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

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

Go on.... shoo!

Monday, January 30, 2012

Well, what do you know

Tops can be fair every now and then!

When ST showed up tonight, he said, "So, I read your blog." Uh oh. But then he continued with, "I'm not going to spank you for defending yourself, or your friends. You're perfectly within your right to do that."

Hot damn!

And then he added, "I'll just have to spank you for something else, or make something up."

So much for that brief moment of fairness. Humph.

I told him that John had groused about the efficacy of his spankings. I quote, "Tell ST that whatever he's doing, it's not working! He's been there every week for well over a year and you're as big a brat as you ever were."

"There's no pleasing him," I grumbled during the warmup. "And there's no pleasing you either!"

"Oh, I don't know," he mused, running his hand over my bottom, still with leggings on. "This is a very pleasing backside."

"Thank you."

"It will be even more pleasing after your pants come down. Yes, this pleases me very much."

"Well, if you're so pleased, then why the @#$% are you spanking me?"

I never know when I'm ahead.

Here's an interesting discovery from this evening -- do you know that even a leather spanking buddy, when used with a very powerful hand, can feel like a club? I had no idea. But I'd swear that thing was a meat mallet, not a strip of leather, by the time he went full force with it. I was actually grateful when he switched to canes!

Still not all that red, is it? There was a lot more ahead.

No tears tonight; I was in a better frame of mind. But I had so much pent-up tension after dealing with the various asshats, I could feel it coming off me in waves. I struggled very hard not to scream, but a couple of yelps slipped out before I finally mashed my mouth into the bedspread.

Will you look at all these freaking implements?

But at last, it was the final ten with the wooden paddle. And then I curled up into a ball on the bed, bunching up the bedspread in my fists. He went to get the lotion; it stung, but felt cool as well. After a while, he got onto the bed and spooned with me from behind. We didn't speak for a long time.

I love aftercare. I love that connection, that time to transition back, slowly. I so adore how gentle he can be, after being so harsh.

Now, ready for something scary?

Here I am, still kind of in subspace, sprawled out on the bed among the toys. Check out my bottom. This is about 20-25 minutes after we stopped.

Looks like he hasn't even started yet, right? WTF?

Well, I can guaran-damn-tee you that it sure feels like he started, and finished too. But of course, to look at me, no one would believe it.


I can honestly say that at the moment, I couldn't give a rat's aspirator about whatever nonsense is happening on FetLife. :-) That should last me, oh, until tomorrow.

Oh! One more thing. Spanking Court put up another promo clip of that preview, and this one is much longer than the one on SpankingTube last week. You see more of the spanking, and get to hear more of my smart-ass lines. Also, watch for the moment in court when I temporarily crack up the Disciplinarian; I say something snotty and he abruptly turns his face to the wall. :-D  Check it out here.

(Note: For whatever reason, the link above to the SC promo works in Google Chrome, but not IE. Don't know if it works in Firefox or not, since I don't have that browser loaded.)

Blissfully sleepy. Sweet dreams, ST.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

"Oh, put a sock in it"

It's been a strange, unsettling and combative week on FetLife. Granted, there are tons of members and a constant swirl of activity, and some things are bound to touch a nerve now and then. But this week really got under my skin. I allowed things to get to me more than they should, and I'm not thrilled with myself over it. And at the same time, I got sort of a heady thrill getting up in certain people's faces. I don't know what that's about, really. I don't like it, but sometimes, I can't seem to help myself.

It started earlier this week, with a man who posted a piece of writing about "what to do with your sub when she gets too full of herself." He then went on to describe in excruciating detail how you first put her in a hot bath, then tie her down naked to a bench, strap her with all your might for 15 minutes straight (not just on the bottom, but on her back and all the way down to the backs of her knees) until she's covered with welts, then give her an enema with hot soapy water. Guaranteed to change her attitude.

I wrote that yes, people tend to have a different attitude when they're in the hospital. Others chimed in, saying that punishment sounded excessive and irresponsible. He then wrote to me, "Erica, save the drama for your books" and went on to say that my books are lame. He also put down the others who agreed that what he'd described could seriously injure someone. Well, it turned into a free-for-all, and the moderator closed the thread. Should have ended there, but then this idiot, assuming three different sock-puppet names, went around to the profiles of everyone who challenged him, myself included, and posted insults to their pictures. One woman was fat, another one was ugly, etc. Me? He said I have yellow teeth.

I could have ignored it. But instead, I posted to all my friends that I'd discovered his sock-puppets, and I made fun of him along with several others. He started it!

Later, a particular political group posted something so offensive, a couple of my friends with opposing views joined the group to say what they thought. They were non-combative, not at all disrespectful. I did not join in -- I don't join political groups. Period. But I watched what was going on; watched as my friends were censored and banned for disagreeing. One of my friends wrote to the moderator, respectfully and politely, trying to get him to change his mind and allow a healthy debate. The moderator wrote back all sorts of rude, condescending crap, like "Give it up, boy." Boy?? Good Christ, I thought. People like this are voting in the next election. I'm scared.

Finally, another friend posted an announcement that she would be traveling soon and she was booking spanking sessions. She posted it in a spanking group and she got permission from the moderator to do so. But then it rolled downhill into one of those "spanking models are akin to prostitutes" flame wars.

And several pages into it, one of my favorite people (not) had to chime in, as always. A bitter, unpleasant, condescending woman who manages to start or exacerbate flame wars nearly every time she posts. She's been doing so for years, starting on the old Shadow Lane message board, and she continues to do so on FetLife. I have met her in person and I've gotten into it with her a few times online. She has a passive-aggressive, snarky, bitchy way of posting, with thinly veiled contempt for anyone in the pro spanking industry (she writes of "models" and their "work" using quotes). Even her punctuation is annoying. She never uses a period, a comma or a semi-colon; no, she ends every sentence (and mid-sentence) with ellipses. So her posts go on and on and on, several paragraphs, filled with "... ... ... ... ... " And it's never one question mark; it's always three. (???) She has these crappy little parties in her home, and she's always talking about MY parties, MY rules, MY way of doing things, as if hers is the benchmark to follow. (I heard from someone who went to one of her parties; she said it sucked.)

Last year, when there was a nasty thread going on about spanking models doing pay sessions at parties, she was so offensive that I blew up and told her publicly to put a sock in it, and that she didn't need to keep going on about HER parties, because we heard her the first 100 times. Several people messaged me and thanked me.

