PLEASE NOTE: This blog contains adult subjects and content, and because of Google/Blogger's recent nonsense, I HAVE MOVED TO WORDPRESS. For my enlightened friends who wish to visit me in my new home, it's Please bookmark it!

The rest of you? Please take your judge-y selves somewhere more wholesome, like here:

Go on.... shoo!

Friday, January 30, 2015


No, this isn't going to be a discussion about Darwin vs. creationism.

Recently on the often-mentioned and the often-inflammatory FetLife, there was a discussion about how we, as individuals in the spanking community/scene/whatever you want to call it, have evolved. How have our tastes changed? Have our preferences broadened? Do we stick to spanking "purism" (more traditional OTK, traditional implements like hairbrushes, spanking on the bottom only), or have we branched out to include more BDSM-esque elements? Since life is always in a state of flux and change, should our kinks not be also?

I know the original poster well, and love him dearly. I know he didn't mean to imply what some others, including me, inferred: That if one has preferences that don't change and expand, then one is "unevolved."

The thread blew up into a flame war, because a couple of people took exception and got very defensive. Me, I stayed out of it for a long time, because I was feeling a little hurt and my mood was oversensitive anyway, so I knew I shouldn't post in that mind frame. But it did get me thinking about where I've been in the past nearly 19 years, and where I am now. 

After the furor had died down, I did post to that thread. Here is what I wrote:

I entered the scene in 1996 as an M/F bottom. Nearly 19 years later, I'm still an M/F bottom. 
accept all orientations, but only one floats my personal boat.
I never saw anything wrong with the term "spanko purist." But I guess I'll stop using it. People don't seem to like it.
I'd still rather go to a spanking party than a dungeon. I have been to the latter many times, been to BDSM parties, experienced pretty much every type of implement known to scenehood, but my favorite is still old-fashioned OTK.
I like the occasional thigh turkey. I enjoy a good overall back/bottom/legs flogging. But overall,I prefer all the impact to be on my bottom/uppermost upper thighs.
I still see the BDSM and spanking communities as separate entities. Not better, not worse, not superior/inferior, but definitely different.
I guess I am unevolved. :-(

So there it is. Yes, I've experienced kink from all across the spectrum over the years. I've played with all types of partners (although admittedly, they've always been male). My orientation hasn't changed one iota. I still think that "spankos" are a separate entity in the overall scheme of kinky play.

Am I unevolved? Narrow-minded? Or is it simply that I've been around this stuff for a long time, have experimented, and now know what I like, what works for me, and what doesn't?

After some of the flaming happened, the original poster amended "evolve" to "change." That's much better, I think. But still, the question remained. Are we expected to change and expand, as we progress in our scene experience? Or is it OK to like what you like and stick with it? I don't want to be left behind in a scene that I love, but I want to remain true to my desires as well. 

I realize that my readers span the range of newbies to veterans. And when you're new, everything is open for experimentation. But for those who have been doing this for a while, did your preferences change? Did you find yourselves doing things that you had originally said you'd never do? Did you find yourselves liking things you didn't used to like? Did you ever do things you didn't want to, because you thought you should experience them?

It's all part of my questioning my place in the scene these days, and where I want to go from here. Who I am, and why. About finding the balance between openness to the new and being true to one's established self.

Please understand one thing: this is not about judging other preferences. This is not, not, NOT about saying what's right and what's wrong with the spanking scene, so please don't go there. This is about self-discovery and our own personal journeys.

I definitely changed my tune in one huge area: My very first spanking ad, the one from which I met John, read: "No implements, just a firm hand." HAH! OK, so I guess I evolved there. ;-)

Seriously, though... I don't want to think of it as evolving. Because there is an inherent judgment in that. My mother used to say something along the lines of how if you don't keep growing, you stagnate. But I think there's something in between that. I think there is a place of comfortable stasis.

What do you guys think? How have your tastes/orientations/preferences changed over your time being involved with spanking?

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Surf's up, panties down

We had an amazing adventure yesterday. On Monday, it rained a little, not much more than a drizzle, but combined with the winds we've had, it cleared out all the haze and gunk and left bright blue skies with puffy white clouds, and temps around 70. Just before Steve was due, he called and said, "I'd like you to go get your crop, one of your small wooden paddles, and a toy of your choice. I'll call you when I'm out front; I'm taking you on a little field trip today."

Field trip? This should be interesting, I thought. I put the required implements in a bag and put on some shoes and sunscreen. (Oh, and the toy of my choice was my Cane-iac OTK strap. I love that thing.)

