Erica Scott: Life, Love and Spanking

Ruminations, opinionated observations, darkly humorous blathering and the occasional rant from an outspoken spanko and unapologetic attention wh–, um, hog.

Archive for the month “October, 2011”

Odds & Ends not in my book, Part 2

Since I got so much positive feedback about last Sunday’s blog, I thought I’d continue with the trend, using these bits and pieces for fun filler.

My father worked with Jerry Lewis for many years. Back in the Dark Ages (the early 1950s), Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis starred in a variety show called the Colgate Comedy Hour. Jerry was fresh and young and hadn’t developed into an egotistical monster yet, and he and Dean were perfect together. 

Slice of nostalgia for you:

My mother once told me that back then, Jerry was so hysterically funny (and dirty) in person, she’d laugh until her ribs and stomach ached hours afterward. But cut to the 1960s, when Dad was working on Jerry’s solo show, and things weren’t so much fun anymore. I have vague memories of my father coming home from work, slamming things around and uttering things I won’t repeat. To say he didn’t like Jerry Lewis was an epic understatement.

He wasn’t alone, of course. I once spoke with a woman who was doing a program on Jerry; she was calling my dad’s apartment and I happened to be there, going through his things. I told her my father had passed away, and she asked me if I knew how he’d felt about Jerry Lewis. She said, and I quote: “People tend to feel one of two ways about him — they either think he walks on water, or they want to hold him under water.” I laughed and assured her that my father belonged in the latter category.

Anyway… while going through a chest of drawers, I found a fun little souvenir. (A few of you who know me in person have seen this; most of you have not. And I apologize in advance for the dreadful picture quality.) It was a cigarette lighter, with a caricature of Jerry Lewis plus his signature on the front.

(My thumb is over the top of it for a reason.) I turned it over, and saw that Jerry had taken something sharp and scratched the date and a message:
The date was “12/8/67.” The message is a little weird — personally, “To Eddie, love, Jerry” would have made more sense. (Always a proofreader, that’s me.)
But let’s go back to the front of the lighter. Apparently, after receiving this gift, my father scratched in a little message of his own.
Did I mention my father didn’t like Jerry Lewis? 😀 (He did like Dean, though.)
I still can’t look at this thing without cracking up. Ah, Dad, I miss you.
And speaking of my book, I’d like to give Hermione a huge THANK YOU for this.

Happy Hump Day!

Two-fer: Monday fun and birthday greetings

So, you guys remember how last week, I discovered ST’s paddle peeking out from under the bed, and I fessed up to finding it rather than letting him think he lost it?

He came in tonight, claiming I hid it from him and I kicked it under the bed! Well, I never! I most certainly did not. Really, I didn’t. So I protested, and then he backed down, saying, “You’re right. I apologize. You’re such a good girl, I shouldn’t spank you at all.”

Yeah. Right.

As you can imagine, that didn’t last very long. He couldn’t stand it.

We’ve been playing in the bedroom lately, since my next-door neighbor moved out and so the bedroom on the other side of the wall is temporarily empty. I must say, it’s nice to be able to make a bit of noise and not shove my face into a pillow all the time.

But you know, he still didn’t believe that I was so accommodating, announcing to the world that I’d found his paddle.

“I was just trying to be nice!” I squawked. And you know what he had the nerve to say to that? “Oh, please. I’ve never known you to be nice!”

HUMMMMMPPPPPPPHHHH! Excuse me?? Me, not nice? I am a fucking living doll, dammit.

I even went and got him a glass of water, bringing it in and saying, “Here you are, Your Majesty.”

He liked that, and suggested I lengthen the honorific to Lord God Your Majesty. I counter-suggested something he didn’t like, for whatever reason, and we were off and running.

That’s just an expression. There was no running. Although my legs were pumping.

He barely used his hand tonight — said it was hurting him. Good thing he had a bag of toys, huh? Right?

Yeah. Wheee. (rolling eyes)

I wish, just once, I could keep some color for more than a minute or two. It looks like he barely patted me, doesn’t it? I guarantee you, he did a lot more than that. Lucky me. 🙂

Thank you, sweetie. You cheered me up a great deal tonight.


