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 “January, 2015”

Can you say "FUCK IT," boys and girls?



That’s where I’m at, kids. Just sad and mad and needy and weepy and frustrated and empty inside and not sleeping well and envious of people having fun and BLECCCCCHHHHHH!!!! 

I need a spanking like nobody’s business. Times like this I wish I found self-spanking at least somewhat satisfying, but I do not.

I want to blog something funny and sexy and uplifting and interesting, but I have nothing. 

I want to post some fun new pictures, but I don’t have any.

I am sick of myself needing and wanting.

Two bits of good news: Today, John is finally getting the oral device for his sleep apnea. It will no doubt need some adjustments and so forth, but at least he’ll have it. He can get it tweaked by his dentist as well, whom he’ll be seeing next week. So that’s a relief. And this past week, he finally, finally had the tree trimmer come to his house and cut back all the trees in his yard. He lives up in a canyon, a fire-hazard area, and his trees had overgrown so much that his valley view was completely occluded. I have been begging him to have the damn things cut for so long now, I can’t remember. It’s been at least two years. I am terrified of fire, and the sight of all that overgrowth in his back yard has been stressing me. But I know he’s had a lot on his plate and he’s been so ill, and this was a low priority for him. But it’s finally done, and I am so relieved. He’s grumbling about how much it cost, but oh well. If he hadn’t let it go so damn long, it wouldn’t have been so expensive!

He can’t schedule his heart surgery yet. He wants it in March, and his @#$%ing HMO won’t schedule March surgeries until February. 

No word yet on when his mother’s memorial will be. Meanwhile, we haven’t been to his sister’s restaurant for lunch for the past two weeks. He texted her, asking if we were still welcome, and she never answered. so we’ve gone elsewhere. Fine by me — fuck her, too. 

Saw my doc last Wednesday; it’s been nearly three months since my surgery. He was a little concerned that the incision scars are still bright red, when they should be pinkish-white by now. But he said just keep treating them with the scar gel and he’ll see me again in a month. Meanwhile, to refresh my memory, he showed me the “before” pictures he took in his office. Blech. One of these days, when I’m finally feeling cheerful again, I’ll take some face pictures for you guys so you can see the progress. Right now, I’m just not up for it.

So, that’s where I am right now. I guess I should give myself the same advice I would give a friend feeling the same way: Be gentle with myself, do something fun, and hang in there. Oh, and don’t watch anything sad. Comedy is the order of the day. Fortunately, what with the movie academy president’s horrible gaffe yesterday, there has been plenty of comic fodder. (In case you didn’t hear, she was announcing the Academy Award nominees, and when she came to cinematographer Dick Pope, she pronounced it “Dick Poop.”)

Have a good weekend, y’all.

"I’ll be there for you."

No, I’m not channeling the ubiquitous repeats of Friends. But you all knew that phrase, right? You’ve probably heard it dozens, maybe hundreds of times in your lifetime, from various people. It’s one of a collection of Things People Say that sound good. “Call me anytime.” “If you need me, I’m always here.” “Lean on me.” “You can depend on me.”

Well-intentioned people who promise you the moon and stars, if you’ll just reach out and ask for it. 

I wish they’d stop doing that.

Because, as much as they want to be, no one can always be there for you. And to set people up with that sort of expectation sounds nice at the time, but it ends up hurting, disappointing, and disillusioning. 

I don’t begrudge others this inability to always be there. There’s a reason I never say phrases like that — because I know I can’t deliver. I mean, I can, sometimes. But not always. So I’m not going to say I can, just because it sounds good.

People have lives. People have jobs, children, pets, errands, chores, hobbies, crises, responsibilities. People need to sleep. People shut their phones off when they’re in a movie theater (and they really should shut the damn things off in several other places too, but that’s another subject). How many folks do you know who can simply sit by a phone 24/7 in case someone needs them? Yeah, we have cell phones now, so supposedly we’re accessible at all times. When I was young, if someone wasn’t home, you couldn’t reach them. Period. No cell phones, no voice mail, no texting, no IMs, nothing. It was the telephone, or in person, or nothing. Not so now.

But guess what? If a person is busy, or if a person doesn’t want to be reached, they are still unreachable. You can leave voice mail, email, texts, and send a carrier pigeon to poop on their head, but there will be times they still won’t reply to you. That’s reality.

