'Tis the Season to be Tacky

Not to worry, kids -- my holiday grousing is almost over for another year. But I do have one last word.

You have to admit, this is the time of year for decorating excess. Of course, some people don't wait for December to be tasteless. In John's neighborhood, there is a house that has become a sort of landmark. Why? Because they have three giant pink flamingos in their front yard, year round. So, what's tackier than giant pink flamingos?

That's right. Three giant pink flamingos with Santa hats on.

However, I can forgive John's small town its eccentricities. After all, we also get to see sights like this: (click on the photo to enlarge it)



Tomorrow night, New Year's Eve, John and I will have a quiet night. I'm going over there sometime in the afternoon with dinner and a movie, and he has champagne. It'll be just me, my sweetie, some bubbly and the fireplace -- my kind of NYE. :-)

I'm kind of glad to be saying goodbye to 2012, honestly. In many ways, it was a tough year, with losses large and small. The two toughest, of course, being my mother's passing and ST exiting. There was a lot of stress, with work (or lack thereof), a seemingly neverending and ugly election, John's health issues, tragic current events.

However, there were good times, too. We went to Boardwalk Badness for the first time, for example! And to offset the losses was a tremendous, priceless gain... Mr. D, who went from Mr. Possible to Mr. Definite, a wonderful friend and play partner. His timing couldn't have been more perfect.

So, here's to 2013, for all of us. I wish my friends a peaceful year, with much love, good health and fun times. And lots of spanking, of course!

Be safe tomorrow night, y'all. ♥

I need you

Three little words. So simple, the same amount of syllables as "I love you." But for me, so much harder to say.

I don't like my neediness. I shun it and reject it, tell myself it's inappropriate. Part of that may be my own wariness about other people's neediness. It's been my experience that, while some may just need a bit of support now and then, others (if you let them) will feed on your life force. The Takers. I have no tolerance for them, and if I feel like I'm going to be one, I withdraw.

All kidding aside, most of you know the holidays bring me down for various reasons. This year, I did exactly what I wanted to do -- nothing. There were no obligatory family gatherings with John. He was going on Monday to his mom's nursing home for Xmas dinner, but he knows I will not go there again and he doesn't ask me to. And as it happened, my client had just sent me a nearly 400-page manual to proofread. So I figured Monday and Tuesday, I'd stay home and work. Easy, right?

Not sure what happened. Everyone was fine; even my upstairs neighbors were cooperating and were quiet. I knocked down about 200 of those pages, plus going to the gym Monday, so I felt virtuous. John and I talked on the phone both Monday and Tuesday. But I felt lonely. I was sad that I can't seem to enjoy what other people are enjoying at this time of year. And as much as I felt like being with another human being, the thought of getting dressed and made up and going out was unacceptable.

It didn't help that I was watching an old sitcom episode (circa 1975) on AntennaTV, and saw my mother in the party scene. She used to be an extra, throughout the 1970s and part of the 80s, and did a lot of shows. She looked so young and pretty and alive, in a beautiful blue evening gown I don't remember seeing before. It made my heart hurt.

I knew Mr. D was incredibly busy with his kids visiting, with family and friends and shopping and preparing his house for company and all that, so I left him alone. Figured he'd touch base with me sooner or later. But by last evening (Tuesday, Christmas night), I hadn't heard anything from him. I'd sent him a light and friendly text, but he hadn't answered it. I'd sent an e-card, but it had gone unopened. And when I called him, he didn't pick up.

Yes, I'm freaking insane. My mind goes to dark places. But by 10:30 last night, I was convinced something awful had happened to him. After all, he always returns texts. He always returns calls. And it wasn't like him to go so many days without checking in with me, even if it was just for a minute. If something had happened -- if he was in the hospital (or worse) -- how would I know? It's not like I'm a family member. Still, when I'd called, I'd left a message, but I purposely didn't make it sound needy. Just said that I hoped he was having a good holiday, and were we still on for Wednesday?

This morning, no text and no phone call. So I called again, and this time he picked up. Whew. He's not dead. He sounded hoarse and exhausted, apologized for not getting back to me, but he'd had a houseful of people and hadn't gone to bed until 2:30 a.m. Then he said, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to postpone today; I'm just wiped out."

I wanted to get off the phone immediately. I didn't want him to hear the neediness in my voice, the tears that were already starting. But he did hear it. "Are you OK? Talk to me."

"I can't," I said. "You have to. Please," he said. He kept insisting until I hesitantly told him that I'd thought something had happened to him and my head went south.

"Tell you what," he said. "I have a bunch of kids in the house right now, but let me make sure they're squared away, and I'll get away for a couple of hours and come see you."

"No!" I cried. I didn't want to disrupt his day. "You're exhausted! You've got so much going on! Please don't, it's OK, I don't want you to. You need to get some rest."

Very gently, but also very firmly, he replied, "I can take care of myself. What I do for my own welfare is up to me, not you. Thank you for caring, though. I want to come over. You need me to; I can hear it in your voice."