Earlier this year, I met and played with The Villain for the first time, here in my apartment. I knew he was involved with Dana Kane, but she and I hadn’t met, nor had we had any correspondence. So I thought it was mighty cool of her to be OK with his coming over to play with me, a stranger. Believe me, I do not take that for granted. I know it’s kind of ridiculous — me, a threat to anyone? really?? — but in the past, I’ve dealt with jealousy/insecurity that bordered on the psychotic, so I am hyper-cautious.

So after he left, I wrote her a note on FetLife, just to say hello and thank you for letting me “borrow” V for the afternoon. I was respectful and even used a proper honorific. Later, she wrote back, saying “Please, just call me Dana” and that they were both overjoyed when they could find someone sane to play with. (Sane?? Me? uhhhh… ok) She then added, “He came home grinning like the Cheshire Cat, so thank you.”

Damn, I thought. I think I’m really going to like this woman. And I did, the minute I met her in person, in May. When I went to shake her hand and she gave me a great big hug.

So, I’m a little early ’cause it’s not quite October 18 yet, but,


Wishing you lots of love and special attention and cake and presents and anything else your heart desires, you gorgeous woman. 🙂

Glad you all enjoyed the “Hollywood insider” post. I’ll try to come up with a few more of those.

Odds & Ends not in my book

Just for the hell of it, I’m going to post random stories that aren’t in Late Bloomer.

My book, while fairly thorough, skipped around some and I left a lot of tidbits out. Some by accident; I simply forgot them. John has reminded me of a few I wish I’d included. I’ll write up some of those at times, when the mood strikes. Others I omitted because I didn’t want the book to be overlong.

One friend said I should have put in a lot more Hollywood stuff: stars I’d met, people who came to our house, etc. I chose to keep that to a minimum. Why? For one thing, I thought too much name-dropping would be kind of obnoxious and detract from the story. For another, we’re talking about another time — celebrities from 40-50 years ago. If I mentioned some of these people, at least two-thirds of my readers wouldn’t know who the hell I’m talking about.

For example, any of you remember Gig Young?

Didn’t think so.

Gig Young was a suavely handsome actor who did movies in the 1940s through the early 70s. He could do both comedy and drama and he was quite talented, but he never made it to leading man. He was always the second banana, the sidekick, the co-worker, the best friend. He was one of those actors you knew you’d seen before, but you couldn’t remember his name.

Here he is in some pictures from a popular episode of Twilight Zone:

Yeah, I know… what kind of a stupid name is “Gig”? Again, remember the time. Back then, actors had names like Rock, Tab and Skip.

He was married five times, including to Elizabeth Montgomery of Bewitched.

In 1969, he won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his performance in a dark little film called They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? But after that, his career declined.

In the early 70s when I was living with my dad, he had a friend who was a chef and owned an Italian restaurant in what was then the Beverly-Comstock Hotel (today, it’s the Beverly Hills Plaza Hotel). We went to this restaurant all the time, gorged on mountains of pasta and hung out talking with other patrons. On any given night, you could find Gig Young sitting off by himself at a table, chain-smoking and drinking himself into a stupor.

One night, my dad and I were there, along with the daughter of one of Dad’s oldest friends (coincidentally, she too was named Erica). After we ate, at Dad’s lead, we got up and went to join Gig at his table. He was charming, in a slurry drunk sort of way.

Don’t know if you guys have ever noticed this, but a lot of times, intoxicated people will say the most mundane things and think they are profound, amusing, or profoundly amusing. My father, who’d had his share that night, said out of nowhere, “How many other tables do you think there are in the world right now, with two Ericas sitting at them?” Uh… Dunno, Dad. Didn’t give it much thought, really.

He then lifted his glass, gestured to include Gig, and added, “Or how about two Ericas and a Gig?”

I decided to cut him off. “I don’t know, Dad, but I gurantee that nowhere in the universe is another table with two Ericas, an Everett and a Byron.” My father’s birth name was Everett. And Gig Young’s real name was Byron Elsworth Barr.

Everyone snickered, especially Gig, tickled that I knew that bit of trivia. I’d out-profounded my father, and I wasn’t even drunk.

