Defining… and redefining
OK, kids. I have some things to say. Hunker down and grab a beverage, because this is long.
I find myself at a crossroad with this blog lately. Since I moved to WordPress, my views and comments have dropped by about two-thirds. I was told to wait it out, and I have; it’s been five months. I’m not sure who my readers are anymore, really. Do people still read blogs, these days? Is the blogosphere destined to be pictures only? And where do I fit in, in all this, at this stage of my life?
So, I’ve been feeling the need to clarify a few things. Much of this, many of you might think is already well known. Bear with me, because I’m clarifying as much to myself as I am to you, and I need to get it all down.
1. I am a depressive. I have been for most of my life. It is clinical and physiological; my brain wiring, serotonin levels, etc. are screwy. I am also cynical, curmudgeonly, snarky, sarcastic, and a glass-half-empty sort. This is who I am. How do I cope? I take meds. I exercise. I talk to friends, I play with my top. And sometimes, I vent. I rant. I bitch. Sometimes, I wallow a little in the pity pot until I’m able to climb out of it.
I realize I’m not everyone’s cup of tea; I am no ray of sunshine. But if you don’t like who I am, or what I have to say, think I’m too negative, please… just don’t read me. And please, don’t shame me or invalidate me. I know people mean well when they try to fix, try to suggest things that will snap me out of it, suggest that I count my blessings and be grateful, tell me that other people have it much worse. Believe me, I am fully cognizant of my blessings, and I know they are many. Problem is, when I am in the abyss, I can recognize the blessings with my head… but I cannot feel them in my gut. They are temporarily lost to me. Regardless of what Abe Lincoln said, I cannot simply “make up my mind to be happy.”
Let me put it another way. If you saw someone in a diabetic coma, would you say to them, “Come on! Just make up your mind that your blood sugar levels are normal.” I would hope not. A depressive cannot control the unhappiness anymore than a diabetic can control their blood sugar. They can only manage it somewhat, and hope that it doesn’t go haywire.
So. if my sometimes cranky outlook on life isn’t your cup of tea, please feel free to seek out people who will blow sunshine and rainbows up your ass. I promise I will try hard not to be too over the top negative; I will keep working on perspective.
And remember this: 🙂
2. I am a spanko. Well, duh, Erica. Tell us something we don’t know. Patience, boys and girls.
I’ve been in this scene now for 19 years and counting, and I’ve watched a lot of changes, seen a lot of people come and go. Maybe I spend too much time on FetLife, but in recent years, I’ve noticed an overall attitude, a sort of negative vibe toward people who identify with just one fetish.
Used to be that people like me, who identified spanking as their sole fetish, called themselves “spanking purists.” However, now that term is frowned upon; it’s considered elitist. Somehow, it’s not OK to simply enjoy one aspect of the lifestyle anymore. We are supposed to experiment, to try new things, to be open-minded. We are supposed to “evolve.” So now we have St. Andrew’s crosses and whips at spanking parties. We have caned breasts and thighs. We have interrogation scenes (granted, those are done privately, but still).
I have very mixed feelings about the term evolve, as it’s used in the scene. On the one hand, some of my dearest friends use it and I know they don’t mean to upset anyone. But on the other hand, I resent the hell out of it. Because the implication is, if you’re not evolving, if you’re not continually changing and broadening, then you’re a dinosaur. You’re narrow-minded. You’re doing it wrong.
Here’s the deal, kids. I’ve done my experimenting. In my earlier scene years, I went to way more BDSM gatherings than spanking parties. I’ve been tied up, tied down, on a St. Andrew’s cross, in suspension. I was whipped by this guy. I scened with a man who is considered one of the premier experts on BDSM. (Who, incidentally, marked the hell out of me on a Friday night of a spanking party weekend; a major no-no.) I worked in a dungeon.
Most of my friends like a lot more fetish stuff than I do. Hell, my boyfriend and my top like a lot more fetish stuff than I do. And so sometimes, I doubt myself. I wonder if I need to branch out, be more open to other things.
Recently, John and I went to a BDSM/dungeon party, for the first time in many years. There was nothing wrong with it, no one did or said anything inappropriate. But I was miserable. I didn’t enjoy being there, I didn’t like anything I was seeing. And when we left, I was sad and depressed, and I wasn’t sure why. Until I thought about it, and realized that, just like when I was younger and desperate to belong, I was trying to force myself into places where I didn’t fit.
