Buh-BYE, Blogger

* * *I HAVE MOVED!* * *

Listen up, kids. I'm sure you all know by now that Blogger has waged war on "adult" blogs, and will no longer allow nudity or sexual photos after March 23, 2015. If your blog contains any such photos, it will be designated as "private." In other words, it won't be deleted, but it might as well be, because the public will no longer be able to access it.

I decided, for the time being, anyway, to migrate over to Wordpress. I know they aren't perfect either, and who knows, maybe they'll adopt the same censorship. But I'll deal with that as it happens. I don't wish to buy and maintain my own domain for now, especially since my blog generates no income and I don't want to have to pay for it.

I found, via a spanking book group on Facebook, a woman who provides all sorts of online services, including moving blogs for people. You can read about about Lisa Pietsch's services HERE. (Scroll down and look for Blog Mover.) She took care of this for me today, answered all my questions, did some tweaks I requested, and charged me $25! Such a deal! And she was very nice. So if you're like me and don't know squat about blog migration and don't want to deal with the aggravation, I heartily recommend her.

Now, without any further ado so I can get the fuck off this Puritanical site, here is my new blog address:

https://ericalscott.wordpress.com/

Please update your blog rolls with this address, and help me spread the word!

Fun weekend

On Saturday, John and I went to a belated surprise birthday party for Paul Kennedy. His birthday was in January, but he was in the UK at the time. So several of us convened at Alex and Paul's house around 7:00; he had taken off, as he was told that Alex was doing a session until 8:00. When he came home, he was thoroughly surprised! One of Alex's friends had made a large casserole dish of homemade mac and cheese, we had a table laden with snacks and a beautiful birthday cake decorated with strawberries.

For the first portion of the party, we had to be very well behaved because one couple was completely vanilla and had no idea about any of our proclivities. (There were a few other non-spankos in attendance, but they were all kink-friendly.) When they left, Alex blurted, "OK, we can be dirty now!" and we let our hair down. It's not a party until you see Sarah Gregory's boobs, so they made an appearance.

Oh, and because Paul couldn't take his own birthday spankings, of course, he doled them out to several of us. :-)

For a b-day present, I went to a cute little place near me called "Oh Fancy That!" It specializes in British foods and gifts, so I made him up a treat bag filled with all kinds of snacks (crisps, Hobnobs, a Cadbury bar, and yes, spotted dick). I even put in a can of Bass Shandy Ale.

A great time was had by all, and it was a perfect warm-up for 50 Freaks this coming weekend. Speaking of which, the stress begins. I've got a ton of stuff to do and not enough time to do it, and yet I find myself sitting here paralyzed, spinning my wheels instead of getting off my butt and hopping to it. Also, I have been working on a collection of five books, and I finished the third one on Friday, thinking I'd get #4 over the weekend and work on it last night. But I haven't gotten it yet; it's not ready for me. So now it's going to be a crunch, even though I did my damndest to keep it from being one. And I probably won't be able to get #5 done before I go after all. :-(

And why is it that the little unexpected time-consumers crop up when you're already under the gun? The clasp broke on my favorite necklace last night. So I'm adding jewelry repair to the list of errands.

Yeah, I know, First-world problems. I stress, therefore I am. I even misplaced my car keys yesterday while we were at brunch, and damn near had a panic attack until John saved the day and found them wedged between my car seats.

Enough. As long as I'm waiting for work, I'd better make the most of my time. Hope everyone had a good weekend.

Ohhhhhhkay, fine

Ya know, on Wednesday, knowing I didn't have a session to blog about and that I was going to be busy for while, I tried to post something that might generate some interesting and thoughtful conversation. And it fell flatter than a deflated football. Fine! Whatever. I give up. Screw being cerebral. I have a ton of work to do and a fun weekend ahead, so I'm not going to give this post any thought. You want a picture? All right, here's a picture. Happy No Pants Friday!

And do you notice that deplorable white condition of my behind? Not for long, kiddies. This time next week, I should be matching these panties and beyond. Vegas, baby! 

Wait... not enough pictures? Okie-dokie. Happy No Clothes Friday.

Short and sweet, back to work for me. Hey, given the cursed popularity of You Know What, should I change my Friday signature line to "Laters, y'all"?

No? All right, all right. Have a great weekend, y'all. ;-)

Some hump-day blathering

Sorry, no Steve scene this week. The poor dear called me yesterday with a barely recognizable voice. He insists I did not give him my cold, because he came down with it a week after he'd seen me... I hope he's right. Actually, his is worse, because he has a throat infection and his doc had to give him a Z-Pak.

As it happens, the found time was welcome. I find myself scrambling right now, as I'm trying to get work and other things squared away for the next week until John and I head out to Vegas next Thursday, for four days of spanko camaraderie, debauchery and revelry. I am attempting to get a series of five short books proofread in this time, as well as prepping and doing all the last-minute stuff one needs to do before abandoning all for a few days. Times like this, I wish I had a Surface Pro or something like that, so I could bring my work with me and do some of it in my downtime. But so far, I haven't made that happen.

Something occurred to me yesterday and has been percolating in my brain ever since, regarding This Thing We Do, the scene overall and the state of it these days. I've been watching the endless and ubiquitous FSOG debates rage on and on (and granted, I've done my share of contributing to them). I've seen the outcry, the protests, the defenses, the dichotomy of crappy reviews and box-office records broken (re. the movie), the spoofs, the backlashes, on and on and on. Someone made a good point on Twitter yesterday: Fourteen years ago, Secretary didn't get this much insanity. Oh, there was a lot of talk, but I don't recall anything like what's been going on with FSOG. Is it because Secretary was a better movie -- or because social media and its ever-increasing ripples outward is so much more advanced now than it was in 2001? Why are people harping and haranguing, for example, about Christian Grey's non-consensual behavior with Ana, but there wasn't nearly as much squawking when E. Edward Grey quite non-consensually put Lee over his desk and spanked her? Are we much more uptight as a culture now, since everything we do is open for scrutiny?

