Contrary Action

That's a tool we shrinkees learn early on -- contrary action. You get a negative impulse, you counteract it with a positive action. You don't feel like doing something that's good for you, do it anyway. Do the contrary. For a contrarian such as myself, you'd think that would be a piece of cake. Not so, however.

So, I don't feel like writing. Tough. I'm writing anyway. Because I need to.

I didn't see ST on Monday night. I've had a bit of a wonky stomach on and off since last weekend, and on Monday when I tried to push through it at the gym, I got dizzy and broke out in a cold sweat. I knew something was off when the thought of lying on my belly and getting whaled on made me feel nauseated. So I cancelled. I didn't cancel because I've been depressed, because I really did want to see him. Anyway, I had nothing else I felt like writing about, so I took a break.

Yesterday came and went. Despite the fact that I didn't post my usual Monday night blog, it apparently didn't register on the blogosphere radar. I got four messages asking where my post was and if I was OK. Four. Talk about humbling. Surprise, surprise -- Erica isn't the center of the universe.

So all day yesterday, I isolated. I didn't tweet, post to FetLife or anything else. I thought, fuck 'em all. I could completely disappear and no one would notice or care. Familiar territory, one I've visited many times in my life.

That got old. REALLY quick. I never wanted children, so having an inner five-year-old got tiresome immediately. Isolating and withdrawing is my go-to mechanism, but time and again it has proven that it doesn't work for me.

Last night on the phone with John, I said that I don't know why I can't break out of this loop. I am consciously aware of all the good things and good people in my life, and yet, all I seem to be able to do is focus on the negatives and the losses. I know I'm being ridiculous, I know that others are probably looking at me and wondering what I'm crying and whining about. So why can't I just knock it off?

He said because that's how you are. It's what you do. You can't help it.

Yeah, I guess.

I know one thing for sure. Beating myself up and saying I should be feeling this or that doesn't work. And completely removing myself from everything doesn't work either. So fuck it. I'm writing.

Recently on FetLife, someone posted a journal entry, a poem about her depression. It reminded me of something I'd written a couple of years ago; I think I posted it on my old MySpace blog, but I'm going to repost it now. She wrote of hating her depression; I chose to write of accepting it. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If I embrace it, perhaps it will settle down and leave me be for a while.

Guess I'm not going to get Chrossed this week. Oh well. I can't always be entertaining, interesting or titillating. Sometimes, I'm just plain neurotic little me. But I'm here. I do not plan to disappear. It's too lonely, even for me.

MESSAGE TO DEPRESSION

Hello, old friend
Been a while.
More time passes between your visits these days.
Sometimes, I even forget you’re out there.

But I know you wait for me.
Wait for a chink in my armor, for a weakened state.
Then you slip inside and make yourself at home, in your old familiar surroundings.

I feel you deep within my bones, weighing down my every step.
Sucking the color and light from my world.
Singing sad songs to me, telling me lies.

I look in the mirror, and I see you reflected there.

But you know what?
Your visits are shorter.

You may be strong-willed, but my will is stronger.

The love of my friends, the love I have for myself, is more powerful than your malevolent force.

I know I will never fully vanquish you.
You’re like a virus lying dormant, waiting for its host’s vulnerability.
But while you used to stay with me for months, for years, now your duration is merely a week or two, sometimes days. Or even hours.

Suddenly, a day goes by, and I realize I haven’t cried.
My bed once again becomes a vehicle for peaceful sleep, rather than a refuge from the world outside.
I remember that life is good.

So, while you’re here, enjoy yourself.
Come join me under the covers in the darkness.
But don’t get too comfortable.

Because you’ll be going. Soon.

Confession is good for the soul... right?

Last night, a special friend wrote to me and said she was sad on Thanksgiving Day, because she couldn't be with everyone she cared about; they'd either died or gone away. I wrote back to her, saying I empathized, but I hoped she could focus on who is here now, because people come and go in our lives and if we spend our time missing the ones who are gone, we forget to appreciate the ones who are very much present.

It occurred to me after I hit Send that I need to take my own damned advice.

Confession time: I'm stuck in a depressive spiral, and have been for weeks. My weekends with John and Mondays with ST have been bright spots, but the rest of the time has been rather bleak. I have been crying every day and struggling to do even the simplest of routines. And I'm fucking sick of it.

Those of you who know me, know I have a lifelong bad habit. I have abandonment issues that run deeper than the oldest oak tree, and I don't take losses well. When they happen, I fixate, and pretty soon, I'm missing everyone who's ever gone out of my life. I'm feeling every slight and imagining the worst in all scenarios. It's self-centered and I'm just so damn tired of my own head. But the insidious thing about depression is, I don't have the energy to push myself forward, to do what I need to do to get OUT of my head. And so it goes.

I know everyone thinks I should go to see ST today. I would if I could. I just can't get myself out today. He understands. I am there in spirit.

I have done all the things I can, used all the tools I have in my psyche. Reached out to others, showed an interest in what they're doing today, sent wishes to loved ones. I know some people would say, "Get out of yourself and go volunteer in a soup kitchen." Yes, that's a good idea. But not something I'm capable of doing.