When it came time to leave, Dad got up and gave Gig a man-hug and a clap on the back. He then turned away to help the other Erica on with her jacket, so I reached up to give Gig a hug too. And he very quickly shoved his booze-pickled tongue in my mouth.

Shame on you, Byron. I was 15, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t tell my dad, though. I was already well aware that people do weird things when they’re plastered.

So whatever happened to jolly old Gig Young? In 1978, three weeks after marrying his fifth wife, he shot her to death, then turned the gun on himself. He was 64.

Yup, fun Hollywood stories! But people do enjoy them, I suppose. John is always fascinated with my celebrity stories. His one brush with fame was meeting Buddy Ebsen once, when his family went sailing. Apparently Jed Clampett had a boat too.

Oh, and a side story about that restaurant. For a while, a maitre d’ worked there — a young man (20s) with a loud voice, an overabundance of energy and wildly curly hair. He had a habit of telling people what they should and shouldn’t eat; I recall one time when he very pointedly told me that I would have been better off choosing a salad over the fettucini alfredo. (Yes, thank you, I know I’m chunky. Fuck off. I want my fettucini.)

Any guesses at who he turned out to be?

EDIT, 10/17: Karyn was the first to guess correctly — it was Richard Simmons.

One more bit of trivia about Gig Young. He was the first actor cast to play the Waco Kid in Blazing Saddles. However, he was replaced with Gene Wilder when he kept showing up to the set with DTs.


While on Twitter the other night, I saw that someone had posted a link they found in “Kink-Aware Professionals.” So I checked it out, and found this.

Spanking For Wellness

Go ahead. Go read for a while. I’ll wait. You don’t have to read it all; I recommend scanning Who We Are and Services.

So. What was your instinctive reaction? Mine was horror. And I’m not really sure why.

Reading through it, it sounds quite legitimate and non-exploitive. Spanking used as therapy. Pretty much like what we’ve talked about many times in the various forums, about how spanking can induce catharsis, emotional release, tears, guilt purging. Increase endorphins and elevate moods, etc. So why does this sound creepy to me?

Maybe it’s the New Age-y feel of it. The cheerful photos of flowers and a woman frolicking in the ocean. The descriptions of the man and woman who run this clinic, institute, whatever it is.

“Rev. Jenellen Fischer… is a Spiritual Counselor, Liturgical Singer, Reiki Master, Intuitive Empath, Energetic Healer, and a Sensual Shaman, utilizing sensual energy for the healing of geographic locations, people, and animals.”

“Steve Karuna Maitri has been a Zen Buddhist practitioner…for more than a decade….[H]e combines mindfulness meditation, deep listening, spanking and massage to help his clients transform their lives and move forward on the path towards being whole.”

I dunno… I never thought of spanking as a companion of aromatherapy and having my chakras cleaned. Does the arrangement of their spanking furniture have the proper feng shui? And how do you know when a geographic location is healed, anyway?

OK, suppose it’s legitimate; a safe place to explore spanking as a form of therapy. But what about people like us, for which spanking is either discipline, erotic, or both? Under Services, they say the treatment is completely non-sexual. They go on to say that it’s not about discipline or punishment. Then what is it, exactly?

I really don’t see this working for people who are already spanking fetishists/enthusiasts, because it doesn’t fulfill the fantasy aspect. And for people who aren’t… why the hell would they choose to get spanked? Why not just have the feel-good stuff — the massage, the listening, etc.? For someone who isn’t into spanking, why would they subject themselves to pain and “being treated like a child” — and pay for it, no less? (There is no mention anywhere on the site of the costs. I wonder what one shells out for this.)

Like I said, I’m not really sure why I’m so creeped out by this. So what do you guys think?

It’s Friday/Chross day. I’m in a bit of a melancholy place today, feeling the empty ache of various losses. Maybe my chi needs realigning. Or maybe I just need a warm hug and a kiss from John and a damn good spanking from ST. Fortunately, neither one of them is going anywhere. My rocks of Gibraltar.

Have a good weekend, y’all.

Well now… what have we here?

Yesterday in my bedroom, I caught sight of something peeking out from underneath the bed. I knelt down to take a look.

Well, looky here. Recognize this?

Not familiar? Hmmm.

Recognize it now?

