Reflections on 2013

The blogosphere has been sort of Holiday Lite lately. I'm having a quiet New Year's Eve Day; was supposed to see Steve, but the poor man finally succumbed to the stomach flu his son brought home on his holiday visit. Blech. Rotten timing. So I figured I'd take the created gap of free time and reflect a bit on the past year, quickly scanning over the last 12 months of blogs. Pardon me while I ramble.

On the down side, there were a lot of tears. Such is the mercurial life of a depressive. There was a great deal of worry about John and his health issues. There were ups and downs with Steve. There was the usual host of money/job worries, hurts and disappointments, insecurities and doubts.

But on the plus side, there were many fun times too. John and I went to two wonderful scene parties (50 Freaks and Shadow Lane). I got to shoot three times, and I published another book. Made some new friends. Wrote a lot of thought-provoking posts, here and on FetLife, and even made it to the #1 spot on Kinky & Popular with one of them. John and I had a terrible scare with a potential blackmailer, but we seem to have dodged that and we're very relieved and grateful. And I now know that Steve is here to stay. He's proven to me that I'm not just some temporary stopgap until his Ms. Right comes along. I may not be his girlfriend, but I still matter. I am not dispensable.

I still vacillate, wondering what my place is in the scene, in the blogosphere, in the general scheme of all things kink-wise. A few months ago, the good folks at Cane-iac started putting out a newsletter, and they asked if I'd like to have a regular feature in it. I was delighted to be asked, and we decided to make it an open-ended thing, calling it "Ask Erica." Readers were invited to send in a question for me, and for each newsletter issue, I'd choose one and answer it. Those whose questions were selected would get a discount on the order of their choice.

Well. The first issue, we got five or six questions. The second, just a couple of CHoS-worthy queries, so I answered another question from the first batch. And the third issue, nothing.

They asked me if I'd like to change the column to "Erica's Corner" and simply write about whatever I thought people would want to read. It was very sweet of them, but I didn't want to beat a dead horse. Clearly, people out there had run out of questions to ask me. I'd answered them all. And if they want to read my writing, that's what this blog is for. I didn't need to take up space on Cane-iac's newsletter.

So yeah, sometimes I wonder. I think about Bonnie, who just announced her retirement from blogging, much to our great sadness. She will be missed, but she felt it was her time, that all her best posts had already been written. I wonder if it's the same thing with me, if I should retire too.

But you know what? I don't want to. I love writing. I love blogging. I love sharing my thoughts and feelings, and getting feedback on them. There will always be something fresh and new to say. And there will always be new readers who haven't heard it all before.

There will be play, there will be parties, there will be fun spanky thoughts, ready to unfold and experience. I'm not ready to say goodbye to any of it. Looks like y'all are stuck with me, for better or worse, for a while.

I don't make New Year's resolutions, as you know. I simply try to look forward and keep myself open and ready for what's to come.

John's heart surgery is on hold indefinitely, since (knock wood) it's not an urgent need and he's managing to keep himself functioning with diet and exercise, and keeping his weight down. For now, his plan is to 1) get the rest of his dental work done (he had a bad tooth pulled, and now that that's healed, he needs to get a post and crown), and 2) deal with his sleep apnea, which was recently diagnosed. We thought his chronic exhaustion was due to his heart, but it turns out that the quality of his sleep is very poor. So he's currently exploring which will be a better solution: a CPAP unit or a dental device. 

I hope to find more work next year. But in the meantime, I'm hanging in there. And say what you want about Obamacare, but thanks to the new laws, I was able to switch to another plan that's a little cheaper. Now instead of insanely exorbitant, it's merely too expensive. :-)  I could have gone even cheaper, but then I'd have high deductibles, and I don't want those. This new plan has no deductibles. And I've gone from $1205 a month to $782. 

Speaking of shoots, the little quickie clip I shot for Amateur Spankings is up on their site. This photo cracks me up; I guess it was taken during the portion when Gary was scolding us off-camera for blowing off our scheduled session. I've got my "Who, me???" righteous indignation face on.

And finally, since I'm randomly blathering about things that make me happy, I received a certificate from the Writers Guild of America, on my father's behalf. They recently chose a list of the 101 best written TV series in the past seven decades, and The Carol Burnett Show was #37. For the sake of discretion, I covered up his name and replaced it with "My Father" in this photo scan. But I just had to share it, since I'm so very proud.

It looks much prettier than this in reality; the border and the logo are in gold. I need to find a nice frame.

John is working today, but later, after he comes home, I'll go over there after I pick up some food for our dinner. We'll watch a movie, see the ball come down, toast each other with champagne at midnight. I look forward to it. And along with being with my love, I will silently toast my top Steve as well, looking forward to another year of play and wonderful connection.

