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 “September, 2012”

Vanilla post — a little sad

Not to worry; John is fine.

I realized something last week: In the past few weeks, I got so caught up with Shadow Lane, John’s mother being in and out of the hospital, worrying about John and his work, figuring out my new client’s work, etc., that I completely forgot about my stepfather. I felt bad about that, so I called him.

He sounded awful; I could barely understand him. It was like he was speaking around a mouthful of marbles. Things had taken a bad turn for him. A couple of weeks ago, he fell. He got pretty banged up, so he tried soaking some of the aches in a warm bath. But when he was ready to get out, he couldn’t. He literally could not get up out of the bathtub.

He had to call 911 and they had to break into his place and haul him out. How humiliating. And then, his neighbor took him to the doctor to get checked. While there, they asked what happened, and before he could answer, his busybody neighbor blathered on about his fall, about not being able to get up out of the tub, etc. That set off red flags, one thing led to another… and they took away his driver’s license.

My stepfather doesn’t complain, but his life is pretty miserable. He misses my mother. His body is falling apart. He can’t do any of the things he used to love. Most of his friends are gone. His grown kids are… well, they leave much to be desired, let’s put it that way. But the one thing he always said to John and me: “I’m OK as long as I can drive. If I can’t drive, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. Might as well put a gun to my head.”

And now he can’t drive. I think they just handed him a death sentence. I’d never heard him sound so defeated.

I felt so, so horrible for him. And all I wanted, after I got off the phone, was to talk to John. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t seeing him that night. He was going to be in a pipeline all night. He called me before he went in, but I told him nothing. I didn’t want to burden him with this when he was just about to pull an all-nighter doing physical labor in an underground pipe. So I kept it to myself. I wanted to talk to someone, but I didn’t know who.

Saturday morning, John came home around 9:30-10:00, but he had some things to do and then he was going straight to bed. The family gathering (his aunt, cousin, one of his sisters and his brother & sister-in-law, all going to visit his mother) had been moved until Sunday. So I didn’t say a word, just told him I’d see him that night.

Last night, I got to his place at 6:30; he was still asleep in his bedroom. I went in, and as soon as he called me over and I lay next to him, I lost it. All the worry, first over him and then about my stepdad, gave way, and John was alarmed as I started bawling out of seemingly nowhere. First, I wanted to make sure he was OK. “Are you all right? Did everything go OK? Do you have to go back to work?” I sobbed. He said he was fine, the inspection went fine, they didn’t need to do anything further and it was over. What a relief.

I told him all about M. He said all the right things, just as I knew he would. “That’s just awful… that’s so sad… Poor M. He doesn’t deserve this.” I just kept weeping that it wasn’t fair, how much did one person have to suffer. That he had taken care of my mother all those years, and now he had nothing to live for but he kept on going and going, with everything being taken away from him, including his dignity and his independence. Then I blurted, “Sweetie, I’m sorry, but I just can’t do the family thing tomorrow. I can’t handle it. Your mother has four kids and all sorts of extended family taking care of her, watching out for her, taking care of her every need. She lives in a nice place with all kinds of things to do. But all she does is complain, and I can’t stand it. All old people should have as good a life as she does. If we go there tomorrow and she starts up with how bad her life is, I’ll think about M and I will completely lose it.”

John didn’t argue. He didn’t say a word to try to convince me otherwise. He just put his arms around me. After a moment, he said, “You’re right about Mom. But she can’t help it. You can’t be mad at her about it.”

“I’m trying not to be,” I wept. “But it’s hard! I’m angry! I’m angry at the unfairness of it all. M never complains, all he’s ever done is take care of people, and he has nothing. Your mother has everything and everyone she needs, and yet all she does is talk about how awful everything is.”

John sighed. “Yeah… it does wear on you after a while.” He gets it.

So, after a while, we got up and went for sushi. Poor John was still wiped out, so we came home and I watched TV while he fell asleep on the couch. Then, this morning, he left to go to the family thing. I slept a little longer, then got up, showered and left. We didn’t get to spend much time together. But at least I got to see him, and he got through a high-stress and low-sleep week unscathed. And I didn’t have to go to the gathering. I really don’t think I could have handled it.

We’ll go see my stepfather soon. I wish he were closer; if he weren’t 75 miles away on a bitch of an L.A. freeway, I’d drop over and do things for him. He’s going to look into getting some live-in care. Meanwhile, I will call more often.