So this time, when she started up again (ending her rambling tome with her usual "Just my two cents"), I commented how it was amazing how her two cents cost us so much of our precious time. Then I posted "... ... ... ... ... ... ... ad nauseam. Yawwwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn."

Again, people wrote to me and cheered. How sad that she's so universally disliked. I could almost feel sorry for her, if I didn't find her so personally objectionable.

The thing is, I'm not usually into engaging like this. Truly, I'm not. I hate fighting, and I don't get off on being mean to people. But if certain people provoke me first, I take an almost perverse delight in poking them back. And I know I shouldn't, but dammit, sometimes... it's irresistible.

Maybe it's a holdover from my childhood, when I was bullied. Perhaps it's my righteous anger side, roaring to the forefront: "If you fuck with me, or my friends, I'm NOT gonna be quiet about it anymore!"

Or maybe it's simply that I have very little patience and people across the board annoy me. (sigh)

Regardless, I'm sure ST will take me to task for this bitchiness tomorrow. I welcome it. But damned if I'm going to take back anything I said. :-Þ

Friday, January 27, 2012

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 1/27

Welcome to Friday. There must be something in the air this week -- I have seen more asshattery on FetLife the past couple of days than I have in months. Perfect timing for one of these columns, so I can blow off some steam.

wow sexy and u have sexy feet i like to lick and kiss your feet

That's nice. Go find someone who would enjoy that.

Are you into animalsex also ??

Does the occasional and regrettable encounter with swine count?

love how you're bottom swells after a good spanking.

Does it? This is news to me. Perhaps I should give ST a tape measure for a before-and-after. Or maybe I've been eating too many peanut butter Oreos.

When you get your bare ass spank does the man stop now an then to rub an massage your bare ass to keep it from tighten up an keep it loose so you could feel every smack sure hope so.

Please tell me I just imagined this one. It's too depressing to think people actually write this badly. Trust me, I feel every smack, tight ass or loose ass.

And now for fun with search phrases. I don't usually get into these, as most of mine are fairly straightforward, but I've gotten a batch of such bizarre ones lately, I had to share.

Sarah Gregory nude

Ummm... OK. Sarah Gregory is lovely naked. But how on earth did this phrase bring anyone to my blog?

Erica Scott is ticklish

Why yes, I am. But what does that have to do with anything?

ohmyhead model mayhem

WTF?? I do have a profile on Model Mayhem, but it doesn't give me a headache.

spanking pedicure

Again with the feet. How would one get a pedicure while being spanked? Wouldn't the polish smear all over?

And finally, can someone please explain this one to me? I swear, I'm not making it up.

facial waitress

For one thing, the phrase itself makes no sense. And for another, in what universe does anything to do with facials or food servers connect with a spanking blog? Perhaps an inept waitress tripped and gave a customer a facial with a bowl of soup, and got spanked for it. Oh, my head, indeed.

There are times when the Internet -- no, the world in general -- makes no sense to me. I'm very grateful it's Friday and I get to escape to John's for a couple of days. His knee is better, although now the bruises have bloomed and it looks scary, he says.

Have a great weekend, y'all. :-)

Thursday, January 26, 2012

A Poem

(Holding a flower and doing my best Henry Gibson impression. Who's Henry Gibson? He was on Laugh-In. What's that? Oh, Google it, for Chrissake.)

Some say that I have bratitude,
They claim I can't be good
But I'm not bad, I'm not, I'm not
I'm just misunderstood!

(Photoshop by -- who else? -- Zelle! Thank you, darlin'.) :-D

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Spanking Court preview up on SpankingTube

First things first. Thank you, everyone, for the comments and the private messages yesterday. I'm sorry I didn't do my usual replying to each individual comment, but I appreciated them all very much. Time for a bit of balance now and onto something a little more fun.

There is now a 4-minute+ preview clip on SpankingTube of my latest visit at Spanking Court. For those who haven't joined the site, I hope you'll check out this clip and it might get your curiosity going. At any rate, it's a fun clip, clearly showcasing the battle between the Court Disciplinarian and me. :-D Check out his gloating face when the Judge says I'm getting 150 strokes.

So far, the comments on the clip have been positive, but a couple of naysayers have complained that it's too much "blah blah blah" and not enough spanking action. It's a preview, kiddies. Of course they're not going to show a lot of action. If they showed all the spanking, you wouldn't bother looking up the entire video, now would you? Now go watch some of those delightful long clips of screaming, crying women being beaten into hamburger, jack off, and shut your yaps. :-)

Oh, and there's a fun little write-up of the preview on the Spanking Court blog, too.

Hope everyone is having a good week so far. And if you're lacking in laughs, may I suggest checking out Lea's uproarious treatise on cursing?

Monday, January 23, 2012


This will not be the typical Monday night blog. Tonight was much more personal; there are no pictures. In a way, I don't feel like blogging about it. But I know I need to.

Looking at all those old photo albums kind of stirred up a hornets' nest. Feelings and memories resurfaced. I hated most of those shots; I hated my life when those shots were taken. So I ridiculed them. And I invited you all to ridicule them with me.

None of you did. And ST was none too pleased with me.

There was no opening small talk when he came in. He grabbed my hand, pulled me into the bedroom and sat me down on the bed. Then he told me what he thought of my last couple of blogs, and of the awful things I'd said about my pictures.

"You knew a lot of assholes back then," he said. "But you don't have to keep buying into and perpetuating their lies."

I was honestly bewildered. "I'm not," I said. "I'm just being honest. Those pictures are ugly. I WAS ugly."

"No, you weren't. What did you expect people to say when they saw them?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I dunno -- 'Gee, Erica, you sure cleaned up good'?" He laughed.

"I want you to recognize the lies; I want you to see what everyone else sees," he said, sitting next to me. "That you were beautiful then, and you're beautiful now."

Fucking tears. Always at the ready. Endless, bottomless well of the damn things. "Stop it," I mumbled, ducking my head. "You're going to make me cry. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at those pictures and not find them hideous." And then the waterworks started.

He pulled me close. "Don't think because you're crying that I'm not going to spank you," he warned. But he was too tender-hearted to do it at that moment. I lay in his arms, facing away from him. Even then, the internal nattering wouldn't stop. Don't look at me. I look ugly when I cry. My eyes swell, my makeup smears, my nose gets red like a boiled lobster. Don't. Look. At. Me.

Quite the opposite from my usual "look at me! look at me!" demeanor.

We talked a bit, my tears dribbling down the whole time, him stroking my hair. I felt embarrassed about my recent blogs, ashamed of still being so goddamn full of grief over my past. I thought I'd exorcised a lot of that, writing my book. But then all that old crap comes back and feels as fresh as is it were yesterday.