So, happy 2014 to my friends, loved ones, readers, commenters, lurkers. I hope the new year brings you joy and peace. ♥

Just felt like sharing this...

For yesterday's more typical Erica post, click here. Right now, take a minute-and-a-half for something sweet.

All of us "of a certain age" remember these guys as being a quartet of goofballs with a string of pop hits in the 1960s. However, I stumbled upon this little clip of the four of them singing a Spanish carol a capella, and thought it was simply beautiful. They really could sing, all silliness aside. Enjoy. :-)

Santa Baby...

...just slip a paddle under the tree, for me... Been an awfully bad girl...

Oh, wait. I already did this year's parody. Never mind.

It's 10 PM on Christmas Eve here, and I've already had my visit from Santa.

Well, sort of. I guess he was one of Santa's representatives. He had a Santa hat, and he brought an extra one for me. Weird, though... he wasn't fat, he was clean-shaven and he had black hair. Who knew? 

I dressed up for him, wearing a festive red dress complete with stockings and pumps. And I even put on that stupid hat. Some Jew.

Whoever he was, he was certainly mischievous and perverse. I couldn't even take a minute to freshen my makeup without him sneaking up behind me and... well, see for yourself. 

He wanted to know all the naughty things I'd done in 2013, and he asked me while I was bent over the ottoman. Come on. How am I supposed to think back over the past year and come up with specifics, while in such a disgraceful position? I couldn't do it! Not to mention that I was having wardrobe distress. Not only did that damn hat keep falling off my head, but my boobs were falling out of my dress. He didn't care; he still thought some coercion was in order.

(If you look close, you'll see that I was indeed in danger of falling out of my dress. This didn't seem to bother him in the least.)

He had this annoying pattern of swatting me in threes -- because of the three Wise Men, don'cha know. (eye roll) "Is three an odd number?" he asked. "YOU'RE an odd number!" I snapped.

And just what the hell is he up to here??

(Damn... Santa's helpers certainly are buff these days.)

The more I tried to come up with my naughty list, the more I miserably failed and he just kept on trying to get it out of me. But finally, I prevailed. He was talking about Santa's reindeer, and I blurted, "Yeah, there are only seven this year, because Comet has to stay home and clean the sink!"

He started laughing so hard, he completely lost it. So much for that scene. :-D (And yes, I know that joke was terrible.)

I laughed too. In fact, I was giggling so convulsively, I fell off the ottoman.

Oh, and did I mention that we watched a movie, too? Which one, you ask? Miracle on 34th Street? It's a Wonderful Life? White Christmas?

Nahhh. We watched The Bad Seed. (Hey, it's one of my favorite old movies and he'd never seen it before. Nothing like a film about a murderous child to really bring out that joyous holiday spirit!)

So, it's done for another year. I got past the holiday party over the weekend, too. Believe it or not, it wasn't too bad. There was food I could actually eat, for once. The music was very loud, but it was good, and John and I got comfortable chairs right near the band, so we parked ourselves there and I didn't have to do any mingling. I could smell pot all around me and people were getting drunk, but we left before it got too late. Oh, and we even danced a little. John's sister slurred told me four different times that I'm a good dancer, but I'm chalking that up to the alcohol. I got my toes stepped on a few times, but at least no one spilled a drink on me or groped my boob this year.

Whatever you're celebrating, my friends -- happy/merry/joyous everything. I hope you're doing exactly what you want, with people you enjoy. And don't forget, after tomorrow, the fruitcake once again goes back to being a colorful paperweight.

(Oh, come on. Who actually eats those @#$%ing things?)

Christmas carol parody, 2013

Sorry to have been MIA this week. The stomach bug pretty much curtailed everything for a few days. But I am feeling much better physically, appetite has returned, back to the gym, etc.

And of course, I couldn't forget about my annual holiday parody. For those new to this blog, you can read last year's parody here, and 2011's parody here.

This time, I've chosen that old winter standard, Let It Snow. Here is the song, plus the real lyrics:



And here is my version: A lovely couple get together for a cozy evening during the holidays, but she starts acting up. What's a toppy man to do?

Oh, her attitude has been frightful

But her bottom’s so delightful

And since she’s making such a row

Spank her now! Spank her now! Spank her now!

Oh, she doesn’t show signs of stopping

And her bratting has you hopping

So pull her panties way down low

Make her glow! Make her glow! Make her glow!

When she kicks and puts up a fight

She will yell till she drowns out the storm

But if you really spank her right

All through the night she’ll be warm!

