Spankos are awesome

I know I bitch and moan sometimes about FetLife and the BS that can go on there, and about the creepers and the Uber-Doms and drama queens and lord knows what else in the scene. But then something happens that makes me remember why I’m here: not just because of a shared kink, but because I know some damn good people.

We have a friend named John, known as JerseyJohn in the scene. He’s been around the parties for many years (I think we met him back in the late 90s), and he’s a big bear of a guy, Italian, deep rumbling voice with a pronounced Jersey accent, looks like he could have been on the Sopranos, and has a heart as big as he is. He gives wonderful hugs and is well loved by many.

Two weekends ago, at the Florida Moonshine party, John collapsed. He was taken to the ER, and has been in the hospital since. He nearly died; went into full arrest, had to be shocked several times and then put in a medically induced coma for a while. I don’t know all the details, although a friend of his has been posting regular updates on FetLife — but it’s his heart. They found a large blockage and put in a stent, and now are running other tests and so forth. He is slowly recovering, but has a long road ahead. He’ll be in the hospital at least another week.

Many local friends have been to visit him, and his wall on FetLife has been plastered with messages and well wishes. One woman offered to gather all the messages and put them into a book for him. The outpouring of love has been amazing.

Over the weekend, our Joe (AKA DrLectr on Fet) put out a call. He found a site where people can safely and securely make donations, and he posted “Operation: $10,000 for JerseyJohn by August 1st.” He set it all up; all we had to do was click a link and add our donation. There was an option for a message, and you could even donate anonymously if you wanted to. Joe figured that with people rallying for John, they could easily meet the $10,000 by August 1st, when they would transfer it to him.

Joe’s notice went up Saturday. As of this morning, the quota is nearly met, just a few hundred dollars shy. We had a month, and in less than 48 hours, it’s nearly a done deal. The enthusiasm for this endeavor is so infectious, that even people who have never met John are contributing.

JerseyJohn is in for a lot of struggle, both physically and financially. But this incredible show of love and support is going to go a long way. Heal quickly, paisan. We want you back among us, and soon.

Spankos rock, yes we do. ♥

EDIT: Just checked the thread on FetLife. Goal has been met. 🙂

Is it Labor Day yet???

Can we just bypass summer and be done with it? It’s just heat. I want it to be Shadow Lane time already. After reading all the feedback about two big parties last weekend, I want to be at one. I want to see all our friends. I want to be in a hug pile and play until I can’t play anymore and laugh until my face hurts and my voice cracks. Yes, you’ve heard this song and dance from me before. Just feeling it extra today, this week.

Some say I am very lucky because I get to have regular play. Yes, I know I am. I am well blessed with a fabulous top, and I do not take that lightly. I guess I just wish I could have the en masse camaraderie experience more often. 

Two more months, and I get to see people I love to bits, and make new friends. I can’t wait. But of course, I will wait.

What else… Oh, I just posted some new writing on FetLife about how some “tops” out there think it’s OK to spank a woman and then demand a blowjob as a “reward.” You know, just another version of the Entitlement People. Mind you, I am not putting down blowjobs or any other form of sexual activity. I’m just saying that expecting it after you do me the favor of spanking me is arrogant beyond belief.

And just to prove my point, about 10 minutes after I posted, this little squirt (all of 19 years old) who calls himself “LordUberDom” commented:

Oral sex is a respectful way to say “thank you” and a true lady understands this.

Please do pardon this true lady for her French, but go fuck yourself, kid. You wouldn’t know a true lady if you found one in your playpen.

Should be interesting, where this writing will go. I am eagerly anticipating. 🙂

Anyway, another weekend is upon us. John and I get to go to a birthday party for his one-year-old grand-nephew, at his alkie sister’s house tomorrow. Oh, joy! Oh, rapture! (sigh) And get this: on the invitation, right below the RSVP info, was “We would appreciate contributions to [the baby’s] college fund.” Is it me, or is that tacky? Screw that — we bought the kid a sweater. And John is currently in an argument with said sister, so it should be especially awkward being there tomorrow. He told me that if things get hairy, he’ll say the stress is causing his heart to a-fib and we’ll beat a hasty retreat. Yes, it’s evil, but oh well. 🙂 

Seeing my sweetie, got a new work project, got Chrossed… life is good today. Have a great weekend, y’all.

Spank, repeat, spank, repeat

We love our tops; truly, we do. But if your top is anything like mine, he (or she) sometimes is just a weeee bit repetitive in their spanking banter.

You know what I mean. The buzzwords, the phrases. They all have their favorites, and sometimes, well, they say them more than once in a scene. Or more than five times. Or more than… you get my point. Until they reach cliché status.