"You can talk about your feelings," he said quietly. "You can tell people about what happened to you. But you don't get to put yourself down. You don't get to continue where they left off."

I told him random things, fleeting thoughts and memories that skittered into my head. I talked about the time John was getting his hair cut and I was reading a magazine, and his barber called across the room, "And how are YOU, gorgeous?" I heard him. I went on reading and didn't answer. "Um, sweetie?" John said. "He's talking to you." My head jerked up in shock. It honestly didn't occur to me that he'd meant me.

"He couldn't have been talking to me," I murmured to ST. "Who would call me gorgeous, right?"

"I would," ST replied. Oh, damn him and his being so nice. How did he expect me to stop crying when he was being so sweet?

Finally, I did. And he took me across his lap. Rubbing my back, he said, "I don't really feel like spanking you now."

But of course, he did. Lightly at first. Then not so lightly.

It went on for a long time. I don't know how long. He kept it simple: just his hand, one small leather strap and a wooden paddle. We did not switch positions; he kept me OTK for the whole thing. And -- definitely a first -- neither one of us spoke a word. No banter, no dialogue. No sending me to get more implements, no stopping to take pictures. We kept going -- him silent and determined, me accepting and absorbing. The pain was love and comfort and I wanted it.

I didn't shed a tear during the spanking itself. When he stopped, I cried again then. I felt like one enormous exposed nerve. But safe. And so, so very grateful for his presence. For the caring. For his not abandoning or rejecting me.

It was a long time before we talked. Talking would bring me back to reality, and I wanted to stay in the bubble for a while. I guess he did too. Eventually, though, we slipped into comfortable chitchat. Then it was time for him to go. It was raining out, and his pup was home waiting for him.

Because we took no pictures tonight, I'm going to post another old one. But this time, it's one of my favorite photos. Many of you have seen it; I had it up in my old MySpace album, and I have it in my Facebook album. Some of you have not. I was 23 years old.

To this younger version of myself, I share these thoughts.

I'm sorry we had so much pain. Being shy, painfully self-conscious and awkward shouldn't be an invitation for ridicule.

I'm sorry people exploited our vulnerability and desperation to belong, and we were too sensitive to let it roll off. Instead, we absorbed it and believed it all.

More than anything else, though, I'm sorry I wished you were someone else. I'm sorry I ridiculed you and put you down. Because I was the last person in the world who should have done so.

I am 54 years old. Lifelong habits are hard to break. But it's not enough to embrace who I am now; I need to make peace with who I was, as well. I have, somewhat. Just have some more work to do, I guess.

And now, before I lose my nerve and delete all this, I'm going to hit Publish.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

All over the map on Sunday night

Not literally. I'm home and it's rather cozy and quiet in here, with the heater going to combat the chill from outdoors. My mind is wandering, however, as it does often.

On Thursday night, John was walking down the street in the dark, and didn't see a coil of wire lying on the ground. In a freakish accident, he stepped on the wire and it sprang up, tangling itself around his feet. He went down hard, bearing his full weight onto his right knee. He'd put his hands out and both got scraped/bruised, but the impact was on the knee.

Friday, I was distracted and worried about him and had a crappy day. Capped it off by misjudging the distance from the wall while exiting my garage space. I've lived in this apartment for nearly 21 years and have never done that... until now. Scraped up the driver's side of my car. It was dark and I was disoriented, and the sound was awful; I made it worse by trying to extricate myself. Ugh. Finally got onto the freeway -- and landed in the midst of a Sig-Alert from a very bad wreck. Took me 1 hour and 40 minutes to get to John's, normally about a 50- to 60-minute drive. By the time I got there, I was not a happy camper. And John's knee was the size of a cantaloupe. It didn't even look like a knee. Poor baby. He'd been icing it; he said it was even worse before.

So we spent most of the weekend home, parked on the couch and watching stuff, elevating and icing John's knee. By today, it was starting to resemble a human knee once again, and he said he could feel his kneecap (which he hadn't been able to do for two days). Icepacks are wonderful things. When we went out to eat, we made sure to get booths so he could prop his foot up on the opposite seat. He wasn't in much pain, but every time he stood upright or kept his leg down, the damn thing would swell. He promised me he'll take it easy this week at work.

Got home late this afternoon. A couple of scene friends are in town for a few days and one of them had messaged me about a spanking party they were going to this evening, saying John and I were welcome to come and if we wanted to, just text him and he'd send the address. Well, of course John was out, but I could have gone. If I were a different sort of person, that is -- more spontaneous. But I can't do anything last-minute to save my life, even if it's something I'd enjoy. Here I was, in sweats with grubby hair and no makeup, feeling kind of sleepy and glad to be home, and the thought of jumping in the shower, washing my hair and blowing it out, putting on makeup, dressing up and driving somewhere in the Hollywood Hills sounded about as probable as flapping my arms and flying to the moon. (sigh) I am who I am. Would have liked to be there, though. But I don't think I would have had as much fun without John, anyway. I don't like going to things alone. I did enough of that in my earlier years to last a lifetime.

I confess, I was bamboozled by the reactions to the photos I posted in the last blog. I'd expected that everyone would laugh with me and tactfully agree that yes, I looked hideous. Instead, one after another, you all said the opposite. So I wondered, just what the hell happened? Had I imagined it all? All the ridicule, the insults, the teasing, the unkind names, the snubbing? If I wasn't that horrible looking, why was everyone, including my own family, so damned mean?

I talked about it with John; he said it probably wasn't so much about how I looked, but what kind of vibes I put out. Very good point. I had no confidence, I was shy and awkward, desperately wanted to be accepted and popular, and that hunger and vulnerability rose off me like an unwelcome stench. I was wide open for being picked on, and when I overreacted to it, I invited more.

Being hypersensitive is not an asset, sometimes. What he said made sense. Add to that growing up in a Hollywood family in Beverly Hills; I was held to a ridiculously high standard. But perhaps if I'd had a confident, outgoing personality, a relaxed demeanor, instead of being this uptight, frightened little mouse, people would have overlooked the baby fat, the braces and the kinky hair.

Doesn't really matter, I guess. It was what it was. Everyone who posted nice comments, thank you. They all came as a shock, but I appreciate them.

Trust me on this, though; I was somewhat overweight. No, not morbidly obese. But y'all have seen me for years; you're used to seeing my body a certain way, the way it's been for a long time. Now picture it packing on another 35 pounds. Again, not obese, but definitely an Erica you wouldn't recognize. One who wore clothes that were several sizes larger.