Her sassing is slowly dying

And in your arms, she’s crying

So tell her you love her so

Let her know, let her know, let her know!

She’d been asking for it all night

How you hated to bare her behind

But a spanking makes things all right

After it’s done, please be kind!

Now her words are no longer hateful

And for this, you both are grateful

So dry her tears and kiss her nose

Hold her close! Hold her close! Hold her close!

I hope you enjoyed that. And for an added bonus, I have a photo for your viewing pleasure. Warning: It is rude. I wasn't going to post it at all, but then today, Hermione posted a Friday Fail of tacky holiday photos. I noticed that one of her selections (the second from the top) was sort of similar to my photo, but not with a rude word. I mentioned my photo in my comment to her, and she encouraged me to go ahead, post it. So, there you have it. Hermione made me do it. :-D

In other news -- I cross-posted my PSA to FetLife at the same time as I blogged it here. The reaction blew me away -- wave after wave of comments and "Loves," and people sharing their own horror stories and additional tips for how to stay safe. As of this writing, the post has 1,423 Loves and 338 comments. 

Steve came over on Wednesday, but of course I was too sick to play. We gave each other much-needed hugs, though. I am hoping to see him on Tuesday, Christmas Eve, for some holiday spanking play.

So, you know that annual drunken bacchanal Christmas party John's sister and brother-in-law didn't have last year? Guess what? It's baaaaack! (Joy to the World.) Trying to put a positive spin on it; I guess it will be good for both John and me to get out of the house and join some festivities, since we've both been sick and miserable. Oh, please. Who am I kidding -- it's going to suck. But I'll get through it. I may have to escape to the bathroom and text a friend, but I'll make it. 

Have a great weekend, y'all.

A Public Service Announcement -- Very Important

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 12/13

Ah, it's a Friday the 13th edition. Frankly, I'd much rather have black cats crossing my path than these brainless boobs.

I think I need to drive to [my city] to spank that ass. This experienced dom daddy will do whatever is necessary to bring you into a state of extasy.

Oh, that's easy. 1. Learn how to spell "ecstasy"; 2. Don't send a dick pic to someone who has specifically requested "no dick pics"; and 3. Go fuck yourself.

A while back, Hermione showcased some of the ridiculous spam messages we get. You know, the ones that chat with us in a familiar vein, and then encourage us to visit their site? I got one that was so inane, I had to share it:

Today, I went to the beach with my children.
I found a sea shell and gave it to my 4 year old daughter and said
"You can hear the ocean if you put this to your ear."
She placed the shell to her ear and screamed. There was a hermit crab inside and it pinched her ear.
She never wants to go back! LoL I know this is entirely off topic but I had to tell someone! Visit my blog at... etc.

Ummmm... OK. Had to tell someone, huh? What a sad life you lead if the only person with whom you could share this folksy little tale is a complete stranger with a kinky blog. :-) 

I want to slap your ass until it gets red. And then ı want to put a cream on it which ı produced...

I'll just bet you produced it. Ewwww. I'll stick with my St. Ives body lotion, thanks.

Of course, no CHoS is complete without one of these:

How are you still so hot at your age?? Is that a terrible question?

I'll answer your second question: Yes. And I have my own question: How are you still so clueless at your age??

This same guy also commented on one of my videos with Steve:

Sorry, I could do it better. Damn! I am so arrogant.

Why, yes. Yes, you are. :-) And no. No, you couldn't. Not in a million years.

And finally -- I posted about this one on FetLife, since I received it there, but it bears repeating here as well:

i would love to have you sit on my face as you tie me up sticking out my tongue as you rock and gyrate your hips running your clit over my tongue your juices flowing down my face soaking me pulling me deeper into your pussy as i lick you for hours making you cum over and over again drenching my head making it look as i just got done taking a shower before bending you over and grabbing your hair as i slam my dick into your tight wet pussy pounding it good and hard making you moan loud as you push back into each of my powerful thrusts making you squirt all over my hard dick letting it drip off my balls and run down our legs making you cum again and again i pull out and lick up all of your juices not letting any of them go to waste before i plow back into you exploding a massive hot sticky load of cum deep inside your tight pussy then i would lick your tight little asshole before driving my dick nice and deep into it making you cum so had it drips off my balls and runs down our legs

I don't know what offends me more -- the content, or the fact that this massive missive has absolutely no punctuation. You've been watching too much porn, Junior. The only thing I'm going to drench your head with is a glass of ice water. Snap out of it.

Hope this provided some laughs. Perhaps some of you could use a snicker or two. I know I could. Have a great weekend, y'all.

Wet Tuesday

No, it didn't rain today. It was all about tears. Mine. So damn many of them.

