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?