Well, guys?

Did you?  :-)

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 3/7

Happy Friday, everyone. A few tidbits for your amusement, plus an interactive feature today.

Received this one on FetLife last week:

in addition to your regular spankings, I think you should be given enemas on a regular basis.

Tell you what. If I ever plunge to such depths that I care about what the likes of you think, please shoot me. In the meantime, fuck off.

I like your body and I like to spank you and make you to please me.

I like to make you to go away.

I am new to this life and playing with my hole
Would like to talk to you and guidance on Skype as I do it 

I hope that wasn’t to forward

Wait... what??

Nah, not forward at all. You just want me to Skype and watch you do God-knows-what with your hole. And I don't think you're talking about a pit you've dug in your yard.

And honestly, if you want guidance for how to play with that orifice, sorry, I'm not your girl. But I could recommend a couple for you.

Here is this edition's head-splitter:

Hi sweety you look as great as you did in Gregory films even better you never age u beauty great ass lil lady happy new year daddy/xxx from last year---i go to "PADDLES" i N.Y. + saw you at Hell fire spankathons mmmm take care lil lady bring pillow with you incase we meet hee he your how do you do it you look 28 yrs old sweety your pal xxx/daddy

I do appreciate the compliments, but your way of delivering them is making my eyes bleed. Um... No, I've never been to Hellfire, whatever that is. You have me confused with someone else. Please find her and leave me alone.

And finally, here's where I need your help, kids. Are you familiar with the term "malaprop"? Basically, it means when you use one word incorrectly, when you clearly meant to use another. I see it all the time in proofreading. It's not a typo; it's a brain blip, and pretty much everyone does it at some point.

Examples: "He entered rehab of his own fruition." (Should have been volition.) "She plummeted his chest with her fists." (Should have been "pummeled.") Or, a personal favorite at an old job -- everyone hated the bosses there, and when they went to lunch one day, my co-worker burst out of his cubicle and dramatically announced, "There's distension among the troops!" I looked up at him. "Why, do they have gas?" (He meant dissension.)

Anyway. In the ongoing drama-fest that is FetLife, there's yet another flame war carrying on. No, I'm not giving any details or taking any sides... I'm staying the hell out of it. However, something was said in one of the posts and it is driving me crazy, because I know the writer meant something else.

Look this is turning into a mud slinging camisole

WTF??? What could this person possibly have meant instead of camisole? Any ideas? Unless there's a line of violent lingerie out there that I don't know about. Perhaps one can also buy a pie-throwing petticoat?

Writer friends? HELLLLLPPP!

Have a great weekend, y'all. Don't forget to set your clocks ahead. 

My AAA debut

That's Triple A Spanking, not the Auto Club, just to be clear.

The clip I shot with John Osborne (I call him AAA-John to differentiate him from my John) at Shadow Lane has just been released! AAA-John has written a blog about it, and you can read about it (and see lots of pictures) here. He talks about clip piracy first, which is a very important subject, and then I'm at the end. For those who are on FetLife and can watch videos, he also put up a quick teaser on his page.

The plot was simple: we went to a posh party and I spent most of the night flirting outrageously with a hunky young bartender (hence the video name, the Bartender Incident). AAA-John refers to me in the description as a "cougar" -- I told him he's lucky I like him so damn much! :-D 

Oh, and I am so mortified about that "flake" thing -- I will never live it down! For those who don't remember from my SL party report, AAA-John and I had a bit of a snafu hooking up for the shoot, because John and I went to his room at the appointed time and he wasn't there. I had just met AAA-John and didn't have contact info for him, so we waited in the hall for 20 minutes. I was disappointed, thinking the shoot had fallen through, and I sighed to John, "Why are people so flaky?"

Well, of course, we found each other and all was well. Except when Mr. Big Mouth John blurted that I'd called AAA-John a flake! AUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGH! Why does that man do these things to me?? Aaaaand of course, I will never, ever be allowed to forget that. (heavy sigh)

So basically that night, I was both thrown under a bus and over a lap. And just what's going on with my expression here?

Oh, speaking of expressions, I simply must post this one. Tell me... could AAA-John look any more pervy here? :-D

A good time was had by all!