Can you stand one more picture? This will surely crack you up; it's a 70s relic. In 1971-72, I used to hang out at a rec center in a nearby park, shooting pool, watching movies they screened, etc. On my 14th birthday, the gang there gave me a goofy card they'd drawn up and signed. On the front, someone had drawn a girl's body in a crop top and bell-bottom pants, and then they'd found a picture of me somewhere, cut off the head and shoulders and pasted it on top of the drawing. I just found that old card in a drawer a couple of days ago. Ready?

Happy BIRTDAY, indeed. And yes, I was a BIG girl. Here's a close-up of that top portion:

Ye gods. Come on, you can say it, that's a chunky face. I won't get mad. :-) Jeeez, who would have thought I'd look so much better a full 40 years later?? LOL

Anyway, enough of this. Tomorrow it's play time!

Hope everyone had a nice weekend.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

OT: Embarrassing fun with my new scanner

In my plodding, reluctant efforts to drag myself into more up-to-date computer equipment, I recently chucked my fax and my really crappy old printer and bought a new combo Epson printer/scanner/copier. I even set it all up myself, which is no small feat, considering that electronics and I are not friends. And I've never had a scanner before, so this is a fun new treat. Did some digging into antiquated photo albums...

For those who read my book or who have known me for some time, you'll recall that I've said I was a cute baby and little girl, but then things went awry and I went into an Ugly Duckling phase that lasted from around age 8 to my mid-teens. People tell me that I'm exaggerating, that I should produce pictorial evidence. Honestly, there isn't much of it. Aside from school photos, there are very few pictures of me in existence during that phase, and thank goodness. However, I did manage to dig up a few, so you can get some inkling.

First, we'll start with the cute stuff. Here I am on my first birthday. Yup, you can tell it's me -- my mouth is open.

OK, here comes the big "awwwwwww" moment. My brother's Bar Mitzvah -- I was three weeks shy of five years old (and I'd already learned how to smirk):

Look at those little gloves! "Hee hee, I look adorable and I know it." Yeah, enjoy it, little girl. In a few years, you'll look like this:

AAAACCCCK! My sixth-grade school photo; I was eleven. Braces and chubby face in full splendor.

Here I am at 13, holding our enormous orange cat Henry:

Will you look at that schnozz?? Now you know why the other kids called me Pinocchio.

Trying to hide behind Henry and failing utterly:

Back then, when people told me to haul ass, I had to make two trips. And I hadn't even reached my peak weight yet; that was at age 15. And no, I have no photos of that, mercifully.

Oh, and speaking of my book, you'll also remember my father's evil third wife, Vampira. Here's a rarity -- me, my dad and the wicked witch in one photo, on my 18th birthday:

Get a load of those nails! No wonder I had nightmares of her clawing me to shreds. Of the three smiles in this picture, I'd venture to say the only one that's genuine and heartfelt is my father's. ("Whew, my two girls are getting along tonight.") Right, Dad. Have another drink. (sigh)

Gotta love those old photo albums! The pictures have been in them for so long, they were stuck fast to the pages and I couldn't peel them off, so I had to stick the whole album in the scanner. Still worked, though.

Hope y'all got a few giggles out of this. I'll see what other treasures I can find in the pictorial archives. :-D

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

What do you guys make of this?

A couple of months ago in a CHoS, I included a rather disconcerting correspondence I had with a guy from You may recall -- nice at first, talked with him, then he morphed into a dick (literally). Rather than link to that entire post, I'm pasting the pertinent section below for a refresher:

Last week, I got a reply on my profile from a man who lives four miles from me. His note was brief, but respectful, and he attached a photo, a face shot, just as I requested in my profile. Nice. He also included his phone number and said "let's talk."

We had a nice conversation. He asked me a lot of questions, wanted to know about limits and tolerance, preferences, etc. Among other things, I told him that I love scolding, but I do not like verbal degradation and rough talk. "I totally get it," he said. Then he said that because he wasn't a top tier member on Alt, he couldn't see my pictures, only a thumbnail of the profile shot. Could I send him a few photos? Sure, I said, and he gave me his email.

I selected a couple of shots and sent them to him. And then I got this in return:

Very nice. I'll enjoy brutalizing your ass.

I felt like I'd been socked in the gut. Did he not hear a word I'd said? Brutalize? I don't want to be freaking brutalized.

I didn't reply. Then, last Monday, I got another email from him. This time, a close-up shot of his hand clutching his erect member. This is what's in my pants. Call me.

My Alt profile clearly states, in bold: "I want to see your face, not your dick. Please don't send me X-rated pictures."

I felt violated, like I'd experienced some sort of bait-and-switch. He was a gentleman at first, then as soon as he got me to nibble the bait, he became someone else. I thought I had better instincts than this; why was I so fooled? Was it because he was good looking? Am I that shallow? (yeah, I am, somewhat. Who am I kidding?)

I wrote back: "(sigh) If I wanted to see that, I would have stayed at my boyfriend's house." He wrote back: "I am not your boyfriend." Well, duh.

The next day, he wrote once more, asking if I was ready to come over for a spanking. I didn't reply. I was done. When he didn't hear from me, he sent me this: Clearly u r not ready to be spanked by a man like me. I thought we had a very clear and connected chat.

I didn't reply to that either, and figured that was the end of it. Here's the weird part: Ever since then, whenever I check my "Who's Viewed Me" page on Alt, his face pops up. He has looked at my profile nearly every day for two months. Why is he still looking at me? I've updated the verbiage a little bit, but nothing major is new. No new pictures. Certainly no reason for him to keep viewing.

Then a couple of days ago, lo and behold, I get a message from him:

well... r u finally ready for an intense spanking session. You know you want it. (his name and phone number)

No, honey. Clearly, you want it. I already have it, every Monday.

I didn't answer that and I don't intend to. But it baffles and amuses me. I wonder many things. First, this may sound like I'm putting myself down, but it's just reality -- he's a very handsome and fit man, and he's 15 years my junior. He could have his pick of the cute young things who don't necessarily care that he's an a$$hole. Why is he persisting with me?

Is it because he's not used to women turning him down, and that sticks in his craw? Or is it because he's not doing as well on Alt as he thought he would, so he came back to someone he managed to semi-fool once, in hopes that he could pique her curiosity? I just love how he puts it off onto me -- am I ready for him? Like he's the Holy Grail of tops and I should be honored that he's giving me another chance?