Onward with the week. Yesterday was ST’s birthday. I wish we could celebrate our birthdays, one week apart, together like we did last year. But that’s over. I wish I could see Mr. D tomorrow, but he is out of town. So… I need to keep busy. Be productive. Find something fun to do, and don’t think too much. And remember that next weekend, and next Monday, will be awesome.

Utter Cluelessness

No, I don’t have a CHoS today. Just revisiting an ongoing situation with a man who is so clueless, he has me baffled.

You guys remember the guy from — when was it, months ago? A year ago? Longer? — who contacted me, we emailed, we talked on the phone. I was considering meeting with him when he emailed me a dick pic and some unpleasantly harsh words. When I didn’t respond, he wrote again, saying “I guess you’re not ready for a man like me.” He had that right. And I figured that was the end of it.

As you know, it wasn’t. This guy still views my profile on Alt, on a regular basis. For a long time, it was every day. Now it’s dwindled to about once a week. He had written to me twice more, months apart, asking if I was “ready yet.” I never replied.

This week, he wrote to me again. I’d updated my photos a bit.

Glad you updated your pics.. are you ready for a good spank session text me

He’d attached another photo. This time, he’s playing baseball, holding a bat and wearing a sleeveless jersey so I can see his sculpted arms. Is this supposed to impress me?

Once again, I didn’t answer. But here’s what I’d love to write to him:

Thanks for the new picture. Not to worry, I haven’t forgotten how attractive you are. I also haven’t forgotten that you refused to meet with me publicly, you sent me a picture of your cock when you knew I didn’t want that, and you said you’d enjoy “brutalizing my ass.” Riddle me this: If you’re such a studly prize and God’s gift to the ladies, why are you bothering with a woman who clearly wants nothing to do with you?

Really, it makes me shake my head, trying to clear the picture. It’s both amusing and annoying. He thinks he’s so effing handsome that I’ll conveniently forget everything and melt when I see his picture? Good grief. I’m shallow, but I’m not stupid. 🙂

Ah well. As always, men like this make me appreciate the good ones all the more.

And speaking of good men… Mine is caught up in an insane cycle at his job and has been putting in 12- to 15-hour days this week. And tonight, he has to pull an all-nighter, doing a pipe inspection. So, it’s home for me tonight. He will come home in the morning, sleep a bit, and then he’s supposed to meet with his aunt and cousin, as they’re coming out from Long Beach to visit his mother. I will go meet with him for that. Yes, if you figured I’d really, really rather skip that, you guessed correctly. But I’ll go, because it will make John happy. He’s had a crap week; it won’t kill me. And after that, he more than likely is heading back out to O.C. to work again.

You can imagine how worried I’ve been about him. Sleep deprivation and work stress/pressure is a combination primed for disaster. Especially with a man in his 50s with a bad heart. However, he has promised me over and over that he’ll be OK, he’ll take naps, he’ll be careful. I can only keep my fingers crossed that he’ll get through the weekend in one piece, and then next week he’ll be able to take a couple of days off to rest.

So, unless something changes, I’m pretty much on my own this weekend, and no Mr. D on Monday, either. At least I have some work to do (yay!) and I can catch up on all the odds and ends of my To Do list.

Hey, maybe I’ll text Mr. Studly and see if he’s available. Kidding! I’m just KIDDING!! 😀

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Delayed gratification IS sweet

Mr. D and I have played four times now. Is that all it’s been? It’s amazing to me, how he slipped in and made a place for himself so quickly. A door closed, and he threw open a window.

I didn’t know I was so tense. Maybe it was residual from the wedding business. Maybe it was getting so completely geared up yesterday and then having to wait. Maybe it was my fretting about John (for a change, right?), who is in the middle of a large and important project at work and will be working even crazier hours than usual for the next couple of weeks (including weekends, most likely). Or maybe because I’m just normally wound up tighter than a Slinky and that’s why I need stress release on a regular basis. Whatever it is, Mr. D seems to be able to tap right into my mushy center, without having to shatter my brittle exterior. His approach is somewhat different: He melts it. And I really don’t know how he does that. I just know it happens.

