You're going somewhere right now!" But I appreciated hearing it. Even in this short time, he knows how much that means to me.

This weekend, in a weak moment, I said to John, "How come you're the only one who stays?" He didn't have an answer for that, just hugged me close. Sixteen years on Thursday, y'all.

Sweet dreams, Mr. D. Thank you.

@#$%&!!!

Yup. That's where I'm at right now. I am angry and frustrated, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

Why? I can't tell you. Because y'all will think I'm the worst, most self-centered and unfeeling bitch on the planet. And I'm not going to subject myself to judgment, even though I know the ones nearest and dearest to me would understand.

So suffice it to say, I am upset and very tired of feeling like this. But in the face of other people's issues (a lot of sad stuff this week), I feel like mine pales in comparison. So I will rant about it without specifying. And hope that it makes me feel a bit a relief so that I won't lose my temper and say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Happy Chrossing to my fellow bloggers who made the list. At least something good happened today. This is most likely not going to be a good weekend; in fact, it will probably be incredibly stressful. But at least I have Monday to look forward to. (How perverse is that; dreading the weekend and anticipating Monday? Who does that??)

Sorry for being vague, folks. But I knew I had to release steam somewhere. When I found myself blowing a gasket over someone's poor grammar, I knew I was in trouble. Classic overreaction and transference. I'm not angry at the improper usage of a pronoun. I'm just angry.

Thanks for listening. And I hope everyone has a good weekend.

Yayy! Finally! :-)

I'm sorry, y'all! But better late than never, right? Mr. D and I are on a learning curve here. He's been struggling with the file-share thing, plus being super busy with work and his own life (dammit, I hate it when other people's lives don't conform to my schedule), and what I should have done was tell him to send the photos first, and not to worry about the clip.

So, we'll get it all worked out. The poor dear... it seems he has file sharing confused with rocket science. :-)  (Yes, I know I'm going to pay for that.)

Anyway...

Before we started, he somewhat sheepishly said, "So, I was doing some yardwork..." and held out his hands. Several Band-Aids. Tsk. "So, no hand spanking then, I'm thinking," I teased. He insisted he could do some, and proceeded to prove it with an OTK warmup.

He'd read my ABCs of spanking. Over and over, apparently. He'd even thought one or two of them were written just for him. (Why do tops always think everything is about them?) For example, my "D = Don't hurt yourself, darlin' " was referring to his very sore arm two weeks ago after we played. Heavens, no. That's just one of my standard lines! Ask anyone.

No hard acrylic stuff this time. He had a new toy -- I guess one would call it a mini-flogger? It could be soft and sensual, but it also packed a wallop. Here's what it looks like:

Damn stupid underwear tags! I really need to get into the habit of cutting those things off.

We started out with a lot of banter (and giggling on my part). He was quoting a lot of my ABCs: "So, feeling like taking a nap yet?" "Have I learned how to use this implement, do you think?" "Am I even?" He commented that I wasn't getting red yet, and I said, "Well, maybe if you didn't stop every five seconds!" (He likes to take mini-breaks; let me think he's stopping and then start up again. I'm learning his Modus Operandi.)

He also is fond of the phrase, "Excuse me??" Said that many times, in an incredulous tone, at my various smart-ass cracks. I'd loudly reply, "I said..." and repeat the comment. Finally, after he'd said "Excuse me?" for the umpteenth time, I remarked, "You know, you say 'excuse me' a lot. Do you have gas?"

You can figure out for yourselves how that went over. :-)

After a while, he announced that we were taking a brief break. What? No! Don't stop! "What for?" I blurted. "Because you're bleeding a little," he answered.

Huh? How did that happen? Just a tiny spot on my right cheek, but I was really surprised. He went to the kitchen and got some ice from my freezer. When he came back, I was rubbing my right cheek a bit.

"I didn't say you could do that," he calmly said. I shrugged, went on rubbing and said, "You didn't tell me I couldn't, either." He sighed. "Don't move," and left the room again, returning with lengths of black rope, and tied my hands together in front of me. "I guess you won't be reaching back there now, huh?"

Gee, ya think?

Not to worry, though. I started getting into the zone, and soon thereafter, my mouth stopped running. Snarkastic words were replaced with moans and sighs. He said he could tell my body language was changing; it was like I'd started melting into the bedspread. And my feet were moving differently. Funny; I've never had anyone notice what my feet are doing. But yeah, I guess they are active. I don't kick, but I curl and uncurl my feet, twist them together, curl up my left heel (never the right; not sure why).

After a long flurry, I was nearly toast. But when he leaned down and whispered, "You want a little more, don't you," I nodded my head. "Finish me," I murmured. He did.

Lovely. The aftercare was lovely too. So gentle.

He keeps saying to me, "I'm not going anywhere." This time, he added, "And I'm going to keep telling you that until you believe it." Part of me hates that I'm so transparent, coming off as vulnerable and needy. But it is what it is. Too damn many losses in the past year or so, and I'm finding it hard to believe in much of anything lately. But I'm working on it.