Thought you might. It’s ST’s paddle, one he made with his own two hands. Not super-thick/thuddy like the frat style I hate, but it packs a wallop nonetheless.
So. Let’s ponder upon how angelic I am. I could have kept quiet about this and let him wonder. Let him discover it’s missing but not say a word. Perhaps he dropped it out of his bag somewhere. Perhaps there’s been a rash of theft in Encino, a kinky burglary ring stealing spanking implements. Or perhaps I accidentally mistook it for a piece of scrap lumber (you know, those turn up in my bedroom all the time) and tossed it into John’s fireplace.
But noooo. I am here admitting to the world that I found it, that I’m keeping it safe for him next Monday. I think I should be rewarded for my honesty. Don’t you?
On another topic…
Feeling a bit blech today. Fallout from yesterday, I guess. On the plus side, I had a lovely lunch with Mija at Canter’s Deli — we sat for three hours and yakked away. But on the minus side, I feel like I lost a friend yesterday, due to circumstances completely beyond my control. Scene drama, one I’m not involved in, but a friend is, and I got unintentionally and unwillingly sucked into the vortex.
John said I did nothing wrong. I know, intellectually, that I didn’t, but it feels like I did. I hate it when people are angry at me, won’t talk to me. It kicks in all those old rejection/abandonment issues that have dogged me since the early days when my mother would punish me by ignoring me and refusing to speak to me. I’d chase after her and cry, begging her to talk to me. Stupid, stupid old crap. But it’s real.
The down side of being involved in any community. Wherever there are people, there is drama. This is why I choose solitude so often.
Plus, John had a horrendous day at work yesterday and vented to me. Naturally, I wish I could fix things and make it all better for him, and I can’t. I hate that he’s so stressed out. But I remembered this morning that this time last year, he was deathly ill, and now, at least he is healthy and robust, albeit exhausted. Perspective. Could be worse.
Days like this, I really do wish I had some work to do. Occupy my nattering brain on something productive.
Sorry for meandering. I will feel better after I go kick some butt at the gym. It’s about 100 degrees outside… at least my A/C is working.

Squirming in my chair

Not a complaint, mind you. Just an observation. I feel like I sat on a beehive. Not that I’ve ever actually done that, but I imagine the sensation is similar.

ST was fully recovered and then some, which is good. We had a missing week to make up for, after all. He even came over earlier, since he’d had the day off.

I was wearing a denim dress and he commented on how thick it was. “What’s your point?” I said. “Like it matters? You’ll be lifting it in about five seconds anyway.”

“Last time, I spanked you for a long time over your jeans,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, and you started with implements, no warmup,” I reminded him. He suggested that perhaps we should do that this time as well. I said perhaps we shouldn’t.

So I got a niiiiiiiiiice long hand warmup, which is probably why, yet again, I haven’t a mark on me, even though he outdid himself when we finally broke out the toys.

My smartassery was on the minimal side tonight. I’d missed him. I just wanted to feel and enjoy, immerse myself in the sweetest pain. No tears this evening. Just sheer endorphins and feeling my skin come alive under his hands and implements. Mostly leather, thank you.

Already faded, as usual. I am a freak. A happy one, though.

Couple more items on tonight’s agenda. First, Mija posted a lovely review of my book on her blog, and also posted it on Amazon. Thank you, sweetie!

And second: Raven tagged me, asking me to post my all-time favorite spanking picture. I do have one in mind; however, I have no clue where to find it! Arrrgh. I know I’ve seen it at least a dozen times over the years, and now that I want it, I can’t find it. Perhaps if I describe it, someone will know where it can be found. It’s a post-spanking photo of a woman lying on a bed, curled up on her side with her back to the camera. She’s wearing blue jeans, and they’re pulled down to just below her bottom. You can’t see her face at all, but the way she’s kind of semi-fetal is poignant and you can imagine that she’s crying a bit. Ring any bells? It’s a lovely shot, lighting and all. I think she’s wearing a striped shirt too, but can’t recall that for certain.

Anyway… I am peacefully drowsy. Time for a little TV and then sleep, sprawled out on my belly. OK, so that’s the way I normally sleep, but sometimes there’s no choice in the matter. 🙂

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