OT: "Bad Dog!"

Today on her Wednesday Win post, our Hermione takes a trip down the memory lane of early computers. You know, DOS? (taking a pause while those of a certain age say, "WTF is DOS?") The Microsoft Office paperclip assistant? I thought I'd piggyback on her post and add one of my favorites.

Back in the dark ages (1990s), there was a company called After Dark that made some really cool and creative screensavers. Some of them were so entertaining, you'd let your computer time out on purpose just so that you could watch them. One of the most popular ones was called "Bad Dog."

Basically, it was just a Windows screen, but then a little black-and-white dog would scamper on and wreak all kinds of havoc. He'd dig holes, bark and howl, track dirt everywhere, jump into folders and destroy them, etc. The longer the screensaver was on, the more damage he'd do. Every once in a while, a voice off-screen would scold, "Bad dog!!" Then he'd tuck his tail and whimper for a second... and then get right back into making mischief.

After Dark is out of business, which is a shame. But you can still look at the mischievous pup in this YouTube clip.





I wonder if they ever had a "Bad Kitty" counterpart. That's what John calls me. :-)

Ah, FetLife...

... how I love you. And how you annoy the crap out of me sometimes. 

(Warning: this is one long-ass post. Pull up a comfortable chair and grab a refreshing beverage.)

FetLife -- the kinky person's Facebook. Our cyber community, where pretty much everything (except for activity with children or animals) is allowed. The place is huge and circuitous, with many places to go and many people to meet. It can be the happiest place in your world... and it can also be a viper pit.

One big adult amusement park is our FetLife. It has ups and downs like a roller coaster. One day, you'll feel like you're in the Tunnel of Love. (And no, that is not a vaginal reference. Get your minds out of the gutter.) On another day, you may feel like you stumbled into the House of Horrors.

What do I love about FetLife? So much. The support, the validation, the sense of belonging. The camaraderie and banter, the various postings that can range from silly and bratty to poignant. The tsunami of interaction before, during and after a big event. And the great potential for kindness, as I saw last week.

Earlier last week, someone tweeted a rather insensitive and insulting comment about one of my pictures, which I'd posted both on my blog and on FL. It really threw me, to say the least -- this person hit me where I live. I nearly bought into it, too; I found myself looking at the picture and saying to myself, "What was I thinking, posting this? I look horrible!" I posted what had been written to me on the FetLife version of my photo. Then I almost took it down. 

Until the reactions started flooding in. The massive amount of comments, wall posts, and even private messages, telling me I looked great, don't listen to this person, who says things like that anyway, etc. We love you, Erica. 

Wow. I left the photo in place, and thanked everyone. I was so touched. People who knew me, people who didn't know me in person... it didn't matter. They all rallied to assuage my hurt feelings.

Last week, "DrLectr" started a new group called "Nice RAK: Random Acts of Kindness." I feel like I've been the recipient of many of these. Just last night, I had logged on and was catching up on the weekend's posts. I was feeling kind of blech, but I hadn't posted anything to that effect. Then, out of nowhere, Prux posted a hug on my wall. How did she know?? That simple gesture of sweetness turned my evening around.

So yes, FetLife can be a haven and a joy. Sometimes.

Then you have posts like last Friday. You all know the ongoing controversy: "Dick pics, yes or no?" Apparently, one woman likes them, and thoroughly dislikes anyone who disagrees with her. She posted a bit of a rant, starting out by saying she's sick of seeing women bitch and whine about dick pics, and how they should shut the fuck up and stop being "inconsiderate twats."

Well. Any point she could have made for her argument was lost, as far as I was concerned, with that combative attitude. However, that post took off like a firestorm. As of this writing, it has 2922 "loves" and a whopping 951 comments.

I am not going to debate this damned subject again. I don't like it when men have dick pics as their main avatar. Why? It has nothing to do whether or not I like the appendage. I happen to like them. But not particularly the ones on random strangers. And if I friend a man on FetLife whose avatar is a dick pic, that means every time he communicates with me, or every time he posts anything, his dick is in my feed. No, thank you. So I clearly state in my profile that I'm sorry, but I will not friend men with that particular avatar. I don't introduce myself with my snatch, and I'm not interested in men introducing themselves to me in that manner. "Hi, I'm so-and-so, and this is my cock."