Yeah, I hear you out there. “You bottoms repeat things too!” Not the same. We’re the bottoms. We’re at a disadvantage, being under duress and all. Our brains aren’t functioning at their full capacity, since the blood is rushing elsewhere. We can’t be held accountable for not being 100% original every damn minute, you know?

But really, what’s the spanker’s excuse, hmmm?

So Tuesday, toward the end of the OTK warm-up, I got a little cranky at hearing “I know what you need” one too many times. Soooo, I may have said something like, “Yeah, yeah, I know you do, you’ve told me a hundred times.”

“Excuse me?” Steve said, and retaliated swiftly. “Would you care to say that again?” I didn’t. My mama didn’t raise no stupid children.

I thought that was the end of it, until we moved onto Phase 2. Steve thought that would be a good time to take me to task for getting on his case about repeating himself. He did his very best to convince me that certain repeats aren’t all that bad. With the help of his repetitive-motion friends — the strap, Lexan paddle, crop, and that @#$%ing Licking Stick.

Notice the light pink on the lower legs. When Steve was cracking wise about how we should do repeats, three-peats and five-peats, I retorted that perhaps he should send in Pete; he might do a better job. Yeah, that brought things to a new level… a lower one. (wincing)

I have no idea what made those weird track marks on my left cheek. He doesn’t recall either.

But I sure felt them happening.

Ouchy spank-face.

It was actually a really fun scene, make no mistake. Banter was high; we were both in good form. In fact, after I saw the video, I liked it so much, I posted it on both FetLife and SpankingTube. So far, no negative remarks on ST — hallelujah! If y’all would like to take a look, you can find the video here.

Not to worry, I got lots of wonderful after-care. I even got ice.

Here’s the weird part: Even with the marks and the intensity of the scene, I wasn’t sore today. Whereas last Wednesday (after what was a typical session on Tuesday), I was a wreck, gritting my teeth through my workout, feeling every move back there. Go figure.

OK, I give. Some repeats are good. I’ll be happy to repeat it all over again next Tuesday. With my wonderfully awesome top, El Redundo. 🙂

Deconstructing "No"

Last week, I wrote a piece on FetLife about saying “no” to scenes at spanking parties, since there have been so many of the large weekend ones lately. Seems like it would be fairly straightforward, yes? No. Because there’s always going to be a certain type of top for whom no doesn’t mean this:

But rather, this:

Below I have pasted what I wrote on Fet. It got 180 “loves” and 108 comments, so far.

It’s been party season, with BBW just behind us, TASSP and FMS right in front of us, and CM next month, soon to be followed by SL. I can’t attend everything, unfortunately, but I’ve been a party-goer for 18 years. I’ve seen a lot of people come and go, I went from a newbie to a veteran, and I’ve had, seen, and heard about a lot of wonderful scenes. As well as some bad ones.

And one theme never seems to change: Women at parties are uncomfortable saying “no” to a spanking request. (For all intents and purposes of this particular discussion, I’m going to keep the focus on female bottoms. I know that tops of both sexes also have to deal with being asked to play when they don’t want to, but I think there is a particularly intense pressure on the female bottom persuasion.)

We don’t want to be mean. We don’t want to be rude. We don’t want to hurt feelings. We don’t want to get a bad rep for being too picky, or just playing with the “popular” tops, or some such nonsense. So we go ahead and accept the play invitation we really don’t want, because how bad could it be, anyway?

Let me tell you, it could be pretty bad. But that’s not the point. Even if it isn’t… why should any of us compromise in our play?

Ladies, you are not a party ambassador. No one assigned you to play with anyone and everyone who asks you. It’s YOUR party. You paid for your ticket just like everyone else, and you have choices. And, even more important, it’s YOUR butt. You get to choose who puts their hands on it.

Consider what a play party spanking is. OK, so maybe it’s not as intense and personal as a one-on-one spanking with a trusted mate. It’s more casual, more light-hearted, generally shorter, etc. But guess what? It’s still an intimate act. Someone is putting their hands on you, looking at your backside, feeling you close to them. Unless you are blessed with the ability to completely detach yourself (I am not), you need to have some level of attraction, of chemistry, of like, or even just curiosity about playing with someone. Do you want to kiss every man you meet? Of course not. Then why would you be expected to lie across the lap of every man who wants you to?

Please stop compromising yourselves. If you really, really don’t want to play with someone, then please don’t. Do not allow yourself to be guilted, manipulated or coerced. You have the right to say “no, thank you” and have it be respected.