He picked me up in his behemoth SUV (he needs it for his work, although it is anathema to the environmentalists, cough cough John cough), and I noticed that he'd blocked off everything behind the front seats with sun shades. "Wait until you see what I did back there," he grinned. We drove through Topanga Canyon until it ended at Pacific Coast Highway, and there it was -- the beach. Normally, I'm not a beach person. I can't stand all the sand and the trash and the crowds and the screaming kids. But today, in January, it was deserted, save for a couple of surfers. The sand was pristine, the water sparkled in the sun. It was gorgeous.

We parked by the railing, right off the highway. When we got out, Steve told me to walk around the sides and back and look in the windows. Did I see anything? Nada. The windows were tinted, and no one could see in. Perfect. He told me to hang out a bit while he prepared the back, so I watched the sea and the birds.

Seagulls are fearless, just like pigeons. Or maybe they're just oblivious and stupid. These guys couldn't care less that I walked right up and stood next to them.

Anyway, enough of the nature show. Steve called me over and opened up the back. WOW. He'd folded down the rear seats, put in a thin mattress and covered it with a sheet, and piled up the area with pillows. We had our own little spanking haven, right there on the beach. 

Eagerly we climbed in, got situated, and the play commenced. It was remarkably comfortable (well, as comfortable as it could be, considering he was hitting me with several objects), and it was such a kick, knowing we could see out, but no one could have a clue what was going on within. Unfortunately, it did get very warm and stuffy back there in short order, so Steve cracked the hatchback window a couple of inches, propping it open with a water bottle. Still not enough for anyone to see in, but just enough to let the cool sea air slip in.

We could hear the traffic rushing by on PCH, and it was such a high, knowing we were playing publicly and yet completely invisible. OK, so maybe we made a bit (!) of noise, but there weren't people around the vehicle, just birds.

Steve took a lot of photos, playing with the sunlight and the angles.

And of course, because I got warm and sweaty and we were in risqué mode anyway, my clothes had to come off.

You have to understand, I've led a sheltered life. I didn't fool around or play or spank or anything else in the back of vans when I was young. When John and I first met and he had his Jeep, he spanked me on the bench seat up front. But I'd never been treated to an elaborate vehicle setup like this. I felt like I was back in the high school experience that never was. It was exhilarating, and so damn much fun.

So after the spanking and copious photo snapping were finished, I scrambled back into my clothes and we headed back, snickering and beaming like a couple of kids.

This was just what I needed -- a fun adventure, something different, a couple of hours away from everything. I was on top of the world when he dropped me back home around 2:30. It did take a while to settle down and do some work, because I was so keyed up, but eventually I did.

Thank you, Your Toppiness! :-D  No, I'm never going to become an outdoors person. You're not going to get me on any of your camping/hiking trips. But hey, sunlight touched me and didn't turn my sorry indoor ass to dust. Miracles do happen. 

(And yes, I know it's thoroughly obnoxious of me to flaunt our SoCal weather when a whole lot of the rest of the country is buried in snow. You know what? Suck it up. Most of the time, it's a pain in the butt here -- no seasons, excessive heat, fires, earthquakes, crowds, traffic, high prices. There has to be some balance on occasion.) ;-)

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Breathless -- a parody

Last week while in session with Steve, I found myself once or twice struggling to catch my breath, because I was feeling things so intensely. As I consciously regulated my breathing, my head was suddenly filled with the voice of Jerry Lee Lewis, hissing "Brrreathlesssssssss....ahhh." Of course, a parody was conceived at that moment.

You know, I think I get why my song parodies don't usually get much reaction. My songs are too damned old! With at least half the stuff I parody, people haven't heard of the freaking originals! (sigh) I mean, I personally think that one of my more brilliant efforts was "Tops Without Pity," but really, who else remembers Gene Pitney's "Town Without Pity" from 1961? Or Elvis Presley's "Kiss Me Quick," from which I got "Spank Me Quick"? What can I say, I'm an oldie and I love oldies! 

I know, I know... I should try doing parodies of something more current. But nothing quite strikes me. Oh, I'll get the inspiration for a line or two. For example, Meghan Trainor's oh-so-overplayed "All About the Bass" got me thinking of writing a ditty about a person who doesn't like heavy scenes. I got as far as:

I'm all about the red,
'Bout the red,
No purple!

I'm all about the marks,
'Bout the marks,
No bleeding!

But after that, I ran dry.