Anyway... I did not read all those comments, but I scanned quite a few. They were surprising. A few people had the stones to disagree with the OP (Original Poster). Others sort of agreed, but took a milder stance. But the majority of the replies? As militant and angry as the OP. "Hear, hear!" "Yeah!" "They really do need to STFU!" "Enough with the male-bashing!" (Never mind that the OP was bashing certain women, but I guess that's OK??) "I love cock!" One charming gentleman stated that the only way to handle a woman who complains about said photos is to ram a dick down her throat until all she can do is gag and drool. Oooooh, classy.

And then there was this.

Most women who are on this fetish site and state they hate looking at profiles with dick pics, do so mainly to send a message for other women that they are bisexual and interested in women.

Are you @#$%ing kidding me? There are people who actually believe this? If I'd been drinking something, I would have spewed it onto the screen. The sheer ignorance of this statement made my brain explode.

OK, I'm not going to speak for the masses, just for myself. There is nothing wrong with being bisexual, but that's one hell of an assumption, pal. Guess what? I'm straight. I happen to love men's bodies, and I love women's bodies too, even though I'm not sexually drawn to them. I do not hate dicks. I think a lover's erect penis is a beautiful thing. There, I said it. But note the lover. Not some disembodied stranger.

I like to put "loves" on many pictures on FetLife. I have loved photos of men's fit and sculpted bodies. I have also loved photos of some women's nude bodies, because I found them artistic and aesthetically pleasing. However, I have never "loved" a man's dick pic. Does that make me a prude? Or a male-basher? News flash -- I've never "loved" a twat shot, either. Or a "take a ride up Anal Alley" shot, for that matter. If I wanted to look at a#$holes all day, I'd go to medical school and study proctology.

So yes. Bodies, lovely. Genitalia? Not my thing. That doesn't make me a bad person, or a person who needs to shut the fuck up. It's not like I'm going on these people's profiles and pictures and posting, "Ewwwww, I don't want to see that." But I'm entitled to my opinion and my preferences. So you shut the fuck up, OP.

As for the bashing accusation -- saying I don't like dick pics is not male bashing. My own brand of "bashing" is unisex. I unleash my snark only when someone is rude to me or gets in my face. And it doesn't matter what gender they are. 

Yeah, FetLife. Some days, I wish I could quit you. Some days, you show me the seedy underbelly of the scene, the rotten sides of human nature. But then again, vanilla sites aren't much better when it comes to ignorance, bigotry and mean-spirited crap. And I can't find real connection on vanilla sites; people who truly get me and accept me. So I'll be sticking around good old FetLife, despite my days of disillusionment and frustration. Because the people I love on there go a long way in making up for the BS.

Oh, and to those who feel the need to post unkind remarks to people's pictures and videos, to rain on their parade? Just remember this:

Soooo, bye now. I'd say don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out, but, truth be told, I'd enjoy seeing that. :-)

Friday potpourri

Whew -- after a couple of fairly heavy posts this week, I thought I'd end on a lighter note with some completely unrelated odds and ends.

First up, I was pleased to discover that Lily Starr put up an extended trailer of our "Secret Life of the Kinky Wife" video on Spanking Tube. It's about four minutes in length and is a nice sampling of the clip. You can check it out here.

Can you stand one more photo from Shadow Lane 2013? Yes? Good.

Here I am in my Friday night happy and excited state, with Alex the Adorable:

Yes, I know there is a person in the background, off to the left. But he/she is completely unrecognizable, and I didn't want to overcrop the picture, so I left it as is.

For those of us who can't get enough of "Fifty Shades" ridicule, here's the beginning of what promises to be a hilarious chapter-by-chapter dissection of our favorite crapfest of a book. The blogger is The Pervocracy and you can read about Chapter 1 here. I love love LOVE how the author keeps replacing Christian Grey's name with outrageous fake names. (Crud Bonemeal???)

And finally -- haven't posted about weird search engine phrases for a long time, because mine have been fairly straightforward and boring. However, this one popped up recently and I'm still shaking my head over it.

Erica Scott boston boy mode

What. The. Eff???

What could this possibly mean? What does Boston have to do with anything? And I don't think I've ever been in boy mode, whatever that means. Any ideas?

A quickie update on John: He is finally wrapping up all his dental work, so he'll be able to go back to focusing on heart surgery research. He's having another extensive test at the end of this month, and he'll be able to take those results with him to another facility for a second opinion. After that, he'll decide if he wants to stick with his HMO, or wait until next year when he can switch to a PPO with his work and go to a more specialized hospital. Meanwhile, he seems to be status quo; still tired all the time, but hanging in there, spirits good. The Shadow Lane getaway was good for both of us.