Speaking of good times, had another wonderful lunch with Alex and SpankCake. Always a fun time with those two! Time slips away while we laugh and dish and share. Thank you, ladies! ♥ I did have a bit of a weird lunch, though. I ordered something that was called the "Go Green Frittata" on the menu, which is sort of like an omelet, but it's flat instead of folded over. It was described as having eggs, spinach puree, broccoli, zucchini, garlic, quinoa (a type of grain), and it sounded marvelously healthy and tasty. But when it arrived, I was a little taken aback -- what I had on my plate looked like, I kid you not, an over-sized green hockey puck. It tasted OK (a little bland), but the whole thing looked so disconcertingly green and unappetizing; I'm ordering something else next time!

(I really need to learn how to take pictures on the spot. I wish I'd snapped a photo of that thing.)

Anyway, go give Triple A some love, y'all!

Most of the time...

... my session posts are a lot of fun to write. They go well. They're intense and funny and passionate and Steve and I have a wonderful top/bottom connection.

However, as in any relationship, sometimes there are off days. Today was one of ours. I have his full permission to write about it. Not because I want to complain or focus on what went wrong. I want to stress how we dealt with it, and moved through it. Because shit happens.

I think we were both a little off our game today; I know I was for sure. I was still feeling a bit droppish (I know that's not a word, but tough), tired, a little snarky and sick of the mild side effects from the antibiotics I've been taking. He had things on his mind as well, and so we spent a long time talking and decompressing a little, as is often our pattern. Then it was time to play.

I love our OTK warm-ups. His hand only, intensity growing slowly, slowwwwwly, from the first pats to full-on flurries of slaps, alternating, covering my cheeks and sweet spots, occasionally dipping down to upper thigh, just to get my attention. And usually, when he's done with his hand, he'll pull me up to hold me for a few minutes, and then we will move on. Either to the ottoman or to my bed, for Round Two with implements.

But today, he wanted to use a couple of implements OTK. That's perfectly fine; I love staying in that position. However, the "boot" paddle wasn't a good choice.

It's too big and unwieldy, and the angle is wrong. A paddle of that type is better for other positions. It felt awkward, but I was already kind of spacey and figured it wouldn't be for too much longer. No big deal. 

He had been alternating cheeks, but then he turned the paddle so it would go across both, and it came down. Unfortunately, he misjudged the size of the paddle (or maybe the size of me) and the angle was awkward, so a portion of it hit my tailbone.

It was hard, but not super hard. Once when I went to get my mail, I was wearing socks and I slipped backward, landing sitting hard on the stone steps; that hurt far worse than this. But it was a jarring, painful shock, and I reacted.

Overreacted.

I don't know why I was so upset, but I was. I started crying. He knew it was a bad shot and stopped immediately. I can usually absorb a "stray shot," as John calls them, take a few breaths and then continue. Not today. I was done.

He took me in his arms and tried to calm me down, but I was breathing so hard, I almost hyperventilated. "Deep breaths," he said. "Slow down. You're OK. I'm so sorry. Breathe..." But I was inconsolable. I wept and trembled and wouldn't look at him. The mis-strike had scared me, and all I could think was, "That shouldn't happen! Why did that happen?!" At some point, he said something about his being in a frenzy, and I blurted, "You're not supposed to be in a frenzy! You're the top; you're supposed to be in control and focused!" I knew that hurt his feelings, and I at least the presence of mind to think to myself, "Stop talking. You're being irrational and anything you say right now will come out sounding horrible. Just stop talking." He remained calm and quiet, going to the freezer to get some ice while I hunkered down into the couch, my arms curled up under me and my face buried. 

Gently, he iced me, and massaged my feet while the ice soothed. If he asked me questions, I nodded, but didn't speak. He brought me tissues. He stroked my hair, did everything he could to make me feel safe and OK again. 

I could go into all kinds of reasoning about why I was this upset, but really, it doesn't matter. I knew somewhere inside that he was suffering way more than I was, but I couldn't seem to break out of the emotional maelstrom I was experiencing. It's hard to explain the emotional state of a bottom, sometimes.

He waited. He didn't push, he didn't prod. He didn't get defensive or angry ("come on, it wasn't that bad, snap out of it"). He stayed with me, quietly, never leaving me except to get the ice and the tissues, letting me go through my process.

"Let's go lie down," he said, holding his hand out to me. I took it and stood, but then I took two steps and my legs, rubbery, sort of folded and I sat back down. So he lifted me into his arms and carried me into the bedroom, placing me gently on the bed and wrapping the comforter around me. Then he held me. I very slowly stopped shaking, stopped crying, my breathing regulated. The discomfort in my tailbone had faded.