Goddammit. I didn't want him to hear that fucking need. "But you just said you were wiped out," I said in a small voice.

"It's been crazy here," he admitted. "But good crazy. Fun. A little overwhelming, but I love it. I've had a hectic and wonderful few days. But I want to see you, too. That's not a chore. That's something I need, too."

What could I say. I really, really needed to see him. So we agreed on 1:00. He said he could only stay a couple of hours; I told him that was fine.

We talked for a long time after he arrived. He felt bad that he hadn't been in touch with me, and I felt silly and childish. I kept apologizing for my neediness, and he kept telling me to please stop that. "I'm not supposed to be needy!" I said. "I'm supposed to be fun!"

"You are fun," he said. "But listen to me. I like all of you. If I'm going to be your top, I want it all -- laughing, crying, happy, grumpy, bitchy, sassy. Do you get that? Are you starting to get that?"

I nodded.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Yes."

"You need a really good spanking, don't you."

I sighed. "I don't know what I need."

"It's all right if you don't. I do."

He took me by the hand and led me into my room, setting up the pillows on the bed. I assumed the position, and he pulled my leggings down. "I'm a little upset with you," he said. His voice was calm. "I wish you had told me outright that you needed to talk to me, to see me. I wish you had trusted me enough to know I'd care enough to make a window for you." Then he began to spank me.

"Do you know I care about you?" he asked. "Yes," I answered. "How do you know?" "Because you're here," I bawled. I'd started crying again from the very first strike.

"Then say it," he said, continuing. "I want to hear 'I know you care about me' after every swat."

Somehow, I managed to blubber that out each time. "Yes, I do care," he said. "And you won't ever forget that, will you? You'll never doubt it again?"

"No," I sobbed. "I won't." He then went to my implement drawer. I didn't have to look; I knew what he was getting.

That wooden heart paddle bit and stung fiercely, but I welcomed it. I squirmed and my feet twisted together, but I held my position. Soon, I was crying so hard I couldn't say the phrase anymore. He stopped.

It didn't have to go on for a long time. He'd made his point.

Sorry, y'all -- no pictures this time. Too personal.

"Shhhhhh," he whispered. "It's OK. You're OK. Come here." And he gathered me close. I wept and wept, but these were different tears. The bitterness was gone, and they were as sweet and clean and pure as rain.

At 3:30, he had to go. He asked several times if I was OK now. I was more than OK, and could send him off with a smile.

After he got home, he called, just to make sure once again that I was all right, that all was good. "I'm great," I said. "Thank you. So much."

He made me promise that next time I get in that sort of head space, I will let him know. Not with a light-hearted message, but a direct and honest expression of my need. This is what he wants.

I hesitated, and he added, "I know it's hard for you. I know I'm re-wiring you. But promise me." I did.

I will.

Happy Festivus

Some of you may recall the Seinfeld episode where a new holiday was declared, for those of us who aren't religious and/or don't observe the usual holidays: Festivus, for the rest of us!

John and I don't do Christmas. We don't do gifts either, although we get each other one small token present apiece. On Saturday, John said he had a surprise for me in the living room and led me out there with his hands over my eyes. "Ready?" he asked, taking his hands away. And what did I see, but this:

That's right -- it's a Festivus pole!

Now to be truly authentic, a Festivus pole has to be a plain steel pole, no decorations whatsoever. But I couldn't resist, when I saw some odds and ends of Xmas paraphernalia in John's box of wrapping stuff.

Behold, the Festiduck:



Isn't he cute?

Some of my long-time readers may be wondering, what happened to the annual drunken bacchanalia Xmas party that John's eldest sister and her husband (AKA the alkie and the lech) throw every year? Well, kiddies, that party is no longer. It seems that John's brother-in-law wasn't just leching after his wife's brother's girlfriend. shudder

John said to me a while back, "I think [the lech] is having an affair." To which I sneered, "Oh, please. Look at him. There isn't another woman on the planet who would go anywhere near him." Apparently, I was wrong. It is now common knowledge within the family -- that marriage is a sham. And the festive gatherings are history.

At least now I don't have to pretend to like the guy. He once said to John, in the middle of a family fracas, "Well, John, you're no walk in the park yourself." I wish I'd been there; I would have said, "At least when John walks in the park, he doesn't scare small children."

Anyway, for my newer readers who never got to see one of my reports of these parties (or for those who miss them), please enjoy this repost from 2010: Happy (Hic) Holidays.

I went to the gym this morning (it was packed!), dropped off three bags of old clothes and books to Good Will, and now I'm home to stay, tonight and all of tomorrow. I have a huge work project to keep me busy, and Wednesday with Mr. D to look forward to. Now, if my asshat upstairs neighbors would just be quiet, it will be a peaceful couple of days. So far, so good.