Off to get stuff done so I can go hug him to bits. Have a great weekend, y'all.

My not-so-secret secret

Let's review, kids (channeling Jules here): What's one of the biggest ongoing debates in the spanko world that will never have a definitive answer? That's right. Spanking + sex: yes or no?

I'm not going to debate that here today. Anyone who knows me, knows where I am on this. I happen to prefer keeping spanking and sex separate. Just like my cake-and-ice-cream analogy; I love both of those treats, but I don't like them mushed together on the same plate.

Please don't misunderstand me and think I don't like sex. I love it. However, when I'm in spanko mode, my needs are different. After a spanking, especially an intense one, my primary need is to be held and soothed. I need to feel contact, but more in a tender, caressing vein than in a sexual one.

I know a lot of people don't get this. In fact, sometimes I think the majority of spankos out there do prefer sex with their spanking. And more power to them -- enjoy all you can! Then there's the occasional gem like this, which I just received this morning:

Are you serious? How do you expect someone to pull up your dress, revealing your hot ass and legs encased in nylons and heels - not want to fuck you after they spank you???? Makes no sense

Makes no sense to you, honey. So I guess that means there's no room for discussion. Buh-bye.

HOWEVER...

Does this mean I don't get sexually aroused by spanking? Hell, no.

And after I'm back down to earth, after the subspace has lifted, yeah. Sometimes I do crave sexual release.

Because I have carefully drawn boundaries out of respect for John, sex with my play partners is not on the table. So when the need strikes during the week, I take care of it myself.

I've made no secret of the fact that I use a vibrator. I even wrote a silly post about it here. And I've experienced men using vibrators on me.

It used to be that I'd wait for my tops to leave (sometimes just barely). I joked with one of them that if he walked outside of my apartment and then listened carefully, he could probably hear me screaming. (Yes, I'm loud.) I never masturbated in front of any man -- sounds strange to some of you, I'm sure! But I was intensely private that way. A dichotomy, to be sure. Wanna spank me? Gather the audience, the bigger the better. But sex is between me and my partner, and no one else. Or between me and me, if it's self-pleasuring.

Until now. 

Steve didn't want me to do it after he left. He wanted to watch me.

At first, I felt squirmy and vulnerable. I didn't think I could do it; I thought I'd be too distracted. But he simply sat off to the side, not speaking, not touching, letting me concentrate. I shut my eyes tight and disappeared into the sensations, and then there it was.

He watched. And afterward, when I was shaking and recapturing my breath, he commanded me to lie still, don't move, rest. He then wrapped me in the comforter and held me, just as he had after the spanking. Told me how beautiful I was.

Perhaps it's part of the top experience for him. Watching me completely lose control, while he maintains his. I don't know. I don't understand how it all works. I only know that it does. Even after all these years and at my somewhat advanced age, I can still experience "firsts."

Once in a while, with my permission, he takes pictures. He's a man; he likes visuals. :-) He gives them to me, just as he gives me all the photos he takes. I've deleted them, because I don't find them appealing. However, one of them captured my bliss so perfectly, I had to keep it. I cropped it, of course. I prefer to leave certain things to the imagination. Then I gave it a black-and-white, softened treatment. I think it's sexy, but more artsy than porn-y. What do you think?

I debated for a long time about this post. Yes, I was shy about it. I may regret hitting "Publish." I may not. I may delete it. I may not. But for today, I felt like sharing another little piece of myself. And know that in doing so, I am still a sexy and desirable woman, even looking down the barrel of 56. ♥

"I'll think about it."

A simple, common sentence. Four little words. Who knew that it could get me in so damn much trouble?

I must backtrack for a bit. When I spoke with Steve last Thursday, he was not doing well. A lot of work stress, plus the added aggravation of having to move (the house he's been renting for years has been put up for sale, and he doesn't wish to buy it). I asked if he was coming over Monday, and he said with regret in his voice, "I really don't know. I've been so out of it lately, not sleeping well... I don't think I can get into the right head space for play, sweetie."

"Listen to me," I said. "We don't have to play. I'm your friend. Come over and just talk to me, vent, whatever you want. You don't have to perform for me. I just want to see you." I meant it. He could tell, because he agreed to come by this morning. 