I was crying before he ever laid a finger on me. I teared up when he told me he'd have to leave early. I cried when he said that he and John are two of the luckiest men ever. (I would have disagreed, but he has sort of a thing about my arguing with him.) And during warm-up, a light slap to my thigh to keep my legs still sent the waterworks into overdrive.

Why? Meh. Stuff. Life. Lack of balance; too much stress and not enough fun. The holidays and all the pre-fab joy I'm supposed to be feeling, which I am not. Lack of work, but no lack of bills. Today, I felt bleak and needy.

My top took care of me. Lovingly, compassionately, firmly.

Still such a strange paradox that the inflicting of pain would bring me to some semblance of peace. But of course, as we all know, it wasn't just the pain. If that were the case, I'd have been in a state of bliss during all those root canal appointments. It was the way it was delivered.

He pushed. Just a little. He knew when to go forward and when to pause. He knew when to remind me to breathe, slowly and deeply. He read my body's signals, heeded the timbre of my voice when I gasped please. 

Not to worry. The redness on my lower legs was temporary and left no lasting marks or pain. He knows to keep those few swats well measured.

There wasn't banter today. I wasn't up for it; I barely spoke. All I did was feel, and make sounds. 

My tolerance was not high. Perhaps it was the mood, or the two-week break. Who knows. It took relatively little to break through today, to dissolve the hard edges and get to the mushy center.

Once we were done and I was collapsed onto the ottoman, then Steve took a moment to be playful. (Yes, I am posting this photo with his complete permission.)

Ouch. Freaking cannibal. But you can see he has very white teeth. I tell him he should be in a toothpaste commercial.

Aftercare was lengthy. I needed to be held, to be enveloped completely. I wanted to burrow in his arms and crawl into his skin. I trembled and my breath hitched. He held me close, stroked my hair, comforted me. Allowed me to feed on his strength.

No video today. And in every photo he took, I buried my face. I didn't want to be seen. After he left, I felt a little stronger, so I experimented with facial selfies. I didn't like how they looked overall, but I think my eyes speak volumes in this cropped photo.

This afternoon, I bundled up in a comforter, made chamomile tea and watched a couple of episodes of Downton Abbey. I talked with John and he cheered me with a report of his office's pre-Christmas lunch, made me giggle with silly stories. And tonight, I will sleep, deeply.

How's this for unfair -- Steve has been diagnosed with that chronic dry-eye that you hear about in those Restasis commercials, and he has to put drops in his eyes every day to create tears. I told him I'd been more than happy to give him a whole bunch of mine, since I'm sick to death of the damn things. But I guess it doesn't work that way.

It's OK to need, to have sad times. They will pass. I'm just grateful I don't have to deal with them in complete isolation, as I did in younger days. Now, I have a network. Now, I have healthy outlets, and a most unusual but effective form of release. And most important, now, I have so much love.

OT: Comedians and Critters

Yes, I know that's a strange title. Got your attention though, didn't it?

Most of us "of a certain age" remember the comedy duo The Smothers Brothers. Actual brothers (Tom and Dick), they are still with us (both in their 70s), but are best known for a variety show they had in the 1960s. This show ended up being canceled by CBS for being too political/controversial. 

Last week, my stepmother sent me a link to a recent appearance they made on the Late Show with Craig Ferguson. I watched it and laughed out loud; they're still funny, and they don't even have to be dirty. If you'd like to see the clip, it's here.

Anyway, I was so tickled, I tweeted about them on Friday. I was surprised at how many responses I got: "They're brilliant!" "I grew up watching them," etc. But imagine my shock when I logged onto Twitter on Saturday and saw that my tweet had been favorited, retweeted, and responded to... by Dick Smothers.

"Hello, this is the original Dickie Smothers. Good to hear that you still like our stuff!"

Then he tweeted, "I am not done yet! Tommy retired; I didn't."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And of course, then the tweet of mine that he retweeted was further retweeted, and so on. I had a long string of responses and gained some new followers. But I still can't believe one of the Smothers Brothers tweeted back to me. (Between y'all and me, though, Dick needs Tommy. Dick was the straight guy, and Tommy was the one with all the funny lines.)

I know they knew my father way back when (they appeared on one of the shows he wrote for), so I feel a sort of connection, even though they have no idea who I am.

There's a weird, guilty pleasure around Twitter and celebrities. Us ordinary folks follow some of them (yes, I do too) and always hope that we'll get their attention and they'll answer a fan tweet or something. Some celebs are good sports and will reply to a fan now and then. 