Whatever you're doing, whatever you celebrate, my very best wishes to all of you. ♥

The Twelve Days of Bitching

Oh, come on. Did you really think you'd escape at least one bitchy holiday post from me? After all this Santa/baking business, I feel like I have to reassert my true nature. So, I'm cramming 12 days' worth of miscellaneous grumbling into one post. Bah, humbug.

1. Last night, my gym-class instructor did her "12 Days of Xmas" workout. On the first day, one minute of planking. On the second day, two sets of 8 bicep curls (heavy weights) and one minute of planking. On the third day, three sets of 4 situps, two sets of 8 bicep curls, and one minute of planking. On the fourth day, four sets of 2 pushups, three sets of... you get the idea. Today, I feel like I've been run over by a bus.

2. My upstairs neighbors are inconsiderate idiots. They blast their music too loud and have their speakers on the floor, so all I hear is BOOM BOOM BOOM. Also, they installed a bidet (!) in their bathroom, which flooded and leaked down into my bathroom wall, which then had to be repainted. The manager is not pleased with them.

3. And speaking of neighbors, my nice quiet next-door neighbors moved out. Lord only knows who's going to end up there. (I have had quite the succession of neighbors-from-hell next door over the years, so I'm understandably apprehensive.)

4. I am so @#$%ing sick of holiday music, I could croak.

5. I am equally sick of holiday commercials. I especially can't stand that Audi commercial where the son comes home for the holidays and his parents steal his car and take off. Nice holiday sentiment, there.

6. My health insurance just went up to the obscene amount of $1077 per month. Not a blessed thing I can do; without it, a single illness or accident could wipe me out. However, the premiums may do that anyway.

7. As much as I relate to grumpiness, I'm really tired of this stupid cat meme. Everywhere. Everywhere.

However, I will admit to laughing at this:

8. I still cannot access Chross's blog. A techie pal instructed me on how to pull up the site with a proxy server thingamajig, but really, perving shouldn't be so challenging. EDIT: As of last night, I can now access Chross's sites. I have no idea what happened, but YAYYYYYYYYY!

9. I'm really pissed off that yet another year has gone by and teleportation hasn't been invented yet. I keep reading about my spanko friends and their various get-togethers and I want to be there. But without all that airport hassle and travel time and jet lag and packing and blah blah blah. Just snap! and be there. I could drop in on so many people and then just as easily go home when I get tired. Come on, tech geeks. Get cracking on that, will you?

10. Judd Apatow and Quentin Tarantino just came out with new movies. I can't stand Judd Apatow and Quentin Tarantino.

11. Honey Boo Boo. Nothing else, just that. Speaks for itself.

12. I don't get to have the @#$%ing grumpiness spanked out of me until next Wednesday!!! (epic sulk)

Oh, well. I do have the weekend with my sweetie, who is in good spirits after several holiday parties/gift exchanges at his work. He always makes me laugh. And it's lovely and cold out, very seasonal. None of this tank-tops-in-December California nonsense.

Happy holiday weekend, y'all. Hope everyone gets to enjoy the extended weekend with loved ones. :-)

Sh*t that John talks me into

So last Saturday, John and I were at his sister's restaurant, and as we were leaving, she said, "Hey, you know, Santa's at Beantown this afternoon."

Beantown is the local coffeehouse. Very charming place, lots of atmosphere. The coffee is mediocre, but it's a fun place to hang out. Anyway, my reaction was "So?" (I didn't say it, just thought it.) However, John had other ideas.

"Oh, we have to go to Beantown and get a picture of you on Santa's lap," he said. Right, honey. Not in this lifetime.

"No, really," he insisted. "Let's go! You want to see Santa, don't you?" No, not particularly. But he wouldn't stop teasing me about it, until I finally agreed to go to Beantown.

As we pulled into the little town square, I could see a lot of people with small children on the street, and all the parking spaces were full. "Oh well, there's no parking," I said, ready to turn around and go home. But just then, a car pulled out of a space right in front of Beantown. "Um, how about right there, sweetie?" John said. No excuses for me.

So we parked and went in. Beantown was looking very festive, with a tree and lots of different hanging decorations. And sure enough, there was Santa, along with two very cute (and scantily clad) female elves. At the moment, there was no one posing with him, so one of the elves approached me, beaming. "Want a picture?" she said.

I started to demur, but John wouldn't hear of it. (groan) Fine, all right. Feeling somewhat asinine, I approached Santa, who twinkled at me and patted his lap. "Have you been a good girl this year?" he asked.

Oh, brother.

John said I blew a great opportunity; that I should have smiled and said, "Actually, I've been a very bad girl." And Mr. D said I should have laid over his lap rather than sitting on it. To both suggestions, my reaction was, "Ew." Sorry, y'all. I don't have any Santa fantasies and I don't want to flirt with him. Plus, if I'd been dressed up reasonably nicely, I might have felt sexy enough to pull it off, but I was in sweats with no makeup. So I simply answered, "Of course!"

