Well, what do YOU call it?

I love Girls’ Nights Out. Alex, SpankCake and I never fail to have interesting discussions on all sorts of topics. Classy, lofty topics, you understand. We’ll talk about world affairs, then segue seamlessly into classic literature, deconstruct a Shakespearean play or two, and wind up the evening with a scintillating discourse about the pros and cons of stem cell research.

Oh, bullshit. We talk about boys, spanking, and sex. Not necessarily in that order.

So, it’s no secret how much I loathe and detest the “c” word. However, because I copy-edit erotica, I have become somewhat inured to it. Still hate it, still won’t say it, still won’t write it, but I can deal with it. So when Alex occasionally slips, lets it fly and then sheepishly says, “Sorry, Erica,” I just laugh.

But if I don’t use the word, then what do I use?

I think I damn near made both Alex and SC do spit-takes tonight. We were talking about play partners at parties, casual play, etc., and how you often know next to nothing about the people you play with. “I mean, just because a guy’s spanked me a few times and had his fingers in my snatch doesn’t mean I know him,” I quipped.

“Erica said ‘snatch,'”Alex crowed, picking up her phone. “I like the word ‘snatch,'” I retorted. What did she do? Yup. Tweeted this:

“I like the word ‘snatch’!” @EricaLScott

Harrumph. Well, I do! It’s a great word! So descriptive. Plus, it’s never used as a pejorative, unlike the “c” word. When was the last time you heard someone say, “God, she’s such a snatch!” ?

So, another epic night with my girls. 🙂

In other news, I think I may have a crush on my new chiropractor. He’s just a little too gleeful about inflicting pain on my person and damned if that doesn’t make my kinky little self squirm. He’s a big bear of a guy with very strong hands, and when he’s digging his fingers into my low back, my hips, my scapula, and I’m moaning, he’s saying stuff like “Ah, there it is. Happy Monday!” Or, “Come on, I’m barely touching you. I’m dying to go much harder.” He calls me “my dear” frequently, which I always associate with toppy men. And he makes me feel like a very little bitty person — not young little, but size little. “You’re such a waif,” he said.  I protested and said I am not a waif, and he scoffed, “Oh please. I could throw you like a pizza.” Well. Plus, he makes me laugh so much, I forget he’s practically killing me. “Take a deep breath, relax, and pretend you trust me,” he said right before he damn near took my head off.

I used to see my old chiro every six weeks or so. I have a feeling I might see this one more often… Damn. I’m twisted in more ways than one.

I sure hope Steve makes it tomorrow. Between Snatch Chat and having big hands all over me today, I’m a bit hot and bothered.

 

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