Me? I got a "thank you" from Kathryn Leigh Scott (who played Maggie on Dark Shadows) when I tweeted my condolences to her on the death of Jonathan Frid. And when the whole Law & Order: SVU season premiere insanity was being tweeted over, with Benson being menaced by a creepy psycho, I posted my share of tweets about the show and the performances, and a few times, I was favorited by the actor who played the creepy psycho. But that's the extent of my Twitter celebrity brushes. So this was pretty cool!

As for the critters, I am posting a shout-out for my buddy Dana Kane, who is fundraising for animal charities on her blog, with a raffle and prizes. Every penny of the proceeds will go to legitimate and worthy animal-care causes. For those who love animals (and who love Dana!), you'll want to read all about it here.

Hope everyone had a nice weekend! Next post will be on topic, promise.

Those awkward family moments

This post was inspired by a friend on FetLife, who wrote about a random memory from her childhood. She was in the back seat, and her parents were up front, gossiping about another couple. Apparently, the husband spanked the wife, and they thought this was "terrible." The child then piped up from the back, "Unless she liked it."

Imagine the shock. ("Where did that come from?? Whose child is this?")

Ah, if only they knew. Anyway, in this season of family togetherness (tongue firmly planted in cheek there), I got to thinking about those moments many of us have had with parents, siblings, etc. regarding our kinks. 

My mother was the queen of TMI, in all aspects. She had no filters, and she used to discuss her sex life with me wayyyy too openly for my comfort. On the one hand, it was kind of neat having a mother who wasn't uptight and prudish about sex, but on the other hand, I'd find myself thinking LalalalaIdon'twanttohearthislalala when she told me certain things. I'll spare you those details.

Years ago, she and my stepdad used to watch some talk show on cable, hosted by Bob Berkowitz -- I'd never seen it, but it was all about sex and people's sex lives. Mom and M were fascinated by this show and my mother was constantly telling me about what they'd just seen and heard, and what people were into. I guess the show was pretty open and graphic.

Anyway, one afternoon, Mom and I were out having coffee, and she was going on and on as usual about the Berkowitz show, and what all those naughty people were doing. She talked about the porn, the toys, the bondage, etc., and I basically sat and squirmed. Then she said musingly, "You know what I really don't get? That whole spanking thing."

I damn near choked on my sip of coffee.

"I mean," she continued, "that's pain! Who wants pain? What's sexy about that?"

Oh, Mother. I do not want to have this conversation with you. So I just shrugged and said I didn't know. But I was dying to mutter, "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, Ma."

Looks like my proclivities aren't genetic, at least not from my mother's side! I wonder about my dad sometimes. I mean, he led a pretty wild Hollywood life. And when he passed away, I did find the writings of the Marquis de Sade among his books. Then again, he was an avid reader and had hundreds of books. It could have been quite meaningless.

On a side note, I also found a t-shirt in one of his drawers, and printed on the front was "Twenty-five years of S&M." You can imagine my reaction to this. What the hell was that about?? I finally had the courage to ask my former stepmother about it. She laughed.

Turns out those shirts were printed up when Dad's best friend and his wife celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. Their names? Sheila and Mike.

I never did have the nerve to ask S about whether or not my dad was into anything kinky. I guess some things are best left unknown.

How about you guys? Anyone have any similar family stories to share?

Spanko Mojo on hiatus

Steve came over today. But, as it happened, neither one of us was up for playing.

I am dealing with a stressful situation, and the aftermath of an uber-stressful weekend. Sorry, but no details. Likewise, Steve was dealing with his own private and stressful situation.

Today, we weren't top and bottom. We were just the best of friends, both in need of emotional support. I may not have gotten my special spanking release, but I still got to spill my guts, as did he. We comforted each other and listened. And when he said, "Everything is going to be OK," I actually believed him, in that moment. I know things aren't that simple and wishing doesn't make it so. But just for that frozen moment in time, I was a trusting child again, believing it would be OK just because he said so.

Therefore, in lieu of a scene report, I am going to plug a few projects for blogger friends, and end with a little treat.

First up is Anastasia Vitsky's Advent Calendar 2013, which you can read all about here. Lots of people involved, and tons of great prizes, including a long list of books (one of which is my CHoS book). Do check it out.

Next, the Library of Spanking Fiction has put out a special Christmas collection; seven books in all (five M/F, one F/F and one F/M). Proceeds from the sales will help fund the website so that they can continue to provide us with free reading material. Details about the books can be found here.

Finally, there will be a special Winter Spanks Blog Hop, put together by several spanking romance writers and open to the entire spanking community. Lots of lovely prizes here too, including a Kindle or Nook e-reader, books, gift certificates, spanking DVDs and more. Read all about it here.