Same kind of deal -- it's tempting to write back and tell him what I think of him. But I think it will be more frustrating, ultimately, for him if I say nothing at all.

Takes all kinds, y'all. Once again, a million kudos to the Good Guys out there. :-)

Monday, January 16, 2012

"They all @#$%ing hurt"

That title is the short version of tonight's blog. :-)

OK, so I'm not going with the short version. There's a surprise.

I had decided to be brave and try something new, toy-wise. I'd read on Cane-iac about their Delrin canes, made of a "thermoplastic polymer" that is flexible and virtually unbreakable. I figured since I'm constantly breaking rattan canes, perhaps one of these would be a better investment.

So I chose a basic short Delrin cane, 18" long. After I ordered it, I heard from the Cane Master, informing me that they were including a few extra treats for my testing/playing pleasure, to thank me for all the kind words in my blog. How nice!

The package arrived and I unwrapped my new Delrin cane, plus: 1) another Delrin they call the Tearjerker; a red rubber paddle; and a spiral acrylic cane. All of these were atypical for me and I knew I was in for a challenge. Especially when ST came over tonight and I told him about them; he was practically falling over himself dragging me into the bedroom to experiment. "There's work to be done!" he crowed. Oh, brother.

Unfortunately, someone was so eager to try the new stuff, he completely forgot the warmup, so I was feeling these new items cold. Aggghh! I complained so vociferously, he said I was ungrateful about my presents. I then had to take five from each toy, repeating after each, "Thank you, Cane-iac, for my wonderful gifts." And that was just the beginning.

A little after the fact, he then gave me a bit of warmup with the leather spanking buddy, which I'd given him for Christmas. We both love that one! Then it was time to put the Delrin and acrylic up against good old rattan, so we could compare the different sensations. (We?? What's this "WE" sh*t?) For a while, I could tell which was which, accurately describe the varied feelings. But as I became tenderized, they all blended and no matter how I tried, I couldn't compare them any more. "You sure?" he teased, alternating between them, trying to make me guess, but I just grumbled, "I don't know! They all fucking hurt!"

He didn't appreciate my language. Big surprise there, too.

Anyway, here is each implement individually:

This is the 18" Delrin cane, the one I ordered. As promised, it is flexible but very sturdy, and the length is perfect for OTK. I tend to like these shorter canes, since they don't wrap. This one is about as thick as the Senior rattan cane, so it's more on the thuddy side.

The other Delrin cane, the Tearjerker, is 30" and thinner, only 1/4". You can bend it into a circle and it won't break. This one is whippier and stings more.

Below is the spiral acrylic cane. It's a very pretty piece, and the spiral cut of the cane is perfectly smooth, no sharp edges. It's light, but it's very thick and packs a wallop.

And finally, the red rubber paddle:

Looks like it would be stiff, doesn't it? It isn't; it's actually very flexible and floppy, like a slapper. There are two textures; one side is smooth, and one side is rough and nubbly. I preferred the smooth side, so of course ST took great glee in using the rough side. (snort) 

So, what's the verdict? My favorite of the four is the Tearjerker, believe it or not. "Favorite," however, is debatable, since it still hurts like hell! The regular Delrin and the acrylic were more on the thuddy side; not as much my cup of tea as I prefer snappy/stinging, but they are beautifully made and bottoms who enjoy thud will definitely go for these. The paddle was slappy and fun, although that rougher side made me cuss. 

Here I am, having survived my product testing session:

But wait -- you think that's it?? Think again.

We went into the living room to watch my latest Spanking Court clip. Yup, it finally went up; the version that had gone up two weeks ago was corrupted and there were still a few issues with that clip that couldn't quite be fixed. However, it was up in its entirety and it had sound, and it was still a hell of a lot of fun. :-) By now, all pretenses of niceties between the Court Disciplinarian and me were off the table and it had become an open battle of wills. The zingers and sarcasm flew, and his facial expressions alone were worth the wait.

ST watched intently, and after it ended, he said, "You really need a good spanking for that. You have no respect for the Court's authority."

Say what? "Don't you think HE took care of that?" I snapped. "No, because you were being a smarty-pants all the way to the end!" ST replied.

"What about him? What was all that crap about 'oh, what a pleasure this is' and everything else he said?" I cried. But by then, ST had snatched me by the hand and dragged me BACK into the bedroom. Over the bed I went again.

He picked up his heavy leather strap, similar to the one used in the clip. "I think 50 with this might help remind you to be more respectful."

Good God, y'all. Usually, I take that strap very well. But now, after being Delrined and acrylic'd and rubbered and caned and what-all, I was already one hot mess of soreness. Those 50 strokes nearly sent me through the ceiling! At one point, I even rolled over onto my back, away from him. But then I rolled back and repositioned myself. He didn't have to say a word; just waited.


Big meanie was snickering at me because I was wincing when I sat, wincing when I walked, rubbing my butt without even realizing I was doing it. (sulk) Oh, he was proud of himself. I could tell. Freaking tops and their sadistic glee.

Yeah, yeah. Poor me. I hate it so much, I subject myself to it every single week. :-D

Thank you, Cane-iac. You guys are a class act. And thank you, ST. You are too, always. ♥

Oh! Almost forgot. You might remember this photo from last week. Here it is again, after my buddy Dave Wolfe got a hold of it. I have to admit, I looked and looked at it before I finally saw what he'd done to it. Did you guys see it right away? :-)

Friday, January 13, 2012

"When Danny Met Erica" has a home!

Happy Friday the 13th! I hope everyone has good luck today. I know that my fellow Chrosslings and I did. :-)

For those who have been following me for a while, you know about the video Danny Chrighton and I produced four years ago, called "When Danny Met Erica." It was our baby, written and done exactly the way we envisioned it. For a while, Shadow Lane was distributing it for us, but they have stopped the practice of distributing videos from other producers. So the video was homeless for a while.

I'm proud of that film and I wanted it to be available somewhere, dammit. I tried to open a Clips4Sale store, but there was just too damn much rigmarole involved. Scan and send them my driver's license! Scan and send them one of my bills, for heaven's sake. Ten-clip minimum to start a store! Screw that noise. So instead, I went to Spanking Library. Granted, they don't get anywhere near as much traffic as C4S, but it's OK.

Tony from SL was kind enough to break the video into three clips for me, and so I opened a new store and uploaded the clips yesterday. Here is my official Spanking Library store: Erica Scott clips. Three clips isn't much of a store, I admit. But I really don't have anything else to put on there at this point. ST and I have the fun stuff we've shot over the past year, but I've already posted everything for free, plus they aren't quite the quality for selling, I don't think. But that's all right; really, I just wanted WDME to have a place where people could find it. I do love that film, and I'll always be glad that I finally got to shoot with Danny. We wanted that for so long.