I suppose Pharrell Williams's "Happy" cries out for a parody called "Slappy." But I can't come up with that either. My brain doesn't seem to want to work with newer material. Oh well.

So anyway... here is Jerry Lee Lewis's 1958 original version of "Breathless." If nothing else, it's a cool little piece of vintage rock and roll, and you can enjoy The Killer pounding the bejesus out of the piano. And then following is my rendition. :-)

Now if you’re toppy, then
Please don’t tease
Why don’cha scold me, put me
O’er your knees!
My legs thrash ‘round and ‘round
My pants come tumblin’ down
You spank me, breathless… ah.

Oh, I’m red all over
And you know why
I’m sure it hurts, honey, that’s no lie
‘Cause when you smack my ass
I burn like dried-up grass
You spank me, breathless… ah.

Ooh, baby! Mmmm! Stingy!
My mouth’s too much
I can’t sass you enough
So it’s all right, to show your might
And when you spank me
Spank me riiiiiiiiight!

Now come on, make me
All black and blue
‘Cause spanking’s meant for me and you
Hand, crop, brush or strap
I’m gonna be on top of your lap
You have spanked me, breathless… ah!

Ooh, baby! Mmmm! Stingy!
My mouth’s too much
I can’t sass you enough
So it’s all right, to show your might
And when you spank me
Spank me riiiiiiiiight!

Well, come on, baby
Now don’t be shy
Just let me have it till I moan and sigh!
Whack, crack, snap and sting
I’m gonna love the pain that you bring
You spank me... ahhhhhhhh... Breathless!

Friday, January 23, 2015

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 1/23

This is my first CHoS of 2015, yes? Many thanks to Jade for putting the above photo on my Facebook page. I found it quite suitable. :-)

I like to spank you and enjoy giving you painful pleasure before I die

So, am I on your bucket list? Just how old are you, anyway? And really, how do you know you like and enjoy it when you've never even met me? My condolences to your imminent demise, by the way.

I want my dick to live inside your pussy almost 24/7

Pardon me if I don't thrill to the idea of that. My kitty is finicky and doesn't want just any dumbass dick residing in it. Please tell me you'll at least take it out when you have to relieve yourself. 

Fix me up with a Christian gal who likes spanking
and if we get married I will pay you 500 dollars

This is certainly a new one. So I'm a Christian marriage broker now?? And if I were, honey, I'd charge you a whole hell of a lot more than $500. Why don't you try talking to your pastor? I've heard those collared dudes can be pretty kinky. Oh, and what's with this "gal" business? Are you the ghost of John Wayne?

And finally -- don't we all just love these? Once again, the illiterate form letter.

hello my dear i saw your profile and i love also the picture is wonderful. what i am looking for in my all-in-one-girl is a lover, best friend, my ..... you must be sexy, hot dressed in heels/boots, skirts, communicativ, tender,lovely, understanding, inteligent, faithful, ... and a sort of submissive and obdient. :-) i am a good man/dom and it could be your and my dream to go forward and make fantasies come true.i am looking for a LTR with BDSM and LOVE. i really will admire her for the devotion and will take good care, protect and support her. be sure, i don't care any distance, because when we got the connection, we will see where the way goes and leads us. i am single and i would give it a try and see where our ways goes. 

(groan) I don't know where your ways goes, but the ways of this message goes right into the cyber Dumpster.

Isn't it ironic that he misspells "intelligent"? And I'm not sure what "obdient" is, but if it's anything like "obedient," you've got the wrong woman, Skippy.

In other news -- you'll all be happy to know that I had my eyes checked yesterday and they are perfectly healthy. I do need to upgrade my glasses prescription, but otherwise, all is well and my profession will live to see another year. So, go ahead and keep masturbating, whenever the mood strikes. It really doesn't make you go blind. ;-)

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

What a load of crop

Load of crop -- see what I did there?

These damn pictures never, ever do the redness justice. Oh well.

Today was way overdue. Today was about reconnecting, about reawakening flesh and feelings that had been dulled with sadness. Today, I wanted to feel biting sting.

And what better for that than the riding crop?

After a long, very intense hand spanking, we commenced to the crop. He had selected a couple of other implements as well, but we both quickly came to realize that the crop was IT today. 

Once he got his rhythm, he was giving me hard slap-slap-slap flurries on one cheek at a time. He thoroughly covered the right cheek... then paused. I couldn't help myself -- I blurted, "MORE!!"