Promised you a little treat, didn't I? Since you can't read about this week's scene (considering there isn't one), how about a little video from last week's? Here's Steve improvising to Elvis Presley's "Don't Be Cruel." The song starts about a minute into the video; I had an oldies station playing in the background from iTunes Radio. This got 98 "loves" on FetLife. Hope you guys like it.




It's cold outside. I think I will bundle up into a warm blanket and OD on Downton Abbey. Later, y'all.

Magazine startle

I'm behind in some of my magazines, so this morning I was reading the September issue of Self while having breakfast. Specifically, was perusing one of their mini-articles, "10 sex facts you need to know" -- ten random tidbits about sex. Such as 1) Americans, on average, have sex three times a week (Really??) and 2) Sex can alleviate migraines (I've heard this, but who wants sex when they have a migraine?). However, it was #10 that jumped out at me.

"People who enjoy BDSM-type stuff, such as handcuffs and spanking, have a higher sense of well-being than those who don't, research in the The Journal of Sexual Medicine suggests. Fascinating, but we still say Christian Grey had some serious baggage in Fifty Shades."

Um... Self writers? Fifty Shades was a piece of badly written fiction; contrary to what many unenlightened readers think, Christian Grey does not represent the typical kinkoid. The only thing he represents is a sad and sick cliché.

Higher sense of well-being? I'll stipulate to that. The key word, I think, is enjoy. If people fully embrace their kinky sides without shame, and happily and consensually engage in their activity of choice, I can see how the endorphins and feelings of bliss and fulfillment can overall enhance one's mindset.

I suppose one could wax psychological for days over the paradox that pain, loss of control and (for some) humiliation/embarrassment would equate to higher well-being. But I'm not going to question it. I know it's true for me. And I will look forward to my next dose of pleasure.

Hope everyone had a wonderful weekend, survived Thanksgiving and Black Friday, etc. One more month and all this @#$% is over for another year, yeah!! :-)

Happy Thanksgiving

Here I am on Thanksgiving Day, having a quiet moment of reflection. Actually, it's going to be an entire day of quiet, because I am spending Thanksgiving by myself.

By choice. No one feel bad for me. No one. This is what I want.

Y'all know I used to love Thanksgiving, back when my mother used to prepare the feast and we had a fun and festive time. But those days are over, and now (to me), Thanksgiving is simply a large meal, and I don't really care about it.

John is very understanding and I appreciate it. I know he secretly wishes I would join him -- he went to his mother's assisted-living facility today, with one of his sisters and his niece, to have TG there. I'd do it if I could, but I simply cannot. I'm done with that place, and all others like it. The idea of eating a mass-produced, institutional meal in a roomful of seniors nodding into their creamed corn makes my recent experience with root canal sound like a picnic in the park. Plus, they had it at 11:30 AM. Who the hell wants to eat Thanksgiving dinner in the morning?? I will head for John's tomorrow morning and we'll spend the rest of the weekend together.

So today is just for me, where I can gather my thoughts and list my "gratefuls."

I am thankful for my beloved John...

My wonderful top Steve...

And a fabulous bunch of friends (a smattering of them below)...

I'm thankful for the wild, wonderful, maddening, drama-laden, mercurial and marvelous spanking scene. As crazy as it can be at times, it has enriched my life and brought me so much joy and fulfillment, and I've met so many people I never would have known and loved.

What else... Oh, I'm also thankful for pumpkin pie. Yes, I bought myself a slice to savor later. Because, while I can live without the dinner, pumpkin pie on TG is a must.

And speaking of eating, I'm thankful that I can finally chew on the left side of my mouth. I'd forgotten what that felt like without a spike of pain.

Also, I'm thankful that AT&T, after much squawking from me, finally fixed my landline phone yesterday afternoon. Just in time, too -- I got a notification from my cell provider today, saying that I'm about to exceed my Anytime minutes. I think I spent most of them on AT&T!

To my readers/friends/loved ones -- whatever you're doing today, celebrating or not, with family or with friends, or even on your own like me -- much love and appreciation to you. ♥

Well protected

Last week, we added a "D/s relationship" on FetLife. I'm already listed as Steve's "play partner" and "bottom." Now, I'm also "under his protection."

I don't know why I like that so much. I see that status all the time on FetLife, and never thought too much about it, but it did seem like a nice extra touch. So I was very happy when Steve liked the idea.

One of my friends saw the new status and kiddingly wrote to me, "I've seen your posts and your comments -- from what exactly do you need protection?" Yeah, I know. I'm pretty scrappy on FetLife; if people push me, I push back. Since when am I some helpless flower? So I laughed and replied, "Hey, even snarky bitches need a guardian angel every now and then."