I've been down this spiral before, and I will come out, when I get good and sick and tired of being sick and tired. When I'm tired of shedding copious tears over people who aren't shedding them for me. When I come back to reality and see that it's not all about me.

Depression SUCKS.

I have an appointment with my gyno in a couple of weeks, just to check on things and see if some of this could be post-menopausal hormone hell. Chances are, though, that it isn't. It's just circumstances that triggered the demons.

Today, my apartment is quiet and peaceful. I am grateful for that. Whoever finally moved in next door hasn't made a peep. The gym is closed, but I'm going to work out in the apartment gym and get some endorphins going. The Marx Brothers' "A Night at the Opera" is on cable later. And I may not be feasting, but I did buy myself a piece of pumpkin pie for tonight. :-)

So, I'm coming clean. All the sarcasm and jokes and spanky patter have been put aside for today -- I'm admitting I'm scraping along the bottom and I'm tired of being there. I am going to come back up. Again.

Thanks, everyone, for putting up with me. Sending you all much love and best wishes, and yes, gratitude, on this holiday. For everyone who is dealing with pain and grief, I'll share my favorite "ism," once more: "The depth of your despair will be the height of your joy."

Pre-Thanksgiving thoughts

Of top importance: ST's dog is OK. He had a growth on his back that was increasing in size, but it turned out to be a benign tumor. He has a big incision and staples, but he will heal up just fine. And fortunately, the area is out of his reach so he can't bite at it, so I guess he doesn't have to wear one of those stupid head cone thingies. What a relief!

In other news, my third Spanking Court clip went up on the site yesterday. It's been a while since we shot it, so it was fun to see and remember. Unfortunately, because of the camera angle this time, V's head is cut off through most of it, so you don't get to see his priceless facial reactions. But it's still a lot of fun. I love the unexpected twist at the end. ;-)

So... tomorrow is Thanksgiving. What is everyone doing? Who's cooking? Who's going out? Family? Friends?

All three of John's siblings are going to other homes tomorrow, so no family gathering, thank you. However, John was the only one of the four to say, "Hey what about Mom?" I swear, they don't deserve him. So, his little canyon area has this thing every year at TG and Xmas, where they have a potluck dinner for the neighborhood; he's taking his mom to that. And fortunately, while he's made it clear that I'm welcome to join them, he hasn't pushed it. Let's see: lots of people, mostly ones I don't know. All crowded into a small space. Lots of noise. Nothing to do but eat, and babysit John's mother. I love you, honey, but I'd rather suck down an arsenic and cyanide smoothie.

On the flip side, ST is having a quiet TG dinner at home and has invited me to join him and the furry invalid. If I were going to do anything, it would be that. But...I dunno. I'd like to BE there. But I don't feel like going there, if that makes any sense. I don't want to dress and put on makeup and fix my crazy hair and make the drive. I just don't feel like it. Welcome to the life of a depressive isolator.

I actually have some work to do (yay!), and laundry as well. There are some good movies on Turner Classic Movies tomorrow. It's probably going to be rainy. I think I will cozy up with sweats and fuzzy slippers and pretty much treat the day like Thursday.

However, in the spirit of thankfulness, I am grateful for the loved ones in my life. John, ST, my friends... you have expanded my curmudgeon's little world and brought me much joy. I love you guys. Thank you.

Have a wonderful turkey day.

Mercy

I hear that's a good movie. Never saw it, myself. Kathy Bates won the Best Actress Oscar for it. But that's not what I'm going to talk about.


EDIT, 11/22: Aaaaaggggghhh! It's just been brought to my attention that the name of the movie was Misery, not Mercy. Of course. I knew that. Chalk it up to being incredibly spacey last night. Sometimes, I try too hard to be clever and it backfires on me.

ST and I both had things on our minds tonight. We spent about a half-hour talking before we started to play, and I was up for a distraction and some fun.

We started out silly -- actually, we were silly for a long time. I was challenging him as per usual.

"You just can't keep your pants up, can you?"
"Not around YOU, I can't!"
"Why? Am I that hot?"
"You're full of hot air -- does that count?"

He sent me to my bedroom to get the heart-shaped paddle. "And leave those pants down!"

"OK," I said, leaving them down, but pulling up my panties.

"I said leave them down!"

"You said pants! Make up your mind!"

He had me OTK for a while, but then decided he liked me on my hands and knees. Figures.

I was NOT feeling the love...

Then it was time for the ottoman, where belt, strap and flogger commenced. Finally, I started to settle down. Stopped saying words and just made sounds. Got into the zone.

He gave me a long, hard flogging, interspersing the hard strikes with light, caressing slaps, keeping me wondering. It got progressively harder, and I struggled a little, but recovered each time. I wanted to go on.

I'm not sure what happened. Maybe my mind was askew tonight, because I was worried about something. Maybe it was the combination of hard AND fast. I'm not sure. But then he switched from the flogger to the heavy strap and really let me have it with that. Usually, I roll with that and am able to absorb it. Tonight, I couldn't. My brain couldn't process the pain fast enough and I wanted to scream to release, but of course I can't scream here. So the pain had nowhere to go, and that inner battle started up.