"Hey," he said teasingly, giving me one little snap, "who's in charge here?"

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaase?" I wheedled. He was kind and gave the left cheek the same treatment.

(I just realized how utterly perverse that is, saying that his beating each cheek equally was "kind.")

It's been such a crappy few weeks, but I think (I hope?) things are swinging back the other way just a little. For one thing, John's custom-made oral appliance for the sleep apnea, the one he finally got last Friday? IT WORKS! He can sleep. He can breathe while he sleeps. He doesn't snore, snort or gasp. And for the first time in I can't remember how long, we slept in the same bed last weekend.

So this is very, very good. And... unless they reschedule, his heart surgery will be happening on March 24. Two months from now, which will go by in -- pardon me -- a heartbeat. S**t's gettin' real, as the kids say.

I wept in Steve's arms today, long before we started anything. I needed to. But before we were through, my smile had come back. I'd lost it for a while.

Yes, I have post-play hair. :-) So no, this is not my official "after picture." But I will take some soon.

I was feeling so godawful depressed, I even deactivated my FetLife profile this week. Didn't delete, just put it on hold. It's a weird thing, but when I was on there lately, surrounded by kinksters and with nearly 1200 "friends," I felt so alone. So I thought it was time for a break. I'll probably go back soon, but I don't miss the drama and trauma. And I certainly don't miss hearing about parties I can't attend. (sigh) John says someday, after he's recovered, he gets some expenses paid off and has gotten a couple more raises, we'll travel more, fly to those elusive parties that always seem to be anywhere but here. But for now... at least I got my itch scratched today. Or cropped, as the case may be.

It's gym time.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Fantasy vs. reality

OK, we all love fantasy. Even pragmatically minded pedants like me enjoy a bit of it now and then. After all, everything we read and watch is some sort of fantasy (unless it's non-fiction). TV shows from the 1950s presented a fantasy of a perfect family. Romance novels depict attractive people in relationships that always end up happily ever after (as do children's fairy tales). And spanking stories/videos are about fantasy as well, which is why they're so popular. Right?

Oh, but... Speaking as a spanko bottom female, I gotta tell you, some of these ideals are tough to live up to. I've read a whole lot of stories over the years, and I've gleaned a general pattern that many seem to follow. Granted, I eat them up as much as the next person, but sometimes, I have to take a step back and giggle. Because that bar is set awfully high.

According to the M/F spanking story paradigm, here are some general givens:

1. Spanko bottom women always look like this. OK, the hair color varies, but you get the idea. (Took this from Bad Girls Need Good Spanking.)

2. Spanko bottom women are always submissive at heart. Oh, we may start out feisty and combative, but we have this deep-seated need to have a man put us in our place, keep us in line, and make us belong to them. 

3. SBW are always multi-orgasmic, right from the start. Oh, and if you are taking a virgin? It's OK. Maybe she'll have about two seconds of pain, but she'll be so turned on by your masterful behavior, it'll be good for her immediately. 

4. Likewise, SBW are highly proficient at oral, instinctively. It's our submissive natures and desire to please, don'cha know. And we always swallow.

5. SBW will take anything from your huge member to a massive plug up their butts willingly and easily. No lube? No problem! Just use our natural juices. Because, of course, we're always in a state of gushing wetness. We'll always love it, too.

6. SBW can take any kind of spanking, any kind of implement, anytime. We're never tired. We're never sore. We never use a safeword. Miraculously, we also never get injured.

7. Regarding anal play, we never need any sort of preparation. We're always open and ready and squeaky clean for you down there, so be as spontaneous about that activity as you like. You'll never, er, encounter anything.

8. Also, if you're into putting us in diapers for age-play, no worries. All we ever do is pee.

9. SBW will always encounter dominant men, without even trying.

10. And speaking of those dominant men, they will always be skillful at spanking, will know exactly what they're doing with implements, and will always know precisely when is enough. They are mind readers, after all. SBW can count on this.


OK, are you done snickering now? Here's the part you'll hate me for, the bursting of the fantasy bubble. But ya know, it's what I do, because I'm kind of a brat that way. So, a dose of reality:

1. Spanko bottom women bleed.

2. Likewise, spanko bottom women gag. SBW poop. SBW can get bloated, cranky, crampy and miserable in any of dozens of ways and not feel like playing every damn minute of every day (and night).

3. SBW have hard limits.

4. SBW don't necessarily want to have a D/s dynamic. Some of us just enjoy being spanked.

5. Those uber-sexy back-to-front moves and maneuvers a top performs sexually on a SBW may very well give her a not-so-sexy, raging urinary tract infection.