I don't know the answers, and I don't want to get into that debate here, because that isn't my point. This is my point: There is so much arguing out there now -- not just with FSOG, but all sorts of scene issues. Consent. BDSM vs. spanking. Inclusivity vs. exclusivity. Sexual orientation. Etiquette and protocol. Looks, age, bodies. These issues always existed, but now, with Twitter and FetLife (and even Facebook) and the instantaneous nature of social media, they are discussed far more openly, and many times, more combatively.

When I see this, I can't help thinking, "Damn. I'm so glad I'm not new to this."

How sad, really. I know I bitch a lot about my age, but as I tweeted yesterday, there's something to be said about being older in this scene. I no longer have to worry as much about what people think (although a part of me still does and always will), and my fear of predators and outing and falling in with the wrong people and all the other shit that newbies face as they're navigating is much lower than it would be if I were just stumbling into this. 

This is not to say that the kink scene is a bad place now. There is still so much joy and fulfillment and kinship to be found. It's just that you have to wade through so much more BS to get to it, it seems. I see it and/or hear about it every day. 

As much as I think ageing blows, I have to admit I feel pretty lucky these days, scene-wise. I have no children, no family to worry about. I am self-employed, so I don't have to worry about Big Brother Bosses. I am in a long-term relationship, so I don't have to sail the treacherous waters of dating in a rape culture era, I don't have to fret about who didn't call or didn't text or didn't email, if my older butt isn't sexy enough, if I'll have to attend kink functions alone, blah blah blah. I don't openly broadcast who I am everywhere because I don't wish to out those close to me by association, but as far as I am concerned, I couldn't care less who knows. 

When I see the climate of fear and paranoia out there, the confusion over who to trust, the terrible repercussions of outing, I realize I'm in about the best place I could be right now, and I don't take it for granted. 

When I observe all the arguing and debates and uptightness and political correctness and so forth, I realize I've been in this long enough to know my own mind, what I like and what I don't, and what works for me, and I don't have to look outside myself for validation that I'm on a good path. This makes me feel a rare peace today.

I still admire all the younger folks who got into this early, who will experience everything in their youth that I scrambled to achieve later in life. I envy those who never knew a world without Internet, who didn't have to keep their desires and questions and fantasies in the dark recesses of their minds. But for now, I think I'm in a damn good place, or at least the best place I can be, at this time, in this scene of ours.

Of course, this doesn't mean I won't feel completely different once again next week or tomorrow or next month. I mean, just a couple of weeks ago, I was in a tizzy about scene evolution. So I will acknowledge the good feelings now, and enjoy them.

Any thoughts, y'all? For people who have been around TTWD for a while, have you noticed the changes?

Valentine weekend

John and I had a lovely weekend. Quiet, nothing fancy, just the two of us, dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, chocolate, sweet cards. My favorite moment of the weekend? When I pulled into his garage on Friday. John has a two-car garage, and there is a lot of stuff piled up in there (it is a garage, after all), so in order to help guide me into my spot and let me know when to stop the car, he hung a brightly colored tennis ball on a string. I know exactly where the ball is supposed to tap on my windshield when I drive in.

Anyway, on Friday, this is what I saw instead of the tennis ball:

He'd saved an old candy box from last year and hung it there. That's my John.

I wore John's favorite red dress on Saturday night. Didn't take any pictures of it, but you might remember I wore it a couple of years ago and took pictures then:

We went after dinner to our favorite café in hopes of getting our traditional German chocolate cake, but they were out. Booo! They did, however, have a German chocolate cupcake, complete with Valentine decoration.

Back at home we exchanged cards, and John had written in his to me:

You are my best, my favorite, my joy.

I love you too. ♥

And of course, this weekend was the opening of That Movie. So John and I spent a fair amount reading copious quantities of reviews and discussing the pros and cons. Here's my overall take, and I think (I hope) I'm done talking about the damn thing:

• The reviews, whether good, bad or in between, appeared to agree on two points: 1. the books were terrible, and 2. the movie improved on the books. However, considering just how badly written the books were, the movie had a very low bar to rise above.
• Apparently, the movie did away with Anastasia's insipid monologues rambling to her Inner Goddess. This is huge, since that nonsense was about a third of the book.
• Sounds like they made Ana a bit stronger and feistier than her book counterpart. Also good. But still, not enough.
• According to the reviews, the sex and kink is greatly toned down from the book, because they had to keep it to an R rating. And the kink is more suggested than shown, although I guess they keep a belt spanking (for which Dakota Johnson used a body double, FYI). I'm sure Chross will have this available for us as soon as possible.
• The movie took in over $81 million at the box office this weekend. I suspect the audience was divided into two general camps: The Missionary Mommies giggling and squirming their way through it, and the kinksters who wanted to laugh at it. Several friends on FetLife said they went to see it just for fun.
• Let's recap: the conservatives hate it because it's sinful; the feminists hate it because it's demeaning to women; the PC folks hate it because it "glorifies abuse"; and the BDSMers hate it because it represents what we do with a bunch of clichés and misinformation. And yet, look how many people flocked to see it. I give up.

In short, for the sake of cultural literacy, I will probably watch the thing on Netflix eventually. But pay for it in the theater? No way.

