Is spanking an "addiction"?

Today’s topic/question comes from a reader’s private message to me. It used to be that when one talked about addiction, they were referring to the chemical type — alcohol, narcotics, tobacco, etc. But these days, it seems that any time someone really likes something or perhaps indulges in it more than the average person, it’s slapped with the addiction label. People are addicted to sex, to shopping, to texting, to navel lint gathering. Is the term overused, or is there some truth to it?

Granted, exaggerating addiction is nothing new. This weekend, John and I watched the cheeseball cult classic “Reefer Madness,” the anti-marijuana “message” movie from 1936 (not to be confused with “Reefer Madness: The Musical,” which is fairly recent and intentionally funny). Talk about melodrama! Warning! One puff of this “demon weed” and you’re on the road to juvenile delinquency, depravity and criminal insanity! You’ll laugh maniacally, have indiscriminate sex and run over old men with your car! Tell your children — this unspeakable scourge could affect your son, or your daughter. Or yours! Or YOURS!

(Double-click on the picture and you can read all those hilarious blurbs a little more easily.)

Still, overblown as this is, at least it’s referring to substance abuse, a physiological addiction. So what about these so-called addictions that have nothing to do with substances? Are there different types of addictions — emotional, psychological? When does something go from being something you need for a happier life, something you enjoy, to an addiction? What’s next — claiming we’re addicted to oxygen because we need to breathe?

I am currently missing New Guy very much. But along with missing him personally, is it the spanking, or something else? Is it touch? No… anyone who has seen John and me together knows that we are as touchy-feely as a couple of high-school kids. Is it the attention? Probably, since I crave that as well. The endorphin high, the stress release? Yup, there’s something to that. The blissful relaxed feeling afterward? Well, who wouldn’t want that?

Granted, if I go spankless, I don’t suffer from hallucinations, nausea and delirium tremens. But I get damn cranky.

Still… addiction? Or just wanting something because it makes me feel good?

It seems to me that something, anything, is an addiction only when the need/urge for it interferes with one’s functioning or causes reckless behavior. Picking up strangers in a bar and having unprotected sex, for example, due to a sexual addiction. Endangering others by driving drunk. Screwing up on the job because you can’t put your iPhone down for two seconds. But where does spanking come into this? Thinking about it too much? Spending too much time online reading about it? Feeling like if you can’t get a spanking, you have to self-spank to release the tension?

OK, some would say I’ve engaged in reckless behavior by having men I really don’t know all that well coming to my apartment. I’ve never set up a “safe call,” even though many think that is essential. However, I don’t think those actions are born of being out of control; I have gut-level instincts and I follow them. It’s not like I’ve been online with a stranger and he says, “Can I come over now?” and I say yes and give him my address because I just HAVE to be spanked by him right this minute and if it doesn’t happen I’ll lose my mind.

For those who engage in spanking or other types of BDSM play regularly, how do you feel when life interferes with your fun and you have to go without it for whatever reason? Does it affect your mood? Do you indeed feel a sort of withdrawal?

What do you think of the loose interpretations of “addiction”?

I want, I want, I want…

… yes, it’s true. I’m a wanton woman. (rimshot)

Happy Friday, happy Chross Day. Congratulations to all who made the list. I’m so happy that, once again, my blog featuring Spanking Court was Chrossed. I am trying to shoot lots and lots of attention their way and this is a huge help. So thank you, kind sir. 🙂

So what do I want? I dunno. I’m restless. I really want it to be next weekend. I know, I know — don’t wish your life away, Erica. But right now, I feel like I’m in a sort of stuck-in-limbo mode, waiting for various things. A long weekend beckons, but John and I have no plans; the downside of the two of us being loners and antisocialites. This will be a weekend of outings, barbecues and parties (oh gawd, John’s noisy next-door neighbor will probably have one… ugh), but we’ll just hang out and do our usual.

You know, most of the time I’m very happy with that — crowds and noise and driving with the masses in traffic and running here and there don’t appeal to me and I love our solitude. Still, every now and then, I want to break out of that. Can’t explain why. But I know I can’t have it both ways, so I get over it.

Monday is Memorial Day, and the 15th anniversary of my first adult spanking, the one that started it all. Of course, I wish New Guy were here, so I could mark (har!) the occasion with a spectacular celebratory spanking. But he isn’t and that’s that. I will have to acknowledge the day on my own, rejoice in some fond memories and look forward to making new ones.

So what is everyone doing this weekend? Tell me all about your fun plans and I will live vicariously through you.

Hmmmm… as long as I’m in this wantin’/wanton mode, here’s a random want list, in no particular order.

I want to win the lottery, so we can go to ALL the spanking parties all over the country. Oh, and so I can pay bills and stuff.

I want to find an at-home proofreading/copyediting job with a steady stream of work and not just fits and starts when people are overloaded.

I want the tornadoes and earthquakes and so forth to stop wreaking so much havoc. Way too damn much tragedy going on for too damn many people.