Today, Steve said he loved being my protector. "I'll always have your back... and your backside." Clever, isn't he. I giggled so much at that, he asked, "Is that going into the blog??" Yup, here it is!

He asked me what kind of scene I wanted this afternoon, but I had no answer. I just wanted to play and feel and enjoy. So we simply jumped into it, no agenda. I had an oldies station playing in the background, providing a lively soundtrack for his energetic pummeling. 

Of course, he did give me a nice hand warm-up first. But then it was ottoman time, and we got into a big pile of weapons of ass destruction implements.

There were three more besides the three showing above, including that @#$%ing Lickin' Stick.

At one point, Elvis Presley's "Don't Be Cruel" came on. How apropos! I pleaded with Steve to heed the King's words, but he didn't listen. Just thought it would be amusing to keep whaling on me, to the beat of the damn song! But at least he was polite. "Legs down, please." "Still, please." "Do as you're told, please." Please go soak your head. :-) No, I didn't actually say that. My earlier smart-assery had been rewarded with a brisk thigh pinch. Ouch. Meanie.

(I have a video of the portion with the Elvis song, but for whatever reason, YouTube was giving me fits trying to upload it, getting stuck and not completing the process, so I gave up. Perhaps I'll try again tomorrow and see if it works. I did manage to upload it onto FetLife.)

This is my "Did you really have to use that @#$%ing stick?" face:

OK, OK. I really did kinda like it. No, not the stick, but the overall session. :-)

Following some aftercare, I had to once again try to call AT&T, in order to deal with this ongoing debacle with my landline. Yesterday, they futzed around with the wiring outside in order to transfer me to a different high-speed Internet platform, and in the process, they knocked out my phone line. They were supposed to come over today and fix it, and had given me the window of 8:00 AM to 6:00 PM! Now here it was 4:00 and I still hadn't heard anything from them, so I thought I'd try reaching them to check status of the service call. Big mistake -- I got caught up in a maelstrom of incompetence. I got transferred three times, then left on hold for 45 minutes until I finally gave up. Steve managed to keep me distracted and amused, despite all the aggravation. He's rather good at that.

Turns out AT&T never showed up, and when I finally reached the right department, they said someone would come on Friday!! I said that was unacceptable, so now I have a manager calling me in the morning. Keep your fingers crossed. I'm not a phone person and so this isn't really that big of a deal, but it's still frustrating. Does customer service even exist anymore? I won't be home Friday, so I may be phoneless until next Monday.

Never mind. I'm still a happy woman, phone or no phone. Sore, sleepy, and yes, protected. ♥

It's now officially Wednesday, so... Happy Birthday, Ten Amorette! 

A bit more "Big Bang" spanking

Last Thursday, my very favorite sitcom, The Big Bang Theory, had another Sheldon/Amy hand-to-bottom encounter. This time it was a one-smacker, but equally as hilarious as the spanking Sheldon gave Amy last season for faking being sick because she loved his attention. (If by some chance you haven't seen that, it's here.)

This time, we find the gang having Thanksgiving dinner, and Sheldon forming an unlikely bond with Howard's good-ole-boy father-in-law. They proceed to get drunk together and Sheldon is so obnoxious and rude to Howard, Amy finally demands that he apologize. He does so, sheepishly, then smiles blearily at Amy, saying "Ain't she great?" Amy ducks her head, clearly pleased, and then Sheldon adds, "Now how about getting us both another beer!" and sends her off with one resounding wallop on her bottom. She lurches forward, then giddily stumbles into the kitchen, looking back with a shocked but priceless smile on her face. Sheldon meets her glance with a smirk and a nod.

Perfection. Damn, I love this show.

I tried to find a clip of this, but could not. Perhaps Chross can.

EDIT: I love my friends! Thank you, Nancy and Bonnie. Here it is!

In other news, Steve and I have decided to switch our date to Tuesdays, since we end up switching there a lot of the time anyway. So stay tuned.

Kinky and Squeamish: an uneasy combination

I am possibly one of the most squeamish people you will ever meet. I mean, ridiculously so. My tolerance for the gory and the gross is zero.

I adore animals, but I could never be a pet owner. Why? Because I couldn't handle the icky side of pet ownership -- the poop, the vomit, the pet illnesses, the inevitable wounds.

I can't even stand the sight of blood when it's fake. Wanna torture me? Prop my eyelids open and make me watch The Walking Dead. Or any of the Saw movies. Even one of my all-time favorite shows, Weeds, freaked me out once. There was an episode where a DEA agent was tortured for information with a circular saw. I had nightmares for two nights after seeing that.

Same thing with sophomoric comedies where vomit and scat humor are prevalent. Yeah, I know the vomit is fake. I don't care. I cannot watch it.