I'm still coughing and sniffling. Worst cold ever. But slowly feeling better, and at least I'm sleeping through the night now without waking up coughing my spleen out. Should be quite fine for my belated Valentine's Day spanking tomorrow. :-)

Final thought: Did anyone else watch the Saturday Night Live 40-Year special last night? I did, all 3 1/2 hours of it. As a baby boomer, I have watched the show in real time since its inception. What did you guys think of it? I had my opinions (no surprise there), but I think I'll withhold them until I hear from others.

Forget flowers, forget jewelry...

... because on Valentine's Day, nothing says "I Love You" quite like...

That's right. An Edible Anus.

Go ahead, click and read. This is not a joke; it's real. These are chocolates that are produced from a mold cast from a real you-know-what. And for $38.95, you can enjoy five boxes of these beauties, three per box. Milk, dark, and even white chocolate, for those who have that weird bleached-anus fetish.

Forget heart-shaped chocolates! What better way to express your passion than to say, "Here, honey, wrap your lips around these!" Mmm, mmm.

But wait, there's more. For those who don't care for chocolate, or who would prefer to keep their assholes in perpetuity, you can shell out $285 to get that little winker in solid bronze. Or, for $420, you can get it in silver or glass. I particularly like the fine print on the glass page:

Colors vary, so if you are particular about the shade of anus you require, please contact us for a picture of the currently available colors.

Now that's what I call customer service.

But guess what? The chocolates completely sold out as of a few days ago. So, sadly, you'll have to wait until next year to surprise your sweetie.

But if you're extra ambitious, rich, and borderline psychopathic, you can arrange to have a custom cast of your very own rear orifice made in bronze for $1900. 

Remember, kids (this appears at the, er, bottom of the site):

"Symbolic as well as scrumptious, the Edible Anus tackles this ancient taboo in an easily digestible way. Join the uprising, spread the joy, and let's teach the world to love themselves and their anus."

That's not all they're spreading.

But seriously -- Happy happy heart day to all my readers. ♥

Happy birthday, Steve

Well, it was actually last Sunday. But we got to have our celebration yesterday.

I warned him in advance that I'd had a cold and I wasn't sure if I was still contagious or not, giving him the opportunity to pass until next week. But he said no way, we're on. At least I can say I tried to be considerate, right? ;-)

No exotic adventures yesterday; I baked him some brownies (from scratch) and got a card, and asked what he'd like to do. He surprised me; his desire, along with our usual spanking play, was to mess around with his camera a bit and take some artsy shots. (Artsy? Read: naked.) So after a nice long warm-up OTK (side note: ever notice that spanking hurts more when you're sick? I did), I stripped and we played a bit with angles and lights and positions. After he left, I took some of the ones I liked and fiddled with them a bit further in my photo-editing software, playing with the special effects. 

I kinda like this one:

And this one, once cropped, turned out to be a good "post-facelift" shot:

I posted the uncropped version on FetLife, and the cropped version on Facebook. Because multi-tasking. 

Never fear, there was plenty of play. Oh, and did you know that playing with a cold makes your sinuses really come alive? Hence my clutching tissues through the entire scene, as witnessed here in my left hand:

So very attractive. Snot is not hot. But I guess he wasn't looking at my nose anyway.

Hope you had a very happy birthday, my wonderful top. ♥

Anyway, it's Wednesday and I have not worked out for a week. I'm going to attempt a little bit of exercise today and keep my fingers crossed that I don't cough up a lung. Wish me luck.

Well, this blows

John and I both got sick again.

Last weekend, he was just coming down with something again, a mere month after recovering from the last cold. That's par for John, since his immune system is pretty much shot these days. But what's my excuse? Last Thursday, I felt a little congested, but it didn't stop me from meeting Alex for lunch and chatting for a whopping 5 1/2 hours, although I was a bit hoarse by the end. (I made sure I didn't come in any contact with her, just in case.) By this weekend, it was hitting me harder, and John's was on the wane but he was still coughing his lungs out, so the two of us were quite the pair, hacking and sniffling at each other. And last night, I ran a temperature and felt like I was gonna die.

I have tried all the OTC cold remedies, and nothing seems to work for me except two things. One is nasal spray, but I only use that when I'm desperate, because you can only use that stuff for three days. After that, you can have some sort of rebound effect with your sinuses actually getting worse. The other is Nyquil -- I buy the CVS cheapo version. Not only do I save a buck or two, but while Nyquil is 8% alcohol, the generic version is 10%. Knocks me right out.

I used both of them last night.

This morning, I felt all this weird pain in my back and chest muscles, like I'd done an intense upper body workout. Then it dawned on me, it's because of all the coughing. Lovely. However, I think it peaked last night and the worst is over.

No gym for me today, obviously. 

Yesterday was Steve's birthday, and tomorrow he is due over for a belated celebration. Not sure how much I'll be up for, but I still want to see him. I need to take his birthday spanking, after all.

Enough with this already. John and I have a lot to get well for. Next weekend is Valentine's Day. And the two weekends after that, we have really fun plans. So OK, cold germs, knock yourselves out. And then go the @#$% away!

Speaking of Valentine's Day, my roses arrived this morning. As he is wont to do, John sent them early so I could enjoy them all week. ♥  He is full of surprises sometimes. He's such an engineer, so logically minded, but he has a romantic side to him. I'm especially grateful for this after I read stuff like what I saw on Facebook last week, from a man who claims that any woman who expects or accepts expensive diamond jewelry on Valentine's Day is a "self-seeking [c-word]," and any man who gives it is a douchebag and a doormat. Wow. Bitter, party of one, your table is ready! 

Final note for the day: Just got email from Sephora, inviting me to their Fifty Shades of Grey event. "Explore the Limited Edition Collection inspired by the movie Fifty Shades of Grey and learn how to recreate the looks at our exclusive events." And what looks would those be? Holy Crap Hot? The Red Blush of Pain? Or perhaps, for the more advanced, the FFFF?