I once had a friend (who sadly dropped out of the scene several years ago), a lovely woman, who was cursed with simply being too nice for her own good. She could not say no to anyone, even though she desperately didn’t want to play with some people. I was constantly lecturing her about this, and she’d hang her head and say, “I know, I know.” I’d warn her about certain people. I warned her about a notoriously hard and inconsiderate player, but when he asked her to play, she said yes. Then she timidly asked him to please not use any wood. He went on to completely ignore her and bruise the holy hell out of her with a wooden paddle. When my friend and I were icing her down later and she was in tears, I wanted to throttle the guy. But I wanted to throttle her a little, too! “Dammit, C,” I said. “Just say NO!”

Same woman wanted to avoid yet another creep who had been chasing after her. He was sitting on a couch and she was trying to walk past him, and he did a “yank and spank” — he simply grabbed her and pulled her down over his lap and started whaling away. And she let him. Had it been me, I would have raised the roof. Do NOT let anyone do this to you! And don’t be afraid of making a scene, or of “being a bitch.” You don’t want to be on that lap? Get the hell off of it, and report the yanker.

These are atypical horror stories, and I’m not trying to scare newer people. My point is, this kind of stuff stops when we say no, and mean it.

When tops are polite to you, by all means, be polite back. When you’d like to play with someone but are concerned that you’re overextending yourself, ask them to please keep the scene light. That, too, is within your right. But if you’re pushed, cornered, your space is invaded, someone won’t take a polite “no” for an answer? Guess what? You don’t have to be so nice anymore. Walk away. And if they follow you, report them. This shit needs to stop.

If you’re still leery about being firm, get a wingman/woman if you need to. Hang with a trusted friend, and let them know who is bothering you. When he approaches, your friend can intervene on your behalf and say, “Hey, aren’t we supposed to be in so-and-so’s room right about now?” and whisk you away. I’ve done this — it works! Do whatever to need to do in order to ensure your good time. You deserve it. We all do.

Play safe, have fun, and always remember: It’s YOUR BUTT!

Tell me… does this piece leave any sort of ambiguity? Apparently, one person thought it did. He posted comment after comment, engaging with several others, trying to deconstruct, reconstruct and redefine “No.” Yeah, but what if “no” means “not now, but maybe later”? Or “I’m not sure”? And how will the asker know what kind of “no” it is if he doesn’t ask, if he doesn’t say “why not?” Doesn’t he have the right to some sort of reason, an explanation, so that he can know what it is about him that is eliciting “no”? (How about the fact that he can’t take “no” for an answer??)

It was getting so ridiculous, I was about to lose my temper and rip that guy a new one. (As it was, I posted and asked people to please stop engaging with him.) But then two of my friends stepped in and made everyone laugh. Well, me, anyway.

Friend #1 commented:

Random thought.

Everyone attending an event will be issued 3 color-coded cards with the word NO written on them.

If asked a question and you mean, “No, but I would definitely entertain the question later, if asked,” you show the “No” written in green.

If asked a question and you mean “No, and I don’t expect my answer or interest to change in next few days,” you show the “No” written in yellow.

If asked a question and you mean “No fucking way, not going to happen (regardless of the reasons) so don’t ever ask again and good luck with your life,” you show the No written in red.

I’m thinking NO Cards would make a great product or sponsored giveaway at these events and — ANY social event. 🙂

Then Friend #2 chimed in with:

That sounds good, but you know someone would come up with a “why not” card.

Friend #1 came back with:

Fine… fourth card… giant middle finger!

And Friend #2 had the last word:

Only if it comes attached to a taser. This way they won’t wonder, does that middle finger mean “come over here”?

Yes, kids, things actually get this ridiculous. All because certain people don’t comprehend, or respect, the simple little word “no.”

I know a lot of my readers aren’t party-goers, but maybe you attend smaller local gatherings at times, or a local dungeon/club? Have you ever played with someone you really didn’t want to, just to be nice? Did you ever feel like you didn’t have the right to say “no” at a party, because, after all, everyone is supposed to play with everyone and if you say no, you’re a party pooper or something?

So many misconceptions and so many questions of etiquette. Our scene is ever complex, and sometimes it’s hard to navigate. Which is why I’m glad I’m not new anymore. But I’m very happy to offer my experience and thoughts to others if they want them. We all need to watch out for one another!

Wrapping up the week

Overall, a much better week than last week. Besides my killer scene with Steve, let’s review:

1. I had work, none of which had gross and disgusting pictures.

2. John finally got his second opinion from an outside hospital that specializes in heart surgery. They told him he definitely qualifies for valve repair rather than replacement, and with minimally invasive surgery versus tearing his chest open. And yes, his HMO is capable of doing this. Now the battle truly begins, but at least he’s armed with the proper information.