Looking forward to next Monday already. Yesterday and today, I had that delicious soreness. Felt it with every single squat and lunge today at the gym. Cursed and smiled at the same time. :-)

A couple of quick notes: Remember my post about Tumblr photo sites, and how the pictures are almost never credited? I figure on the rare occasion that I run into one of mine, I'll simply credit it right here. So, if any of you happened to read Plector's Tumblr yesterday, and saw this and these? Yup. Yours truly.

And finally... RIP to our blogging friend Tim, who lost his battle with cancer.

Off to the showers with me. I was so eager to post this thing, I ran right to the computer as soon as I walked in the door from the gym. Yes, I'm just that dedicated.

Tonight's blog...

... will have to wait until tomorrow. I have not received the photos from Mr. D yet.

His camera is brand new, and the removable thingamajig isn't compatible with my old computer, because there isn't any slot for it. (No comments from any of you.) I have USB ports, but that's it. So he has to download and send the pictures to me when he gets home. Two weeks ago, he sent them right away, but he may have gotten distracted tonight. (sigh) Ah well. It was a lovely time, so it will be worth the wait. He even took a small clip of video, but has to figure out how he's going to send it to me. I suggested RapidShare, but that site is confusing. Any other file-sharing sites that you guys like? I am such a dunce when it comes to this stuff.

I am liking this new friendship more and more. :-)  Stay tuned.

Can't take me anywhere

This is purely vanilla, but amusing. I hope, anyway.

So last week, I had lunch with my cousin (the famous one) and a dear friend (also famous). Unfortunately, I can't name either one of them, although my friend knows both Ericas (Scott and [realname]). She's worked with both my father and my cousin, so we have that connection. She's not kinked, but she's kink-friendly.

Anyway, my cousin had invited us both out to lunch, and we were informed by his assistant that we were meeting at a restaurant in Beverly Hills. I Googled it, and it turned out to be a popular French bistro. You know the type -- pretentious food, small portions and not-small prices.

I confess right here, I am not a foodie. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Don't get me wrong; I like good food, well-prepared food. But I like simple food. I'm not into sauces, reductions and emulsions. When I think of a turkey sandwich, I think turkey, lettuce, tomato and mustard on whole-wheat bread. Not smoked turkey breast, cranberry chutney and arugula on brioche. Same thing with pizza. I almost never eat it, but when I do, it's plain mozzarella cheese and plenty of tomato sauce on a chewy slice I can fold. Not artisan flatbread with goat cheese, heirloom tomato confit and a smattering of truffles.

The place was gorgeous, I have to say. The hostess and servers were charming. ("Sparkling water, or tap?" our server cheerily asked me. She made tap water sound like she'd be pumping it out of the garden hose.) I glanced at the menu and nearly choked on my hose water at the prices.

I wondered what kind of bread they'd bring. I figured in a place like this, we'd get a fancy basket with an assortment of bakery breads and rolls. So I was quite surprised when the server laid what looked like a twisted branch directly on the tablecloth; no basket, no plates. Turned out it was a pull-apart strand of individual sourdough bread knots.

When my friend arrived and we'd hugged and sat back down, I plucked the bread off the table and held it aloft. "What the hell is this?" I asked. "They put the bread right on the table in this chi-chi place?"

She looked at it and quipped, "It looks like a dildo." I almost fell out of my chair. She then went one better and pulled her camera out of her purse.

So here I am, in this fancy-schmancy restaurant, leering at the dildo bread:

Fortunately, she took two shots. The first one had our server in the background, looking at us and laughing. Yup, we be classy.

Hope everyone had a good weekend. I'm playing tomorrow -- YES!!

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 8/17

Happy Friday, everyone, and congratulations to all my fellow Chrosslings. I promised you a whopper of a CHoS, and I am delivering. Enjoy.

Do u butter those buns?

No, I use Smart Beat margarine.

I am a do who is interisted in spanking. Nothig else.

I believe it. Clearly you're not interisted [sic] in spelling properly. You're not a do, you're a don't.

Sir found your profile quite interesting. It appears W/we share several interests. Particularly, your ability to express your desires.

I'm a well-educated secure professional who has been in the Lifestyle for over 20 years. That experience allows ME to understand MY partner’s needs and desires so that I can fully “explore” and “expand” them.

To find a person that truly understands MY desires is quite rare. In reading your profile, I see someone who possibly shares MY interests and is compatible with MY way of life. Importantly, I see a person who appreciates the wonder of this unique Lifestyle.

Where to begin... 1. Referring to yourself in the third person is pretentious. 2. MY, MY, MY... not too full of yourself, are you? 3. My profile had absolutely nothing in it that was compatible with your "Lifestyle." Admit it -- you were just looking at my ass. 4. You're boring. Fuck off.

Hi there erica I'm also in so cali and I'm 37 I love spanking naught grls bottoms let's chat would love to have good sessoin withlets chat I'm strict and know how to give a god spanking

Oh, so tempting to take "god spanking" and run with it. But I don't want to offend anyone, so this naught grl is going to refrain.