6. Rough, improperly prepared back door play probably won't result in those screaming orgasms you want. More likely, she'll end up screaming in pain in the ER with anal fissures.

7. SBW have weight fluctuations, stretch marks, cellulite, moles, and all sorts of other mere mortal things. Oh, and a whole lot of us have (gasp) pubic hair.

8. SBW who have never performed oral sex before will probably not do a very good job of it. Like everything else, it requires practice. 

9. Some SBW are actually not anal erotic. (NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!)

10. And finally... SBW over 30 actually exist. (And over 40, and over 50...) 

(sigh) Sorry, kids. Reality is not pretty. I guess that's why we have fantasies, huh? You may now return to yours. :-D

Friday, January 16, 2015

Can you say "FUCK IT," boys and girls?

That's where I'm at, kids. Just sad and mad and needy and weepy and frustrated and empty inside and not sleeping well and envious of people having fun and BLECCCCCHHHHHH!!!! 

I need a spanking like nobody's business. Times like this I wish I found self-spanking at least somewhat satisfying, but I do not.

I want to blog something funny and sexy and uplifting and interesting, but I have nothing. 

I want to post some fun new pictures, but I don't have any.

I am sick of myself needing and wanting.

Two bits of good news: Today, John is finally getting the oral device for his sleep apnea. It will no doubt need some adjustments and so forth, but at least he'll have it. He can get it tweaked by his dentist as well, whom he'll be seeing next week. So that's a relief. And this past week, he finally, finally had the tree trimmer come to his house and cut back all the trees in his yard. He lives up in a canyon, a fire-hazard area, and his trees had overgrown so much that his valley view was completely occluded. I have been begging him to have the damn things cut for so long now, I can't remember. It's been at least two years. I am terrified of fire, and the sight of all that overgrowth in his back yard has been stressing me. But I know he's had a lot on his plate and he's been so ill, and this was a low priority for him. But it's finally done, and I am so relieved. He's grumbling about how much it cost, but oh well. If he hadn't let it go so damn long, it wouldn't have been so expensive!

He can't schedule his heart surgery yet. He wants it in March, and his @#$%ing HMO won't schedule March surgeries until February. 

No word yet on when his mother's memorial will be. Meanwhile, we haven't been to his sister's restaurant for lunch for the past two weeks. He texted her, asking if we were still welcome, and she never answered. so we've gone elsewhere. Fine by me -- fuck her, too. 

Saw my doc last Wednesday; it's been nearly three months since my surgery. He was a little concerned that the incision scars are still bright red, when they should be pinkish-white by now. But he said just keep treating them with the scar gel and he'll see me again in a month. Meanwhile, to refresh my memory, he showed me the "before" pictures he took in his office. Blech. One of these days, when I'm finally feeling cheerful again, I'll take some face pictures for you guys so you can see the progress. Right now, I'm just not up for it.

So, that's where I am right now. I guess I should give myself the same advice I would give a friend feeling the same way: Be gentle with myself, do something fun, and hang in there. Oh, and don't watch anything sad. Comedy is the order of the day. Fortunately, what with the movie academy president's horrible gaffe yesterday, there has been plenty of comic fodder. (In case you didn't hear, she was announcing the Academy Award nominees, and when she came to cinematographer Dick Pope, she pronounced it "Dick Poop.")

Have a good weekend, y'all.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

"I'll be there for you."

No, I'm not channeling the ubiquitous repeats of Friends. But you all knew that phrase, right? You've probably heard it dozens, maybe hundreds of times in your lifetime, from various people. It's one of a collection of Things People Say that sound good. "Call me anytime." "If you need me, I'm always here." "Lean on me." "You can depend on me."

Well-intentioned people who promise you the moon and stars, if you'll just reach out and ask for it. 

I wish they'd stop doing that.

Because, as much as they want to be, no one can always be there for you. And to set people up with that sort of expectation sounds nice at the time, but it ends up hurting, disappointing, and disillusioning. 

I don't begrudge others this inability to always be there. There's a reason I never say phrases like that -- because I know I can't deliver. I mean, I can, sometimes. But not always. So I'm not going to say I can, just because it sounds good.