I had no expectations of play whatsoever, and when he came in, I could tell he hadn't been exaggerating about how stressed he was. I've never seen him so tense. When he tried to send a text to a colleague, he fumbled the phone. I had him lie down on my bed, and I massaged his head until I felt him relax. "Thank you for taking care of me," he said. "I'm sorry about the role reversal. I should be taking care of you."

"You will another time," I said. "For now, you need to rest." He wound down a bit, talking less, and finally murmured, "You know, I'm fading... I could go to sleep right now." "Then go ahead," I insisted. Right after that, he practically passed out, poor guy. He slept for the better part of an hour, I think.

After he woke, I stretched alongside him and we chatted some more. He thanked me again for being here for him, and I answered, "Thank you for letting me. I was afraid you were going to shut me out, because you were so stressed out." He went on to assure me that he would never do that, no matter what was going on. As we talked, I could feel him coming back. His voice, his body language, everything was changing from the tense man who had walked in a while ago back into the Steve I see every week. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not going anywhere?" he teased. I shrugged, and he added, "You do know that, right? You'd better know it, or I'll roll you over right now."

Hmmm. I liked the sound of that. I still didn't answer.

With a little bit more of a toppy edge, he repeated, "You do know that, don't you? Say yes."

All I had to do was say "yes," and I was off the hook. Instead, I smirked at him and replied, "I'll think about it."

Wrong. Answer.

"Oh, that's it," he growled. "If I had my bag with me, this would be a boot camp moment. You'll think about it?? Go get me something. I'll give you something to think about."

Giggling, I went to my closet. And then temporary insanity overtook me. I could have brought him the Cane-iac OTK strap that I like so much. Or a leather paddle. But no-o-o-o. I brought him that @#$%ing Strictly Lickin' Stick, the one Kat sold to John at Shadow Lane.

How does one describe this monstrosity? It's not a thick, thuddy paddle; it's only about 5/16" thick. But it's not just one piece of wood; it's actually six super-thin layers of hardwood laminated together, finely sanded and polished, then coated with lacquer. It doesn't quite sting, either. It burns and it bites, unlike anything I can think of. It's NASTY.

Why I brought it to him, I don't know. 

He wasted no time in flipping me into position on the bed and shoving pillows under my hips. "No warm-up," he said calmly, laying into me immediately. Oh, my God.

"Still thinking, honey? What are you thinking now? Hmmm?" It was all happening so fast and so intensely, I couldn't think at all. "Uhmmm, nothing, nothing! I'm not thinking anything! Ow! That hurts!"

"I'm sure it does," he replied, continuing. "I need to remind you. We're going to rename this 'the reminder stick.' You need to be reminded that I'm here for the long haul." I tried to process the pain, sink into it, be with it, but damned if that thing wasn't setting me on fire, so I struggled and kicked.

"No," he scolded, "no kicking. Keep still. I'm not going to stop until you stop moving." So I'd manage to for a few swats... but then squirm and thrash again.

"You still thinking about it?" he asked. "NO!" I hollered. "I'm not, I'm not!" "So are you sure now?" "YES!" "Tell me." "I'm sure you're not going anywhere! I'm sorryyyyyy!"

"Just a few more," he assured me. The only problem was that he said that three or four times!! "Keep still," he warned again. "I can't, it HURTS!" "I know, honey."

I tried, I really did. I managed to hold perfectly still for a few more. But when that last one cracked down across both cheeks, I lost it. "STEEEEEEEEEEVE!" tore out of my throat in a shriek, and I swiftly rolled onto my back, my arms and legs frantically curling up and in.

He did not attempt to reposition me. He knew I was done. Instead, he pulled me to him and held on tight. "It's over, baby. Hold onto me. Let it out."

I burst into tears. The good kind. The kind that cleanse me from the inside out.

No, it wasn't one of our long, multi-layered scenes. It was quick, unexpected, spontaneous, and ferocious. But it was what we both needed, apparently. The tension was gone from both of us. Soon, I was laughing through my tears. And he was laughing too.

Magic.

But I still hate that fucking Lickin' Stick. :-Þ

He didn't bring his camera today, but I took a couple of "selfies" after he left.

Look at my sulky face! Don't you feel sorry for me??

Yeah, I didn't think so. Nuts to all of you. :-)

Especially you, Kat!! 

(P.S.  All kidding aside... I ♥ you, Steve. Thank you. I hope things will all fall into place for you soon. Until then, I'm not going anywhere, either.)