On my mind

Let’s start this with a few facts we all know.

I am outspoken and opinionated.
I am often snarky.
I don’t suffer fools, and if people screw with me (or my friends), I don’t hold back.

However. Despite what some may think, I do not revel in insulting people or hurting feelings. Not my thing, and not my intention.

A while back on Twitter, I said something flippant about a particular sexual/spanking position that I find deeply humiliating as well as impossibly uncomfortable, physically. I believe I said of all the NO positions, this one was the NO-iest.

Some people chimed in and agreed. It’s one of those things you love or you hate, I guess. But then I got called out for kink-shaming.

I was taken aback.

The first thing I did was check in with a good friend, whom I know happens to love the position in question. I asked her if she felt offended or shamed by my comment. Her reply: “Not at all. I know you don’t like it.” But yeah, she still feels comfortable in telling me about scenes where she’s experienced it, because she knows I’m happy for her pleasure and I’m not holding her in contempt for doing things that aren’t in my house of kinks.

Okay, so I felt marginally better. But this has been eating at me ever since.

Granted, speaking of houses of kinks, I’m well aware that mine is more of a studio apartment. I am basically vanilla with one very deep, dark and rich chocolate swirl. And I know I’ve said this many times before: I wish I had more kinks. I wish more things pushed my buttons. More fun! More variety! More people to play with and relate to! But we are who we are. I have managed over the years to find plenty of satisfaction within my limited kink base.

But does saying I don’t like this or that equate to telling others that they shouldn’t do it? That what they’re doing is wrong? I have never understood this.

If someone tells me that they don’t enjoy spanking, I don’t feel judged. If they say it makes them feel uncomfortable or childish or whatever, I don’t feel judged. Now if they were to say to me that it’s lame and stupid and babyish and that people look ridiculous engaging in it, yeah, I might bristle. But that’s a direct attack.

So what crosses the line between expressing a preference and kink-shaming? It seems the placement of that line differs greatly in various people’s opinions.

Is it because the topic of kink is so deeply personal? I mean, just as an experiment, let’s replace a kinky activity with a food.

I happen to hate avocado. (Yeah, yeah, I know. Everyone loves avocado, avocado is Food of the Gods, and I’m a freak.) Yes, I said it.

However, I did NOT say:
I hate avocado, and I think everyone who likes it is disgusting.
I hate avocado, and if any server even thinks about putting it on my food, I’ll have them fired. And then shot at sunrise.
I hate avocado, and you are dead to me if you disagree.

(Now don’t go quoting any of the above out of context. I can just see the reactions now: “Did you see what Erica Scott said about avocado?? What an idiotic bitch!”)

Sometimes, a preference is just that… a preference. Sometimes, saying I don’t like something means just that: I. Don’t. Like. It. I don’t mean it’s bad, you’re bad, it should be outlawed. Some things trigger and upset me. I think we all have those — kinks are deeply visceral for many of us and touch off many emotions. There are things I don’t want to see. That is on me. It’s not saying I want the activity eradicated.

A few years ago, on FetLife, I referred to myself as a “spanko purist,” because spanking is pretty much my sole fetish. I got ripped so many new ones over that, I could take a drink of water and look like a sprinkler. Jesus Christ… one person even likened me to Hitler. I didn’t mean it that way at all. I simply meant that my kink is singularly focused. Not that it’s superior. I mean, WTF?? Well… rest assured I do not use that term anymore. But I’ll never forget how ugly that situation felt.

Often on FetLife, people have referred to branching out into other kink activities as “evolving.” (sigh) I’ve been doing this for a long time. I tried a whole lot of things. I went to a lot of dungeon parties. I worked in a dungeon, for crying out loud. I participated in other types of kinks. I wore latex, participated in a slave auction, was in a bullwhip demo, you name it. But… call me un-evolved, I guess. Because spanking is it for me.

However, I never, ever want people to think I’m judging what they like, even when I make my snarky comments. Yes, I know, I’ve been known to say things like this: “You come anywhere near me with a bar of soap, you’ll be blowing bubbles out your ass.”
Or “If I were to get a tattoo, it would be on my lower back: An arrow pointing down, with the words EXIT ONLY. Don’t even think about going in there.”
Or “No, I don’t wear white panties. Last time I checked, I wasn’t five years old.”
This is me, being me. This is not me, judging you.

I would welcome thoughts on this. I would welcome civil discourse.

EDITED TO ADD THIS: I forgot that I also discussed this with John. I know that he will always speak the truth. He’s not one to blindly support me or say what I want to hear. And he said, “Maybe you should be more careful about how you express opinions.”

So, there it is.

I will never soften my stances on the important issues: politics, women’s rights, Covid cautionary measures, etc. Haters be damned.

But when it comes to kink and what floats everyone’s boat, I will try harder.

And I apologize to anyone I have inadvertently offended with my flippancy. It was not intended.

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 4/22

Happy Earth Day. You know, sometimes I can’t believe I’m still posting this particular column. But no matter how much change happens, some things remain the same. Dicks will be dicks. And speaking of which…

i love you already. i wanna tie you, use you and abuse you, as i make you gag on my cock..i wanna clamp your nipples, and make you scream as i pull them slowly, while you gag on my cock.

Notice how he mentions gagging on his cock not once, but twice. A bit fixated on our size, are we? I get the sense that if I were to encounter this guy, I’d be gagging long before his member was introduced.

Here’s a charmer — a guy who took exception to my political stance and wrote me a long, drawn-out, racist pro-Trump screed. I’ve clipped just a portion of it here:

Enjoy the crime ridden slums of what used to be a great place to live…sunny SO CAL…you should join BLM and let the brothers use your ass for target practice…LOL

(sigh) Don’t you just love people who laugh at their own so-called humor? Although in this dude’s case, I think instead of Laughing Out Loud, LOL stands for Lord Of Logorrhea. (Go on, look it up.)

John said I should have answered that the murder rate is much higher in red states than blue, so before I could enjoy living in a crime-ridden slum, I’d have to move to one. But nahhh… didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer, so I just hit “Block.”

Do you want to be my bitch?

No. (Brevity is the soul of get-the-fuck-outta-my-face.)

Is it okay if I masturbate while looking at your pictures?

Why are you bothering to ask, when it’s pretty obvious you’re already doing so?

I would love to help make you’re tushy red 🙂

Ew ew EWWWWW. And yes, I’m more grossed out by that stupid baby word than I am by the fact that he doesn’t know “your” from “you’re.”

Hi, I do not live next to you but I would love to have fun with you if you want of course, I am looking for someone to control me in a video call and tell me what to do and how to do and I will listen to everything she tells me to do, if you tell me to bring hand quickly or slowly or insert finger or swallow Whatever you tell me is done

(sigh) For the gazillionth time, a little louder for those in the back: I. Am. Not. A. Domme. Whatever I tell you? Okay. Go waste someone else’s time.

And finally… Y’all know how we sometimes doctor our bottom pics with little stickers or emojis over the more revealing bits? Well, in my case, I’m really not fond of the proctologist’s view. So I’ve been known to cover that in my bare bottom pictures. However, someone found an older pic of me on FetLife before I learned how to edit photos. And they posted this comment:

strokes butthole

Really? Honey, I certainly hope you’re referring to stroking your own butthole. Because if you even think about touching mine, your nickname will forever be “9 1/2 Fingers.”

Every now and then, I feel the need to remind everyone that I do actually get some wonderful messages from people, and that I’m not Negative Nellie every damn minute. A woman on FetLife wrote to me asking if she could quote something I’d written, and ended with this:

We haven’t officially met yet but we have many friends in common. I do hope our paths will cross some day as I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you and because I can tell from your fet and twitter that you are one hell of an amazing human!

I told her this made my day. ♥ For all the suckage, there is good to be found on the internet.

Have a great weekend, y’all. Stay safe.

Another visit from Oregon

What happens when you apply makeup, but then end up haplessly screaming and smashing your face in a pillow?

Well, this…

… and then this, an utterly derpy but blissful face, surrounded by walk-of-shame hair.

Yes, it was another delicious spanking session. A wonderful time was had by all.

I arrived at C’s hotel room at 11:30 last Friday morning. We sat and talked for a while, catching up with everything. And then it was time to play. He hadn’t brought many implements this time, just two London Tanner straps. Oh, and a thick wooden brush of some kind, but I took one look at it and just said, “No.” With the way I’d marked the week before, I didn’t think I could take that. (Plus, I didn’t want to.)

C thought it would be fun to take pictures throughout the various stages, rather than just at the end. So this was the “before” picture:

Then a nice, long, thorough OTK warm-up commenced. He brought me up so slowly, I really couldn’t tell when he started ramping things up. I was pleasantly warm and squirmy when he took this:

Just a bit of color. Then things got a bit more serious. His hand is a force to be reckoned with on its own, and when he goes full bore, it’s not for the faint-hearted. (Or the faint-assed.) He was concerned because I was starting to mark already (!!), so he spread it around, moving onto my thighs more. “Little more sensitive there,” he mused. Gee, ya think? Oy vey.

I had no concept of how much time passed, but by the time the OTK/hand portion was done, I was already quite toasty. But I still had the two straps coming…

I realized later that this angle makes my legs look weird — like two drumsticks! Oh well. And yes, we did take a final picture after the straps, but… I think some people were a little squeamish about my marks last week, so I’ll just stop here, photo-wise. 🙂

We then transitioned onto a pile of pillows under my belly and moved onto the strap phase. I don’t know how long that went; it seemed to simply flow into an escalation of sensation, pain and pleasure. My noises escalate too — I start out with small grunts, which grow louder, and when I am reaching my peak, where the pain is almost unbearable but not quite, when my body and mind are challenged and pushed and exhilarated, the grunts morph into a continuous guttural scream, which is when I have to bury my face in the pillow so the cops won’t get called.

I love that point. I love how I feel extreme power in that moment, if that makes any sense. My body is strong and resilient, but I am soft and trusting enough to give myself over in this fashion. It’s my choice, I want it, and a trusted partner is giving it to me, while feeling his own pleasure and power in our connection. Is there anything better?

When I get to my tipping point, I start babbling. Mostly I say “Please” over and over. It’s not “Please stop” or “Please don’t stop.” It’s just “Please,” and I can’t explain it. But that’s my tell. And around that time is when I break down in tears. That is exactly what happened on Friday. I didn’t know where they came from; I hadn’t been feeling particularly weepy that week. But there they were.

And then it was over. In my haze of tears and endorphins, I felt his hands rubbing lotion on me. I was aware of tissues pressed into my hand. It was a long time before I raised my head and spoke again, and he didn’t rush me. He simply curled up next to me and held me close. Let me come down at my own pace. And then we just hung out, cuddling, talking, relaxing. Returning to Earth.

I think I left around 3:30. I had arranged for the day off work, but I still wanted to get a little bit of it done just to stay on top of things. C, with his usual thoughtfulness, checked in with me later that evening, and then again the next morning. My reply:

“Feeling spacey this morning, sleepy, sore, tender. In other words, great! As always, thank you.”

Of course, what goes up, must come down. I’ve been feeling very droppy the past couple of days. But then I hear C saying, “It’s such a joy to come see you,” and I smile.

Thank you, my friend. You are a joy. ♥

So, as I was saying…

Been a while. So where have I been?

Some people wrote to me to ask if I was okay (and thank you). I just needed to take a few steps back for a while and process some things.

I realize a lot of my readers aren’t in the national spanking community/party scene. I’ve been a part of it for 25 years and the parties/gatherings brought me untold joy. But I think that time may be over.

Last year, there was major upheaval on FetLife and other kinky social media sites. Several women had come forward with stories of consent violations and abuse. It started mostly with the focus on one man (someone I don’t know, BTW), and one by one, women were stepping up with what happened to them. But then it spread into a wave of accusations about party hosts, people who denied that this guy had done bad things, and people who enabled him to continue. More and more names came up, more and more people spoke up.

And then things took a turn. They went from honest and brave revelations of improper behavior to mass attacks and mob mentality. The anger was palpable, the words ugly. Friendships were ruined. A party organizer had to step down. Other organizers were blamed for this and that. And worst of all, it wasn’t enough to try to stay neutral, to hear both sides of all the stories. The outcries of “You’re either with us or against us” and “You people who are silent are supporting the perpetrators” were everywhere. If you didn’t hate so-and-so, you were part of the problem. If you went to such-and-such party anyway, you were enabling rapists. If you didn’t jump on the bandwagon and shove your pitchforks into the accused, you weren’t supporting the victims.

The pain and anger were real. My heart hurt for the people who had been traumatized. But the tarring and feathering blurred the lines. The hatred and finger-pointing tainted the original issues.

John said it would blow over after a while. It didn’t. There are many people I know who won’t go to parties anymore. Others won’t go to this one or that one because of so-and-so. There is such a negative pall over something that used to be so joyous for me.

The parties twice a year in Vegas were our go-to, because we could drive there, lots of our friends came, and we loved the hotel. But now our beloved hotel kicked us out; I have heard it was because of an incident that happened at one of the parties, but I can’t say for sure; I wasn’t there. Several of our friends are no longer going. And honestly, I think I’d rather remember the wonderfully happy time I had in February 2020 and end on that note. If someone starts a party here in Los Angeles, then we’ll consider that. But for now, I believe our national party days are behind us. I may change my mind, but we’ll see. It’s several months until Labor Day.

So. What with all the ugliness that went down, and all the information that was revealed, it was a great deal to process. I had to face some hard truths about the community I loved, about people I’d known for years. And honestly, it hurt like hell. I had to take some time to come to terms with new realities. And while I was doing so, I really didn’t feel like posting here. It felt like the same whine over and over and I figured it was enough already, and that I’d come back when I had something new to say.

By the way… what’s my take on all the stories of abuse incidents? I don’t have one. Because in every one of those instances, there’s one thing in common — I wasn’t there. I don’t know. I never will know. I have my thoughts. But that’s all they are — thoughts. Not facts. Some questions will never be answered. The old expression goes as follows: There are three versions of every story — Version A from one side, Version B from the other side, and the truth. And I just don’t have the wherewithal to sift through it all.

I dunno… I hope things get better. There is a core group of friends we only see twice a year. It makes me very sad to think about never seeing them again.

So yeah, I guess I’ve been “spankless.” But you know what? When you look at the big picture, all the terrible things happening right now, and how truly awful and mean-spirited some people are, there are worse things than being spankless.

Thoughtless.
Brainless.
Classless.
And so on. You get my drift.

And hey, all is not lost. I still get by with a little help from my friends. Like my pal Mr. Woodland, who came over last week. So good to see him! We spent several hours catching up. Of course, because it had been a while, I was de-conditioned, and started marking almost immediately. Within 20 minutes, he was looking at this:

He was concerned about those spots breaking, so we had to keep the scene relatively short. But it was quite intense nonetheless and left me feeling relaxed and happy.

And this Friday, my friend from Oregon will be in town! So I’ll be seeing him too. Always a wonderful time there.

So… there may not be any more party reports, sadly. Things have changed too much. Time will tell. Meanwhile, I’ll find what I need. Somehow, I always do.

First Things First

Yeah, I’m still here. As I told people who checked in with me, I said I’d come back when I have something to say, and now I do. But most of it will have to wait a little longer. Like the title says, first things first.

Last week, we lost our friend, author and fellow blogger Devlin O’Neill. His longtime blog (or “blite,” as he called it) was very popular and prolific. But I had a bit more personal experience with him.

In 2005, we were cast together in the Shadow Lane film “Stand Corrected.” Eve had asked us to create the script together, and even though I hadn’t actually met him yet, we’d been in contact through my old MSN board (he was a member there during its heyday) and I was very comfortable talking with him and collaborating over our project.

I remember our trip to Vegas and our shoot well. We were both sick as dogs with bad colds, sucking down decongestants and lozenges like crazy, but we both rallied enough to create a vigorous 57-minute film. (I completely lost my voice as soon as we wrapped it up.) On the long drive, we talked and talked and got to know each other. He had a classic car — I can’t remember what type it was, only that it was cherry red and it was his pride and joy. At a rest stop, we had gotten ice cream and he let me eat it in the car, begging me to not tell his “nieces” about this, because they were strictly forbidden to have any sort of food in his beloved car. The shoot was fun, sickness notwithstanding, and overall it was a happy and memorable experience.

Years later, Devlin contacted me and asked if I would pose for the cover of his latest book, “Spanked In Her Dreams.” I was honored to do so. John took several shots in front of his bedroom window.

I love how the cover came out. But what means a lot more to me was the inscription inside the cover on my copy. ♥

(sigh) Love you too, Dev. Rest well, sir. You were one of the good ones.