He arrived today around 12:30. We talked for a while, caught up on things. He asked me about the party, I asked him about his neighbor. And then he uttered the phrase I have already learned is a standard of his: “Come here, you.” I like that. 🙂

Little longer and a bit more powerful warmup hand spanking — lovely. The hand is a resilient thing. His will be as tough as a brick after a few more weeks with me. 😀

We then moved to the bedroom, where he declared my feet were too twitchy and pulled out some restraints. Here’s a “before” picture, no color yet:

He got a small wooden paddle and something else (the hairbrush?) from my drawer. I wondered at first why he didn’t retrieve the Spanking Buddy or the leather paddle… then realized he’d taken those home with him last time. (forgot to ask how his friend liked them; will have to follow up on that!) I’m not sure why, but I was prickly at first, and I got irritated when his phone kept ringing. (His workday wasn’t over, since it was earlier.) He apologized and put it on silent, which I appreciated. Then he went to work with his hand and with the implements.

The prickliness dissolved, instantly. His voice was calm, and he interspersed the swats with caresses to my hair, with leaning down and whispering comforting words. “You want more, don’t you,” he murmured. “I know what you want.” “Yes… yes. More, please,” I pleaded. I was ready to jump out of my skin, I wanted that sweet pain and that release so badly.

Before I knew it, I was weeping. That inner dam, that knot of everpresent tension I swallow around every damn day, broke wide open yet again. I tried to hide my face, but he brushed my hair back and away and gathered me close. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Let go. I’ll catch you.” That made me cry harder. But it felt good. I could feel the tension pouring out like poison, leaving me clean and clear.

He let me cry for a long time, and when he sensed I was calmer, he rolled me onto my back. Instinctively, I looked away, not wanting him to see my smeared makeup, my red eyes and nose. “No,” he said. “Look at me.” I did.

“You rest — I’m going to check my phone for a minute.” I lay there, feeling myself sink deeper into the bedclothes. He listened to one message, then looked over at me. I was wiping tears off my face. “Don’t move,” he said, and picked up the camera again. I kept still, fighting the urge to roll away from him and hide my face. I let him capture my vulnerability.

I don’t care for this picture. It makes me squirm a little. But I’m posting it anyway, because it’s real.

We cuddled in aftercare mode and talked for a long time after that. I don’t remember what he was telling me, but at some point, he asked if I understood him. I nodded and said yes. Then he got a twinkle. “Yes, sir,” he prodded.

And I burst out laughing. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”

“No,” I burbled, giggling my head off. “I think it’s hilarious!”

His reply was to roll me back onto my stomach and pick up the paddle again. Good Christ, that thing hurt the second go-round! I was thrashing around, laughing and screeching at the same time.

“What’s this? It hurts? What happened — I thought you were the tough girl!”

“It’s the second time, not the first,” I hollered. “I’m sore! I’m tender!”

“Oh, well,” he teased. “I thought you could take anything, but if you can’t take it…”

Push my buttons, why don’t you! “Oh, fuck off,” I snapped. Uh oh. Did I say that in my speaking voice or my thinking voice?

WHACK!! “What was that you just said??” Damn. My speaking voice, apparently.

He held me down firmly and kept going. “Would you care to repeat that?”

“OK… fuck off, sir.” That didn’t please him either. “Hey, I said sir!”

Nope, not good enough. He didn’t stop until he heard, “AllrightallrightI’msorry!” It was so worth it. 😀

So I had both tears and laughter. And finally, the boneless bliss.

He had to leave around 4:00. And tomorrow, he leaves for a vacation that will extend into next week. However, we are on for a week from Monday. It will be right after my birthday, and he has already promised me a belated birthday spanking and lots of attention. Prepare to be pampered and paddled, he said.

I can’t wait.

Tonight, the hot water spray in the shower stung my bottom like so many tiny needles. I loved it.

I am a lucky woman.

Go have a wonderful time, Mr. D. I’ll be here when you get back.

I’m not going anywhere. 🙂

One of those days…

It was going to be a busy morning/early afternoon. Mr. D was coming over at 3:00, and I wanted to get a workout in, finish some work, straighten up the place, wash my hair, etc.

My new client gave me a batch of work last week. I like these people, but they are kind of unusual. Their jobs are brief (they send a bunch at a time), but their methods of operation are more time-consuming than the actual proofreading! First, they want you to print out all the jobs and mark them up the old-fashioned way. Next, you go into their electronic files and make all the corrections, check the formatting, etc. They have a complex, two-sided Work Order form that you have to print out and fill out for each individual job (for example, this latest batch had 10 jobs). And finally, you have to take the hard copies to the P.O. and send them back Priority Mail.