So what's my point? It's hard enough getting through day-to-day vanilla life when you're this squeamish and weak-stomached. But when you throw in the world of kink, that's even more of a challenge.

John often says that, in the overall scale of things, most people would consider me an extreme player. I disagree with him. How can anyone with a terror of blood and broken skin be extreme?

I think (no, I know) I sometimes come off as judgmental of harsh scenes. I really don't mean to. It's more a visceral reaction than a cerebral judgment. I can know in my head that the scene is consensual, that the bottom wants exactly what he or she is getting. But my gut freaks out.

This one of the many reasons why I'm a terrible fit for dungeon gatherings and more hardcore BDSM parties. I never know what I'm going to see, and what's going to set me off. And my reactions are considered rude and unwelcome. Example: many years ago, John and I were at a BDSM club party called Proscenium, which was held at a filming studio with two floors and many rooms. While wandering about, I could see that one room off to the side had a large crowd gathered, so I walked in. At the front of the room, an M/M scene was going on (no, that is not the part that upset me). A man was shackled naked to a St. Andrew's cross, and another man was behind him, throwing full-arm whip strokes at him. The man being beaten looked like something you'd see hanging in a slaughterhouse; all I saw was blood.

My reaction was instant -- I screamed, clapped my hands over my mouth and ran from the room. John, who had been behind me, stayed in there and apologized for me. Apparently, people were really pissed off and offended. But I couldn't help it.

So, from then on, the rule at this party with John and a couple of our friends was: "Scope out the rooms first and make sure they're safe for Erica." How embarrassing. The next time we were there, there was a heavy-duty piercing scene happening in one of the downstairs rooms, so I was kept upstairs for most of the evening, and told that if I went downstairs, I should NOT open the closed door that was just off the lobby area.

I did go downstairs later in the evening; I don't remember why. I did stay away from the closed door. But then, the door opened, and a man walked out. He had nothing on but a thong, and his entire torso was awash with blood. I looked over at him, and I must have gone as white as a sheet. I froze to the spot, my hands over my mouth. The man then came over to me. "Are you all right?" Oh, my god. I frantically shook my head, backed away and sat down heavily in a chair. He then came closer and said, "Would you like some water?" Aaaaaggggh! Finally, fighting my gag reflex, I blurted, "No... no thank you... just, please, go away!" He backed off. I know he was trying to be nice. He honestly had no clue how much the sight of him was upsetting me.

Fortunately for me, there is little risk of seeing anything close to this at a spanking party. On a rare occasion, I've seen bottoms with broken skin. When that happens, I need to go elsewhere. The last time I saw it, it was someone I really like, and I was nearly in tears. She, of course, was perfectly fine and happy as could be. I had to keep reminding myself, "She wants it, she wants it, she wants it."

FetLife can also be a minefield for someone like me. Pictures will come across my "feed" and I will fervently wish that I could unsee them. The people who post them are proud of them, and I get that. I'm proud of my photos too. Still, my inner squeamish self is disturbed. Recently, I saw a pic of a woman's bottom that had been beaten with a meat tenderizer hammer. Blood everywhere. Was it consensual? Yup. I don't get to say a word, and I wouldn't. I don't comment on these photos; I know I don't have the right. But they do upset me, purely because of the extent of the skin damage and gore.

Just about a week or so ago, a friend "loved" a photo on Fet and the thumbnail of it looked intriguing. It seemed to be some sort of colorful artwork, a mosaic or something like that. So I clicked on it.

Turned out it was a very artistic piercing, with dozens of syringes that had multi-colored heads on them, creating a pretty design. On the flesh of a woman's back.

Need I mention that I'm scared of needles and sharp objects too? When I was small, blood tests with a finger stick made me scream and cry. But when I had my first blood draw from a vein in my arm, I fainted. Literally passed out cold.

So, when I saw this photo, a part of me could appreciate the intricate artiness of it. However, my stomach still roiled and nausea rose, and my mind screamed "Nononotakeitawaytakeitawaymakeitstop!!!"

Ugh. Like I said, it's not easy being a big squeamish baby in the world of kink.

Sometimes I wish photos came with a warning, like NSFW (Not Safe For Work). In other words, don't look at this when you're on your work computer. Only for me, it would be "Not Safe For Erica." 

Please bear with me, kids. It's not about judgment, it's about my own fears and extreme squeamishness. I don't like being this way, but it's lifelong and I doubt it's going away. So I live with it as best I can. You can tease me about it, it's OK. But please don't get mad at me, because I don't mean it, and it's me, not you. :-)

Do I have any fellow fraidy-cats with weak guts?