People have lives. People have jobs, children, pets, errands, chores, hobbies, crises, responsibilities. People need to sleep. People shut their phones off when they're in a movie theater (and they really should shut the damn things off in several other places too, but that's another subject). How many folks do you know who can simply sit by a phone 24/7 in case someone needs them? Yeah, we have cell phones now, so supposedly we're accessible at all times. When I was young, if someone wasn't home, you couldn't reach them. Period. No cell phones, no voice mail, no texting, no IMs, nothing. It was the telephone, or in person, or nothing. Not so now.

But guess what? If a person is busy, or if a person doesn't want to be reached, they are still unreachable. You can leave voice mail, email, texts, and send a carrier pigeon to poop on their head, but there will be times they still won't reply to you. That's reality.

So why make these lofty promises that you can't possibly keep? Is it because you want to seem like a good friend? A hero? A rock? News flash. I'd rather have someone not promise me anything at all, than set me up and let me down. That affects my trust. That affects my confidence. That affects my feeling of being cared about.

When I was in 12-step programs, they had what they called sponsors -- people who would be a sort of mentor and teacher, your friend, to help you with your stuff. People gave each other phone numbers. It was the 80s, so it was still landlines and office numbers. And members told me I could call them "anytime, day or night." Well, I didn't. Because, frankly, I thought that was rude and invasive. And also, because I really didn't expect them to be there for me, day or night. If someone is that available, they can't have much of a life.

I suppose some 24/7 D/s relationships insist that a sub is accessible at any hour, any day, any time. As I recall, John has known some really pushy dommes who expected him to answer his phone at all hours, and be ready to do whatever they wanted at the drop of a command. Fine. Let them spend their lives sitting by a phone. I, and most of the people I know, have a lot more to do.

Again, I applaud the sentiment. The words are said with the kindest of intentions. But I wish people would start getting real. What many of them promise is impossible.

And nothing feels worse than when you believe them, you pocket your pride and that squicky, uncomfortable feeling that you're intruding or interrupting, you make yourself willing to be vulnerable, and you reach out... and they aren't there for you after all.

I recall an old Ziggy cartoon (remember Ziggy?), where he's staring mournfully at the reader and saying, "Maybe people, who need people, really aren't the luckiest people in the world." I think the poor little guy was right. Neediness doesn't pay. Best to be as self-reliant as you can, and find your strength within. Because people are just too damn busy these days. They may want to be there for you, and sometimes, if you're lucky, they are. But never count on it.

So... what's my point? Please, stop promising things you can't possibly deliver. Stop promising to always be there, because you can't. Stop setting people up to believe they have their own personal Rock of Gibraltar. Because you're made of mere flesh and blood, just like the rest of us. You have your own issues, your own stress and pain to deal with. We all do, and I don't expect you to deal with mine, I really don't. Unless you tell me, insist to me, that you want to and you will. And then, because I'm a mere mortal myself, one with needs, I believe.

I'm grateful I'm more of a loner. Because honestly, needing sucks. The more I need, the more I hurt.

Monday, January 12, 2015

Now I understand

Sometime in the late 1980s, I was still deeply in the spanking closet, had zero experience with it, and knew nothing about scene practices, dynamics or ethics. Because there was no Internet, I blindly grabbed at whatever I thought would show me a glimpse into this mysterious world.

So I rented 9 1/2 Weeks. All I knew about it was its stars, and that it involved some sort of kinky activity. And eagerly, I popped that VHS tape in the VCR and began to watch.

I remember liking it somewhat in the beginning. I never cared for Kim Basinger; there was something coarse and unpleasant about her character and I didn't relate to it. However, let's face it; before he did God-knows-what to his face that totally destroyed it, before he got bloated and fake-tanned and scary-looking, Mickey Rourke was freaking hot.

Yeah... I'd take orders from that too.

But as the film went on, it grew distasteful to me. Something felt off, and then felt more and more off until it played out and finished, leaving me feeling a bit skeeved, but not knowing why.

Cut to last night, when I was up late channel surfing, and the Sundance channel was just getting into 9 1/2 Weeks. So I watched some of it, this time with a more educated eye. And I know exactly what I hated.

For one thing, this film exhibited all kinds of stupid, including Kim's character trusting a guy whom she knows absolutely nothing about except for his first name and a vague idea of what he does for a living. Things get darker and more and more non-consensual as the relationship developed, and you watched Kim grow unstrung to the point of a nervous breakdown, so totally and negatively obsessed was she with this guy, who started out charming and got more sinister. But the ultimate sin, what trashed the movie for me?

They totally screwed up what could have been a really hot spanking scene.