Best for last, as always:

HI, WE HAVE CHATTED BEFORE U R SOOOOOO RIGHT I WANT U TO CUM 4 ME THEN I KNOW I SPANKED YOU AND U LOVED THE SCENE---ITS ABOUT MAKING MY PARTNER HAPPY WITH A RED RED ASS---U IN SUN-DRESS IN PARK WITH ME---THONG PANTIES ON SO I LIFT DRESS TAKE YOUR SANDAL + PADDLE U WHEN JOGGERS RUN BY MMMMMM BET I COULD MAKE U COMMMMM MORE MORE LOVE PUBLIC PLAY WITH BEAUTIFIL WOMAN LIKE YOU MMMM NOW IM HARD---GO GET MY BELT YOUNG LADY--GET IN CORNER AND WAIT 4 YOUR SPANKING---HOLD UP THAT DRESS NOW U BAAAAAD LIL GIRL. MMMMMM LOVE DADDY.

What do I love more having a ration of stupid crap spewed at me, kids? Having that ration spewed in ALL CAPS. Stop shouting, you moron. Actually, stop talking and stop typing while you're at it. I'm afraid you have "commmmming" confused with vomiting.

Hope I brought you some laughs. Have a great weekend, y'all. :-)

The ABCs of Spanking -- Erica style

I wasn't going to join in on the latest meme floating about in the spanko blogosphere (your favorite spanking terms from A to Z). It's a fun one, but I figured that all the best words had been used already. Then I thought, why not put my own sarcastic spin on it? :-D

So, I present to you, my ABCs of spanking -- snarkastic phrases A to Z.

A -- And your point is?
B -- Blah blah blah.
C -- Can we wrap this up sometime today?
D -- Don't hurt yourself, darlin'.
E -- Even the sides up; my left cheek is being neglected.
F -- First time doing this, hmm?
G -- Ginger? I don't think so, pal.
H -- Have you started yet?
I -- It's not rocket science, honey -- hand up, hand down.
J -- Just get on with it, OK?
K -- Kiss my a$%.
L -- Let's review E; I have TWO cheeks, dumbass.
M -- Mercy. (NOT!!!!!!)
N -- No, I don't think I'm smart; I know I am.
O -- Oh no, your hand is bleeding.
P -- Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker's man...
Q -- Quit making so much noise with that smacking, I'm trying to take a nap.
R -- Riiiiight. I'll be a good girl from now on.
S -- So sorry...No, not really.
T -- Too bad about your hand, honey.
U -- Up yours.
V -- Very nice implements; call me when you've learned how to use them.
W -- Whatever.
X -- X marks the spot. See if you can aim accurately with visual aids.
Y -- Yes, I'll probably say something like that again.
Z -- Zzzzzzzzz....

Feel free to make up your own, of course!

The excitement is building!



Still one of my favorite Wolfie caricatures of me! (and I wish it were raining!)

The Shadow Lane party in Vegas is now two weeks away. Room is booked, tickets are purchased. And my usual cocktail of nerves and excitement is setting in, big time.

Yesterday I got to see Alex for lunch, on the last day of her L.A. trip. My only complaint was that our time was limited and I could have easily spent twice as much time with her. She is such a doll! But I get to see her again in two weeks, as she'll be at SL as well. And all our party/video/scene chitchat kicked me into pre-party mode.

ICAN'TWAITICAN'TWAITICAN'TWAIT! Not just for the play (although that's huge), but seeing so many adored friends, all in one place, once again. As usual, I'm panicking about having so much to do in such a short time. We don't come early, and we don't leave late -- we arrive Friday late afternoon and we're out of there early Monday morning. So it's a very short timeframe in which to cram about a week's worth of activity.

Yeah, I know. I do this song and dance before every party, and have done so for years. Can you imagine what John goes through?? He has to deal with Ms. Panic. I told you guys before, he even made up a parody about me, Panic the Cat, sung to the tune of the "Felix the Cat" theme. (groan)

So I'm restless and anxious and way too damn hot and and and... ARGGGH! For Christ's sake, Erica, get a grip. It's Wednesday the 15th. Go do some work. Go to the gym. Go get spanked... oh, wait. Can't do that until next Monday. Oh well, that's OK. Did I mention that it's too damn hot?

Welcome to the E L Scott Asylum, folks. Fasten your straitjackets. It's going to be a crazy couple of weeks.

Uncommon Sense, Part 3: The Brotherhood of the Traveling Fingers

Obviously, this isn't my usual Monday night blog. Mr. D had to postpone; the poor thing did something or another that his back didn't like and it was spasming on him. I know back pain well, so he has my sympathies. He assured me he'll be back in fine form next week.

Damn, I'm good. I mean, I've bruised and blistered several tops' hands, and even made a couple of them bleed. But I've never made a top throw his back out just thinking about playing with me. :-D

(John insisted I post the above paragraph. It's all his fault. So, Mr. D, just pretend you didn't read that part, k? Thanks much.)

Anyway, I thought tonight might be a good time for one of my "uncommon sense" columns. You know, where we talk about things that should be common sense, but apparently aren't. Tonight's installment is about tops who let their fingers wander where they weren't invited. I read about this all the time on FetLife and elsewhere, and really, I wonder what some people are thinking. Oh, wait. They aren't.

I can hear some of you out there. "But wait, Erica! If you don't approve of such activity, then what about this?"

Hey, that was a professional photo; that didn't count. :-) But I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with the touchy-feely stuff. What I object to is the assumption that it's OK, that it's welcome, simply because a woman bares her bottom to you for a spanking. NOT.