(yes, kids, that would be the Freshly Fucked & Figged Face.)

Don't spew on your monitor. Have a nice afternoon!

More top logic

In other words, utter BS. :-)

That little road trip we took last week to the beach? You know, the one that was his idea, the one he surprised me with, the one for which he rearranged everything in the back of his SUV? Apparently, now he's decided that we could have been arrested for that, and I need to be held accountable. 

Is he @#$%ing kidding me?

No, it seems he wasn't.

We haven't been doing many videos lately. Steve's new camera is extremely motion-sensitive, and whenever we simply set it up on a nearby surface, the videos come out shaky and they blur in and out. This is solved when he brings a tripod, but he doesn't always remember to do so. Yesterday was one of those times.

However, because I really do like what we shot, I decided to post it here anyway. I apologize beforehand for the not-so-hot quality of it, but if you can look past that, I think you'll enjoy it. I know we did. :-)



In other news, I'm on my way to the dentist to have a filling replaced. Oh, joy. Last time I was there, he explained that it was breaking down, that it wasn't a big problem, that "sometimes these things just pass their expiration dates." I then piped up brightly with, "Kind of like me!" Caught unaware, he burst out laughing, then quickly stopped himself, probably thinking he shouldn't laugh at that. But no matter; now that I've knocked about 15 years off my face, I've re-extended my expiration date anyway. :-D

Happy hump day.

The FSOG stupidity continues, and continues, and continues

Well now. As we approach the February 14 release of the Fifty Shades of Grey movie, the stupid is in full force. I honestly don't know how I'm going to survive this, folks. I'm already foaming at the mouth. (And thank you for ruining Valentine's Day, Universal Pictures.)

Never mind that the press is playing it up to death and silly, misguided women are wetting themselves in anticipation. Never mind that Jamie Dornan has publicly admitted that he had to "take a long shower before he would touch his wife and baby" after he came home from a BDSM dungeon, where he went for role research. Never mind that the effing thing will make another several gazillion dollars for E.L. Jackass and her godawful Wikipedia version of kink. So, so many reasons to be pissed off. But many more are coming.

Here are a couple just to get us warmed up. The New York Times published this article about how the sex-toy manufacturers are gearing up for a huge spike in sales after the movie comes out. Oh, swell. Thousands of wannabes flocking in, buying things they have no idea how to use. Look out, emergency rooms! I predict people will be visiting you in droves as well. In case you don't bother to read the entire article, here's possibly the most important and telling sentence of the whole thing -- the quote from Susan Colvin, president and chief executive of California Exotic Novelties: "A lot of the ways they describe the toys and the products in the book, E.L. James didn't get quite right." Gee, ya think?

But wait. Just to remind us that we're all a bunch of filthy sinners, we have this uber-judgmental little blog about why erotica is bad and we should fill ourselves with Jesus instead of dildos. Don't want to read the whole thing? I don't blame you. Here's a snippet:

How many buy into the lie—fleetingly or permanently—that pre-marital sex is better than God’s good gift of celibacy? How many tell themselves that bondage sex, violent sex, is a better expression of true love than the faithful, mutual self-giving that the Bible expounds?

I am about to lose my temper, and then my breakfast. Not sure in which order.

We struggle and struggle to gain a foothold in society, to be accepted at least on some level, to be known as real people (not cardboard cut-out fantasy book characters), and crap like this sets us back to the Dark Ages.

(sigh) Well, in order to keep my sanity through this, I must remember that not everyone out there is a mindless sheep. I found this razor-sharp indictment of the book from The New Republic, written last May by William Giraldi. Have no idea who this guy is, but I like him a whole lot.

OK. Rant over, for now.

EDIT: Earlier this morning, I posted this comment on the preachy article: "I haven't read anything this stupid since, well, Fifty Shades of Grey." Now I see the comment has been deleted. What a dick.

Evolution

No, this isn't going to be a discussion about Darwin vs. creationism.

Recently on the often-mentioned and the often-inflammatory FetLife, there was a discussion about how we, as individuals in the spanking community/scene/whatever you want to call it, have evolved. How have our tastes changed? Have our preferences broadened? Do we stick to spanking "purism" (more traditional OTK, traditional implements like hairbrushes, spanking on the bottom only), or have we branched out to include more BDSM-esque elements? Since life is always in a state of flux and change, should our kinks not be also?

I know the original poster well, and love him dearly. I know he didn't mean to imply what some others, including me, inferred: That if one has preferences that don't change and expand, then one is "unevolved."

The thread blew up into a flame war, because a couple of people took exception and got very defensive. Me, I stayed out of it for a long time, because I was feeling a little hurt and my mood was oversensitive anyway, so I knew I shouldn't post in that mind frame. But it did get me thinking about where I've been in the past nearly 19 years, and where I am now. 

After the furor had died down, I did post to that thread. Here is what I wrote:

Well...

I entered the scene in 1996 as an M/F bottom. Nearly 19 years later, I'm still an M/F bottom. 

I accept all orientations, but only one floats my personal boat.

I never saw anything wrong with the term "spanko purist." But I guess I'll stop using it. People don't seem to like it.

I'd still rather go to a spanking party than a dungeon. I have been to the latter many times, been to BDSM parties, experienced pretty much every type of implement known to scenehood, but my favorite is still old-fashioned OTK.

I like the occasional thigh turkey. I enjoy a good overall back/bottom/legs flogging. But overall,I prefer all the impact to be on my bottom/uppermost upper thighs.

I still see the BDSM and spanking communities as separate entities. Not better, not worse, not superior/inferior, but definitely different.