I want Judd Apatow to retire. His movies are disgusting. When did bodily functions gone revoltingly awry and people behaving like animals become the benchmark for what’s considered funny?

I want to live in a world where no one has ever heard of Jersey Shore, the Kardashians or Kate Gosselin.

I want Harold Camping to STFU already. Rapture, my butt.

I want to be able to look down at my arms and not cringe. When the hell did my skin morph into crepe paper?

I want John to have a healthy heart, without the inconvenience of carving his chest open to insert porcine parts.

I want them to invent an app that mutes one’s surroundings. Screaming babies on a plane, neighbor’s loud TV, street construction outside your window? Hey, there’s an app for that! I would have used it last night in my exercise class, on the two women behind me who talked through the entire thing.

I want too much. I need to stop that.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Fun stuff from Spanking Court

Blogger problems be damned. I feel like posting these. Cali sent them to me yesterday and I can’t wait to share them. And I can’t wait until a week from Saturday!

Here I am in court — I wore my glasses so I’d look more earnest and serious. Did I succeed?

This is Spanking Court’s “intrepid reporter” Dave Llewelyn interviewing me. What a character! He had this rapid-fire delivery of questions, and no matter what you replied, he’d twist it somehow. Some of us couldn’t stay in the room when he was doing these interviews, because we’d crack up. It was quite a challenge keeping up with him, but I think I managed OK.

The punishment room. I’m handing my pants to beautiful bailiff Dana. And will you look at that knee-melting glare The Villain is shooting at me?

I guess I must have just said something sarcastic. Fancy that.

My mug shot. Naturally, I’m smirking. Would you expect anything else?

Is it June yet? I am so over May.

@#$%ing stupid Blogger!

There is some sort of issue with Blogger the past couple of days, random and frustrating because it affects some but not others. Some sort of SNAFU with sign-in and commenting. I was unable to comment to my own blog, and through trial and error, the only way I was able to get around that was to change my Internet settings to “Accept all cookies.” I don’t know why that worked, but it did. Nevertheless, things still don’t work right and Blogger’s “Help” area is riddled with protests.

No sign of a fix yet, though. And I didn’t have a single comment yesterday, even though I posted a new blog. If any of you tried to comment and couldn’t, could you drop me a message and let me know?

Anyway… I have new pictures from Spanking Court, but I think I’ll wait until this damn thing is fixed. Just another week-and-a-half and I go back to court — I can’t wait! 🙂

"Kink and the City"

You may remember a couple of weeks ago when I was seeking publishing advice, I had a conversation with John Smith, author of Kink and the City: An Englishman in New York. He was generous with his time and counsel, and in return, I heartily agreed to read his book and review it here.

“Kink” is the true story of John’s journey in the BDSM/spanking scene, beginning as it did for most of us with the vague stirrings and fascinations with all things spanking. At sixteen years old, he rented a room from a 30-something woman who turned out to be a professional dominatrix, and his education was begun. After years of playing in the London scene, he relocated to Manhattan, NY, and sought to find kindred spirits there. The book is a series of his adventures — the good, the bad and the absurd.

I love this man’s humor (or should I say humour?). He is dry and sarcastic, given to hyperbole, a bit sharp-tongued (reminds me of someone…). I found myself giggling frequently as I read about the “types” and situations we’ve all known.

“The result of this [alcohol] consumption was a set of reproductive equipment which was about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike.”

“[He was] A louche dullard adorned with more trinkets than an octogenarian’s mantelpiece.”

“I was to discover that she was to polite party talk what PeeWee Herman is to competitive bodybuilding.”

(Listing what pro dommes have to put up with): “No shows, bad hygiene (and of course bad spelling), unrealistic requests, fawning, stalking, unwanted attention, last minute cancellations, whining, obsessives, wankers, sundry dickheads and of course people like me…and that’s just a shortened list.”

So we follow John through his various encounters, both from the top and bottom perspective, with lively descriptions (all names have been changed). His story is not one of drama and trauma, but of blunt honesty, lots of play (sometimes edgy) and the sheer excitement of discovering everything the scene has to offer.

If you’d like to read a scene book that will make you snicker, nod your head in recognition and even gasp occasionally, Kink and the City is for you.

In other news — I received email from New Guy yesterday. Among other things, he wrote: “I saw your blog. You had better improve your attitude or you’ll be in big trouble when I get back!”

Rut-roh. 🙂

Monday morning

Up and dressed in my workout clothes. Just ate a light but healthy breakfast, jump-started my day with a large mug of fully leaded coffee. My iPod is charged, I’ve replied to the morning emails that required attention, and I’m ready to go.

Just one problem. All I want to do is crawl back into bed.

Goddammit! I refuse to start my week this way. Get. Up. One foot in front of the other. Get in the car and drive.

But I don’t feel like it.

Tough. Do it anyway. You’ll feel better.

But…

NOW.

(grumble) All right, all right.

For the next three weeks, I @#$%ing hate Mondays as much as everyone else.