A little something I posted on FetLife

What's good enough for FetLife is certainly good enough for my blog, no? Most of my readers already know this about me -- I hate being called names. Please don't misunderstand me here; I am NOT putting down those who fetishize/eroticize certain words I consider degrading. My beef is with people (men, in my case) who assume it's OK to use those words without talking about them with someone first.

So here goes:

Do. Not. Call Me Names.

OK, guys. Here's the deal. I'm not naive; I'm fully aware there are many female fetish enthusiasts out there who get off on humiliation, degradation, being called unflattering names. Fine. If that's what they like, that's what they like.

I, however, don't happen to be one of them. And I'm not alone. So don't even think about calling a woman an ugly name unless you are damn sure that she wants you to. Because, along with poor technique, the wrong words can kill a scene as well.

Years ago, John and I tried playing with a couple at a dungeon. He and the woman hit it off well, no pun intended. The man and me? Notsomuch. First time playing with me, he slapped my butt a few times, then grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanked it hard, and hissed in my ear, "How do you like that, you little BITCH?"

I didn't. Scene over.

We write and write and write about do's and don'ts in our scene, and get comments like, "Don't people know that? Isn't that just common sense? Kink 101?" Apparently not. As I like to say, common sense is frighteningly uncommon. A lot of misguided folks out there adopt a sort of cookie-cutter behavior -- what works for one should work for everyone.

So I won't speak for women in general; I know better. This is just for little old me, and for any other women with whom it resonates:

I am not a bitch.

I am not a whore.
I am not a slut. The only man who gets to call me "slut" is John, and that's because he does it jokingly -- my standard reply is "but I'm your slut."
I am not a c-word. Please refrain from using that word in my presence. I hate it more than any other word in the English language. I was called that frequently by an abusive, horrible person in my life, and no one will ever call me that again.
I am not a pig.
I am not dirty, filthy or nasty. Naughty, yes.
I am not an inferior being who needs to be put in her place.
I am not a fucktoy or a cumdump.

Again, some women will like any or all of the above. But never assume so; find out for sure. Unless, of course, you enjoy getting ripped a new one. :-)

Friday potpourri

It's been a while since I've posted one of my lists of random thoughts. But I find myself in kind of a sad and scattered mood today. Perhaps it's left over from yesterday's revolting blog discovery. Maybe I'm a bit weepy myself after seeing Jay Leno's tearful farewell last night. I'm much like Sheldon Cooper that way -- change makes me uncomfortable and unhappy. Or maybe because today is 50 years to the day when the Beatles arrived in the States; that has me feeling wistfully nostalgic (not to mention incredibly old). So, I am sharing what's floating through the windmills of my mind, in no particular order.

1. I will miss Jay a lot. Of course, I still miss Johnny.

2. In Jay's farewell show, several greats showed up to see him off, including Billy Crystal, Oprah Winfrey, Carol Burnett, Sheryl Crow, and Kim Kardashian. Wait... what? Which one of these does not belong??

3. I know the word "behoove" means "to be to one's advantage," but it still makes me think of horses.

4. It's a good thing we didn't have the current mania of amalgamating couples' names (Brangelina, Kimye) back in the golden age of movies; we would have had Myrniam, Dickabeth and Hepcy.

4a. There are always exceptions, however. Desilu was pretty cool.

5. Why do we have cardinal rules? Why not oriole rules, or ruby-throated hummingbird rules?

6. Last night, John said to me, "I don't believe in God, but I believe in angels, because I have you." Prior to that, he had been teasing me relentlessly. Way to disarm a woman, smart guy. ♥

7. People complain about how a lot of rock and roll has gibberish for lyrics. Newsflash: nonsense lyrics in songs go back way before the rock era. For example, our parents' (or grandparents') generation had such lyrical gems as "mairzy doats and dozey doats" and Frank Sinatra's "Dooby dooby doo."

7a. That being said, Miley Cyrus's "La da dee da DEEE, we love to parTEEE" is particularly insipid.

7b. I don't remember when "party" became a verb, but I wish it hadn't.

8. I know I'll probably be fired on for this, but I have no interest in the Olympics. I'll watch them at John's because he has them on all the time, but at my house the next couple of weeks, it's going to be lots of repeats on other channels, or DVDs.

9. I appreciate any work I get, I really do. But I just finished reading a medical course about pressure ulcers... complete with pictures. I really think I should get nausea pay.

10. By the way, did you know it's incorrect to say, "I'm nauseous"? The true definition of "nauseous" is "causing nausea." Therefore, one should say "I'm nauseated." However, it's said incorrectly so often, it's probably now accepted as correct. (sigh)

11. And in that vein, if I live to be a 100-year-old proofreader, I will never accept people saying "more importantly" when they mean "more important." That one is like chewing on tin foil for me.