Sure, a lot of people like their spanking and sex/touching/etc. together. That is their choice, their prerogative. I'm not talking about couples here. I'm talking about parties, about the more casual type of spanking, when you're not playing with a significant other. If a bottom likes the touching, then more power to her. But a top should not assume that when a woman is over his lap or bent over in front of him, if it's for a spanking, that it's OK to do anything else. Wouldn't you think that's common sense? Not so common, from the stories I hear.

I have three examples of tops who were far too presumptuous. I've talked about them before, but they bear repeating for this topic.

1. New top came over (we'd done the coffee meeting), and we started to play. About one minute into the scene, he'd already pulled down my panties, yanked my cheeks apart and made a comment about the "big pink winking eye." WTF??? I got up and told him the scene was over.

2. I did a scene with a new guy at the Shadow Lane party on Friday night. I was OTK on a bed in a room full of people, and he suddenly shoved my legs apart. Startled, I firmly slammed them back shut. I figured that would be the end of it, but he grabbed them and pushed them open again, and this time he reached in for a feel. Screw subtlety; I loudly snapped, "Don't DO that!" He muttered, "I can't help it... you're just so fuckin' hot." Yeah, well. Thanks, but I won't be playing with you again.

3. Met a guy for coffee; we got along, have a nice chat. He lived nearby, so we went to his house to play. I was bent over the couch arm and he was strapping me, then he paused. "Be right back," he said, leaving the room. Came back in, and then next thing I felt was his fingers in the last place where I wanted to feel his fingers. "What are you doing?" I asked. "Just a little lube," he answered. I jerked my head around, and saw he's got lube in one hand and a butt plug in the other!! "NO!!!!" I hollered, jerking away from him.

He stood there, blinking in confusion. "Wait... is that a real 'no'?"

You bet your ass it's a real no! Jeeeezus! Presumptuous, much?

Please don't get me wrong. I know lots of spankos are anal-erotic and enjoy back door play. That's fine and dandy. But for God's sake, when you're playing with someone for the first time and it's a spanking scene, would you assume it's OK to shove a butt plug in her without checking with her first? Apparently, this guy didn't think it was necessary.

But what if you're playing, the scene is going great, and your spankee is noticeably wet? Sorry, dude. That's a physiological reaction a lot of us bottoms have. It's still not an open invitation to let your fingers do the walking. If a "no genital touching" limit is in place, then no is still no.

In the past, in the middle of private party scenes, I've had playmates ask, very politely, if they could touch me. Yup, I've OK'd it a few times, caught up in the moment, feeling the chemistry and wanting it. (And I always tell John afterward, whose standard reaction is to shake his head and sigh, "You slut.") But if they hadn't asked, just went right for the feel, I wouldn't have appreciated it.

Incidentally, I'm going with the M/F orientation because that's the one I know, but I'm curious: Have any male or female bottoms ever had trouble with over-assuming female tops?

Anyway, here's the deal. Going OTK at a play party is not, not, NOT implied consent for tops to dip their fingers in the cake. Is that really so hard to comprehend? Why is this an issue to begin with? We engage in a fetish activity that involves a degree of nudity and physical closeness, but smacking a bottom can be accomplished quite thoroughly without wandering into other territory. That kind of activity is secondary.

So have some (un)common sense. If you have free reign, [ooops! That should be rein. And I even thought about that and chose reign deliberately. Some proofreader!] great. If you don't, don't assume you have it, because it's not a given. Period. When a woman says yes, she's saying yes to a spanking. Whether or not she'll say yes to "Can I put something up your butt" or "May I touch your hoohah" is yet to be determined.

I am so over this @#$%ing heat

(warning: cussing ahead)

Anyone remember the old Twilight Zone episode called "Land of the Midnight Sun"? The one where the Earth is orbiting closer to the sun, and it's so hot everywhere that thermometers are bursting and paintings are melting, and people are either dying or going insane? That's what I think we're in right now. Either that, or Hell. Enough already with day after fucking day of triple-digit heat! I'm so sick of it, I could scream. In fact, I think I will, in a bloggy sense.

Could be worse, I know. At least my building's antiquated A/C system hasn't croaked, as it usually does during a heat wave. But it can't keep up with heat like this, so my apartment has been averaging about 76-80 degrees. I have every fan I own running and I've been spritzing myself with water for the evaporative cooling. Dinner tonight was a pint of frozen yogurt.

At least I got some respite at John's house this weekend. His central air system is like A/C on steroids; it's powerful enough to deal with triple digits. He had to work late on Friday evening, and when he came home, he said his place was nearly 100 degrees, but within two hours after putting on the A/C, it was back down below 80 already. (I didn't go there until Saturday morning.) Of course, the utility companies are telling us to set our A/C at 78 degrees, but even my beloved diehard environmentalist said, "Fuck that" and cranked it down to 68. So it was quite comfortable there. Unfortunately, we couldn't stay in there all weekend.

Yesterday, we went to the nursing home where his mother is staying until she's well enough to go home (she got out of Kaiser Hospital last week). Before we went, we'd seen one of John's sisters, who said she'd already been to visit. She made a face, saying the place was depressing, and they automatically put all the patients in wheelchairs and diapers whether they need them or not. Lovely.