3. I treated myself to a pedicure. It’s hard to be depressed when your toenails are sparkly red.

4. I got on FetLife’s Kinky & Popular list twice this week; once for the video from Tuesday’s session and once for a piece of writing about saying no at a party. I will cover that further in a future post.

5. You may recall the brilliant writer Jillian Keenan, who rocked our world last year with her article for the New York Times, Finding the Courage to Reveal a Fetish, effectively outing herself to the world. She and I follow each other on Twitter, and this week, she tweeted to me that I make her laugh out loud and if I ever come to New York, we should get coffee or something. Now that was a keeper.

6. I made it to all of my workouts, despite my desperate urge to stay home and just take a vitamin or something. 

7. Have I mentioned lately that my building’s new AC system really works well? After living here for 22 years and suffering through 22 summers with crappy semi-functioning AC, I have to pinch myself every time I walk into my apartment and it’s deliciously cool.

8. The human race didn’t disturb/frustrate/aggravate/enrage me nearly as much as usual.

9. Oh, and did I mention that I had a really great scene on Tuesday? 🙂

These are definitely overriding the not-so-positives, of which there are three:

1. Blog views and comments were way down this week, even though I thought I had a great post. That’s always annoying.

2. This weekend, there are two big weekend spanking parties going on: One in Texas and one in Florida. Between the two, several of my friends are in attendance and my FOMO is in high gear, and for one of the two parties in particular. Hurry, hurry, Shadow Lane.

3. I fell off the wagon and tweeted to Pablo Schreiber again, even though I publicly swore I would not. Surprise, surprise — he didn’t reply. Meanwhile, his followers shot up from 32K to nearly 39.5K; I think it’s going to his head. Perhaps I should start a new group, PFA (Pablo Fangirls Anonymous).

Back to work. To everyone at the parties, get your spank on for me and get/give lots of hugs, too! And to everyone else, have a great weekend, y’all.

I will never forget…

… that my top Steve loves and cares about me.

If Steve were the sort of top who ordered lines to be written (and I were the sort of bottom who would actually do it), I’d be writing that line 100 times. But as it is, I was to announce it publicly to my readers, so they could help remind me when I forget.

Meanwhile, he helped remind me in other ways yesterday.

What can I say. It was a bad two weeks, stressful and depressing and lonely. Meanwhile, he was away with his son, climbing Mt. Whitney, up in the middle of nowhere with no cell phone reception. After 10 days of no contact, my head went south. Maybe something bad happened. Bad things can happen on strenuous hikes. He has a bum knee; maybe it gave out and he fell. He has high blood pressure — maybe he had a stroke.

Or maybe he’d just forgotten about me.

It turns out that four days into his trip, when he reached the top, he had a brief moment of reception and he sent me a selfie. But I never got it.

(sigh) Long story short, I disappeared into my own head, and he brought me back.

He apologized for not contacting me before he left to say goodbye. But he did try to reach me with the selfie. He didn’t forget. 

“I get caught up in my own stuff and I let time go by sometimes,” he said. “But I always come back, don’t I?”

“Yes, I know you do,” I answered. “But I feel like in between, I’m out of sight, out of mind.”

“No. You’re not.”

He drove the point home, repeatedly, with his hand and several implements. “Who loves you?” “Who cares about you?” “Who’s not going anywhere?” And the questions weren’t rhetorical; I had to answer them. Reminders. Many, many reminders.

“Do you feel that, deep in your heart?”

“That’s not where my heart is!”

“It is today!”

No tears in this scene. I guess I had cried enough in the past two weeks. But I felt like he’d taken an anvil off my chest, and flipped a switch in my head, shutting off the negative nattering. Fuck you, depression. You visit, but I will not let you move in. Not any more.

Later, we were back to our playful mode. I was teasing him because, although his family roots go back to several generations in Mexico, he doesn’t know a word of Spanish. “You’re a disgrace to your heritage, not knowing the language!”

“I don’t need to speak Spanish,” he answered. “I speak your language — Spanklish.”

banging my head on the desk and groaning

We’re going on two years, next month. I guess he really isn’t going anywhere. Even John says, “Hey, he chose you over [the ultra-possessive ex]! How much more do you need?”

Yesterday was kind of a wash, since I was too out of it after he left to do much more than screw around on FetLife and play Scrabble on FB. Today, sore but at peace, I am back to work. 

Te amo, my top.