Take it. I can't. You have to. Don't be a wuss. I can't, I can't. Just push through it, it's almost over. NO.

"Mercy!" I cried. And of course, he stopped immediately.

I hate safe words. I hate using safe words. If I'm in a scene with a brute/jerk/Uber-Dom, then I refuse to use one, because my pride won't allow him to see that he broke me. And if I'm playing with someone I care about, I don't want to hurt his feelings or make him worry that he did something wrong. Either way, I feel like an ass if I mercy out.

But this was ST. I had nothing to prove to him. We were way beyond this kind of nonsense. So I said it.

He soothed me with lotion, rubbed my back, stroked my hair. He asked if I was OK, a couple of times. I assured him I was. He asked what had happened -- was it the pain? Was it too intense? I said I didn't know for certain. I just knew I'd gone as far as I could go, this time.

I apologized to him. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said. I felt like I needed to, anyway. I wanted him to know for sure that it was me, not something he did wrong. I would never, ever want him to think he did anything bad to me.

Silly, stubborn pride. Erica must maintain her bionic reputation! Oh, bull.

After I calmed down, I felt fine. Relaxed. Sleepy, almost. My mind was quiet for the first time today. And if it was possible, I felt even closer to him than before. Because I was able to say mercy to him, when I can't say it to anyone else.

"There is no such thing as a bad scene with you," I told him. I meant it.

Please hold good thoughts. ST is bringing his dog in for a bit of surgery tomorrow. I know this time tomorrow night, he'll feel very relieved and glad it's done. So best wishes for his beautiful boy.

Hmmmm... I do believe he accidentally took my heart paddle with him. Don't tell him I said so, but I hope he brings it back. :-)

A happy post for a change

Happy Friday, everyone. In direct contrast to my last two cranky, Grinch-y posts, I've got some fun things to share today.

First, I have a new interview up on the blog Spank Place. If you haven't seen this site, do check it out. Every month, Mark interviews someone in the scene, and I was very flattered when he asked me.

He made the effort to ask several questions specific to me, which I appreciated. One of them was "What is Spanking Court?", so I was very happy to give them a big plug. He asked for a selection of pictures and so I sent him a head shot plus six random spanking shots. He put up five of the seven, so there's a nice pictorial along with the interview. You can read it here.

And even better -- I sort of got Double-Chrossed today. My Rough entry from Monday was included, plus my interview. Thank you, Mr. Chross! That does my little attention-whore heart good.

This was a weird week. I have been feeling especially square-peggish, and it seemed that wherever I went, cyber or real, I clashed with someone. On Twitter, someone jumped on my ass because she didn't like something I posted. Yup, I said I didn't like seeing Bible study posts on my FetLife feed, and she said I was judgmental. Oh, please! I wasn't judging people who study the Bible. But some things just aren't a good mix. Do you see me going to church study groups and talking about spanking, bondage and other forms of happy debauchery? Especially since most religious groups think people like us are going to fry in hell? Whatever.

Then on FetLife, I expressed some thoughts on a controversial topic and was laughed at by a condescending know-it-all. Frustrated, I went to the gym later that day to blow off some steam, and had a particularly unpleasant encounter with a pair of women in my class. They were making so much noise right behind me, talking and laughing, and I couldn't concentrate on the really tough moves the teacher was putting us through. So I politely asked them (yes, I was polite) if they would please take it down a bit. Their response was to glare at me, then spend the rest of the class whispering and snickering behind me. I felt like I was back in grade school.

I came home thinking, Jeeeezus, I can't get along with anyone. I really need my own island. Perhaps my own planet.

Then yesterday, I got a lovely present.

A while back, I had a correspondence with a young woman just breaking into the spanking scene. She had read my book and had many questions, so we passed some lengthy emails back and forth. After a while, she joined FetLife, and I've seen her bloom. She's posting pictures, making friends, getting tons of comments, and it's like watching a kid in a candy store. I was very happy for her.

Yesterday, she posted this on my wall:

Erica, just wanted to send you yet another quick soul-felt thank you. If it weren't for you, I might never have started down this path of experiencing these things. You were so kind and gentle with me, right from the start, so willing to communicate so openly. Your kindness has opened so many doors for me. Thank you.

She may never fully comprehend how much that meant to me, and how timely it was. If I'd received this a year ago, I would have included it in my book. What a keeper.

Thank you, dear. Enjoy and embrace your journey. You have so many treats ahead of you.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

An addendum to last night's post

Since my buddy Zelle posted three anti-Christmas links in comments last night, I was reminded about this bit of footage, the mother of all Grinch-y sentiments. And because I'm just in that kind of mood, I'm going to post it. If I don't laugh, I cry. Laughing is more fun.

WARNING: This is RUDE. Please, if you do love Christmas, or you don't like the f word, don't watch this. But if you do, make sure you listen all the way to the end, after all the clapping. :-)

It's that time of year again!

Yup, those of you who know me, know what I'm talking about. Time to break out this little guy, once again:

Today in the dentist's office, I heard Johnny Mathis's "Silver Bells." I wanted to barf.