The first thing I noticed when we walked into the place was the pervasive stink of pee. The people who worked there were nice, but the place itself was dreadful. John's mom was pretty much out of it and it was impossible to have a conversation with her, but we still stayed for over an hour. From one of the nearby rooms was the sound of a patient howling and keening, and my nerves nearly snapped. We were just about to leave when John's brother, sister-in-law and nephew arrived. I groaned inwardly. Shit. We almost got out, but now we're stuck. Sure enough, we stayed another 15 minutes while John and his bro/SIL caught each other up. Deep breaths, Erica, we're almost out. I'd just gone through this with my own mother and it was just too damn much. At least the nursing home she'd been in didn't smell bad.

When we left, my car nearly killed us both -- it was 110 in there, according to my car's temp register. It was like driving inside a blast furnace until it finally started to cool down a little bit. At least it's a newer car. Some of you might remember older-model cars, the ones that overheated on days like this when you ran the air conditioner.

Poor John. The heat did a number on him, too. Even long after we got back into his lovely icebox of a house, he was sweating. It's like he was overheating from the inside out.

Today was better. Not cooler, you understand, but at least we didn't have to do anything dreadful. We went to brunch, and in the parking lot, we saw two other couples walking ahead of us. Knowing that the restaurant was probably already packed with the lunch crowd and not wanting those two couples to get there ahead of us, I actually broke into a sprint and ran across the lot, down the sidewalk and inside. Hey, it got us seated sooner. So what if it damn near killed me.

So now, I'm home, and it's still hot; it's 10 PM and a brisk 83 degrees. Eric Idle is on TV as I write, at the closing ceremonies, singing about looking on the bright side of life. Shut up, Eric. You're in London right now. Come here and deal with this damned heat and see if you still look on the fucking bright side.

Why yes, I'm cranky. Thanks for noticing.

Tomorrow Mr. D is coming over. I look forward to seeing him again, but I don't know how either of us will survive playing in this heat. I was tempted to tell him to forget about the toy bag and just bring his bathing suit, but hopefully it will be OK. Perhaps I'll spritz him with my water bottle. :-) That would be a kindness, wouldn't it??

Tuesday I'm having lunch with Alex; she's been in town for the past couple of weeks and this will be her last day here. Can't wait to see her again! Wednesday I get my first batch of work from the new client, and Thursday I am seeing my cousin again. So it's going to be a busy week. But if this heat doesn't break, I may end up in the loony bin. Which I wouldn't mind, if it were air-conditioned.

Excuse me for now -- I'm going to go pour ice water on my sheets.

Today's CHoS...

...has been postponed. I promise I will have a real whopper of one next week for you. But today, I need to rant bitch talk about something else.

Earlier this week, I received a private message from a reader who prefers to not comment publicly. Before I say anything else, I must make this clear to the writer: I know you didn't mean it the way it came out; it was just an unfortunate choice of phrase. I am not upset with you, and I don't want anyone reading this to criticize you. But the words bothered me, and I feel the need to set things straight.

They wrote, regarding my play partner situation: Congratulations on the replacement.

Understand this well: ST is irreplaceable. He is not a battery or a toothbrush; he is a man with whom I had a very special friendship for a long time. I have downplayed my feelings a bit on this blog because 1) talking about missing him changes nothing, and would probably bore/annoy people after a while; and 2) I don't want him to read it and feel bad. But you know what? Screw it. I do miss him. I miss him fiercely. How could I not? Anyone who has been reading my blog knows how I put my complete trust, my body and my psyche in this man's hands week after week. I can't just turn all those feelings off. I'm not a damn faucet. I'm @#$%ing crying just writing this.

Now, regarding Mr. D -- he is not a replacement. He is his own man, with his own merits. He's not just somebody I grabbed to shove into the gap that ST left. From what I've seen in the short time I've known him, he is a good man, very kind and caring, and he wants nothing more than to make this work well and happily for both of us. A lesser man would have looked at the situation and said, "Nah... this is too much work. I don't want to compete with the Ghost of Tops Past." He didn't; he pushed forward, determined to create his own place, his own relationship with me. And I like him. He's not pushing or rushing me, he's not trying to be anyone but himself. He has the confidence to know he doesn't have to be anyone else. I look forward to seeing him again.

And I'll tell you what else: I am damn lucky that Mr. D came along when he did. Because if he hadn't, I'd probably be in the mother of all depressions right now. Not to dwell on it overly or have a poor-me party, but yeah, things have been pretty sucky in recent times. My mother, ST, John's ongoing health issues, and now, all sorts of stuff with his relatives as well. Between his mother being in and out of hospitals and his niece getting married next month, there's been a whole lot of extra interaction with his oh-so-dysfunctional family. And I'm sick to death of all of them. Why? Not because of how they treat me; they are all pleasant to me. It's John whom they treat like a red-headed stepchild, the oddball of the family. Well, except for when they want something from him. His sister and niece were as sweet as pie when they asked him to contribute two cases of champagne to the wedding reception. And of course, John said yes. Because that's what he does; he's a giver. And givers often get exploited... but one would hope it's not from their own family.