So why make these lofty promises that you can’t possibly keep? Is it because you want to seem like a good friend? A hero? A rock? News flash. I’d rather have someone not promise me anything at all, than set me up and let me down. That affects my trust. That affects my confidence. That affects my feeling of being cared about.

When I was in 12-step programs, they had what they called sponsors — people who would be a sort of mentor and teacher, your friend, to help you with your stuff. People gave each other phone numbers. It was the 80s, so it was still landlines and office numbers. And members told me I could call them “anytime, day or night.” Well, I didn’t. Because, frankly, I thought that was rude and invasive. And also, because I really didn’t expect them to be there for me, day or night. If someone is that available, they can’t have much of a life.

I suppose some 24/7 D/s relationships insist that a sub is accessible at any hour, any day, any time. As I recall, John has known some really pushy dommes who expected him to answer his phone at all hours, and be ready to do whatever they wanted at the drop of a command. Fine. Let them spend their lives sitting by a phone. I, and most of the people I know, have a lot more to do.

Again, I applaud the sentiment. The words are said with the kindest of intentions. But I wish people would start getting real. What many of them promise is impossible.

And nothing feels worse than when you believe them, you pocket your pride and that squicky, uncomfortable feeling that you’re intruding or interrupting, you make yourself willing to be vulnerable, and you reach out… and they aren’t there for you after all.

I recall an old Ziggy cartoon (remember Ziggy?), where he’s staring mournfully at the reader and saying, “Maybe people, who need people, really aren’t the luckiest people in the world.” I think the poor little guy was right. Neediness doesn’t pay. Best to be as self-reliant as you can, and find your strength within. Because people are just too damn busy these days. They may want to be there for you, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, they are. But never count on it.

So… what’s my point? Please, stop promising things you can’t possibly deliver. Stop promising to always be there, because you can’t. Stop setting people up to believe they have their own personal Rock of Gibraltar. Because you’re made of mere flesh and blood, just like the rest of us. You have your own issues, your own stress and pain to deal with. We all do, and I don’t expect you to deal with mine, I really don’t. Unless you tell me, insist to me, that you want to and you will. And then, because I’m a mere mortal myself, one with needs, I believe.

I’m grateful I’m more of a loner. Because honestly, needing sucks. The more I need, the more I hurt.

Now I understand

Sometime in the late 1980s, I was still deeply in the spanking closet, had zero experience with it, and knew nothing about scene practices, dynamics or ethics. Because there was no Internet, I blindly grabbed at whatever I thought would show me a glimpse into this mysterious world.

So I rented 9 1/2 Weeks. All I knew about it was its stars, and that it involved some sort of kinky activity. And eagerly, I popped that VHS tape in the VCR and began to watch.

I remember liking it somewhat in the beginning. I never cared for Kim Basinger; there was something coarse and unpleasant about her character and I didn’t relate to it. However, let’s face it; before he did God-knows-what to his face that totally destroyed it, before he got bloated and fake-tanned and scary-looking, Mickey Rourke was freaking hot.




Yeah… I’d take orders from that too.

But as the film went on, it grew distasteful to me. Something felt off, and then felt more and more off until it played out and finished, leaving me feeling a bit skeeved, but not knowing why.

Cut to last night, when I was up late channel surfing, and the Sundance channel was just getting into 9 1/2 Weeks. So I watched some of it, this time with a more educated eye. And I know exactly what I hated.

For one thing, this film exhibited all kinds of stupid, including Kim’s character trusting a guy whom she knows absolutely nothing about except for his first name and a vague idea of what he does for a living. Things get darker and more and more non-consensual as the relationship developed, and you watched Kim grow unstrung to the point of a nervous breakdown, so totally and negatively obsessed was she with this guy, who started out charming and got more sinister. But the ultimate sin, what trashed the movie for me?

They totally screwed up what could have been a really hot spanking scene.

Oh my God, the buildup was perfect. She’s left alone in his house, so she snoops in his closet and drawers. He then calls her, and almost as if he had a hidden camera on her, he asks if she was being a “nosy Parker” and snooping in his things. His voice is low and silken and cajoling, and she confesses that yes, she was. He says, “Shame on you” and hangs up on her.