Tonight on the phone, John was talking about Thanksgiving. Oh, goody. He asked, "On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about our going to [his sister's] house? And no, you can't use negative numbers." Damn. He read my mind.

I am so not in the mood for the annual turkey-fa-la-ho-ho shit. But then again... when am I? Every year in November, I wish for an IV drip that will put me peacefully to sleep and leave me there until January 2.

This sentiment seems to worsen as I get older. Really, I don't know what happened. Would you believe I actually used to bake cookies as gifts? From scratch, too. Those pain-in-the-butt sugar cookies where you have to mix the dough, chill it, roll it, cut out the cookies one by one and painstakingly decorate them.

Got a little older, and switched to mini quick breads from a mix. Few years later -- ah, screw baking. Cards. That's the ticket.

Now, I don't even feel like sending those.

I had to laugh. In my blog's keyword search phrases today, I found "grinch spanking." Grinch = Erica. Nahhh... I don't really want to take away everyone else's holidays. I just wish I could go somewhere and avoid them. Preferably into a coma.

At least this year, John isn't sick. I am very grateful for that. The only thing that kept me sane last year was knowing I had my Connecticut adventure coming in January, when I went to shoot with Sarah and Paul. I have no such adventures to look forward to this time.

Someone, very well meaning, suggested that I could distract myself and make a few bucks by doing some seasonal work in retail. I appreciate that they were caring enough to try to come up with something for me. But, to quote Weird Al, I'd rather dine on shards of glass for all eternity than deal with a teeming mass of harried holiday harridans.

Thank goodness for ST. He'll be here. I wish I could bring him with John and me to the family dinners. We joked about how he could grab my butt in front of John's horndog brother-in-law. But you know, I like ST too much. I wouldn't subject him to that. I'm sure he'll have a better time with his dog.

It's stinking thinking to say, "If I just had something special and fun to look forward to, I'll get through." I know this. I need to cope without having carrots dangled in front of me.

So herein begins the countdown. Tonight is November 15th. Forty-six days until January 1.

I hope y'all don't hate my crabby guts by then. :-)  Bear with me.

Rough

Warning: Some of you might not like what I describe below.

But please believe me.... I sure did.

You guys pretty much have my number by now, right? You know what kinds of scenes I like -- I like to be playful, I'm sassy, I love the banter and push-pull. Overall, I am a feisty and spirited bottom.

But sometimes... I really, really like the damsel-in-distress scenario. I don't know why. It so completely goes against my personality. But damn, it's so hot.

I like the fear factor. It isn't real fear... I know real fear. I'm afraid of many things. No, it's the good kind of fear... the trepidation, the not knowing, but trusting that ultimately, you'll be all right because you're in the best of hands. It's the thrill and terror of free-falling, and yet knowing someone is there to catch you. It's knowing that he could do some terrible things to you if he wanted to... but he won't. He'll just make you think he will. For those moments, you believe.

I didn't know we were going there tonight. I don't think ST did either. It just sort of happened.

Our scene started like most others -- OTK warmup, me running my mouth. When he said, "You need a good spanking, don't you," I snarked, "What was your first clue, Einstein?" He then whaled so hard and fast with his tawse, I squeaked, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!!"

"Yeah, you will be," he said, fishing around in his bag. I thought he was going for a heavier implement. Then I felt him pull my arms back behind me. Then I felt the ropes. He tied my feet, too.

"Now you don't know WHAT kind of nasty things I'm going to do to you," he said coolly. "And there's nothing you can do about it, either. Is there!"

I went from smartass to shaking in a matter of seconds.

What happened after that is a blur of sensation and emotion. He used a lot of implements, I know that. Hard. But more than that, he teased me. He made me look at him. He leaned down and hissed in my ear. He tightened his fist in my hair. I was wearing a strappy sundress and he yanked the dress down past my shoulders.

He never raised his voice. I hate raised voices. But his smooth and steely tones made me tremble and put tears in my eyes.

It wasn't the same kind of crying as last week. Last week was pure emotional release. This was... I don't know what this was. Just feeling wound up, hyper-stimulated, beyond excited. I strained against the ropes and scrubbed my face into the bedspread, praying he wouldn't make me scream.

While I appreciate the intensity of tears during a scene, I am self-conscious about mine. As our beloved Pixie likes to say: "Tears are hot -- snot is not." In bondage, I couldn't wipe my face or my nose. When he leaned down to look into my face, I turned away.

"Are you trying to hide from me?" he asked. "Yes," I murmured.

"You can't hide from me. Maybe I should just put you in position so I can look at you," he said, grabbing my shoulder and rolling me onto my back.



I twisted my head to look away, rolled my eyes back. No, no, don't look at me. But I could still feel his eyes on me, his hands. Enjoying himself. Enjoying my discomfort.

Only with someone I trust so completely could I do this. He knew that. And he knew just what he could do, and what would violate me. The latter wouldn't happen. I knew that logically. But still... when he's in Dr. Hyde mode, he knows how to make me wonder.

Finally, he rolled me back over onto my belly and finished me off with the strap. "If I let you go, will you be a good girl?" I nodded vigorously. He untied me.