Well, no more. I’m not going to apologize for being a spanko, for liking what I like. What gets me going? I love a man’s hand, or implement, striking my bottom/sit spots/uppermost upper thighs. A friend recently asked me, “Do you hate D/s?” No, absolutely not; it can be really hot with the right person. But for me, it must be centered around spanking. Period. I do not want a gag in my mouth, a collar around my neck, clamps on my nipples or a hook up my ass. Paddles, straps, crops, canes? Bring it. A nice soft flogger on my back — there’s my exception to the bottom rule. I don’t want to be thudded with implements that look like closet poles, or have my flesh flayed off with a rubber hose. Marks, bruises? Sure. But my blood is to remain within my unbroken skin, thank you. My “bionic bottom” days are over. I am not in a competition with anyone to see who can have the most trashed ass.
If that makes me unevolved, then so be it. But I will not feel less-than about it anymore. I am who I am, and this is what works for me. If you like a lot of different fetish activities, then I am happy for you and wish you all the pleasure. But please don’t judge me or think less of me because I don’t.
3. This blog is more writing-centric than photo-centric. I realize that everyone and their second cousin has a Tumblr photo blog these days. But let’s be real, folks. I think it’s time to start calling myself a retired spanking model. My shoots are very few and very far in between these days. Don’t get me wrong; I am extremely proud of the fact that I have been a spanking bottom on video all through my 40s and most of my 50s. That’s unheard of. But even I realize I’m getting a little too old for this. I may have knocked a few years off my face with surgery, but the rest of my body is aging, in various and insidious little ways, despite all my efforts with diet and exercise.
Recently I watched a video that I shot last year, and had a couple of rude awakenings, seeing myself in HD. Fact: most bottoms can look good when the spankee is bent over — everything smooths out and tightens. The true test of a bottom’s shape and tone is when they’re upright. As I watched myself over the man’s lap, the camera zoomed wayyyyyy in on my bottom (jeezus, if that thing were any closer, I could have had a colonoscopy). And then, in that extreme closeup, the top told me to stand up, and I did. And watched as, in glorious HD, my bottom sort of flattened out and collapsed. ACK!! My eyes! Also, as I watched myself lying across the bed, much to my shock and horror, I saw my mother’s age-spotted arms and vein-y hands. How the hell did she get in there? Then… oh, f**k. That’s not Mom. That’s me. (Yes, Mom, I can still hear you. I should have worn more sunscreen.)
QUICK EDIT: Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I’ll never shoot again; I enjoy it too much, and if the opportunity arises, I won’t say no. But what I don’t want is to cross over the line between being a rebel against ageism and being a joke. I know haters are gonna hate, but I’m not made of stone. Comments like “What is someone as long in the tooth as Erica Scott still doing in spanking videos?” hurt. Yes, that’s real. Or the guy on Twitter who posted my picture and tweeted, “Wow, I didn’t know there was such a thing as granny porn.”
What does this all mean? Mostly that the days of exciting write-ups of shoots, with accompanying photos, are pretty much behind me. And because I don’t go to many parties and we don’t have a local spanking scene, my party reports and pictorials will be rare as well. So, if you look at blogs for the spanking photos, this blog isn’t for you. Sure, I’ll still have posts about Steve and our scenes. But I’m sure a lot of people find those redundant after a while.
So what does a spanko and former video actress write about? I feel like I have a lot of wisdom and experience to share, and would love to have some interesting discourse with y’all. But if all folks want is pictures these days, then I may need to gracefully retire this blog. Thoughts?
One more point, and then I’ll end this soliloquy. If you do read this blog, and you enjoy it, or if you want to debate a point with me, ask questions, whatever… for heaven’s sake, take a minute and drop a comment. Without feedback, we bloggers might as well be talking to ourselves. And I don’t want to hear any more about how it’s too difficult to comment on WordPress. I’ve already explained how it works, here. Also, people have mentioned that they don’t want to comment because they don’t want their names and email to show up. Well, you don’t have to post them. When you go to the comments section, the first thing that comes up is blank spaces for Name, Email, and Website. Guess what? You can leave them blank. Put whatever name/nickname that you wish in the name slot, and that’s it. Actually, you don’t even have to do that; if you leave Name blank, your comment will appear as Anonymous. So, no more excuses. I don’t ask you to agree with me when you comment. All I’ve ever ask is 1. you stay on topic, and 2. you are civil and polite.
(whew) OK. I feel better now. I meant no offense to anyone; just needed to redefine who I am and what I’m doing here.
Have a great weekend, y’all.