Oh my God, the buildup was perfect. She's left alone in his house, so she snoops in his closet and drawers. He then calls her, and almost as if he had a hidden camera on her, he asks if she was being a "nosy Parker" and snooping in his things. His voice is low and silken and cajoling, and she confesses that yes, she was. He says, "Shame on you" and hangs up on her.

Next minute he's back at his house, and she's waiting, looking very nervous. He walks in, looking grim, and says with little preamble, "You were a very bad girl, Elizabeth. I want you to face the wall and raise your skirt. I'm going to spank you."

"You're kidding, right?" she blurts. "No, I'm not kidding," he answers.

Now here's where she should have meekly and reluctantly complied, as she did with all his other orders up to this point. But for whatever reason, this struck a nerve, and she gets incredibly pissed off, starts to flounce out, then stomps back in, screams "Who the fuck do you think you are?" and slaps him in the face. A struggle ensues.

OK, the scene still could have been salvaged. He could have wrestled her to the nearby dining table, bent her over it and given her that spanking. That would have been steamy as hell. But instead, he pushes her onto her back on the table, rips off her panties (you hear fabric tearing), and rapes her.

Yeah... that's totally acceptable, but spanking her wouldn't have been?? How lame! Way to represent us, Hollywood.

I shut off the TV after that point. No need to watch the rest again; I had my answer.

I suppose a lot of people liked the film and would disagree with me, but I thought it sucked, as far as representing a kinky relationship. When it comes down to it, Secretary did it a whole lot better. And Maggie Gyllenhaal absolutely nailed the innocent sweetness, vulnerability and trepidation of a new bottom; Kim Basinger didn't even come close.

I know it's an old movie and probably has been discussed to death, but since I just saw it again last night, it's fresh in my mind. What do/did you guys think of it?

Friday, January 9, 2015

An informal poll for my readers

Well, not really a poll; more of a single question.

On FetLife, there was a thread running about what we call ourselves. What should become our defining word, our recognizable identifier. The most standard one now seems to be "spanko." 

However, not everyone likes spanko. Me, I love it. It's concise, it's specific, it's easy to remember. But it definitely has its detractors. Eve Howard once said that it makes her think of other "o" words that are negative, like sicko and psycho. Others have said it's too cute. Still others say that, for unknown reasons, the word simply creeps them out. One person said on Fet the other day that "spanko" evokes the same sort of revulsion in her that a lot of people have expressed they feel about the word "moist." (For the record, moist doesn't bother me. But if I replace "moist" with "tushy," then I totally get how she feels.)

A Fet friend suggested "kinkster," but I think that's too general. That could mean one is into any kind of kink.

So, for those of us who consider spanking our main kink -- how do you feel about spanko? Like it? Hate it? And if it's the latter, what term do you think should be used instead?

Just curious. Not that it matters, because labels kinda suck anyway. But for the sake of expediency, it's nice to have a defining term that doesn't need to be explained -- you say it, and people pretty much figure it out. 

In other news, had a wonderful and much-needed girls' time out with Alex and SpankCake last night. It had been too long, and all three of us had a lot to get off our plates and share with caring ears. I realized after we left -- we were so busy talking, we didn't even order dessert this time! And we were in the Cheesecake Factory, for God's sake. I love these women so, so much. ♥

I tried an experiment with my blog, after that warning page came up and one of my readers pointed out that it was not the standard warning after all, but one that claimed "some readers" had found my blog to have objectionable content. So I went into my settings; for Adult Content? I had checked No. Just for grins, I clicked Yes. Sure enough -- the warning is still there, but it reverted back to the standard "This blog may contain adult content..." Well, that's something.

I still don't have a good feeling about this, and I've been told more than once that I should migrate to WordPress. Yeah, I know I should. But the thought of that overwhelms me now. I have very little computer savvy and I don't have access to computer-savvy people who could come over and show me how to do this. And right now, I have so damn much on my plate, there isn't room for anything else. But I will put it on the "to-do" list for the future. Blogger and Google are getting more like Big Brother every day.

And finally, since one of my commenters suggested that Blogger is annoyed with me for not posting as many red-bottomed pictures as usual and I need to put up more, well, OK. Worth a try; here ya go.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

He didn't stay long, but...

... he made an impression. :-)

First spanking of the New Year. It was a brief visit; too brief. But I was glad to see him. That pleasurable pain temporarily snapped me out of the malaise I have been in for a while now. 

Unfortunately, it came back. But I will continue to beat it back (literally, sometimes).