And just like that, the sweet and gentle ST reappeared.

Several minutes later, he asked how I was feeling.

"Very relaxed," I replied. After a moment, I added, "And absolutely amazed at the places I can go with you."

"Me too."

I suppose I could analyze and overanalyze why I want to go to this edgy territory sometimes. But I'd rather not. I'm just grateful I have the perfect companion who goes there with me. And when I go over the edge, he's my net.

When Worlds Collide

Vanilla and kink worlds, that is. That happened to me this week. Bear with me while I set up the story.

A couple of months ago, I received email from a friend who knows who my father was. He wrote, "Did you know that your dad is mentioned in [name deleted for discretion]'s autobiography?"

I was confused. I knew who the author is; she's an actress and comic, around my age, and she has a disability which she often pokes fun at in her standup act. "Do you mean my cousin is mentioned?" I wrote back. I know she worked on one of my cousin's TV shows in the 70s-80s.

"No, your dad," he replied. He went on to explain that in the early 80s, my dad pitched a TV pilot for her and they had several meetings. The pilot didn't sell, but they became good friends. And he gave her a very special gift, one she never forgot.

Wow. Yet another story I didn't know about my father. Now that he mentioned it, I remembered Dad talking about that pilot. I remembered the name.

I Googled the actress, whom I will call G, and found that she has her own website, which I searched until I found a contact email. I then wrote to her, introducing myself (with my real name, of course) and thanking her for the kind mention of my dad in her book.

Her email back to me was lovely, bubbling with enthusiasm about how delighted she was to hear from me, that she'd always hoped that somehow we could connect but she had no idea how to find me, how much she'd loved my dad, etc.

She also sent me a friend request for Facebook. I'd written to her with the address that's connected to my Facebook account, and she found me that way.

Except on Facebook, I'm Erica Scott. Oops.

I really don't know why I'm even on Facebook. It's so relentlessly vanilla and boring, and even though a lot of fellow spankos are on there, they're on with their real names, family and work connections, etc. I have no interest in apps and games, and I couldn't care less about Farmville, Zooville or any other ville. If you look at my profile, it's not readily obvious what I'm into; I have no spanky pictures, and in my description, all I say is, "There is more to me than meets the eye, and let's just leave it at that." However, my friend list has a lot of kinky-sounding names in it. And I list my blog under Website. So anyone with even a modicum of curiosity could figure it out with a couple of mouse clicks.

I accepted her friendship invite. She wrote me a couple of messages on there, but all she commented on was my love for Dark Shadows, which she shared. On my birthday, she posted a greeting on my wall and said that when her schedule freed up, she'd love to meet for coffee/dinner.

Very long story somewhat shortened, we met this past Wednesday at a local deli halfway between us (turns out she lives about 10 miles from me). I felt instantly like I'd known her for years.

We talked and talked and talked. She'd brought me a copy of her book, and told me about a lot of the stuff in it, how she'd revealed a lot of secrets (about herself, about Hollywood, etc.), bluntly discussed her disability and what it was like growing up with that, and so on. She talked about my dad and cousin, and shared stories of them. I ate it all up.

And then G said, "So, what about you?" "What about me?" I hedged. "Tell me about you," she said, picking up her sandwich. Clearly, it was my turn to talk.

So I told her the usual boring stuff. Never married, no kids. Lived alone since I was 17. With the same man for 15 years, but we don't live together. College grad, work as a proofreader/copyeditor. Blah blah blah.

"And? What else?" she asked. Her gaze was calm and direct. I wondered how much she'd figured out. If she had questions, she wasn't asking them. She was letting me decide what to tell.

I don't understand why, but this woman, whom I'd known for about an hour, suddenly seemed like an old, dear friend and I wanted to tell her. I knew so much about her, and I wanted her to know about me. And my instincts told me I could trust her and she wouldn't judge.

"Well," I said, fiddling with my coffee cup. "Did you wonder why I'm Erica Scott on Facebook?" "Yup, that thought crossed my mind," she answered.

"And did you happen to look at my friends list?" I went on. She nodded. "I did... interesting collection of names," she said, smiling. Oh, screw it, Erica. Tell her.

So I did. I told her who Erica Scott is and what she's into. Not in detail; she didn't need to hear all that right off the bat. Just a brief outline -- the kink, the wiring since childhood, "coming out" later in life, finding John, getting into videos. I said that in a small circle, I was well known. I also told her that no one in my family knew.

Her gaze never wavered, she didn't bat an eye. She got it. She may not be kinky, but she knows what it's like to feel different.

I told G about my book and shared my own process of writing it. She said she wanted to read it. I hesitated. "I hope it won't offend you," I said. "There's some pretty explicit stuff in there."

"Please," she scoffed. "Don't you get it? I'm a comedian. Nothing offends me!"

Three hours flew by. I was so overjoyed to meet her, to talk with her. She was a connection to my past, to my father. Pretty much everyone in his world has died, but here was someone my age, full of stories and memories. She told me things my father had said to her and I could practically hear him saying them.

And it felt SO good to hang out with a new friend and to be able to be both Erica Scott AND Erica [real name], not just one or the other.