So yeah. I'm mad. I'm frustrated. I'm sad. Fuck stoicism and trying to be cheery and sexy and fun for bloggy entertainment. This is the state of Erica, right now. However... I'm also hopeful. I have a lovely new friend. I'm starting work with a new client next week. And Shadow Lane is at the end of the month -- I need a spanking party like you wouldn't believe. Not just for the play either; I need hugs. Lots and lots and lots of hugs, from my dear friends whom I only get to see once or twice a year. These gatherings feed my soul.

(inhale, exhale) Onward. Thanks for reading, as always. Have a great weekend, y'all.

Happy CSD, + more about fantasy vs. reality

According to the spanko blogosphere, today, August 8, is Consensual Spanking Day. OK, I'm all for commemorating one of our favorite pastimes, but honestly, I think every day is Consensual Spanking Day! :-) That being said, I celebrated two days early, so I'm going to pass. But I'm wishing a happy day (and happy spankings) to all my scene pals.

Remember, spanking is fun!

(One of my favorite pictures of the inimitable Keith Jones and me, from 10 years ago at Shadow Lane in Palm Springs.)

Speaking of last Monday, I heard from Mr. D. Apparently, he pulled or strained a muscle in his right arm from our activities. Well, damn. Not only did I break a toy, I broke the top, too! (giggling) Seriously, though, I hope it's not too bad. And I can't gloat too much, since I have a bruise roughly the size of a tennis ball on my right cheek, plus other assorted "strawberries." I think we both underestimated that yellow-and-red paddle!

Last week, I posted about how kink is relative. In some of the comments and PMs I received, people mentioned how sometimes things they fantasized about seemed really hot, but in reality, they fell short. I thought it would be fun to open the floor again and talk about that.

In the fantasy stories, all sex culminates with explosive mutual orgasms, and all BDSM/spanking/whatever scenes go perfectly from start to finish, with instant chemistry and tops who can read bottoms' minds perfectly and so forth. In real life, you have stumbles and fumbles and misfires and things that go over like a lead balloon. Any of you ever try to make a fantasy happen for real and it didn't go the way you thought it would?

The first one that comes to mind for me is rather vanilla, but funny. You know the cliche scene in the movies, where the couple is in the kitchen and in the throes of passion, he lifts her onto the counter, she wraps her legs around him and he takes her right there? Looks unbearably hot, doesn't it?

Years ago, an old boyfriend and I tried that. He got the lifting up onto the counter part OK, but I crashed into a tray with salt-and-pepper shakers, oven timer and other kitchen paraphernalia and sent it all flying with a clatter. I leaned back and felt several of these items digging into my back, so I squirmed around, trying to get comfortable and failing. Meanwhile, he'd unzipped and was trying to maneuver himself into me, but the angle was wrong and we couldn't connect properly. He too shifted and squirmed, but it just wasn't this seamless melding of bodies the way it's purported to be. We were both puffing and panting and grunting "ow," and finally, he stopped and blurted, "This sucks!" I laughed and said, "Yeah, it really does!" He then scooped me off the counter into his arms, carried me into the bedroom and we finished things off the tried-and-true way.

OK, your turn! :-)

New toys, new top!

Before I start... forgive me, but I forgot who commented, "I hope Mr. Possible becomes Mr. Definite." Well, it seems he has. And because I never liked calling him Mr. P (that makes it sound like he's into golden showers. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but not my thing), I'm going to refer to him from now on as Mr. D.

Last week, I'd heard from my pals at Cane-iac. It had been a while, and they wrote that they were sending me a couple of new items to test. Excellent! They included links to the two new toys: the Yellow and Red Holed Paddle and the Dragon Tail Whip Jr. (I know the word "whip" sounds scary, but if you look at the implement, you'll see that it's made of suede and it's buttery soft. Stings, though.)

The P.O. tried to deliver the package this weekend but I wasn't home, so I picked it up today after the gym. Once home, I was in a hurry to get ready for Mr. D and I didn't open it, figuring we'd do that later.

"Later" came later than expected; he was running late due to work, and then had to leave his place in the peak of afternoon traffic. So instead of getting here at 4:00, he got here at 5:05. I wasn't upset or anything; stuff happens, and he was good about letting me know so I wouldn't worry. But oh my gawd, was I nervous, sitting there and waiting. And waiting. Agggghhhh. But finally, he arrived. This time, he had a backpack with him. Toys! And a new camera.

I told him about Cane-iac and the new goodies I'd received, and he grinned. "I'll tell you what we're gonna do," he said. And he pulled a soft leather blindfold out of his bag.

(He'd asked me beforehand how I felt about blindfolds and restraints. I told him I was fine with them.)

"I'm going to put this on you and then open your package. You're going to feel the new things before you see them." I was game. So he tied the blindfold on. I grumbled about my makeup, but I really didn't mind.

He opened the box, read me the note they'd enclosed to me, then led me carefully to the hallway door. And then put my wrists in soft restraints.

He used a couple of his own toys, plus that yellow & red paddle. That one is made of acrylic, not wood, but good GAWD, is it solid. It packed a wallop! He didn't start out hard with it, of course. In fact, he started out so light that I made my usual crack about starting any time now. Me and my big mouth.