Next minute he’s back at his house, and she’s waiting, looking very nervous. He walks in, looking grim, and says with little preamble, “You were a very bad girl, Elizabeth. I want you to face the wall and raise your skirt. I’m going to spank you.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she blurts. “No, I’m not kidding,” he answers.

Now here’s where she should have meekly and reluctantly complied, as she did with all his other orders up to this point. But for whatever reason, this struck a nerve, and she gets incredibly pissed off, starts to flounce out, then stomps back in, screams “Who the fuck do you think you are?” and slaps him in the face. A struggle ensues.

OK, the scene still could have been salvaged. He could have wrestled her to the nearby dining table, bent her over it and given her that spanking. That would have been steamy as hell. But instead, he pushes her onto her back on the table, rips off her panties (you hear fabric tearing), and rapes her.

Yeah… that’s totally acceptable, but spanking her wouldn’t have been?? How lame! Way to represent us, Hollywood.

I shut off the TV after that point. No need to watch the rest again; I had my answer.

I suppose a lot of people liked the film and would disagree with me, but I thought it sucked, as far as representing a kinky relationship. When it comes down to it, Secretary did it a whole lot better. And Maggie Gyllenhaal absolutely nailed the innocent sweetness, vulnerability and trepidation of a new bottom; Kim Basinger didn’t even come close.

I know it’s an old movie and probably has been discussed to death, but since I just saw it again last night, it’s fresh in my mind. What do/did you guys think of it?

An informal poll for my readers

Well, not really a poll; more of a single question.

On FetLife, there was a thread running about what we call ourselves. What should become our defining word, our recognizable identifier. The most standard one now seems to be “spanko.” 

However, not everyone likes spanko. Me, I love it. It’s concise, it’s specific, it’s easy to remember. But it definitely has its detractors. Eve Howard once said that it makes her think of other “o” words that are negative, like sicko and psycho. Others have said it’s too cute. Still others say that, for unknown reasons, the word simply creeps them out. One person said on Fet the other day that “spanko” evokes the same sort of revulsion in her that a lot of people have expressed they feel about the word “moist.” (For the record, moist doesn’t bother me. But if I replace “moist” with “tushy,” then I totally get how she feels.)

A Fet friend suggested “kinkster,” but I think that’s too general. That could mean one is into any kind of kink.

So, for those of us who consider spanking our main kink — how do you feel about spanko? Like it? Hate it? And if it’s the latter, what term do you think should be used instead?

Just curious. Not that it matters, because labels kinda suck anyway. But for the sake of expediency, it’s nice to have a defining term that doesn’t need to be explained — you say it, and people pretty much figure it out. 

In other news, had a wonderful and much-needed girls’ time out with Alex and SpankCake last night. It had been too long, and all three of us had a lot to get off our plates and share with caring ears. I realized after we left — we were so busy talking, we didn’t even order dessert this time! And we were in the Cheesecake Factory, for God’s sake. I love these women so, so much. ♥

I tried an experiment with my blog, after that warning page came up and one of my readers pointed out that it was not the standard warning after all, but one that claimed “some readers” had found my blog to have objectionable content. So I went into my settings; for Adult Content? I had checked No. Just for grins, I clicked Yes. Sure enough — the warning is still there, but it reverted back to the standard “This blog may contain adult content…” Well, that’s something.

I still don’t have a good feeling about this, and I’ve been told more than once that I should migrate to WordPress. Yeah, I know I should. But the thought of that overwhelms me now. I have very little computer savvy and I don’t have access to computer-savvy people who could come over and show me how to do this. And right now, I have so damn much on my plate, there isn’t room for anything else. But I will put it on the “to-do” list for the future. Blogger and Google are getting more like Big Brother every day.

And finally, since one of my commenters suggested that Blogger is annoyed with me for not posting as many red-bottomed pictures as usual and I need to put up more, well, OK. Worth a try; here ya go.




Have a great weekend, y’all.

He didn’t stay long, but…

… he made an impression. 🙂




First spanking of the New Year. It was a brief visit; too brief. But I was glad to see him. That pleasurable pain temporarily snapped me out of the malaise I have been in for a while now. 

Unfortunately, it came back. But I will continue to beat it back (literally, sometimes).

I hope things will settle and we can continue with our routine, our longer visits, the extended aftercare. Because I need to be a rock, and lately, I feel more like a pile of shifting sand. I need my support systems.

Hold on tight. Please.