So I hope anyone who hasn't seen WDME yet will check it out! Lots of good spanking action -- OTK, strapping, hairbrush. And great chemistry, which we had from the first time we met.

Ah, don't be so mad, sweetie -- we're back on sale! :-D

And speaking of new clip stores: For those who enjoy F/M video, there's a newbie in Clips4Sale -- Dana Kane Spanks. She has recently started shooting premium video and has a small selection of clips to which she will be adding lots more, including some F/F content too. Please drop by and show her some love -- she's fun to watch!

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Thoughts on photo blogs

First, the disclaimer: I mean absolutely no offense to anyone who runs a photo blog. Some of my friends have photo blogs that are adjuncts to their regular blogs, and that's fine. These are simply my observations and opinions, and I welcome yours, as I'm curious about what others think.

Is it my imagination, or is it true that practically every time I log on, there's a new spanking-oriented photo site in the blogrolls? Pictures, pictures, pictures. No words. No stories. Oftentimes, not even a reference as to the origins of the photos. Just photos, one after another after another, every day, all over the place.

Can these really be considered a blog? Isn't a blog a web journal? Doesn't that imply that writing and creative expression is involved? Where is the creativity in copying and pasting pictures?

Please don't misunderstand me -- I love pictures. I post plenty of my own. But they are always accompanied with writing, a background, a setup. They have a story. They are not there just for the sake of being there.

Granted, I am female, and according to the gender cliches, we are not as visual as males are. But really, how many pictures can you look at before it all becomes redundant? One trend I notice is that the same pictures make the rounds of many of the photo blogs. Click on one blog, there it is. Click on another, there it is again. Posted and reposted. And reposted again.

You don't even get to read interesting comments on these photo blogs. All you see are lists of people who liked them or reposted them.

Again, where is the creativity? I am old school, I guess. I like the written word. I like to read someone's thoughts and feelings.

Also, in some of the so-called spanking photo blogs, the photos have nothing to do with spanking. They are simply cute young girls with their butt to the camera. That's not spanking. And this is my own personal distaste, but I'm really, really getting tired of seeing the straight-on, spread-open kitty and back door shots. Jeeezus.... if I click on a blog looking for a spanking picture, I don't want some woman's hoo-ha in my face, so close up I feel like a damn gynecologist. Sure, there are glimpses of private bits in spanking pictures. But I'm talking blatant display here.

Even though there are thousands, perhaps millions of pictures out there, you're going to get repeats when so many people are posting them. Am I the only one who finds this boring?

Granted, not all the photo blogs are created equal. Some are more varied, some have a particular theme, etc. I didn't want to name names in this post, but I'd like to call attention to one photo blog I find exceptional -- At a Kinky House. Not just a spanking photo blog, but an exploration of kinky romance with gorgeous pictures.

What are your thoughts? Photo blogs, yea or nay? What do you like about them? What do you dislike? If I could make only two suggestions to the photo bloggers, I'd choose these: 1) credit the photos whenever possible, and 2) find some variety, please. Don't just copy and paste something that's already been on a dozen other blogs.

Again, I mean no offense, and I am not anti-photos. I just don't want to see the death of writing; it's already being tortured by text-speak and crappy grammar.

Monday, January 9, 2012

Are you ready for this?

You may want to sit down. I don't think y'all have ever seen me quite like this. And you probably won't again, so you'd better memorize it. I may come to my senses tomorrow and take it down. :-)

OK, so the naked thing is nothing new. The collar? That's another story.

Allow me to backtrack to the beginning of this evening, if I may.

When ST first arrived, he asked me how I was doing. He already knew, having read my blog. And I'm sure he knew I needed to blow off some details. I can talk to him about this stuff. He is as discreet as the day is long. And he's a switch himself, so he understands.

He sat quietly and let me vent a bit about my frustrations with the domme/slave thing. When he sensed I was finished, he did an assessment -- perhaps it was subconscious on his part, or maybe it was deliberate. He knew I wanted and needed to be edgy tonight. I craved to be pushed, challenged, unnerved a bit. I needed to let go.

"I could use a beck-and-call girl, myself," he mused, winding his hand into my hair and tightening his fist. "I think I should make you MY little spank slave."

"Right," I scoffed.

"I have a collar and leash right here in my bag," he said, watching my face closely. "I think I should put it on you, what do you think?"

He was checking with me. I knew it. I blustered, "Oh my god! You've GOT to be @#$%ing kidding me!"

But I didn't say no. And so the collar went around my neck.

Only with someone I trust this much, would I go there. I constantly amaze myself with the things I'm willing to do with him, things that are so out of my little play box. And tonight, that was just what I needed.

He made me crawl into my bedroom on my hands and knees, and once I was on the bed, I had to take off all my clothes. But not before I had one last moment of defiance.

After that, I was subdued rather quickly. Especially when the clothes came off and the ropes came out. Collared and tied, I was helpless.

"Now I can do anything I want, can't I," he taunted. "And you can't do a thing about it."

No, I couldn't.

And oh, it hurt.

"You're not going to scream, are you?" he growled in my ear. I shook my head vigorously. "Perhaps I should MAKE you scream."

But somehow, I didn't. I cried, I smashed my face into the bedspread. But I did not scream. I did say please, please... "Please what? Please show you some mercy?" "Yes, please," I sobbed. "I'll think about it," he said.

After the tears began, he softened a bit. He untied the rope and took off the collar. But the spanking went on for quite a while after that.

He paused, hovering over me. "Are you getting what you need?"


"Do you need some more?"

"Yes, please."

He obliged.

"Go on, let it out," he murmured as I wept. I did. It felt so, so damned intensely good. The knots in my stomach and chest dissolved. All the tension flowed out with my tears.

I don't know how he always knows just what to do, where to take me. He asked me if I liked it. I answered as honestly as I could: "I liked it with you." I don't believe I'll ever fetishize that degree of D/s. It's not me. But freefalling a bit, knowing he's there to catch me, is damned hot.

Reluctantly, he finally let me put some clothes back on.

But just for the record, we did do another scene. This time with canes. Dammit, canes really hurt when you're already sore. I had some choice utterances.

"You've invoked both God and Jesus -- want to try for the Holy Ghost?" he teased.

"I wish you were a ghost," I snapped. "Then you could disappear."