I hope things will settle and we can continue with our routine, our longer visits, the extended aftercare. Because I need to be a rock, and lately, I feel more like a pile of shifting sand. I need my support systems.

Hold on tight. Please.

Side note: I have noticed, since the beginning of the year, I now encounter this infamous warning page whenever I go to my blog:

Content Warning
Some readers of this blog have contacted Google because they believe this blog's content is objectionable. In general, Google does not review nor do we endorse the content of this or any blog. For more information about our content policies, please visit the Blogger Terms of Service.

I realize this is the standard warning page for blogs categorized as "Adult." However, I've never designated mine as such, purposely so I wouldn't have that stupid warning pop up. But now it's coming up automatically, even though I checked "no" in my settings under "Adult Content."

Anyone know what's going on? Is this just another one of Blogger's "porn sweeps," attempting to corral and label all adult material? Or does this mean I'm on the radar somehow? Any Blogger savvy folks out there, would love to hear from you. Thanks. (And yes, I am backing up my blog regularly.)

Sunday, January 4, 2015


Happy New Year, y'all. It's now January 4, so the holidays are firmly behind us, and good riddance, if I may say so.

I'm almost afraid to feel some cautious hope, because the last couple of weeks have been so dreadful, but I am hoping that the worst is behind us. There is still a lot of BS happening with John's family (his sisters, mostly) regarding their mother's estate, and a lot of petty, nasty things have gone down. And there is still a memorial of some sorts yet to come, which we're dreading. But sooner or later, this all has to resolve somehow. And then we can get on with the business of restoring John's health.

New Year's Eve ended up like the rest of the end of 2014: lousy. I bought lots of lovely treats for dinner and went to John's house, only to find him there, so horribly sick, he could barely sit up. Dinner was out: I ate mine, but he managed maybe three bites of food before he gave up. The rest of the evening, he half sat, half lay on the couch, wheezing, moaning, laboring for breath, shaking. I thought I was going to have to take him to the ER. He insisted he just needed to rest, so I made sure he was warm, had drunk some water and was well bundled up, and we ended the evening before midnight, letting the champagne stay in the refrigerator.

The next morning, the worst of it seemed to be over. He was very pale and weak, but seemed to be a little more himself. He still couldn't touch any of the food I brought, so I went out to buy him some light soup and Pepto-Bismol. By the time I got back, he was able to sit up in bed, and he gobbled down the bowl of soup I brought him. So, after making sure he'd taken Pepto and Tylenol, washing up the dishes, setting up his cell phone and water and tissues and everything else he needed on his nightstand, I went home that afternoon, since there wasn't anything else I could do for him, and I had work to do. He slept all day, and that night when I called to check on him, he was having a snack. 

So, I went back on Friday night. We spent the weekend coughing and hacking and sniffling at each other, but we were both in decent spirits. He was able to go out for meals, for errands, etc., and he even wanted to go out for a nice dinner last night, after which we had our champagne toast at last. 

This month, he is finally getting the oral device he needs for his sleep apnea from his HMO. That will probably take some adjustments and so forth, but his dentist is an expert on this, so he will help out with that. And we are planning on scheduling his surgery for March. We have a party to attend in Vegas at the end of February, and figure that will be our last blowout for a while. He will be in the hospital for a week, and then home for seven more weeks. But the good news is, after months of fighting with his HMO, he finally made it to the top of the cardiac surgery department, and he's going to get the exact surgery that he wanted. Finally. Repair of the valve, rather than replacement. Less invasive surgery, with a smaller incision. Still major, still open-heart surgery, but more progressive than the 1950s old-school surgery they wanted to do on him. Because that's cheaper, easier, more familiar. Screw that, and screw them. 

We didn't watch the Tournament of Roses Parade, even though John lives just east of Pasadena, where it's held. But we got to see his town's float, up close and personal! They placed it in the town square for the weekend, so everyone could see it. So amazing to be so close to one of those floats, see the thousands of flowers and all the intricate work. This year's float had the theme, "The Little Engine That Could," after the old children's book. There was a little train, with wheels that actually spun, and it had cars with a giant teddy bear, two giraffes and two monkeys as passengers. 

My cell phone doesn't take good photos, but I think you can get some idea anyway from these shots. Here's an overall shot (that's John standing off to the left):

Here's the bear:

And the giraffes:

Here's a closeup of a patch so you can see the details of the flowers:

The train's cheerful "face":

And finally, the positive and hopeful message:

To better days. Hope everyone had a nice weekend.