Yes, I'm going to hell for lying to Santa. Just add that to the 5,782 other reasons I'm going to hell. :-)

Enough stalling. Here I am with Fatso dear jolly Santa in all my glory:

All right, kiddies. Go ahead. Knock yourselves out. First baking, and now this?

Baking and beating --- what a lovely holiday

Yeah, I know that's a bizarre blog title. Not to worry, I intend to clarify it in my usual blathering fashion.

A while back, I was talking to Mr. D about the holidays and how, when I was younger, I had a lot more spirit about them. I used to bake banana and cranberry breads and rolled-out sugar cookies for gifts, send cards, etc. Not sure where that desire went, but it's gone, gone, gone. Mr. D said it was OK, that a lot of people feel the way I do. Then he added, "But if you should get the desire to make banana bread again, I'll take it!"

I haven't baked anything (aside from brownies for John) in years. I searched recipes online and found what sounded like a wonderful (and relatively simple) scratch recipe for banana bread. I checked my cupboards; yup, the old loaf pan was still in there. Of course, I had to throw out the desiccated lumps of old spices and buy new cinnamon and nutmeg, but I had flour and sugar and so forth.

Sunday night found me in the kitchen surrounded by various spilled powdery substances, mashing bananas with a potato masher and wrangling sticky batter. The bread had to bake for an hour, but I freaked out when I checked it at 45 minutes and, although the top was deep brown (bordering on burned), the center was still batter. I even tweeted about it. (What had I come to??) I ended up lowering the temp slightly and tenting some foil over the bread so it could finish baking. When it was cool, I wrapped it in foil, then tied it up with ribbon and two bows and put it in a gift bag. I felt damn proud of myself, I must say, although I was concerned that it was overbaked, or over-something.

Yesterday, Mr. D showed up, also bearing a gift bag! He knows I adore Target, so he bought me a couple of very cute tank tops plus a gift card. He was thrilled with his banana bread.

But I had another gift waiting for him.

Cut back to August, when we first played. I told him the drawer in my bedroom vanity table had implements in it, so he went rummaging in there. "Ooooh!" he said, pulling out the heart-shaped paddle ST had made for me, two Valentine's Days ago. "No," I said, shaking my head. That was special, between ST and me, and no one else could use that. He understood, put it back, and never picked it up again.

Yesterday before he arrived, I pulled that paddle from the back of the drawer and put it front and center, on top of the other paddles and the hairbrush. After our nice long hand warmup, I took my place over the pillows on the bed and he went to the drawer. I heard him shuffle around, then looked over as he approached the bed. He had other paddles in his hands, but not the heart-shaped one.

"You know you're not supposed to look," he chided. I blurted, "But you got the wrong one!" He looked confused, so I added, "I put it on top for you."

He walked back to the drawer, looked again, and then did a double take. When he looked questioningly over at me, I just smiled. "Really?" he said. "Yes, really."

I do believe he was speechless for a moment. "But... this means so much to you."

"Yes, it does. ST made it for me. But he's gone. And you're here. It's yours now."

I wanted him to know that he's not competing with a memory. I could say it again and again, but I think I showed him the best way I knew how.

(damned underwear tags!!)

I had forgotten how much that @#$%ing thing hurt! I was squiriming and cussing, and when I let out a particularly pained and stifled groan, Mr. D murmured, "It's OK... you're OK. I'm right here."

"Yeah, that's the problem!" I screeched. He laughed, and gave my right cheek a hard smack. "I'm right here, too." Then the left one. "And here!"

Wise-ass.

After I came back down to earth, we went into the living room to dig into the banana bread and to look at some video clips he took last week. Of course, as soon as I tried to load one, my computer completely locked up and I had to shut it down. So while we waited for it to boot up again, Mr. D glanced over at the ottoman and suggested we make use of it.

This time, it was his hand and my hairbrush. And I was already so tenderized from Round One, everything stung and bit, but I bore down and absorbed it, zoning out once again.

When he thought I'd had enough, he went to get my lotion and then gave me a wonderful treat. Started with my left side, he thoroughly massaged my foot, moving up to my calf, then my thigh, and finally, a deep, strong massage on my left butt cheek. And then, all over again on the right. I was incoherent. "You stay there and rest," he said, draping an afghan over me. Yeah, like I was going to move anywhere, at that point.

(You can see the banana bread on the table in the background. So how did it come out? I thought it was a little rubbery rather than cake-y, but it wasn't dry and the flavor was great. He loved it, so that's what's most important!)

Finally, the computer cooperated and we watched his clips, plus a few of mine. We'd been talking about canes and the various types and techniques, and I showed him what I thought was an example of absolutely perfect cane stripes (yes, Beth, that would be you).

And then it was time for him to leave. He had a lot of work to do this week and needed some sleep. We agreed that next, because of Monday-Tuesday being the official holiday, we'd meet on Wednesday.

No matter that I have no plans for Monday or Tuesday. I couldn't care less. I already had my holiday. :-)

Does anyone know...

... what has happened to Chross? His site has been inaccessible since Wednesday. I have tried with three different browsers, all to no avail. :-( I hope all is well with him and he'll be back soon.