I never learn. Fortunately, he's willing to come back, again and again, to try to teach me. :-)

Thank you for being here for me.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

How much does one share?

We live in the age of social media, of anything and everything being fodder for the Internet, for the tabloids, for blogs. People post their deepest, darkest secrets, their pain, their joy, their Achilles heels. They play out their lives, all grossness intact, on reality TV. So what are the rules, if any? How much is too much? When does sharing encroach upon TMI? When does it violate another person's privacy?

I am very open about my life, and I also find writing to be a therapeutic tool. When I blog about my life and my struggles, it makes me feel more connected and less alone to know that others are reading and relating. But sometimes, my struggles involve other people, and then I have a dilemma. If I don't write, I don't feel like I'm being true to my blog or to my readers. But if I do, I feel like I'm running the risk of saying too much about another. I am very discreet and I never reveal things over which I've been sworn to secrecy. Still, I hesitate over many entries sometimes, and end up scrapping them, even though they are things I desperately want to talk about, get a broad variety of viewpoints.

You all know I love John dearly. However, like all couples, we have our struggles. I've made no secret of the fact that we both play with other people because we cannot fulfill each other's fetish fantasies. I cannot top him, and while he can top me, I can't take him seriously. I'm too close to him.

So he plays with femdoms and I play with male tops. I have a distinct advantage: I have a flexible schedule during the week and I can meet with ST or other tops I've known on my own time without impacting my time with John. Unfortunately, John cannot say the same. He works 12-15-hour days during the week and the only play time he has is on weekends. The time we spend together. So whenever a femdom comes into his life, it impacts us, sometimes a great deal.

John does not play with pro doms. It would be easier if he did; then he could set the time and date, have his sessions, get his needs met. But he doesn't want that level of control. Part of his need is for the domme to have complete control, so he doesn't play with scheduled pro tops. He really doesn't play, period. He enters into service with lifestyle dommes. The ones who expect their subs to be at their beck and call. And he gets consumed. I watch his usual logic and reason and priorities go *poof*.

Because of how I play, I am able to completely compartmentalize and schedule what I do. John cannot. So whenever a femdom comes into his life, it's very disruptive.

Pro dommes, while they may be strict, play hard, etc., ultimately do what their clients wish them to do. They are in a business of fulfilling fantasies. Not so the lifestylers; not with John's and my experience, anyway. They want what they want when they want it. And part of John's desire is to give it, without limits. It's pure submission. If he hooks up with someone sane and reasonable, it's not a problem. However... there are a lot of extreme femdoms out there. It's not just male tops who can be dangerous, kids. There are some John has been with who have scared me half to death. He'd tell me stories about things they'd done to their slaves and I'd feel sick with fear when he went off to scene with them. The best female tops love men, just like the best male tops love women. But I have seen more men-hating femdoms than I care to think about.

Long story short? It's starting again; he's met a new one. The last one was so bad, she nearly broke us up. He says this one isn't crazy. For one thing, she knows all about me. That's an improvement; in the past, he's denied my existence to these women, claiming himself single and unencumbered. He says he has to; that if he tells them he has a girlfriend, they'll dismiss him. The last one actually came to his house and went through his trash, searching for evidence of a woman's presence. So who knows. Maybe this one will be different.

But after over 15 years of bad experiences, I'm skeptical. The old fears kick in. No, he won't leave me for a femdom. He loves me. But when he's enthralled with a domme, he becomes a man I don't know.

I don't want to go into the details of his relations with femdoms and the specifics of things that have happened over the years. Because then I think I'm crossing the line into his life. Which brings me back to my original dilemma... I don't know how much to share. I want to talk about what's going on with me and how I'm feeling about it, but I know I must stop at some point before it becomes TMI about John. Even this post feels like too much, and yet I'm sending it. Because it's something that's looming very large in my mind and I need to talk about it.

Not easy.

Please don't worry; the relationship is good. John has his weaknesses like any other (including me, heaven knows), but he is one of the best people I know. Today, when we went to brunch and we were at the register paying, he glanced over and saw a grizzled older man sitting by himself eating. He had an oxygen tank sitting on the booth next to him and tubes going up his nose. John handed the cashier a $20 and asked her to please use it to pay for the man's lunch.

I can't stay upset with a man like that.

I guess time will tell. I need patience and flexibility, and I don't have either one of those in abundance. Oh hell, I don't have either one of those at all. But somehow, I need to find them. Or learn how to fake them.

I want him to be happy. I want him to have the same fulfillment I do.

Thanks for listening.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Odds and ends not in my book, Part 6

Life's Small Triumphs

When I was in my early 30s, I had just joined a new gym. I didn't know anyone there, so when a girl who took the same classes I did started chatting me up, I was responsive.

I don't wish to use her name, as it has an unusual spelling, so I'll just call her S. She was in her mid-20s, married (unhappily, but hubby was very wealthy), and her insecurity made my own crappy self-esteem look like the benchmark of confidence. In 20/20 hindsight, it never was much of a friendship, being so one-sided. She did most of the talking, I did most of the listening. But at that time, I was lonely, and it felt good to be needed. Plus, we did have some fun. We went out to dinner frequently, and it was fun taking the aerobics classes together. We both liked one instructor named Jim -- actually, I had a ferocious crush on him, and I confided in S about that.

Of course, as most of my crushes were back then, it was unrequited. Jim would flirt with me in class, but he flirted with all the women. In fact, there was an inner circle of girls I used to call the "Jim groupies" -- his pets, the ones he hung out with, bantered with in class the most. I always wanted to be in this circle, but as was my M.O., I was on the outer fringes, looking in.

Long story somewhat shortened, SF got into this inner circle. She hired Jim as her personal trainer and she got close with the other groupies. And I guess she didn't need her sounding board anymore. It was subtle at first, but it became more and more obvious -- she turned into a Mean Girl. She'd ignore me in class and in the locker room, and when she did talk to me, she'd make little digs, especially about Jim. How wonderful it was training with him. What a great guy he was. How funny. And oh, I hadn't lived until I had one of his neck massages. (Of course, I hadn't.)

I really didn't understand why she was doing this, and it hurt. But there wasn't much I could do about it, so I carried on, going to classes and watching her and her fellow Jim groupies carry on. Christ. I thought I'd seen the last of this kind of thing in grammar school.

One day in class, we were doing cool-down stretches and Jim was blathering on and on about some flavor of Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Then he asked, "Has anyone in here NOT tried Ben & Jerry's?" I raised my hand, and he flipped. "Erica! You're kidding! No way! Oh, you've GOT to try Ben & Jerry's. How could you not have ever had Ben & Jerry's?"