"Are you back with me?" he asked. "Yes," I answered.

Now what? 

I wanted to talk about it, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings any further or make him feel defensive. If I complained or criticized too much, perhaps he'd feel like it was too difficult to please me, that I was too hard on him for what was just an unfortunate accident. 

He wanted me to talk, though. "Please, tell me what you're thinking," he said. "I want to hear. I want to know and learn. That scared me. Hurting you scared me."

I took a deep breath. "I want to reach a place with you," I began. "I know we can get to it, but I'm not quite there yet." I paused, then continued. "When I was at the party last weekend, I bottomed to some very experienced players. They used implements. But no matter what they were using, I knew I could sink into the scene, lose all awareness. Because I knew that no matter what they were using, or how many times, each strike would be spot on and perfect. Their aim and skill were that good.

"You and I aren't there yet. I love your hand spankings, and I love our heavier play. But sometimes, with certain implements, there's a part of me that tenses up a little. A part that makes me hold my breath, wondering where the blow will land. And I want to move past that. A little more practice, a little more focus, and I think we can get there."

He was totally OK with that, not at all defensive. He may be a top, but he doesn't have a toppy ego. He can accept, and he can listen. He cares. We will be just fine, and he will keep getting better and better.

And to be fair, I cannot expect him to have the prowess of a Joe or a Strict Dave. Joe lives with Ten, a spanking superstar, and two other spanko women. He gets practice probably every single day. Fineous has been working on perfecting his double flogging technique for years, no doubt. Dave also is one who has gotten regular and constant practice over the years, and a lot of feedback from many bottoms.

Steve said, "You took on a rookie with me, you know." No... he really wasn't. He knew kink. He knew spanking. But I am his first regular spanko play partner. He has come a long way for me, and I love him for that.

So today, there are no videos, and no new pictures. But I want to put up a photo from a couple of months ago, because this is how we left things today. Whole. Reconnected. And I owe a great deal of that to Steve's calm and kind reaction to my reaction/overreaction. He handled me the best any man, any top could have, and I'm grateful.

One of his favorite phrases is "We're good, huh?"

Oh yes. We're good, huh. Really.

The Drop

It's inevitable. Well, for me, at least. Some people on FetLife said they don't feel post-party drop -- they just enjoy the memories and good feelings. How I envy them.

I thought I'd escaped it this time, but it seems that it was delayed. I came back to distractions such as work and a nasal infection, plus all the usual catching up (blogging, posting, etc.) that comes after a party. But now that that's all settled, work had quieted once again and my nose is healing, now I've crashed. 

FetLife has moved on... they're already abuzz about BBW in April. But John and I won't go to another party or see our friends until next Labor Day. So I need to steel myself and not let that make me sad. Easier said than done, of course. I will basically have a case of FOMO from now until August.

John and I were both lucky. I didn't come down with this stupid, painful infection until we came home, and he managed to have one of his good weekends for the party. Poor guy was back to being under the weather this weekend -- tired, coughing, sleeping poorly. His next sleep study appointment isn't until the end of this month. The health system drags on at the speed of snails.

In other words, getting back to reality blows. These party weekends are such extreme escapism.

I will get a couple of transfusions of friendship and love and play this week -- Steve tomorrow, and on Thursday I get to have another girlie lunch with Alex and SpankCake. I love that Alex lives here in L.A. again! And SC, although she hasn't been blogging, is very much alive and well and I so enjoy her company.

And look out, Southern CA... Princess Kelley May is moving here! She is a party coordinator extraordinaire -- maybe between having her here, and what with Alex and Paul and some others, we can finally resurrect the limping, straggling Los Angeles spanking scene? One can only hope. And I'll bet if Kelley found us a venue for a spanking party, it wouldn't be a freaking BDSM dungeon. :-)

So, onward. Drag my sorry ass to the gym once again. (It feels like sandpaper now. My ass, not the gym.) 

Who watched the Oscars last night? I don't know why I keep watching them; maybe it's a cultural literacy thing. Maybe I just like looking at the dresses. Or I wait for the little delights, like having the incomparable Sidney Poitier, bless his 87-year-old heart, as one of the presenters. But overall, they aren't the way they used to be.

Then again, what is?