I guess I am unevolved. :-(

So there it is. Yes, I've experienced kink from all across the spectrum over the years. I've played with all types of partners (although admittedly, they've always been male). My orientation hasn't changed one iota. I still think that "spankos" are a separate entity in the overall scheme of kinky play.

Am I unevolved? Narrow-minded? Or is it simply that I've been around this stuff for a long time, have experimented, and now know what I like, what works for me, and what doesn't?

After some of the flaming happened, the original poster amended "evolve" to "change." That's much better, I think. But still, the question remained. Are we expected to change and expand, as we progress in our scene experience? Or is it OK to like what you like and stick with it? I don't want to be left behind in a scene that I love, but I want to remain true to my desires as well. 

I realize that my readers span the range of newbies to veterans. And when you're new, everything is open for experimentation. But for those who have been doing this for a while, did your preferences change? Did you find yourselves doing things that you had originally said you'd never do? Did you find yourselves liking things you didn't used to like? Did you ever do things you didn't want to, because you thought you should experience them?

It's all part of my questioning my place in the scene these days, and where I want to go from here. Who I am, and why. About finding the balance between openness to the new and being true to one's established self.

Please understand one thing: this is not about judging other preferences. This is not, not, NOT about saying what's right and what's wrong with the spanking scene, so please don't go there. This is about self-discovery and our own personal journeys.

I definitely changed my tune in one huge area: My very first spanking ad, the one from which I met John, read: "No implements, just a firm hand." HAH! OK, so I guess I evolved there. ;-)

Seriously, though... I don't want to think of it as evolving. Because there is an inherent judgment in that. My mother used to say something along the lines of how if you don't keep growing, you stagnate. But I think there's something in between that. I think there is a place of comfortable stasis.

What do you guys think? How have your tastes/orientations/preferences changed over your time being involved with spanking?

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Surf's up, panties down

We had an amazing adventure yesterday. On Monday, it rained a little, not much more than a drizzle, but combined with the winds we've had, it cleared out all the haze and gunk and left bright blue skies with puffy white clouds, and temps around 70. Just before Steve was due, he called and said, "I'd like you to go get your crop, one of your small wooden paddles, and a toy of your choice. I'll call you when I'm out front; I'm taking you on a little field trip today."

Field trip? This should be interesting, I thought. I put the required implements in a bag and put on some shoes and sunscreen. (Oh, and the toy of my choice was my Cane-iac OTK strap. I love that thing.)

He picked me up in his behemoth SUV (he needs it for his work, although it is anathema to the environmentalists, cough cough John cough), and I noticed that he'd blocked off everything behind the front seats with sun shades. "Wait until you see what I did back there," he grinned. We drove through Topanga Canyon until it ended at Pacific Coast Highway, and there it was -- the beach. Normally, I'm not a beach person. I can't stand all the sand and the trash and the crowds and the screaming kids. But today, in January, it was deserted, save for a couple of surfers. The sand was pristine, the water sparkled in the sun. It was gorgeous.

We parked by the railing, right off the highway. When we got out, Steve told me to walk around the sides and back and look in the windows. Did I see anything? Nada. The windows were tinted, and no one could see in. Perfect. He told me to hang out a bit while he prepared the back, so I watched the sea and the birds.

Seagulls are fearless, just like pigeons. Or maybe they're just oblivious and stupid. These guys couldn't care less that I walked right up and stood next to them.

Anyway, enough of the nature show. Steve called me over and opened up the back. WOW. He'd folded down the rear seats, put in a thin mattress and covered it with a sheet, and piled up the area with pillows. We had our own little spanking haven, right there on the beach. 

Eagerly we climbed in, got situated, and the play commenced. It was remarkably comfortable (well, as comfortable as it could be, considering he was hitting me with several objects), and it was such a kick, knowing we could see out, but no one could have a clue what was going on within. Unfortunately, it did get very warm and stuffy back there in short order, so Steve cracked the hatchback window a couple of inches, propping it open with a water bottle. Still not enough for anyone to see in, but just enough to let the cool sea air slip in.

We could hear the traffic rushing by on PCH, and it was such a high, knowing we were playing publicly and yet completely invisible. OK, so maybe we made a bit (!) of noise, but there weren't people around the vehicle, just birds.

Steve took a lot of photos, playing with the sunlight and the angles.

And of course, because I got warm and sweaty and we were in risqué mode anyway, my clothes had to come off.

You have to understand, I've led a sheltered life. I didn't fool around or play or spank or anything else in the back of vans when I was young. When John and I first met and he had his Jeep, he spanked me on the bench seat up front. But I'd never been treated to an elaborate vehicle setup like this. I felt like I was back in the high school experience that never was. It was exhilarating, and so damn much fun.

So after the spanking and copious photo snapping were finished, I scrambled back into my clothes and we headed back, snickering and beaming like a couple of kids.

This was just what I needed -- a fun adventure, something different, a couple of hours away from everything. I was on top of the world when he dropped me back home around 2:30. It did take a while to settle down and do some work, because I was so keyed up, but eventually I did.

Thank you, Your Toppiness! :-D  No, I'm never going to become an outdoors person. You're not going to get me on any of your camping/hiking trips. But hey, sunlight touched me and didn't turn my sorry indoor ass to dust. Miracles do happen. 

(And yes, I know it's thoroughly obnoxious of me to flaunt our SoCal weather when a whole lot of the rest of the country is buried in snow. You know what? Suck it up. Most of the time, it's a pain in the butt here -- no seasons, excessive heat, fires, earthquakes, crowds, traffic, high prices. There has to be some balance on occasion.) ;-)

Breathless -- a parody

Last week while in session with Steve, I found myself once or twice struggling to catch my breath, because I was feeling things so intensely. As I consciously regulated my breathing, my head was suddenly filled with the voice of Jerry Lee Lewis, hissing "Brrreathlesssssssss....ahhh." Of course, a parody was conceived at that moment.