EDIT: I just noticed that his Spankings of the Week blog turned up on Bonnie's "Good and Hot" list, so he's posting. But I still can't access it. Is it just me, or are others having the same issue? As I'd mentioned, I tried three browsers, I've cleared cache and cookies, etc.

By now, most of you have heard about what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT this morning, and if you haven't, you will. In times when we feel stunned and sick, a voice of reason can be a lifesaver. I read these words on another site, and I am passing them on here:

Be kind. Take care of each other. Love. Mourn and share in the outrage. React. Remember. But however you choose to wrap your brain around today's tragedy -- wrap your arms and your heart around those you love.

I'm going to do that tonight. Have a good weekend, y'all.

Christmas carol parody, 2012

(Yeah, y'all can have your fat jolly old Santa. This is my kind of Santa. :-D )

It's that time of year again, kids! We're nearly halfway through December -- are you sick of Christmas music yet?? I know I am. Since we still have to endure it until January 1, I figured a bit of humor might help. So it's time for my annual Xmas Carol Parody (for last year's version, click here).

This year, I chose "Jingle Bell Rock." The original song is embedded below, and following that, I present "Jingle Bell Spank." Enjoy!

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell spank

Jingle bell zing and jingle bell sting

Whacking and smacking is oh, so much fun

Now the spankee dance has begun

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell spank

Jingle bell rears and jingle bell tears

Paddles and brushes are landing with care

On your derriere!

Bottom white time, it’s the right time

To redden it with glee

OTK time is a great time

To go gliding over someone’s knee

Go ahead, spanky tops

Pick up the beat

Down with those panties, yank!

Sting and a tingle and those scissorin’ feet,

That’s the jingle bell spank!

Mistletoe time, ho-ho-ho time

For canes beneath the tree,

When the brats whine, give ’em this line:

“This hurts you more than it hurts me!”

Go ahead, spanky tops

Pick up the beat

Down with those panties, yank!

Sting and a tingle and those scissorin’ feet,

That’s the jingle bell,

That’s the jingle bell,

That’s the jingle bell spank!

Tender is the night...

... and the bottom. (insert blissful face here)

Lovely scene tonight; well worth waiting an extra day for. (Yes, I'm ending a sentence with a preposition. I don't care.) I was so eager to see Mr. D, I decided to dress up for him -- a nice dress, thigh-high stockings, pumps, the whole nine yards. I loved watching his eyes open wide and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline when I opened the door.

He wanted a photo before he made a mess of me. :-D

What happened to the man who couldn't give me more than a few swats without switching hands? Someone toughened up. Immensely. Now he can spank me for a half-hour straight for warm-up and not even flinch. I've created a Frankenstein. Or perhaps Spankenstein. (I know, bad joke. Shut up. It's late.) I was tender before we even broke out the implements.

Once we moved the festivities to the bedroom, my pretty dress went bye-bye. I kinda figured it would. He told me to get comfortable, so I burrowed onto a pile of pillows. Then he put me in restraints. You've seen them before; he slips them up onto my thighs, and then he can shackle my hands to my sides. Not only that, but he bent my legs and shackled my ankles as well.

"Don't go anywhere, OK?" he teased when he went to his bag and my drawer to get toys. Wise guy. I squirmed, wishing I could somehow yank and thrash my way out of those things. But I'd done that once before and he said that would never happen again. He made damn sure it wouldn't.

Riding crop. Wooden paddle. His belt. A trifecta of pain and pleasure.

My pal Secret Spanko will like this. Look, SS! Clutching the bedclothes!

I also slammed my fists into the bed a few times; I couldn't do much more than that. Of course, since my mouth was unfettered, I could still be a smart-ass. But after a while, I lost my desire to do so. Funny how that always happens.

Felt myself slipping down, down... my cries and cussing became unintelligible moans, and he knew I was close. "Just a few more minutes, baby," he leaned down to whisper to me. "Almost there."

He finished me with my Delrin cane. Not a whole lot of strokes; I didn't need many. I started to shake, my legs jerking involuntarily with each hit. Slowly laddering, he moved the strokes down my bottom, onto the sweet spot and then back up. And then we were done.

"Don't move. Just breathe," he instructed, as he tore open the Velcro straps and freed me. I was still shaking, so he wrapped me up in my comforter and then held me close, calming me. I did not cry this time. I was too zoned out even for that.

I did have an emotional moment, though.

Since we've been playing together, we've seen each other mostly on Monday, and on the occasional Tuesday. I realized that, this year, Xmas Eve falls on Monday and Xmas Day on Tuesday. And the same again the following week with New Year's. I know he has lots of family and friends, and his kids are coming to visit again, so I figured those two weeks would be a bit dicey as far as planning our time together. I'd brave that when it came... meanwhile, we still had Monday, the 17th, next week. I figured that would be my December blow-out and would have to tide me over for a while until all this holiday crap is over.