Simple. I had an eating disorder. Ice cream was a binge food for me -- I couldn't stop at one scoop. I'd eat the whole pint. Or the quart, as the case may be. And B & J's was just too damned caloric. At least if I ate a pint or more of fat-free frozen yogurt, it wouldn't go right to my ass. But I wasn't about to tell him any of that. So I just shrugged.

After class, I went into the workout area to stretch a bit more. A few feet away, Jim and S started her training session, and I could hear her giggling and nattering at him. I looked away, but I could still see them from the corner of my eye. I saw her glance in my direction, then whisper something to Jim. He looked over at me and grinned. Oh, hell, I thought. What was this about?

Jim then sauntered over to me, squatted down and smiled into my face. "Hey, Erica," he purred. "If I came over to your apartment and got naked, then would you eat Ben & Jerry's?"

I looked over and saw S smirking. That bitch. She'd told him. He knew I had a stupid adolescent crush on him, and now they were trying to embarrass me.

It would have been typical for me at that point to blush furiously, duck my head and stammer out some lame reply, then go home, kick myself 500 times and think of the perfect thing to say after the fact. However, life decided to bestow one of its Golden Moments on me. I looked Jim right in the eye and purred back, "Honey, if you came to my apartment and got naked, I'd eat gravel."

I'm not sure why I chose gravel, but it worked. It sounded funny without being gross. Jim's eyes widened, and then he gave me a genuine smile before he backed off. S was speechless. That wasn't the reaction she'd expected, clearly.

After that, she left me alone. Eventually, she stopped coming to the gym, and I never saw her again.

What made me think of her, after over 20 years? I recently saw her name and her photo in the newspaper... in an article about mothers with autistic children.

I never pictured S being a mother, let alone one of a child with special needs. This is the same woman who once told me that she couldn't clean her own house because it would ruin her manicure.

Life certainly takes some strange turns, doesn't it.

Speaking of my book, I recently received a tweet that read, in part: "50 pages into your book & I've cried 3 times. You're an amazing woman." Thank you, dear. That made me cry.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Some fun photos for your Hump Day

OK, so two weeks ago, I noticed that some pictures from my 4th clip were up at Spanking Court. Cool, I thought -- that means the clip is forthcoming. However, then I saw the notice that court was in recess for the holidays and instead of putting up new clips during that period, they showed some out-takes. Nuts.

Yesterday morning, I checked back at the site, and hallelujah! My clip had been added. I grabbed my coffee, sat back and prepared to enjoy watching the spirited, snarky debate as I hauled the Court Disciplinarian in front of the judge to complain about what I considered his inappropriate behavior...

Picture, yes. No sound. (sigh)

I wrote to Cali to give her a heads up; she wrote back and said their webmaster would take care of it right away, that it was a great scene and they were going to put up a preview of it on SpankingTube as well. YES! But so far, the scene has been taken down, but it's not back up yet.

You know what? Screw it. I'm going to post some pictures from it anyway, just 'cause I damn well feel like it. :-)

Here we are in court -- as you can see, I'm vociferously protesting. Not that it did me any good, but I certainly gave it my all. Notice the whimsical look on the Disciplinarian's face. He knows it's not going to go well for me.

The next couple of pictures needed a little extra something, I thought. Speech bubbles, perhaps? So I added them. :-)

Poor guy -- it's hard work, that job of his...

Stay tuned!

Oh, wait. Guess there's another picture, isn't there. After all the "yea" votes, I suppose it would be too much of a tease if I reneged.

Yes, John likes to mark his territory. Fortunately, I enjoy that sort of marking. Please disregard the satchels under my eyes -- I'd just gotten out of bed.

Hope everyone is doing well on this back-to-work week. :-)

Monday, January 2, 2012

First spanking of 2012

Happy New Year! So what could I possibly have done to get myself in trouble so early in the year?

Did I break a New Year's resolution already? Nuh uh. I didn't make any. Apparently, His Toppiness thought that was inappropriate.

"Come on," I protested. "What do I need to make resolutions for? I don't smoke. I hardly ever drink. I don't need to lose weight. I already exercise."

"Well, aren't you Little Miss Perfect!" he said.

"Why, yes, I guess I am, now that you mention it."

That didn't fly at all. It seems that not making a NY resolution is the height of arrogance and is a spankworthy offense. Gee, what a surprise that is.

He's enjoying his Leather Spanking Buddy way too much. He did the entire warmup with that thing. Oh, but he hastened to inform me that even with the spanking buddy, his hand still stings a bit. Poor dear.

"Life's a bitch," I muttered. "Or a bastard, as the case may be."

"Are you calling me a bastard?" Oh, for God's sake. I said life, not you.

To be fair, however, once he broke into the heavy artillery, he started out fairly light. Until I opened my big yap and said, "What style is that from -- the Lame-Ass School of Spanking?" So much for light, after that.

Yikes -- even with the "white-spotting" on the right cheek, still not that red. I thought I was done with the final 10 that I could barely count because I was fairly incoherent. And I was done, for a while. But then...

ST and I are both creatures of habit. On occasion, I know what he's going to say before he says it, because I know his phrases. For example, when it's getting to be about that time, he'll take a breath, kinda sigh and say, "Well, I guess I ought to be going." Sometimes, I say it with him. Other times, like tonight, I repeat it, mimicking him.

Someday, I'll learn that tops don't like being mimicked. Maybe. Or not.

I got much redder with Round #2. Ouch.

It's going to be wonderfully ouchy year. :-)  ST's resolution is to keep my bottom red on a regular basis. I'll drink a cup of kindness to that! (What the hell does that mean, anyway?)

Speaking of 2012, did everyone have a nice New Year's Eve? John and I went to Old Town Monrovia and saw the movie "The Descendants," then we had dinner. The restaurant was lively with people partying, drinking and wearing NY's Eve hats, so we asked a friendly man at the next table to take our picture.

Later, we came home (and John's next-door neighbor was out for the night; blissfully quiet!), watched the Twilight Zone marathon until it was time for the ball to drop, then had champagne at midnight. I had one full flute and was pleasantly buzzed.

He'll kill me for posting this, but I just have to show him off. Here's John, preening in the shower on New Year's morning:

How many 53-year-old men do you know with a body like that? Mmmmmppph.

Of course, he took a shot of me that morning too. Bedraggled mop of hair, no makeup... and hickeys on both breasts. Hmmm. Shall I post it? If I get enough "yea" votes, I'll think about it.  ;-)