You know, I think I get why my song parodies don't usually get much reaction. My songs are too damned old! With at least half the stuff I parody, people haven't heard of the freaking originals! (sigh) I mean, I personally think that one of my more brilliant efforts was "Tops Without Pity," but really, who else remembers Gene Pitney's "Town Without Pity" from 1961? Or Elvis Presley's "Kiss Me Quick," from which I got "Spank Me Quick"? What can I say, I'm an oldie and I love oldies! 

I know, I know... I should try doing parodies of something more current. But nothing quite strikes me. Oh, I'll get the inspiration for a line or two. For example, Meghan Trainor's oh-so-overplayed "All About the Bass" got me thinking of writing a ditty about a person who doesn't like heavy scenes. I got as far as:

I'm all about the red,
'Bout the red,
No purple!

I'm all about the marks,
'Bout the marks,
No bleeding!

But after that, I ran dry.

I suppose Pharrell Williams's "Happy" cries out for a parody called "Slappy." But I can't come up with that either. My brain doesn't seem to want to work with newer material. Oh well.

So anyway... here is Jerry Lee Lewis's 1958 original version of "Breathless." If nothing else, it's a cool little piece of vintage rock and roll, and you can enjoy The Killer pounding the bejesus out of the piano. And then following is my rendition. :-)

Now if you’re toppy, then

Please don’t tease

Why don’cha scold me, put me

O’er your knees!

My legs thrash ‘round and ‘round

My pants come tumblin’ down

You spank me, breathless… ah.

Oh, I’m red all over

And you know why

I’m sure it hurts, honey, that’s no lie

‘Cause when you smack my ass

I burn like dried-up grass

You spank me, breathless… ah.

Ooh, baby! Mmmm! Stingy!

My mouth’s too much

I can’t sass you enough

So it’s all right, to show your might

And when you spank me

Spank me riiiiiiiiight!

Now come on, make me

All black and blue

‘Cause spanking’s meant for me and you

Hand, crop, brush or strap

I’m gonna be on top of your lap

You have spanked me, breathless… ah!

Ooh, baby! Mmmm! Stingy!

My mouth’s too much

I can’t sass you enough

So it’s all right, to show your might

And when you spank me

Spank me riiiiiiiiight!

Well, come on, baby

Now don’t be shy

Just let me have it till I moan and sigh!

Whack, crack, snap and sting

I’m gonna love the pain that you bring

You spank me... ahhhhhhhh... Breathless!

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 1/23

This is my first CHoS of 2015, yes? Many thanks to Jade for putting the above photo on my Facebook page. I found it quite suitable. :-)

I like to spank you and enjoy giving you painful pleasure before I die

So, am I on your bucket list? Just how old are you, anyway? And really, how do you know you like and enjoy it when you've never even met me? My condolences to your imminent demise, by the way.

I want my dick to live inside your pussy almost 24/7

Pardon me if I don't thrill to the idea of that. My kitty is finicky and doesn't want just any dumbass dick residing in it. Please tell me you'll at least take it out when you have to relieve yourself. 

Fix me up with a Christian gal who likes spanking
and if we get married I will pay you 500 dollars

This is certainly a new one. So I'm a Christian marriage broker now?? And if I were, honey, I'd charge you a whole hell of a lot more than $500. Why don't you try talking to your pastor? I've heard those collared dudes can be pretty kinky. Oh, and what's with this "gal" business? Are you the ghost of John Wayne?

And finally -- don't we all just love these? Once again, the illiterate form letter.

hello my dear i saw your profile and i love also the picture is wonderful. what i am looking for in my all-in-one-girl is a lover, best friend, my ..... you must be sexy, hot dressed in heels/boots, skirts, communicativ, tender,lovely, understanding, inteligent, faithful, ... and a sort of submissive and obdient. :-) i am a good man/dom and it could be your and my dream to go forward and make fantasies come true.i am looking for a LTR with BDSM and LOVE. i really will admire her for the devotion and will take good care, protect and support her. be sure, i don't care any distance, because when we got the connection, we will see where the way goes and leads us. i am single and i would give it a try and see where our ways goes. 

(groan) I don't know where your ways goes, but the ways of this message goes right into the cyber Dumpster.

Isn't it ironic that he misspells "intelligent"? And I'm not sure what "obdient" is, but if it's anything like "obedient," you've got the wrong woman, Skippy.

In other news -- you'll all be happy to know that I had my eyes checked yesterday and they are perfectly healthy. I do need to upgrade my glasses prescription, but otherwise, all is well and my profession will live to see another year. So, go ahead and keep masturbating, whenever the mood strikes. It really doesn't make you go blind. ;-)

Have a great weekend, y'all.

What a load of crop

Load of crop -- see what I did there?

These damn pictures never, ever do the redness justice. Oh well.

Today was way overdue. Today was about reconnecting, about reawakening flesh and feelings that had been dulled with sadness. Today, I wanted to feel biting sting.

And what better for that than the riding crop?

After a long, very intense hand spanking, we commenced to the crop. He had selected a couple of other implements as well, but we both quickly came to realize that the crop was IT today. 

Once he got his rhythm, he was giving me hard slap-slap-slap flurries on one cheek at a time. He thoroughly covered the right cheek... then paused. I couldn't help myself -- I blurted, "MORE!!"

"Hey," he said teasingly, giving me one little snap, "who's in charge here?"

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaase?" I wheedled. He was kind and gave the left cheek the same treatment.

(I just realized how utterly perverse that is, saying that his beating each cheek equally was "kind.")