I was prepared to send everything off tomorrow. But my contact wrote to me this morning and was hoping to get them earlier. Oh, damn.

So, hustle hustle hustle. I left for the gym, and about halfway there, got stuck in gridlock in the street. I don’t know if there was an accident or road construction, but the cars were not moving. People were doing U-turns and going back the other way. I thought I’d tough it out, but when I’d moved one block in 15 minutes, I thought, “Screw this,” and turned around. Drove back home and went to the laundry room in my apartment building, where there’s a treadmill, a few weights and some other equipment. I worked out for nearly two hours and then raced back up to my apartment.

Shower, wash hair, dress, blow out my hair, clean the bathroom. Sat down to double-check all the jobs, type out my invoice, and then fill out 10 work order forms. At 2:00, I was ready to dash back out to the Post Office, which I did post-haste.

Got home at 2:20, put on some makeup, and ran around the apartment straightening up, making the bed, refilling the water pitcher, and all the other odds and ends. At 2:50, I was done, completely ready. WHEW.

Aaaaaand then Mr. D called to postpone.

(heavy sigh)

It was for a very good reason; there was an emergency with his elderly neighbor, whom he’s been sorta looking out for. I hope he will be all right.

He suggested coming over tomorrow. I would like that. Because on Wednesday, he is leaving for a vacation, and I won’t see him next week. So if I don’t see him tomorrow, then it will be a whole month. And that would suck.

So please hold a good thought that he makes it. Meanwhile, tonight’s play report has been postponed, hopefully not for more than 24 hours.

Bottoms, don’t you hate it when you’re all dressed up/made up/geared up to play, and then it doesn’t happen? All that pent-up energy! I swear, it’s as bad as orgasm denial. (Not that I’ve ever experienced that. Because if any man told me I’m not allowed to orgasm, I’d tell him to go fornicate himself.)

Fun with weddings

What a difference a week makes. Last weekend, I was in Vegas, enjoying all manner of spanking debauchery. And then this weekend, I was at a vanilla wedding. OK, I dressed up for both (but, as John put it, not quite as slutty for the second one), and got to dance at both. The resemblance ends there. I’m glad the latter is over. The former, I could revisit again and again.

It was a nice wedding, I have to admit, in a lovely place with a gorgeous reception area and then a beautiful courtyard set up for the dinner and dancing. But I’m just not into weddings. Across the aisle, I could see John’s brother’s wife crying. Me? I wanted to roll my eyes when they had Scripture readings. (And it didn’t help when John kept leaning over and whispering “WTF??” in my ear.) But I damn near lost it when John’s niece, speaking her written vows, blurted, “You totally complete me!” No. She did NOT just say that. Who says that, except Tom Cruise movie characters?? Still, I maintained control, just briefly dropping my eyes and biting my lip. I admit, though, she did look really cute when she did an exuberant fist-pump, flowers in hand, when they were pronounced husband and wife.

There was an open bar (of course) and servers walking around with trays of five different hors d’oeuvres, after the ceremony. Three of them were fried and the other two were loaded with cheese, so I passed. Weddings are fun places to people-watch, so I did so while John chatted with his relatives. Wandering outside, I saw the tables where we were to eat. Each plate had a placecard, and I found mine… all the way at the opposite end of the table from where John was seated. Excuse me? Not acceptable. I called John outside, and we snuck around the table, switching placecards. While we were at it, we discovered that his cousin and wife were separated too, so we put them back together as well. What were the arrangers thinking??

There were about a dozen different speeches before the dinner. John kept me entertained during those, whispering running commentary in my ear. He could afford to be critical. The other night at the rehearsal dinner, John had given a speech, reciting some lovely words about strength of union and love conquering all — in Latin! And he had memorized it! After that, the bride’s uncle on her father’s side got up and read a poem — the first verse was something along the lines of “Greens are yeses, reds are maybes; let’s get together, and make some babies.” From the sublime to the ridiculous.

Dinner was tasty; they had a choice of prime rib, stuffed chicken breast or spinach ravioli. Lots of wine and champagne. And, oddly enough, there was a tiny cake for the bride and groom to cut, but the rest of us got assorted mini-tarts and pastries for dessert. When the dancing started, the mass quantities of consumed alcohol began kicking in and the evening turned a bit raucous. It was outdoors on a very warm summer night, and John finally shed his suit jacket; the poor man was sweating like crazy.