But then, as he was getting ready to leave, he said he might be going to Mammoth to ski this weekend, and wouldn't be back until Tuesday night. Oh.

Yeah. I know. There are other days in the week. But I'm so OCD, I'm a creature of habit. Plus three of those other days are with John, and Mr. D has his work, and his kids, and blah blah blah... And my first thought, illogical as it was, was, "Damn. I don't think I'm going to see him for the rest of the month."

I knew that was ridiculous. I tried to hide my feelings, so I wouldn't come off like Neurotic Nellie. But he can already read me like a book. Not that I'm all that difficult to read, really. I'm as transparent as glass.

He came to me. "What's going on? Look at me." I couldn't, and tried to drop my head, look away, do anything but face him. "No, look at me." I did, and those @#$%ing tears started leaking. "Why are you crying?"

"I don't know!" I blurted, feeling so foolish, but I couldn't help it. He wasn't thrown. He didn't retreat, or treat me like a silly hysterical female. He accepted me, and worked it out with me. He wouldn't leave until he knew I was OK. And I was. If he doesn't go to Mammoth (which he may very well not), we proceed with Monday as usual. And if he does, I will see him next Wednesday. One way or another, we'll have one more play time before the holidays.

And now, I am sleepy. Sore and mush-brained and smiling and sleepy. Jimmy Fallon and Anne Hathaway (sorry, Lea) are singing MadLibs Christmas carols. (Don't ask.) I need some chocolate, and then my bed.

Thank you, Mr. D. You are so good to me, and for me.

An unexpectedly cool weekend

Yes, it was totally vanilla. But cool nonetheless.

I've already mentioned a time or two that John lives in a very small, bucolic town just east of Pasadena. Seriously, the area of the town proper is so small, there are no street signals, just stop signs. He lives up in the canyons against the San Gabriel Mountains, and many of the "canyonites" tend to be around the same demographic -- read: middle-aged and rather Bohemian. His sister fits that description perfectly, with her little market/restaurant, her long hair in a graying braid and her refusal to have a microwave oven in her restaurant, because she thinks the radiation is dangerous. (She thinks hair dye is toxic, too.)

So, a couple of weeks ago, when she told us a local author was having a book signing in her market, I paid little attention. She said he'd been a poet or something in the 60s and hung around with a lot of the "beat" crowd, and I confess, I rolled my eyes. Oh, brother, I thought. Some overgrown hippie who fancied himself a poet and an artist. I'm not big on poetry to begin with, but I've seen enough of it to know one thing for certain: for every beautiful piece that exists, there are about 100 pieces of badly written, pretentious crap.

Yesterday was the day of the book signing, and the tiny market was crowded, but John and I were able to grab a table. John said, "Shall we buy a book?" I made a face. "Just because the author is here? Nahh. We don't even know if it's any good." I had my newspaper, my crossword puzzle and sandwich, and was prepared to essentially tolerate the reading.

In a few minutes, a thin, slightly stooped older man with a full head of gray hair stood up. In a quiet, unassuming voice, he introduced himself as Dan Richter and began to tell about himself and his life. I more or less tuned out when he said he'd been a poet and a mime (a mime?? Who does that, really?), but then my ears perked when he said he'd worked with director Stanley Kubrick and had played Moonwatcher the man-ape in "2001: A Space Odyssey." I've never seen that movie, but Kubrick was huge. He then went on to mention hanging out with other writers of the day, such as Allen Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs. He was also a photographer and shot a lot of wonderful pictures, did album cover art and other stuff. OK, whatever. So the guy had a reasonably interesting career/life, I guess. Still, I was itching to do my puzzle.

Then he said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, almost as an afterthought: "And from 1969 to 1973, I worked for and lived with John Lennon and Yoko Ono."

I forgot about my puzzle. And my sandwich. I just stared at him.

You all know how much I love the Beatles, and that John was my favorite of the four. Granted, I'm not a fan of Yoko Ono, the artist. Her singing (if you can call it that) was reminiscent of feral cats in heat, and I thought her art was the aforementioned pretentious crap. But I respect her as a woman, and feel nothing but the deepest empathy for the senseless and devastating loss she had to endure.

Dan went on to read small excerpts from his book, including some pretty wild John and Yoko stories. He spoke very candidly about the drugs and the various addictions of that time period, including his own to heroin. Then he asked if we had any questions.

One person asked what Ginsberg was like. Another asked what it was like working with Stanley Kubrick. But I had a different sort of question in mind. And it took me several minutes to get up the nerve to ask it, but I finally raised my hand.

“I hope this isn’t too personal,” I hesitated. Dan smiled at me. “Go ahead.”

I took a deep breath. “Where were you… 32 years ago today?” December 8, 1980. The day John Lennon was shot and killed.