It's been such a crappy few weeks, but I think (I hope?) things are swinging back the other way just a little. For one thing, John's custom-made oral appliance for the sleep apnea, the one he finally got last Friday? IT WORKS! He can sleep. He can breathe while he sleeps. He doesn't snore, snort or gasp. And for the first time in I can't remember how long, we slept in the same bed last weekend.

So this is very, very good. And... unless they reschedule, his heart surgery will be happening on March 24. Two months from now, which will go by in -- pardon me -- a heartbeat. S**t's gettin' real, as the kids say.

I wept in Steve's arms today, long before we started anything. I needed to. But before we were through, my smile had come back. I'd lost it for a while.

Yes, I have post-play hair. :-) So no, this is not my official "after picture." But I will take some soon.

I was feeling so godawful depressed, I even deactivated my FetLife profile this week. Didn't delete, just put it on hold. It's a weird thing, but when I was on there lately, surrounded by kinksters and with nearly 1200 "friends," I felt so alone. So I thought it was time for a break. I'll probably go back soon, but I don't miss the drama and trauma. And I certainly don't miss hearing about parties I can't attend. (sigh) John says someday, after he's recovered, he gets some expenses paid off and has gotten a couple more raises, we'll travel more, fly to those elusive parties that always seem to be anywhere but here. But for now... at least I got my itch scratched today. Or cropped, as the case may be.

It's gym time.

Fantasy vs. reality

OK, we all love fantasy. Even pragmatically minded pedants like me enjoy a bit of it now and then. After all, everything we read and watch is some sort of fantasy (unless it's non-fiction). TV shows from the 1950s presented a fantasy of a perfect family. Romance novels depict attractive people in relationships that always end up happily ever after (as do children's fairy tales). And spanking stories/videos are about fantasy as well, which is why they're so popular. Right?

Oh, but... Speaking as a spanko bottom female, I gotta tell you, some of these ideals are tough to live up to. I've read a whole lot of stories over the years, and I've gleaned a general pattern that many seem to follow. Granted, I eat them up as much as the next person, but sometimes, I have to take a step back and giggle. Because that bar is set awfully high.

According to the M/F spanking story paradigm, here are some general givens:

1. Spanko bottom women always look like this. OK, the hair color varies, but you get the idea. (Took this from Bad Girls Need Good Spanking.)

2. Spanko bottom women are always submissive at heart. Oh, we may start out feisty and combative, but we have this deep-seated need to have a man put us in our place, keep us in line, and make us belong to them. 

3. SBW are always multi-orgasmic, right from the start. Oh, and if you are taking a virgin? It's OK. Maybe she'll have about two seconds of pain, but she'll be so turned on by your masterful behavior, it'll be good for her immediately. 

4. Likewise, SBW are highly proficient at oral, instinctively. It's our submissive natures and desire to please, don'cha know. And we always swallow.

5. SBW will take anything from your huge member to a massive plug up their butts willingly and easily. No lube? No problem! Just use our natural juices. Because, of course, we're always in a state of gushing wetness. We'll always love it, too.

6. SBW can take any kind of spanking, any kind of implement, anytime. We're never tired. We're never sore. We never use a safeword. Miraculously, we also never get injured.

7. Regarding anal play, we never need any sort of preparation. We're always open and ready and squeaky clean for you down there, so be as spontaneous about that activity as you like. You'll never, er, encounter anything.

8. Also, if you're into putting us in diapers for age-play, no worries. All we ever do is pee.

9. SBW will always encounter dominant men, without even trying.

10. And speaking of those dominant men, they will always be skillful at spanking, will know exactly what they're doing with implements, and will always know precisely when is enough. They are mind readers, after all. SBW can count on this.

HAH!!!!!!!

OK, are you done snickering now? Here's the part you'll hate me for, the bursting of the fantasy bubble. But ya know, it's what I do, because I'm kind of a brat that way. So, a dose of reality:

1. Spanko bottom women bleed.

2. Likewise, spanko bottom women gag. SBW poop. SBW can get bloated, cranky, crampy and miserable in any of dozens of ways and not feel like playing every damn minute of every day (and night).

3. SBW have hard limits.

4. SBW don't necessarily want to have a D/s dynamic. Some of us just enjoy being spanked.

5. Those uber-sexy back-to-front moves and maneuvers a top performs sexually on a SBW may very well give her a not-so-sexy, raging urinary tract infection.

6. Rough, improperly prepared back door play probably won't result in those screaming orgasms you want. More likely, she'll end up screaming in pain in the ER with anal fissures.

7. SBW have weight fluctuations, stretch marks, cellulite, moles, and all sorts of other mere mortal things. Oh, and a whole lot of us have (gasp) pubic hair.

8. SBW who have never performed oral sex before will probably not do a very good job of it. Like everything else, it requires practice. 

9. Some SBW are actually not anal erotic. (NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!)

10. And finally... SBW over 30 actually exist. (And over 40, and over 50...) 

(sigh) Sorry, kids. Reality is not pretty. I guess that's why we have fantasies, huh? You may now return to yours. :-D

Can you say "FUCK IT," boys and girls?

That's where I'm at, kids. Just sad and mad and needy and weepy and frustrated and empty inside and not sleeping well and envious of people having fun and BLECCCCCHHHHHH!!!! 

I need a spanking like nobody's business. Times like this I wish I found self-spanking at least somewhat satisfying, but I do not.

I want to blog something funny and sexy and uplifting and interesting, but I have nothing. 

I want to post some fun new pictures, but I don't have any.

I am sick of myself needing and wanting.