12. I bumped my shin 2 1/2 weeks ago, and still have the remnants of a bruise there. And yet, I get my backside pummeled every week and nary a sign remains. So not right.

13. Last night's episode of Big Bang Theory made me smile. Every time I think I can't love that show more, they raise the bar.

14. I really don't have any more thoughts, but I had to add this one because my OCD wouldn't allow me to end on the number 13.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Beside myself

No jokes, no funny rants this time. I am seeing every shade of red and I need a voice of reason, some calming words, advice, whatever is out there.

In cruising the spanko blogosphere and the various Tumblr photo sites, one link led to another and I found myself on one of the most disgusting Tumblr blogs I've ever seen.

No, I will not link it here. I don't want to guide any more traffic to this filth. But I will describe it. In short, it's a photo site that promotes hatred and degradation of women. All women are inferior, we're whores, we're fucktoys and nothing more, and deserve to be treated like crap.

Just one of the charming examples: A gif of a naked woman, legs spread, weeping in pain while a man whips her genitalia fiercely. The caption: "If she has a c***, she deserves to be punished for it."

No, it's not just about my feelings for that word. I understand the kink of humiliation, about how some people get into that. But I don't see this blog as being about kink. It's about misogyny.

I have seen plenty of photos and blogs and posts in my time that turn me off, get me riled up. But I have never wanted to retaliate against a site as much as I do now. I want to report this. I want to see this person take some heat.

Am I out of line? Is this simply another case of "freedom of speech," and there's nothing that can be done? Is there a cap on the amount of hate-mongering allowed out there? Can Tumblr blogs be reported, and if so, how? If I can, should I? Or should I just pretend I never saw it and leave it alone?

Breathe, Erica. Breathe.

An early celebration

This coming Saturday, February 8, is Steve's birthday. I figured rather than wait and celebrate with him after the fact, I'd surprise him a bit and spring it on him early.

He got a rare evening free, so we planned our get-together last night. It nearly didn't happen. My block -- in fact, my general area -- is notorious for the dearth of parking. Too many apartments with single-car spaces and tenants with two cars, plus a whole lot of red curbs, for whatever reason. So people consider themselves lucky when they find a space quickly. Usually they have to drive up and down the block and into the surrounding ones. But last night, Steve absolutely could not find a space. He drove around and around for nearly an hour, calling me every few minutes in frustration. I finally told him to park in the public lot at the end of my block and he could move it later.

Since it was after nine and neither of us had eaten, we went to get a bite at our favorite deli. After we got back, he went out to move his car, and while he did so, I put a candle in the birthday jumbo cupcake I'd bought and got plates, forks and napkins.

The birthday boy was very surprised and pleased with his treat! You'll have to take my word for it that he was smiling.

What's a birthday without spanking, right? But not for the top, no no. So naturally, yours truly stepped up for it. I'm so giving that way.

He'd seen the photo I'd taken for last week's blog, where I'd stripped naked, and informed me that I would be spanked as I was in that photo. So, after we had each had a piece of cupcake and he'd opened his card, he bade me to "get ready for bed," so to speak.

I didn't bother telling him that I usually wear pajamas to bed. Didn't think that would fly.

Oh, bedtime spankings are so very lovely, aren't they? I did struggle a bit with this one, perhaps because I was tired -- it hurt a lot. Even his hand felt like a brick! Whereas last week I'd been a seemingly endless fountain of sass, spraying him with sarcasm, last night I hunkered into the bed and was quiet, save for my whimpers and moans into the pillow. A couple of times I reared upward or rolled away, but then immediately settled back. "Come back to me," he crooned, his hand gently but firmly holding me in position. His swats remained crisp, but he lightened them slightly, throwing in an extra hard one every once in a while. I eventually melted under the crop.

He then put me to bed. Blissful, dreamless sleep was mine last night. And I never did put my PJs on. Just used an extra blanket and snuggled deep, enjoying the sensual feelings on my skin.

Happy early birthday to my wonderful top. ♥

I love words

Being a linguist, I love learning new and unusual words. And if they are words that have anything to do with TTWD, all the better.

Imagine my delight at discovering the word "callipygian," which means "having well-shaped buttocks." Really.

And then last week, I came across the word "rutilant." Any guesses on what that might mean?

Want a hint? Its meaning is similar to "rubicund." (Yeah, I know, big help there.)

Want another hint?

Rutilant means "having a reddish glow." Let it not be said that this blog isn't educational!

Hope everyone had a nice weekend and enjoyed the Stupor Super Bowl. :-)