He looked temporarily taken aback, and took his own deep breath. “Wow… that IS personal,” he said, and I felt awful, thinking I’d gone too far. But then he rallied and began to speak, and talked for about 10 minutes straight about John, the man, and how horrible it had been when he died. He shared little insider stories and fun tidbits. To my embarrassment, my eyes filled up and then welled over, tears running down my face. I tried to be subtle about it, ducking my head, dabbing at my eyes discreetly with my napkin. But he saw. And he addressed that whole portion looking directly at me. John reached across the table and took my hand.

When his talk was through and people were lining up, John grinned at me. "Want a book now?" Oh, hell, yes. Especially since the book (The Dream is Over) was published in England and isn't available here (yet, anyway), although you can order it from Amazon UK.

We bought two copies; one for John, one for me. I watched as he signed the books of the people ahead of us. It appeared he was writing the same thing on each one: "To [their name]: All the best, Dan." Sure enough, he signed John's copy: "To John: All the best, Dan." Then it was my turn. I apologized for being so personal, and he patted my hand. "You were quite moved; I saw you." I said yes, I was a huge fan. Huge.

He picked up his Sharpie. "To Erica: All the best." He paused, and then wrote another sentence before he signed his name. When he handed it back to me, I looked inside to see what he'd written.

"I loved him too."

Damn. There went the waterworks again.

Is the book any good? Is it well written? I don't know yet, and really, I don't even care. The experience was so special. John really got into it with me. "Let's celebrate! Let's go out somewhere special!" So we went to one of our favorite restaurants last night and splurged on a wonderful dinner.

You can read more about The Dream is Over, and Dan Richter, here.

My back is feeling better, but is still a bit tender. So maybe it's just as well that tomorrow's scene with Mr. D has been postponed until Tuesday. No worries; I have work to do tomorrow anyway.

Hope everyone had a nice weekend! :-)

Big Bang, big backache

Unless you've been completely off all social media for the past several hours, you've no doubt heard there was an OTK spanking on CBS's "The Big Bang Theory" last night.

I won't drive the details into the ground, as it's already been discussed on FetLife and Twitter, and handled beautifully on several blogs, including Spanked, Not Silenced and The Spanking Blog. The latter even transcribed all the dialogue during the scene. What I want to add is how much I @#$%ing LOVED this scene!

For those who know me, you know I'm extremely picky about mainstream spanking scenes, and most of the TV scenes that others go ga-ga over make me cringe. I hated the "Californication" spanking scenes, for example. And I'm probably the only person in the scene who found fault with the OTK spanking scene on "Weeds." (Come on! He flapped his arm up and down like a demented marionette, and hit the same spot over and over.) And don't get me started on that ridiculous hairbrushing scene from "Ally McBeal."

You probably do need to be a fan of BBT to fully appreciate last night's scene, because it played so perfectly into the characters of Sheldon and Amy. I confess, I am a BBT nut. I love the quirky characters, the writing, the sheer brilliance and originality. I am such a BBT nerd, I actually entered an online contest yesterday, writing a second verse to "Soft Kitty." (Fans of the show will know what I'm talking about.) So this scene was simply a bit of icing on a favorite cake.

However, I think even those who aren't familiar with the show can enjoy the scene, because they handled it so deliciously. Whoever wrote that has to be a spanko, or at least be familiar with spankos. And Mayim Bialik, who plays Amy, nailed the reactions and facial expressions perfectly.

Find it and check it out, if you missed it! The title of the episode is "The Fish Guts Displacement" (don't ask; it has to do with another subplot, which was also hilarious).

EDIT: Kaelah found a wonderful comprehensive clip of the scene and posted it on her blog -- go watch it here.

In other news... I seem to have sprained/strained my lower back somehow. I'm not unfamiliar with back pain, having been diagnosed with scoliosis when I was 12. I have this one weak spot on the lower left side, and whenever I have a "back attack," that's where the pain goes. It's been years since I've had one, and I always forget just how freaking uncomfortable it is.

I don't like this. It's really putting a crimp in my festive holiday attitude. (yes, the sarcasm is dripping) I'm doing everything I know to do -- stretching, icing, Advil, light exercise. I did a modified workout Wednesday and last night, because one of the worst things you can do for back pain is stop activity and let everything stiffen up. But after all is said and done, all I can do is wait it out and hope it feels better soon.

Two things of note: 1. I'm grateful this isn't happening anywhere near the time of a spanking party, and 2. This better damn well be better by Monday. I need my Mr. D fix.

I've been reading on FetLife and blogs and so forth about all these spanko gatherings, large and small, and looking at endless quantities of photos, and I admit, I'm feeling grumpy and jealous. I still wonder how people can afford to travel as much as they do, and I so envy all the camaraderie and sharing and socializing. And even I can see the irony in that -- since when am I into socializing?? But yeah, when it's spanko socializing, it's different. I certainly don't begrudge my friends their fun. I just wish I could be in on it more often than once or twice a year.

So while others have their wonderful adventures, Mr. D's Wild Ride is my weekly adventure. And I crave it, and him, like crazy. So this damned back of mine better cooperate.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

"Spanking Spot" awards, 2012

Our fellow blogger Brushstrokes is once again doing his year-end Spanking Awards. He requested nominations last month, and now he is putting the categories, one by one, in his blog so we can vote on them.