Two bits of good news: Today, John is finally getting the oral device for his sleep apnea. It will no doubt need some adjustments and so forth, but at least he'll have it. He can get it tweaked by his dentist as well, whom he'll be seeing next week. So that's a relief. And this past week, he finally, finally had the tree trimmer come to his house and cut back all the trees in his yard. He lives up in a canyon, a fire-hazard area, and his trees had overgrown so much that his valley view was completely occluded. I have been begging him to have the damn things cut for so long now, I can't remember. It's been at least two years. I am terrified of fire, and the sight of all that overgrowth in his back yard has been stressing me. But I know he's had a lot on his plate and he's been so ill, and this was a low priority for him. But it's finally done, and I am so relieved. He's grumbling about how much it cost, but oh well. If he hadn't let it go so damn long, it wouldn't have been so expensive!

He can't schedule his heart surgery yet. He wants it in March, and his @#$%ing HMO won't schedule March surgeries until February. 

No word yet on when his mother's memorial will be. Meanwhile, we haven't been to his sister's restaurant for lunch for the past two weeks. He texted her, asking if we were still welcome, and she never answered. so we've gone elsewhere. Fine by me -- fuck her, too. 

Saw my doc last Wednesday; it's been nearly three months since my surgery. He was a little concerned that the incision scars are still bright red, when they should be pinkish-white by now. But he said just keep treating them with the scar gel and he'll see me again in a month. Meanwhile, to refresh my memory, he showed me the "before" pictures he took in his office. Blech. One of these days, when I'm finally feeling cheerful again, I'll take some face pictures for you guys so you can see the progress. Right now, I'm just not up for it.

So, that's where I am right now. I guess I should give myself the same advice I would give a friend feeling the same way: Be gentle with myself, do something fun, and hang in there. Oh, and don't watch anything sad. Comedy is the order of the day. Fortunately, what with the movie academy president's horrible gaffe yesterday, there has been plenty of comic fodder. (In case you didn't hear, she was announcing the Academy Award nominees, and when she came to cinematographer Dick Pope, she pronounced it "Dick Poop.")

Have a good weekend, y'all.

"I'll be there for you."

No, I'm not channeling the ubiquitous repeats of Friends. But you all knew that phrase, right? You've probably heard it dozens, maybe hundreds of times in your lifetime, from various people. It's one of a collection of Things People Say that sound good. "Call me anytime." "If you need me, I'm always here." "Lean on me." "You can depend on me."

Well-intentioned people who promise you the moon and stars, if you'll just reach out and ask for it. 

I wish they'd stop doing that.

Because, as much as they want to be, no one can always be there for you. And to set people up with that sort of expectation sounds nice at the time, but it ends up hurting, disappointing, and disillusioning. 

I don't begrudge others this inability to always be there. There's a reason I never say phrases like that -- because I know I can't deliver. I mean, I can, sometimes. But not always. So I'm not going to say I can, just because it sounds good.

People have lives. People have jobs, children, pets, errands, chores, hobbies, crises, responsibilities. People need to sleep. People shut their phones off when they're in a movie theater (and they really should shut the damn things off in several other places too, but that's another subject). How many folks do you know who can simply sit by a phone 24/7 in case someone needs them? Yeah, we have cell phones now, so supposedly we're accessible at all times. When I was young, if someone wasn't home, you couldn't reach them. Period. No cell phones, no voice mail, no texting, no IMs, nothing. It was the telephone, or in person, or nothing. Not so now.

But guess what? If a person is busy, or if a person doesn't want to be reached, they are still unreachable. You can leave voice mail, email, texts, and send a carrier pigeon to poop on their head, but there will be times they still won't reply to you. That's reality.

So why make these lofty promises that you can't possibly keep? Is it because you want to seem like a good friend? A hero? A rock? News flash. I'd rather have someone not promise me anything at all, than set me up and let me down. That affects my trust. That affects my confidence. That affects my feeling of being cared about.

When I was in 12-step programs, they had what they called sponsors -- people who would be a sort of mentor and teacher, your friend, to help you with your stuff. People gave each other phone numbers. It was the 80s, so it was still landlines and office numbers. And members told me I could call them "anytime, day or night." Well, I didn't. Because, frankly, I thought that was rude and invasive. And also, because I really didn't expect them to be there for me, day or night. If someone is that available, they can't have much of a life.

I suppose some 24/7 D/s relationships insist that a sub is accessible at any hour, any day, any time. As I recall, John has known some really pushy dommes who expected him to answer his phone at all hours, and be ready to do whatever they wanted at the drop of a command. Fine. Let them spend their lives sitting by a phone. I, and most of the people I know, have a lot more to do.

Again, I applaud the sentiment. The words are said with the kindest of intentions. But I wish people would start getting real. What many of them promise is impossible.

And nothing feels worse than when you believe them, you pocket your pride and that squicky, uncomfortable feeling that you're intruding or interrupting, you make yourself willing to be vulnerable, and you reach out... and they aren't there for you after all.

I recall an old Ziggy cartoon (remember Ziggy?), where he's staring mournfully at the reader and saying, "Maybe people, who need people, really aren't the luckiest people in the world." I think the poor little guy was right. Neediness doesn't pay. Best to be as self-reliant as you can, and find your strength within. Because people are just too damn busy these days. They may want to be there for you, and sometimes, if you're lucky, they are. But never count on it.

So... what's my point? Please, stop promising things you can't possibly deliver. Stop promising to always be there, because you can't. Stop setting people up to believe they have their own personal Rock of Gibraltar. Because you're made of mere flesh and blood, just like the rest of us. You have your own issues, your own stress and pain to deal with. We all do, and I don't expect you to deal with mine, I really don't. Unless you tell me, insist to me, that you want to and you will. And then, because I'm a mere mortal myself, one with needs, I believe.

I'm grateful I'm more of a loner. Because honestly, needing sucks. The more I need, the more I hurt.