I found an unexpected ally in his sister-in-law C. I’ve known her for as long as I’ve known John, but she and I never really talked; she’s in her early 40s. We ended up chatting a bit, and I sensed something, a sort of kinship, like somehow there was a lot she wasn’t saying, but that she was thinking. So I took a chance, moved closer at one point and whispered, “I don’t know how you do it. I mean, you actually married into this dysfunctional family.” That was risky… but she responded. She opened up. And at the end of the evening, before she and her husband left, she said, “You know, we should all hang out sometime. You guys [John and me] are the only ones who are normal.” HAH! If only she knew.

Gotta say, it was so gratifying and validating, when I told her about some stupid lecherous comment that John’s inappropriate brother-in-law had said to me. Her jaw dropped and she screeched, “What a DICK!”

We left shortly thereafter, because things were getting louder and louder and it was clear it was going to morph into a drunken bacchanal in short order. I think seeing one somewhat under-dressed young woman jump onto another woman’s back, piggyback style, was a bit of a hint. So we pushed our way through the sweaty throng on the dance floor, saying goodbye to the bride, the groom, John’s sister. Tangled up in the bodies, I distinctly smelled pot. Yup, it was time to go.

I wish them well. I hope they will be OK, will have a nice life. I know John has a special affection for his niece, since he’s her godfather as well. I know he wishes things with his family were different. Sometimes, my heart hurts for him. Yeah, all families are screwed up in their way and his isn’t all bad. But the difference between John and me? I accepted long ago that my family was pretty much the pits and that I preferred to maintain a certain detachment from them. John, however, has never stopped yearning for the closeness, the validation, the blood-is-thicker-than-water thing. I know he hoped that growing older would bring them all closer. I watched him last night, chatting enthusiastically with a cousin he rarely sees (in fact, the last time he saw him was the last family wedding, over 10 years ago). He misses that; I know he does. Me? I’ll take my spanking family. They get me. Not my blood relatives.

OK! Got through it. And now tomorrow is my reward; Mr. D returns. 🙂

Hope everyone had a nice weekend.

Shadow Lane 2012 — some pictures

I’ve posted a few of these on FetLife, but not everyone is on there, so I will share them here as well.

This is from Friday night; I’m between Sarah Gregory and Princess Kelley. Aren’t they cute?

Sarah and me on Saturday night, rocking our blue dresses:

The naked flogging. I’m on the far left, then Kelley, Mila and Sarah:

The pillow fight. L-R is Stevie, Lilibrat, Sarah and Kelley, with me lying in the center and Mila enthusiastically wielding the pillow above us:

Last but definitely not least, my extremely rude (but honest!) reaction to Lea’s multi-colored Peeps on a Stick:

So I survived the wedding rehearsal dinner — sort of. The event itself was OK, but on my way in, I took a spectacular fall. John’s sister’s house has hardwood floors and there are several single, shallow steps throughout (read: booby traps). I walked in from the bright sunshine in my sunglasses and proceeded to stumble on one of those steps from the living room into the dining room. I didn’t want to fall on my face, so I sort of twisted on my way down and landed backward, with most of my weight on my left palm and hyperextending my elbow. John’s sister made a huge fuss, which was nice of her, but I was so thoroughly embarrassed (not to mention hurting), I wished she would stop. The father of the groom insisted on massaging my elbow (he did ask first), which felt nice, but also extremely weird. I forgot about it last night, but when I woke up this morning, I felt the aftermath of that fall in a big way. My elbow hurts and I think I tweaked my back a bit too. Ugh. And of course, single-minded as I am, all I could think was, “So glad this didn’t happen before last weekend!”

John, being the godfather as well as the uncle, felt obligated to not only provide all the champagne for the reception, but to buy a gift from the registry and give the couple some cash. (sigh) When he told me that he was going to tell M & R that the gifts were from both of us, I said, “Honey, that’s nice of you and I appreciate it, but I wish you wouldn’t. You should take all the credit; I didn’t contribute anything.” And he answered, “Maybe not in money, but you’re there for everything and you put up with them.” He gets it. He knows. Makes it all a little bit easier, knowing that he gets it. Not a lot easier, you understand. But a little. 🙂

Feeling the party drop, for sure. I’m so grateful I get to see Mr. D this coming Monday.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: