Oh no, he didn’t

Hi kids. I’ve been quiet this week, very busy with work. Also, although Steve and I had our four-year anniversary of being play partners and friends this week, we did not get to see each other. He had a job interview on Tuesday, and the rest of the week, I was just so damn busy and stressed, I couldn’t carve out any decent time, or any decent head space, for that matter. So we are shooting for next Tuesday.

However, something happened this week that I think is worth a mention on here.

I am really trying to stay out of the political stuff, y’all. But it’s hard. It’s all over Twitter and Facebook, and we’ve had two conventions in two weeks. I confess, I didn’t watch a single minute of either one. Nor have I watched the evening news. I haven’t even been watching the late-night talk shows — no Jimmy (either one), no Conan, nothing. I’m just so damn tired of hearing about the election.

Still, I tweet and comment about it elsewhere. I can’t live in a bubble, much as I’d like to. The other night, I tweeted about how I’m not watching the convention, that I’ve been watching old TV shows and vintage game shows every night instead, because I need a break. And then I got a tweet back:

“You deserve a severe spanking if you watch the DNC!”

My insides seized up. I couldn’t believe someone went there.

I thought about replying to him, but first, I went to check out his profile. He followed me, I noticed. Why? Then I looked at some of his tweets. OK, he’s a spanko, that’s why. But then I looked at some of the other things he said — horrible, ugly, misogynistic things, rife with the c-word. Ugh. I don’t want this creep following me anyway, so I blocked him without saying anything to him.

However, I then tweeted a general message to anyone who might be watching, just in case:

“To the cretin who said I ‘deserve a severe spanking’ if I watch the DNC: I’ll watch what I damn well please, and get spanked when it suits me.”

I ran out of characters, so I tweeted again:

“Oh, and because I ran out of characters, I must add this: Please go fuck yourself. :-)”

My sexual proclivities and my politics are two separate entities, just like church and state are (or as they should be). Do. Not. Use my spanking fetish as a threat because you don’t like my politics. That is over the line. That is so far over the line that I can’t even see the line anymore.

You don’t like my political leanings/choices? That’s your right and your prerogative. But you do not get to drag spanking into it. That makes me sick. Don’t take what’s fun and sexy and delicious to me and turn it into something icky because you disagree with another core part of my being that’s none of your goddamn business in the first place. If you don’t like me, don’t follow me. Don’t friend me. It’s as simple as that.

A reminder before I post the following: This blog is not about who you’re going to vote for. This post is not about who is better than whom. I have my opinions about that, of course I do, but I’m not talking about that. Please don’t take it in that direction in the comments.

OK, so speaking of combining spanking and politics, I found this today: What do you guys think of it?

I’m sure everyone recognizes this as the old Chase & Sanborn coffee ad, from back in the day when sexist ads like this were common. Part of me giggled… and then another part of me cringed. This is making fun of what we do. This is taking our fetish and making it look like something creepy, something that bullies and chauvinists and misogynists do to keep their “little women” in line.

Am I taking this too seriously? Or as spankos, does it squick you, too? I’m like, “EW! Leave spanking out of this!” Thoughts?

All right, enough of this. I have to get back to work.

Have a great weekend, y’all. To my friends at the Crimson Moon party in Chicago, have a blast! I can’t wait until I can party with you over Labor Day weekend.

Important: please do take a moment and read this

No, not my blog. Today, I am focusing on someone else’s writing. A blog post, to be specific, that highlights yet another piece of writing. Roundabout? Yup. But bear with me.

The piece I’d like you to read is by author Ava Sinclair, entitled Twisting a fetish into abuse: One blogger’s dangerous message that hurts us all. (NOTE: I have tried and tried to link directly to this post, and it’s not working. So go to her blog page, and click on the article at the top.) The writer she’s calling attention to is Matt Forney, someone you probably never heard of (I know I hadn’t, before today). This man exemplifies Every. Wrong. Notion about TTWD. When you link to her blog, do click on the link to his post entitled, “How to Beat Your Wife or Girlfriend and Get Away With It.” I guaran-damn-tee you, your blood will boil. At least I hope it does. Because if you agree with him… I don’t think you and I have much to say to one another.

Ava Sinclair writes spanking erotica (I have had the pleasure of copy-editing several of her books). She writes about women getting spanked. I read about women getting spanked, and I am a woman who gets spanked. Because I choose to. Because I love it, even though I like to pretend I don’t. It’s fully consensual, even though I admit to liking the fantasy of non-consent. No man puts me in my place, and no man spanks me because he wants to “inflict the maximum amount of pain” with “minimal risk” to himself. Any man who has that attitude really doesn’t want to be in the same room with me, because I will verbally rip off his nuts and shove them up his ass. The man I play with are respectful, kind, and are interested in our mutual pleasure. They are not misogynistic, hateful chauvinist pigs whose big fat egos mask their tiny little members.

I will speak out against people like Matt Forney until I no longer have breath in my body. Why? Because I need to. Because people need to be told that what we do isn’t about beating women because they deserve it, no matter what jerk-offs like this say.

By the way — yes, I know that Slate called Forney out as being one of Trump’s followers at the RNC. That is not, repeat, not why I’m writing this. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what this moron’s political leanings are. What I do care about is that he’s spreading a poisonous, sexist message about something I and many others love, making a sick joke of it, and I won’t stand for it.

So please, go read Ava’s blog that I linked above. Comment on it. Share it with others. Don’t let the Matt Forneys of the world taint our pleasurable, consensual fetish.

Oh… and Slate made a point of showing a picture of Matt Forney and saying that he is not married. No shit, Sherlock!

(deep breath)

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Sorry, kids…

… but I simply have nothing to post right now. I figured rather than to let the blog languish silently for another several days, I’d let y’all know.

I’ve been quite active on Twitter and Facebook, but that’s all politics, and I don’t want to bring that here.

I was supposed to see Steve today, but the poor man went to a new restaurant with his sister and they both got food poisoning. However, next week, we will celebrate our fourth anniversary of being play partners, so I am hoping for a fun post with that.

I’m busy editing lots of kinky books. Oh, and I booked our room for the upcoming Shadow Lane party. It will be here before you know it.

So… until the spank muse strikes again, I may be quiet for a while.

Don’t forget me. ♥

Pet Peeve #3,482

Once again this week, lots of tragedy and bad news abounding throughout the world. What am I going to do about it? Feel bad, of course. And then I’m going to focus on small, inconsequential issues that I find irksome. Because that’s what I do.

You know what expression I really detest? Anything that has to do with “putting on my big-girl panties.” Ugh ugh UGH.

Yes, I know what it’s trying to express. It’s another way of saying, “Be a responsible adult.” It’s also extremely condescending and skeevy to me. Why? Not sure. I just know it is. You know how we all hate certain words/phrases? This is one of mine.

Kind of strange, when you think about it. Because I find the phrase “little girl” to be extremely hot, especially in scene context. I know I’m not a little girl, not even close, but something about it gives me goosebumps. “You’re in big trouble, little girl.” Brrrrrrrrrr. How come that doesn’t insult me, but “big-girl panties” does? Maybe because the latter truly does liken a woman to a child, and that doesn’t sit well with me?

When I was a kid, a common insult for someone behaving immaturely was “Act your age, not your shoe size.” I think we need to resurrect that. I’m a woman, and all my panties are big-girl panties, thank you very much.

All I know is, whenever someone says anything about big-girl panties to  me, I want to say some very big-girl words back to them.

Oh, and make big-girl gestures. 🙂

Anyone relate?

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Slow news week

Happy Hump Day. Not a whole lot going on this week; I am busy with work, but otherwise, little to report. I did manage to have a brief visit with Steve yesterday, but it had to be quick, because I had a dental appointment at 1:30. One of my back teeth is bothering me. Not horrible, just annoying. The weird part is that it’s a tooth that’s had a root canal, so how the hell can it be hurting?? The nerves are removed! It’s just sort of a dull ache, and most of the time I’m not even aware of it, but I can’t help wondering what it might be. John, bless his heart, damn near gave me a heart attack by suggesting that maybe I had a cracked root and needed to have the tooth pulled. Auggghhhh! Fortunately, when the dentist took an X-ray, he didn’t see any cracks or infection. He said the gum was healthy too. What gives? Stupid teeth. He said I should monitor it and let him know if it gets worse. Swell. Well, at least I don’t have to have any sort of oral surgery any time soon.

Steve, of course, loved the story of Saturday night and the bath brush. He declared that he wanted to use hairbrushes yesterday (I have two of them) as well as my wooden spoon. All wood! Ugh! But because we had so little time, I guess he was trying to get the most bang for his buck. At least this pain was the good kind. I was so tense and nervous about the dentist, and Steve helped me let go a bit and relax. Of course, once I got there at 1:30, my nerves kicked back into high gear. (sigh) Did I mention that John actually sleeps through dental work? I consider myself lucky if I don’t have a coronary during a filling.

Anyway, no pictures, again. I’m hoping we’ll take some fun ones when we have our fourth anniversary in a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, I am trying to get the hang of taking decent mirror selfies, but I don’t seem to have the knack. I twist and turn and position the phone in one hand, but then I’m not dexterous enough to maneuver my thumb over the shoot area. I get weird angles and blurry photos and all kinds of nonsense. This was the best I could do:

Sorry, kids. Guess I’m just not going to be doing too many butt selfies (or belfies or buttfies or whatever the hell they’re called).

In the news: Seems like the GOP is going after porn in America, calling it a “public health crisis” as well as a “public menace.” Really? Health crisis? Funny… I did fetish porn for fifteen years and my health is just fine. Everyone I know in this industry is also quite well. But thanks for your concern, guys. Go do something useful.

And finally — in August 2010, I finally got off MySpace (MyWhat??) and started blogging on a designated blog site (first Blogspot, then WordPress). Since then, I’ve amassed quite a few posts. This one is #994, so I am closing in on Post #1000. So, readers… what shall I write about for that milestone? Thoughts?

Off to the showers with me.

Birthday shenanigans

Don’t you just love the word “shenanigans”? Anyway, no, not my birthday, but Alex’s. She had a small birthday party on Friday night, which John and I attended. After reading and hearing about nothing but horror and anger on social media for the past few days, it was exactly what the doctor ordered to disconnect from it all, be with friends, laugh and be silly, and celebrate a fun occasion.

Alex looked insanely adorable with her hair braided and wound around her head, wearing a little white dress with strawberries all over it, saddle shoes and white socks. She got some very cool presents. John and I decided to get her one cute Alex-y thing and one grownup thing, so we gave her a bottle of pinot noir and a stuffed Pokémon Pikachu. I was bummed at first when I noticed she had Pikachus of different sizes all over her house, but she said she collects them, and she didn’t have one like mine — mine was eating an apple. 😀

There was food… and of course, there was alcohol. Now, anyone who knows me, knows I’m not much of a drinker. For one thing, I have zero tolerance for it and one glass of anything gets me tipsy. For another, I usually am more comfortable when I’m fully in control of my faculties. Finally, I do have the specter of familial alcoholism hanging over my head, so, with a couple of exceptions like New Year’s Eve and my birthday, I tend to abstain.

Not Friday. I said “screw it, I’m drinking,” and I did. Sometimes, even Erica the Uptight needs to let go a little.

It all started when Alex opened a bottle of Prosecco, which is essentially champagne, my favorite drink. She brought me a glass, along with bringing a glass to Maddy, who was already drinking a bottle of Mike’s Hard Something-or-Another (blackberry, I think?) We were laughing because she was “two-fisted drinking,” and then someone suggested pouring the blackberry stuff into the Prosecco. Classy, I know. But really, why not? People put orange juice in champagne, and they put Cassis in champagne, which is also blackberry-flavored. So Maddy splashed some blackberry into both our glasses, and I drank the whole glass. Normally I would stop there. (I made sure I’d had some snacks and put food in my stomach.)

But then there was punch. I had no idea what was in it, but when Alex asked if I wanted some, I said what the hell. She brought me a Solo cup filled with something pink and frothy and creamy, and I tasted it. So cold and sweet and tangy! It had ice cream in it, even; sherbet, I think. It also had a crap-ton of vodka.

I can’t say I drank the full cup, because John kept taking it away from me and drinking it himself. Mind you, he hates sweet drinks; he was just trying to keep ME from drinking it! So, when that cup was empty, I waited a little while… then went into the kitchen and helped myself to another half-filled cup of it. So altogether, I guess I had one full Solo cup of vodka-laced punch and one full wineglass of Prosecco combined with Mike’s Hard Blackberry. Really, not all that much, when you think about it, for the whole evening.

But I was still crocked. Pleasantly so. I giggled. I laughed. I felt hazy and mildly aware of my eyes glazing over, and went to get my glasses from my purse. People were getting a kick out of me, since this was kind of a different Erica. SpankCake: “I’ve never seen Erica drunk before!” To be honest, I don’t think I’ve been that tipsy since New Year’s Eve 2006, going into 2007, when I had my first shot of Jagermeister along with wine and champagne.

You know, I definitely wouldn’t want to do this all the time. But I can understand the appeal. For that couple of hours, I was like, Trump who? Dallas what? Whose lives matter? Huh? All of life’s shit, it all went away. Of course, I do know the secret… it comes back. And that’s why most people keep on drinking, I guess. I don’t want to live like that. But visiting that once in a while? Yeah. It’s fun. Not gonna beat myself up over it. 🙂

A side note: You know what else was really cool? After years and years of going to John’s sister’s stupid parties with all the drinking and pot and people stumbling and spilling things and hurting themselves and acting like idiots, it was a pleasure to be with a group who could enjoy some imbibing and still act like adults! The last time I was at one of those other parties, John’s sister was slurring unintelligibly (mind you, it was only 3:00 in the afternoon), and her husband’s brother put his hand through a glass patio door and had to go to the ER. I so do not miss that shit.

Oh, and of course, since it was a birthday party, there had to be spankings! Not as much as you might think; everyone there was kink aware and kink accepting, but there were a few who don’t participate in spanking, so things were a little more toned down than they would be at, say, a Shadow Lane party. But the birthday girl got her smacks. A couple of guests had brought folding chairs, and several of them were in the living room. When I went semi-stumbling into the kitchen, I was surprised to see a few of them in the middle of the kitchen floor. I blurted to Paul, “WHY are there chairs in the kitchen??” To which he sat in one, pulled me over his lap and answered, “This is why!” Everyone gathered to watch, while I fake-protested and hollered, “It’s not MY birthday!” He spanked several others as well.

Later, in the living room, a wooden bath brush had made an appearance; I forget who brought it in, but I’d like to thank them sincerely. (That was complete sarcasm, if you couldn’t figure it out.) John, who has a thoroughly disgusting fondness for brushes, insisted that we try it out. “No, John,” I kept saying. “No, John!” “C’mon, I’ll use it lightly!” he teased. Oh, please. John’s idea of “lightly” is a 10 on the intensity scale instead of an 11. He pulled me over and started right in with that nasty thing… and immediately marked my right cheek! WTF?? So of course, he had to try to get the left cheek to match. I fussed and hollered, and we made people laugh with our banter. “Her safe word is ‘MORE’!” he crowed. “No, my safe word is ‘FUCK YOU’!” I screeched. I believe we surprised a lot of people — no one has ever seen John play before. We never do at parties, haven’t for years. When we’re at spanking parties, I play, and John socializes. And we rarely play in private anymore either. That sort of went by the wayside, except for some brief flurries here and there, when his health went in a bad direction. So it was kind of fun to see him make a comeback. Although that @#$%ing bath brush needs to burn, as do all wooden implements.

I think we left around 12:45 a.m. (I was fully sober by then). I thought we’d get home and I’d crash into bed like the dead, but I was actually so keyed up from all the fun and excitement that I couldn’t sleep! It was nearly 4:00 a.m. when I finally drifted off. Saturday was quiet without any plans, so I was able to recover. I didn’t feel hungover, just tired from lack of sleep. Oh, and a little sore. 🙂 And marked. Sorry, don’t have a picture. Y’all just have to use your imaginations.

It was fun. I’m so grateful that we have such lovely friends. ♥ We’re a lot older than they are, but it doesn’t seem that way at all. I have no idea how or why it works, but I’m ever so happy that it does!

Back to reality. Hope everyone had a great weekend.