This week, he uploaded the nominees for Creative Spanking Blog of the Year. Yours truly is included, and I'm in very good company. Please take a moment and vote; I won't say VOTE FOR ME (oh dear, I just did), but if you do, thank you!  :-D Just vote; it's fun. And we writers appreciate the recognition of our peers.

There are lots of other categories too, including Most Improved Spanking Site, Best Facial Expression on a Spankee and Spanker of the Year. Many good choices and hard to make a decision, but you can only vote once per category.

It's only December 6 and already I'm sick of Xmas music. I feel a parody coming on...

Another milestone!

Last Friday, it was my 500th post. And then sometime Sunday night, my all-time blog views passed the 1,000,000 mark.

I know some of the super-popular blogs (like Chross, for example) probably have a count in the billions by now, but this feels huge! And speaking of Chross, I'll bet at least a third, if not half or more, of my views are due to him. (Thank you, sir!)

So I was definitely in celebratory mood yesterday when Mr. D arrived, and we had a fun afternoon that extended into evening, with lots of play, talking, laughing, dinner, more talking. We've known one another for three months now, but because our time together is so limited, we're still in that getting-to-know-you phase. But the play is growing more and more comfortable (well, so to speak) and the connection ever stronger.

We started on the couch, as always, with OTK warmup, just his hand. When that was winding down, he asked me how many more I wanted before we moved to the bedroom and the implements. I dunno... 30? Figured that would be a simple count. Hardly.

After nine, he gave me such a light one, I said, "Nine-and-a-half." "Oh, I'm sorry, that's incorrect -- we're starting over." @#$%!! So we started over. At around 12, in the second round, he claims to have not heard me say the number. "I guess we'll have to start over again." Whaaaa?? And we were still in warmup! Yeah, he's learning, all right. He's learning Top Tricks and Mindfuckery.

Once in the bedroom, he selected his arsenal (including his own riding crop) and we got down to business. This time, we were extra diligent and got both types of pictures! :-D

Now you see 'em...

Now you don't.

Mr. D says he's learning to read my body and the way I react during different times during the spanking. He says my groans and other sounds are so expressive, he can tell when I'm feeling a particular strike way down deep. "I feel those with you," he claims. Yeah, right.

I let it go at first. But when we were talking about it afterward and he said once again, "I'm feeling those with you," I said, "Bullshit."

"Excuse me??"

"You do NOT feel them," I snorted. "I feel them. You wanna feel them? Use the implements on yourself and see how they feel."

"I have a better idea," he said, rolling me back over. Ah, damn. Me and my big mouth.

Check out his shirt. I was seeing stars in more ways than one!

I look extremely white in the above photo, for some reason. Perhaps it's the lighting. Trust me, I was not white.

After some lovely aftercare, we went to Jerry's for dinner, where I once again happily indulged in chicken matzo-ball soup, with enough to take some home. And once we got back, I got into showing him an old movie book that had been my dad's, plus some YouTube clips, and before we knew it, it was midnight. I felt kinda bad, because he had to go home and work! He sent the photos this morning, but I had to do some work and then I went out for a long lunch, so that's why I'm so late with this.

In other news... My lunch today was with my stepmother (the nice one, not Vampira). I hadn't seen her in a long time and we had much catching up to do, so we sat for over three hours chatting. At some point she presented me with a small gift bag. "This is for you. I've been wanting to give this to you for a long time."

Lots of packaging -- I opened the gift bag, then a box, then a small cloth pouch, and finally a tiny zip-lock plastic bag. Inside was an exquisite necklace: a single large pearl with three tiny diamonds, on a white-gold chain. I was so surprised that my mouth dropped open, but I think my jaw hit the ground when she spoke.

"Jerry Lewis gave me that in 1962." Say what??

I sat and stared at it while she told me the story. Apparently she was in one of Jerry's movies in 1961, and he was quite enamored of her. When that film wrapped, she went to work in a musical on stage in Hollywood, and on opening night, Jerry Lewis showed up. It was sold out, so he stood in the back of the audience for the entire performance. Afterward, he came backstage, and he didn't just give her this necklace -- he put it on her neck himself. She wore it for decades; it's 50 years old. And now it's mine.

She wanted me to have it because of the show business connection (both she and my father worked with Jerry) and because she thought I would like it. She was right. It's my taste exactly, and I will cherish it.

I love this woman so much! I didn't even mind when she said I looked too thin. (sigh) Both my parents are gone... I really don't mind having her mother-hen me just a little. Plus, she's still so completely sharp and savvy, even at 81. And one of the few people left who can still relay the old show biz stories, and tidbits about my father. I hope she will stick around for a while.

This is shaping up to be a nice week. I even have work! And since we're now in December, there's less than a month left of the holiday shit festivities. I do believe I can make it. :-)