Before we left, she autographed her book for me, signing it "Your new old friend, G." I got her mailing address and the next day, I arranged to have one of my books shipped to her. I also got a sweet message from her, saying what a pleasure it was to meet me and she looked forward to getting to know me better. And that she honored my trust.

How about that, huh?

In other news: Looks like LOL Day #6 was a success. I feel like I spent most of my day yesterday reading all the LOL blogs, reading comments and adding my own to others. For everyone who dropped by and said hello, thank you!

My third Spanking Court clip may go up this Monday. I hope. Stay tuned. Cali said the remaining three will go up one per month (December, January, February). I can't wait! Meanwhile, she sent me some fun pictures to tide me over. I posted this one on FetLife, so I'll put it up here too. It's from Scene #4, when I dragged the Disciplinarian into court with me, complaining about him to the Judge. Check out the look on V's face!

This makes me snicker every time I look at it.

Have a great weekend, y'all. And to our vets: THANK YOU.

Love Our Lurkers Day, #6

Welcome to the sixth annual Love Our Lurkers (LOL) Day. Spearheaded once again by our brilliant blogging queen Bonnie, it's time to say how much we appreciate our readers, quiet ones included, and invite them to say hello.

OK, so technically, LOL Day is supposed to be Thursday and it's still Wednesday. I was going to be a proper OCD Virgo and wait until after midnight to blog. But then I saw that several of my fellow bloggers had already posted, so I thought, ah, screw it. Ooh, I'm posting three hours early! Watch me run with scissors next! :-)

So anyway... you guys know the drill. Bloggers love their viewers, and we love comments too. If we didn't want readers and comments, we'd write a private journal. Or we'd just talk to ourselves. We want to know who you are.

C'mon, it's easy. You don't have to recite a Shakespearean soliloquy. You don't have to explain particle physics. You don't have to hand over your credit card number, your social security number, or even your name. Just say something. Hi, Erica. Love your blog, Erica. Up yours, Erica.

Here, how about a multiple choice, and then all you have to do is post a letter?

a) I read this blog for the scintillating spanking adventures
b) I like the acerbic humor (oh, for Christ's sake, look it up)
c) I'm just here to see pictures of your butt
d) Other

Whatever you choose to say (or even if you don't), thanks for visiting my little corner of the blogosphere. Smooches to you all!

See Me, Feel Me, Spank Me, Heal Me

(with all apologies to The Who)

I'm definitely in a strange place as of late. Offhand, I can't remember when I last had a day that didn't include shedding tears. Why? Doesn't matter. It just is. I ride these peaks and valleys and accept them. They pass.

It's annoying, though. In this place, it takes very little to start the waterworks. A kind gesture or some sweet words will set them off. Today, I got email from Cali, thanking me for the "wonderful grand finale." And there they went again.

Still, I pulled myself together, ran errands, straightened up the place, changed my clothes. ST was coming over, after all. And by the time he arrived, I was in quite the good and chipper humor.

We bantered a little as the scene started. I told him about the particularly dastardly move from V on Saturday -- 50 paddle swats in a row on the right cheek only. So of course, ST thought it was only proper to give the left cheek a lot of focus. Said he wanted me to be well-balanced. (Me? Not in this lifetime, toots.)

But then we settled into a rhythm and fell silent. I wasn't sure whether or not my new neighbor was home, and I wanted to be cautious. So I clamped my hands over my mouth, buried my face. Still, I arched my back and thrust up for more. He couldn't see my face or hear my voice. But he read my body language, sensed my need. He laid into me harder and faster. My feet flailed, but I held my position.

The tears came early, and they came fast. Good tears. Cleansing and sweet. And the harder I cried, the harder he spanked, strapped and paddled. How does one explain the bizarre dichotomy of feeling pain and relishing it so thoroughly?

His voice, normally so gentle, took on that rough edge. He grabbed my hair. "You need this, don't you," he growled. Oh yes. Yes, I certainly do. More, please. More.

He had me count the final 20 with the strap, 10 with his belt and 10 with the paddle. I barely whispered the numbers, but he heard me. Then held me close as I sobbed and sobbed for a long time afterward. It took quite a while before I was able to raise my face and look at him.

No face pictures tonight. He didn't even try to take any. I was grateful for that.

The first thing I said, when I could speak, was, "So, what's it like playing with a basket case?" "You're not a basket case," he said, stroking my hair. "What makes you say that?"

"Because," I sighed, "it's always something with me. I'm either angry about something or sad about something else."

"Well... so are a lot of people."

Sadly, I guess that's true. But not all of them have the magical pressure valve that we do.

He'd come over earlier than usual, and asked me if I'd like to go to dinner. I had to decline. All I wanted to do was lie in a boneless heap on the bed... the thought of getting up and going out sounded as impossible as flying to the moon. So we talked about odds and ends.

He said there should be an Erica Scott doll, one with a string you could pull and she'd say bratty things. I could dress up like a doll for Halloween next year! "I'm too old to dress like a doll," I muttered, and he said, "You look like a doll to me." Goddammit. Nearly set me off again.