When we were planning our date, I'd emailed him on Friday afternoon. The weekend passed, and I didn't hear back from him. So Sunday, when I got home, I texted him, "Hey! Read your email, dammit. :-) " I put a smiley face on it and everything. Really, you'd think someone would get the message and think, ooops, I didn't check my email, my bad. But noooo. Seems he took exception to my text. I had to repeat those words a few times. Ouch. Clearly, he has a top's sense of humor. In other words, everything I think is amusing, he doesn't, and vice versa. Humph.

He checked in often, and reminded me to breathe. I have a bad habit of holding my breath sometimes. After a while he let my arms down and led me into the bedroom, still blindfolded, where he took my dress off and laid me on the bed. Then he slipped another kind of restraints up each leg, and cuffed my hands to my sides. It held tight, but it was comfortable.

And then I proceeded to break one of his toys. :-D Right out of the gate, first play time! I was laughing so hard, I nearly fell off the bed.

He asked where my toys were -- I keep some in a drawer and some hanging in the closet, so I started him with the drawer (we can use some of the closet stuff another time). He retrieved my hairbrush, plus a leather and wooden paddle, and removed the blindfold so he could see my face and eyes.

Funny how I stopped laughing around that time.

That yellow & red paddle is evil, folks. It's pretty, but it's ouchy. Not thuddy, like a heavy wooden paddle, but it's more solid than leather. When he started with that again after a dose of my other three toys, I groaned, and I found I couldn't keep still under it.

(How about this for the Cane-iac site, huh, guys? :-D )

He paused. "Do you need a rest? Or do you want me to go on?" I had reached the point where I couldn't think straight anymore. "I don't know!" I moaned.

"All right... I'll decide for you. I think maybe a little more." And there was another hard flurry with the paddle.

It was so sudden, I shocked myself. But I burst into tears. The right kind. Not of agony, not of betrayal because someone was too harsh with me, but of release. Just a few more, and he stopped. Came over and knelt down at the foot of the bed, so his eyes were level with mine. Stroked my face and my hair, wiped my tears. Kept whispering, "It's OK. You're OK. I'm here. I'm here. I'll take care of you. I'm not going anywhere."

Which, of course, made me cry harder. Such a short time he's known me, and he already knows my Achilles heel.

Don't go away. Please.

But people do go away, because they have to. Because things happen and people's lives run parallel for a while, then veer off in different directions. It's life. Sometimes, it just @#$%ing sucks. So we grieve, and at the same time, we try to remain open to new possibilities, new friends, new kindred spirits. It seems I have found one.

He stayed with me for a long time, just holding me, talking with me. Gradually I calmed down and soon I was laughing again. But I was also feeling that euphoria, like I could close my eyes and drift off. The most relaxed I've been in two weeks.

I'd say the first scene went well, wouldn't you? You be the judge. Do I look happy?

(And in case you were wondering: Yes, he brought my panties back from last week. The ones from tonight went home with him.)



Thank you, Mr. D. I like you. I look forward to next time. Tonight, I will go to bed with that familiar stinging and soreness, and slide into sleep peacefully.

And thank you, Cane-iac! :-)

Sunday Potpourri

I am playing tomorrow. Mr. Possible is coming over once again, and this time, I believe I'm ready to play. Last week, I greeted him in shorts and a tank top. Tomorrow, I'm wearing a dress. Not that a girl can't be spanked in shorts, you understand. But a dress signals "easy access." For spanking, dammit. Get your minds out of the gutter.

NASA just landed on Mars. I wonder if they found a Walmart there. Or a Chick-Fil-A.

Is anyone besides me finding themselves rather bored and disenchanted with FetLife? Don't get me wrong; I still think it's a great place. But because there is no proper topic search function, people start new topic threads on things that have been discussed over and over and over and OVER. There are days when I feel like if I see a new thread with "What's your favorite spanking position?" or "What are your favorite words for the bottom?" or "Which celebrity do you fantasize about spanking/being spanked by?" one more time, I'm going to throw my computer out the window. For Christ's sake, people, at least go back through a few pages in the group before you start a new thread. Oh, and surely we haven't gotten so desperate for topics that we have to do those stupid ".... or Pass" threads. Spank or pass. Fuck or pass. Ban the person above you or pass. Rape or pass (yes, really).

And the flame wars! I know these are scary, uncertain times and people are frustrated. But sometimes, the sniping and snarking and picking at others drives me nuts. Hard for me to rein in my own snarkiness when I see stupid crap arguments erupting over a picture or a thread. So, I've backed off a little bit. Not completely, you understand, because I'm an online junkie. But I'm definitely not posting as much as I used to.

What's up with potato and tortilla chips in all these weird-ass flavors? When I was a kid, potato chips came in two flavors: plain and barbecue. Yesterday, John and I were at Trader Joe's and they were giving away bites of sandwiches with a few Sea Salt and Vinegar potato chips. I never eat these samples, but I take one anyway to give to John after he eats his. I was curious about the chips, though, as I've seen vinegar chips before and I know they're popular, so I nibbled on one. ACCCCK! Not only was it thoroughly coated with salt, but the taste was so sour, I thought I'd bitten into a salted lemon. Granted, I'm picky about food, so I thought it was just me. Then John ate his, made a face and announced, "These taste like pee."