Side note: I have noticed, since the beginning of the year, I now encounter this infamous warning page whenever I go to my blog:


Content Warning

Some readers of this blog have contacted Google because they believe this blog’s content is objectionable. In general, Google does not review nor do we endorse the content of this or any blog. For more information about our content policies, please visit the Blogger Terms of Service.


I realize this is the standard warning page for blogs categorized as “Adult.” However, I’ve never designated mine as such, purposely so I wouldn’t have that stupid warning pop up. But now it’s coming up automatically, even though I checked “no” in my settings under “Adult Content.”

Anyone know what’s going on? Is this just another one of Blogger’s “porn sweeps,” attempting to corral and label all adult material? Or does this mean I’m on the radar somehow? Any Blogger savvy folks out there, would love to hear from you. Thanks. (And yes, I am backing up my blog regularly.)

Onward

Happy New Year, y’all. It’s now January 4, so the holidays are firmly behind us, and good riddance, if I may say so.

I’m almost afraid to feel some cautious hope, because the last couple of weeks have been so dreadful, but I am hoping that the worst is behind us. There is still a lot of BS happening with John’s family (his sisters, mostly) regarding their mother’s estate, and a lot of petty, nasty things have gone down. And there is still a memorial of some sorts yet to come, which we’re dreading. But sooner or later, this all has to resolve somehow. And then we can get on with the business of restoring John’s health.

New Year’s Eve ended up like the rest of the end of 2014: lousy. I bought lots of lovely treats for dinner and went to John’s house, only to find him there, so horribly sick, he could barely sit up. Dinner was out: I ate mine, but he managed maybe three bites of food before he gave up. The rest of the evening, he half sat, half lay on the couch, wheezing, moaning, laboring for breath, shaking. I thought I was going to have to take him to the ER. He insisted he just needed to rest, so I made sure he was warm, had drunk some water and was well bundled up, and we ended the evening before midnight, letting the champagne stay in the refrigerator.

The next morning, the worst of it seemed to be over. He was very pale and weak, but seemed to be a little more himself. He still couldn’t touch any of the food I brought, so I went out to buy him some light soup and Pepto-Bismol. By the time I got back, he was able to sit up in bed, and he gobbled down the bowl of soup I brought him. So, after making sure he’d taken Pepto and Tylenol, washing up the dishes, setting up his cell phone and water and tissues and everything else he needed on his nightstand, I went home that afternoon, since there wasn’t anything else I could do for him, and I had work to do. He slept all day, and that night when I called to check on him, he was having a snack. 

So, I went back on Friday night. We spent the weekend coughing and hacking and sniffling at each other, but we were both in decent spirits. He was able to go out for meals, for errands, etc., and he even wanted to go out for a nice dinner last night, after which we had our champagne toast at last. 

This month, he is finally getting the oral device he needs for his sleep apnea from his HMO. That will probably take some adjustments and so forth, but his dentist is an expert on this, so he will help out with that. And we are planning on scheduling his surgery for March. We have a party to attend in Vegas at the end of February, and figure that will be our last blowout for a while. He will be in the hospital for a week, and then home for seven more weeks. But the good news is, after months of fighting with his HMO, he finally made it to the top of the cardiac surgery department, and he’s going to get the exact surgery that he wanted. Finally. Repair of the valve, rather than replacement. Less invasive surgery, with a smaller incision. Still major, still open-heart surgery, but more progressive than the 1950s old-school surgery they wanted to do on him. Because that’s cheaper, easier, more familiar. Screw that, and screw them. 

We didn’t watch the Tournament of Roses Parade, even though John lives just east of Pasadena, where it’s held. But we got to see his town’s float, up close and personal! They placed it in the town square for the weekend, so everyone could see it. So amazing to be so close to one of those floats, see the thousands of flowers and all the intricate work. This year’s float had the theme, “The Little Engine That Could,” after the old children’s book. There was a little train, with wheels that actually spun, and it had cars with a giant teddy bear, two giraffes and two monkeys as passengers. 

My cell phone doesn’t take good photos, but I think you can get some idea anyway from these shots. Here’s an overall shot (that’s John standing off to the left):




Here’s the bear:



And the giraffes:




Here’s a closeup of a patch so you can see the details of the flowers:




The train’s cheerful “face”:


And finally, the positive and hopeful message:




To better days. Hope everyone had a nice weekend.

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