Time for a shower and then perhaps a little something to eat. I believe I will sleep like the dead tonight.

And guess what? I have a small mark -- on my left cheek. :-)

Thank you, ST. ♥

Spanking Court weekend

Yesterday, I went once again to Spanking Court, this time to wrap up the story line of my seeking spanking therapy as an aid to depression. As y'all know if you've been following along, my initial goal sort of morphed into a battle of wills with the Court Disciplinarian, which culminated in a showdown with the Judge last time.

I figured since the scenes I did last month were a turning point, this last time would bring it all back around and I would come clean, explain why I got so far off the rails and apologize to the Court. Then I would request of the Judge that he let me have one final session with the Disciplinarian, so I could apologize to him as well.

So, that's what I presented to the Judge, and he granted me the final session, saying it would be good for both of us to have some closure. Once the court scene was shot, it was time for me to get into the scrubs and face my nemesis, who was waiting for me in the sentencing room, his eyes shooting darts at me.

My apology was sincere. I told him I'd specifically requested one more session not just so that I could tell him in person that I was sorry, but so he could have his moment of payback, as it were. He could choose the implement(s), the positioning, say and do whatever he wanted, as much as he wanted, and I would take it gracefully and without any of my former defiance or rudeness. "I'm all yours," I said.

So what did the Court Disciplinarian decide to do to me, for my final punishment and to settle the score between us? I'm not telling. :-)

Come on. Did you really think I was going to give away all the details? I will tell you that we shot a great scene, fun and real and deliciously intense. You'll just have to wait and see!

This story line ended up being six separate scenes. So far, two of them are up on the site, and I believe Cali said the third one will be up this week or next. Plus, I asked her if she would please send me pictures, so I can share some of them.

Oh, and she and Heinz are putting a limited amount of my books on sale at their "Paddles and Panties" site! I autographed them all and they'll promote them. These people are so good to me. :-)

After we wrapped my scene, I got dressed, but didn't leave for a while, opting instead to hang out with them in the conference room while they waited for their next "defendant" to show up. I didn't want to go! Once she arrived and had her makeup on, though, it was time for me to head out. They all hugged me in turn: Heinz, Cali, Dana and V. "We love you!" Dana said as she hugged me, and I damn near lost it. But I managed to keep myself together until I'd left the building and got to my car, where I started to bawl.

I will see them again. Can't go into the details of this either, but they will be shooting additional types of content next year and they'll hopefully work me into that. But it's going to be a while. And certainly won't be a regular monthly gig again. I'll miss that; it's been a great joy.

John was so sweet. He insisted on taking me to one of our favorite restaurants, lavished attention on me. Made me laugh with all his silliness. And you'll be happy to know that today, our brunch was completely undisrupted and everyone surrounding us was adult. Hallelujah.

I'm not seeing ST tomorrow, but I will see him Tuesday. It's for the best, I think. I'm sore. ;-)

Hope everyone had a nice weekend. Stay tuned; I'll put up some SC pictures when I get them.

Rainy Friday

My favorite kind of day -- gray, rainy, quiet. No one is outside, everyone's windows are closed; all I hear is the sound of raindrops. I'm in comfy sweats with Beethoven playing on the stereo (yes, I like classical music). Because John is working late and I have Spanking Court tomorrow, I won't be going to his house this evening. I will miss him, but part of me is relieved that I won't need to drive 30+ miles in Friday traffic plus rain. Southern Californians do not know how to drive in rain; they either crawl along at half the speed limit, or they tear past you and send mini-tsunamis splashing onto your windshield.

John and I hadn't talked for a couple of nights, so last night we played catch-up. Or rather, he did. He'd had a jam-packed week; lots of stuff at work (including being transferred to another department, which he thinks will be a very good thing), plus contact with a new domme, so he was all excited about that. I said little, just interjecting "uh huh," and "oh, good" and so forth where appropriate.

Then he said, "So what about you? How are you doing? What's new with your friends?" etc... My answers were monosyllabic: "OK." "Dunno." "I guess." My voice sounded half-dead in my ears. Then John said, "Life is kind of flat for you right now, isn't it."

He knows. Flatlining. Gray. Blah. Sad. The specific reasons don't matter; they just are. No work. Lackluster book sales. Upcoming holidays (and we know how much Erica loves the holidays). My mother just turned 90. For most, that would be a milestone worth a celebration, but for her, that's just another one of life's cruelties. Worries over people and things I can't control. Blah, blah, blah.

I know I have a wonderful man, and a wonderful top. I know I could be homeless, penniless, whatever-less. I AM grateful for what I have. But depression defies this logic. Like I said, it just is.

Just knowing that John totally got it broke through the thick fog and tears started pouring. It's weird, how I cry when I'm down. It's an expressionless crying -- no sobbing, no sounds, just a steady outpouring from my eyes, like I have mini-faucets behind each one and they're stuck in the on position.

Bless his heart, he tried to fix me. Started suggesting all sorts of things I could do. It's one of those guy things, I guess -- I appreciate his caring. He did make one very valid point -- I need some fun. Something, some sort of adventure, to look forward to. Something for balance.