(No, he's not into that. It's just an expression.)

I get some bizarre followers on Twitter. One of the latest? "SoCal Family Fun -- Family-friendly events and activities in the greater SoCal area." And they are following me because...? There is absolutely nothing family-friendly about me. :-)

My birthday is at the end of next month. It is one of those godawful mid-decade birthdays and I'm not looking forward to it. I can't help noticing that a lot of scene women, both domme and sub, have "wish lists." Would it be ultra tacky if I had one? I'd just have one item on it: Contributions to the Erica Scott FaceLift Fund.

Hope everyone had a good weekend. Stay tuned.

Hey, that looks familiar

Happy Friday and congratulations to all who were Chrossed today. I was not, but I didn't expect to be. It was an ST-less week, after all. My adventures with him always seemed to be the Chross fodder. (sigh)

So I did what I do every Friday when the "Spankings of the Week" post comes out -- I clicked on each selection, one by one, viewing the various pictures and stories that made the cut. This week, the top entry on the list was entitled "Glowing Result." Imagine my surprise when this popped up.

Even if I didn't recognize that bottom as my own, I'd certainly recognize that ugly old couch! LOL

I'm flattered. It's not often that I turn up on these photoblogs, at least not to my knowledge. And I noticed as I looked down the list of Notes, several people reblogged the picture on their own photoblogs. So now this photo is all over the place. (I admit, I cringed when I saw some of the sites where it ended up, but that's beside the point.)

My point is, it's never credited. And neither are a whole lot of the other pictures on these things. I constantly see my friends from videos strewn about the Tumblrs and so forth, with no identification whatsoever.

I know that most of the photobloggers are not to blame. These pictures get passed around, copied and recopied, posted and reposted, and no one knows where they came from (unless the people in them are fully recognizable as known professional models). But somewhere along the line, someone had to take that photo from its original source. In my case, this photo was on my blog. It would have been very easy to link back to it.


What's especially annoying is that on these photo sites, one can "Like" the photo or "Reblog" it, but there is no option for posting a comment. So one can't say, "Hey, that's me," or "Hey, that's so-and-so from such-and-such."

There are plenty of photobloggers who DO credit their sources, whenever possible. And if they can't, they say so, and ask people to tell them if they recognize where they're from. I wish all would follow this lead and do the same.

Please don't misunderstand me -- like I said, I'm thrilled that someone thinks my photos are attractive enough to repost. (Especially when I appear amid a collection of women half my age!) But I think I can speak for all my fellow exhibitionists/models/whatever we are when I say, please give credit where credit is due. Especially when the photos are professional and the site/production company/whatever would appreciate the traffic.

Enough of that. In other news, I actually got some good news this week. The proofreading test I took a couple of weeks ago? I'm one of the 2% who passed it. The company called me and said I'd found things that most people missed; not just the obvious errors, but the little sneaky ones. Like "Popsicle" not having a registration mark. They would like to work with me, and will be sending me my first batch of work probably mid-month. I don't think there's much money in this and it will be infrequent, but it's a new client. Another one to add to the resume. Another chance to prove myself and my skills. It's been a while.

I find myself in a tenuous place, somewhere in the middle of mourning and accepting losses, and moving forward into new possibilities. It's strange and disorienting; I don't like unknowns. I like safety and sameness, which flies in the face of what life is, so you'd think I'd be used to this discomfort by now, this yo-yo of emotions, with both tears and laughter bubbling beneath the surface.

We'll see what next week brings. But for now, I'm going to crawl into the comfort that is John for a while. Have a great weekend, y'all.

Kinky is relative

On Monday, when Mr. Possible and I were chatting, he asked a classic ice-breaker question (well, classic for people of our persuasions): "What's the kinkiest thing you've ever done?"

I had to think about that for a few minutes. After all, what is kinky, anyway? Ask 100 people and you'll get 100 different answers. It's relative and subjective. One person's wild adventure might be another person's Monday. And there will always be people who are kinkier than you, who are into more things than you. Conversely, there will always be people less kinky than you, who think what YOU do is daring and off the vanilla path.

Perhaps "kinky," for some, translates to "something I haven't done." I mean, to a woman who has had nothing but missionary-position sex all her life, doggie style or 69 sounds kinky. For someone who has never experienced any sort of bondage, this photo might elicit an "ooh, kinky!" reaction:

Whereas this photo might make them hyperventilate:

Even within TTWD, there is a ginormous scale from mild to wild. If someone has never been spanked, then they'd probably define good old-fashioned OTK as kinky:

Whereas for some spankos, the cane is kinky:

And so on. You get my point.

So, with that relativity in mind, I decided to answer with what was kinkiest for me. It would be a tie between having sex in a public place (two times, both with John) and our going to a downtown swing club so I could participate in a demo with bullwhip artist Robert Dante (and then screwing the host couple, because, after all, we were in a swing club). That last one was a kink two-fer, I guess: 1) BDSM (whips) and 2) Sex With Strangers.

And now, I'm opening the floor, kids. Wanna share what you think is the kinkiest thing you've ever done? No judgments, no comparisons. This is just for fun. Do share, if you'd like to. :-)