So. How to achieve balance. Not sure. But it's something to think about. Find some fun, something that will inject some joy and anticipation, bring the color back. We're not talking anything monumental here, folks. Remember, we're talking about Ms. Routine who has to mentally prepare for days in the case of a change in her schedule.

Speaking of schedule changes, ST can't make it Monday, so he is coming over on Tuesday instead. Wow. Now you know how much I like him, folks. 

Anyone watch The Big Bang Theory? I swear, in some ways, I think Sheldon Cooper is a long-lost (and fictional) brother. Not because of his genius level or his asexuality (I am no nuclear physicist, and I love physical intimacy), but his need for sameness and routines (and his anxiety when they are disrupted). They've never established exactly what it is with him; many think it's Asperger's, or OCD, or a combination of both. I love one of his catchlines: "I'm not crazy. My mother had me tested."

Enough with this blathering. I got Chrossed today, so that's good (and congratulations to everyone else who did also). I'm going to get a pedicure -- it's hard to feel down with sparkly red toenails. And I do have SC tomorrow; a fun final scene is planned. And hopefully, my as-yet-unseen new next-door neighbor will move in sometime this weekend while I'm gone, so I will be spared the hours of racket. Because, as you know, outside noises distress me as well.

Sometimes, it's a wonder I don't spontaneously combust.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Odds & Ends not in my book, Part 4

A favorite John story, which really should have been in the book. I confess, I completely forgot about it.

For those who have already read the book, you may recall I mentioned a couple that John and I befriended in our early scene days -- I referred to them as A & C. But I didn't explain how we met them.

In the late '90s (before Erica Scott was born), John and I used to go to a lot of local BDSM parties, including a regular gathering at a private house. This house was set far back from the street, behind a parking lot that was empty at night, so it was perfect for guest parking. People could play inside the house, or in the garage, which the owner had fashioned into a dungeon.

I was still fairly new to all this and even then, I knew I wasn't much of a fit in these BDSM gatherings, but I did the best I could. John would help -- he'd scope out the crowd with me, ask if I saw anyone I thought I might like to play with. If I was too shy to approach someone (and I usually was), he would do it for me.

One Saturday night, the party was particularly crowded, and one man stood out above the rest -- literally. He was very tall, with dark hair and eyes, wearing all black, and my "oh my God, who is that" radar went off. So when John sidled over to me and said, "See anyone you like?", I pointed right at the aforementioned gentleman and answered, "Yeah. Him. I want him."

John looked over, then snorted. "Oh, you would pick him!" he laughed. "No way! You'd go home with him!" Then he took my arm and led me out of the room and into the garage. There, we found one of our friends and started chatting, and I temporarily forgot about the handsome stranger.

"I'm going to get a Diet Coke," John announced. "You want anything?" I said no thanks; he told our friend to keep an eye on me, and he made his way through the crowded dungeon out the door. A few minutes later, he came back in with a glass of soda and rejoined us.

I was feeling a bit restless, wanting to play, and my eyes wandered. I watched people coming in and out, and then -- (gulp). I saw Mr. Handsome walk in. He stood near the doorway, looking around the room... and then he looked right at me. And didn't look away -- his eyes held mine.

Breathe, Erica. Oxygen is your friend.

Not only did he not break eye contact, but he smiled. And started walking toward me. Slowly.

It's just a coincidence. There are a lot of people here; he's coming over to talk to someone else. Get a grip.

And then there he was, right in front of me. "Hi," he said. "Are you Erica?"

Does this dungeon come equipped with a defibrillator?? "Yes," I croaked.

"I'm A," he said, extending his hand. I shook it, but he didn't let go. Instead, he gripped it more firmly, then leaned down to whisper to me, his breath tickling my ear. "And I hear you need a really good spanking."

John, of course, was sitting right there, observing with great amusement. "JOHN!" I blurted. "What did you do??" He just gave me a wide-eyed innocent look, and A laughed. "Come with me," he said, pulling me to my feet.

Was the spanking scene hot? Of course it was. But that build-up was one of the best I'd ever experienced. It couldn't have been a more perfect surprise. I was beaming and giddy for the rest of the night.

I heard the story later. John had gone back into the house, gotten his drink and then found A, introducing himself. "Look," he said. "I know this is going to sound weird, but go with me for a second. Do you spank?" A said yes. "My girlfriend really wants to play with you. Would you mind?"

A hesitated -- kind of on the spot there, right? I mean, he didn't know me, he didn't know what he was signing on for. John hastened to assure him. "I think you'll like her," he said, "but you don't have to commit to anything. She's in the garage talking with a friend of ours; go check her out first." He then went on to describe me and what I was wearing. So A said sure, why not.

What a sport, huh? :-D

As it turned out, A was there with his own girlfriend C, and the four of us hit it off immediately. We were friends for years, before the two of them dropped out of the local scene. Last I heard, they had relocated in Europe. I have so many fond memories of the two of them. A and I went on to have many more scenes together.

See, now you guys get even more why I love John so much. It takes a very special man to pimp out his girlfriend to handsome strangers for a spanking. But of course, I still went home with John. Always did, always will. ♥