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 “February, 2023”

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 2/17

With a twist. This one will be different from my usual, because there’s just one entry. And I will be balancing that with one of the best compliments I’ve ever received. I just feel like showcasing this one comment because it represents so much about people that I don’t understand.

On one of the kink sites I frequent, I have a reasonably detailed profile. In it, I make it clear that I’m a spanko, not a submissive, and if you’re seeking a “yes-sir-no-sir” type, you won’t like me. I also mention that while I’m sure your male appendages are lovely, I’m not interested in seeing pictures of them — I’d rather see your forearms/hands.

The other day, I got a message from Master Somebody-or-Another. His profile picture was a ginormous pair of breasts, nipples clamped and chained. Delightful. I went on to read:

Wow… you sure have a lot to say. Spanking would be just the start with you.

Having been the recipient of this kind of message for years, I didn’t need to run it through my Asshole To English dictionary to know what he really meant. In short, he was saying,

Wow… you have a big mouth. Spanking isn’t enough. Someone needs to tie you up, gag you and beat the opinions out of you.

Think I’m being too harsh? I don’t. Trust me, I know the type. Uber-Doms who don’t like strong women. I have had tops in the past say pretty much exactly this to me.

(sigh) I didn’t reply. I would have liked to ask him if those boobs were his, but I refrained. Here is my question, which I’ve asked again and again and again, but I never seem to get the answer.

Why did he bother writing to me? What’s the point? What’s the end game? Clearly, I’m not his cup of tea. Click, leave my profile, move on to the next one. Simple, right? But no. He goes out of his way to write something snide to me. What the hell for?

Same deal with the people who stop to write insults on people’s pictures on FetLife. I dunno… if I don’t like a picture, I click off of it and go look at something else. I don’t drop by to inform the poster that I think their photo sucks for whatever reason. And yet, others seem to think that everyone is entitled to their critiques.

I’m reminded of a man I played with a few times about five years ago. He said when it came to life, he had just one simple rule for himself: Don’t be a dick. He couldn’t stop others from being dicks, but he could make sure he wasn’t one. Okay. That works. Although I would change it to “don’t be an ass,” which is more unisex.

Why are we oriented to criticize rather than compliment? John and I were talking about this recently, regarding the workplace. He said in his career, he’d had plenty of bosses/supervisors who didn’t hesitate to criticize or tell you what you were doing wrong, but a precious few who took the time to dole out any sort of praise. Why? I’d had the same experience when I was in the workplace. I even remember asking a former boss about that; I was frustrated because the guy couldn’t say a word of praise about my work performance to save his life, but he sure was quick to point out mistakes. His answer? “I pay you, don’t I?” Yeah, because you have to, stupid. But a kind word now and then would go a long way in making me want to work harder for you.

So anyway, thanks but no thanks for stopping by, Boob Guy. Good luck in your search for doormats.

And now at the opposite end of the spectrum… A few weeks ago, I was at a local munch. Several of us were seated at a long table and many different discussions were going on. At one point, we were talking about FetLife and people were exchanging their Fet names so we could follow each other; when asked, I said mine is Erica_Scott. A man sitting across from me then blurted, “You’re Erica Scott?? I didn’t know you were Erica Scott!!” I said I am.

He then went on to say he was a huge fan, that he’d been following me for years. (I admit I was curious; if that was the case, how come he didn’t recognize me? Then it dawned on me: he’d never been looking at my face. :-D) I smiled and said thank you. And then he said:

“Wow. It’s like meeting a Beatle.”

Wow indeed. Holy crap. That took me aback… I think my mouth probably opened and shut like a fish and I must have blushed beet red. All I could do was stammer, “That is high praise indeed. Thank you.”

Damn. That was humbling. I’ve been lucky enough to receive some nice compliments over the years, but that has to be in the Top Ten, considering how much I worship that band and always have.

In other news, this weekend is the Oasis spanking party in Las Vegas. Several of our friends are there. Of course I have mixed feelings, including that damned icky FOMO business, wishing I could just pop in to get some hugs and spanks and see some dear faces. But I know I made the right call. I’m just getting over being sick. The last time I went six months ago, I got Covid. In my vulnerable state, I’d probably come home sick again. Plus, I’ve needed to step back recently, as I’d talked about in an earlier post. Sooo… part of me will be there in spirit. I hope everyone there is having a blast and the turnout is spectacular. The other part will be with John, celebrating a belated Valentine’s Day, and I am looking forward to that very much.

Have a good weekend, y’all. ♥

Jumping on the poetry bandwagon

This weekend for her interactive brunch, Hermione called upon all of us to write some spanking poetry/limericks. I would have loved to contribute to this, but my creativity was buried in nausea. But better late than never, no?

Some of you know I love to write spanko song parodies, but limericks are great fun. I wrote my very first one at nine years old. Why nine? It was a school assignment. And I still remember it. (Disclaimer: this is not PC, and I would never write it now. Forgive me — I was nine, and it was a different time.)

There was a young girl from upstate
Whose stomach would always inflate
She got stuck in the door
And fell through the floor
And decided she’d need to lose weight.

Okay, it’s not Shakespeare. I was nine, FFS. 😛

However, in the interest of staying on topic, and because I am feeling somewhat human once again, I came up with these three today.

There were two sweet brats from Algiers
Who practically begged for red rears
Two gents were on tap
To lend them a lap
And soon they were smiling through tears.

I often love going to town
With my sass, till I garner a frown
From a top whose strong will
I’m attempting to still
But the top will prevail, hands down.

For Valentine’s Day, some love flowers
Or chocolates to munch on for hours
But roses will croak
And toothache’s no joke
But spanking, well, that never sours!

Okay, that last one is lame. You try rhyming flowers and hours.

Thank you, thank you. It’s good to have creative juices running through me again instead of Pepto Bismol.

OT — An Early Valentine

It hasn’t been a good week, kids.

I started feeling lousy on Monday afternoon. Nothing definitive, just some nausea and chills. By Tuesday, it was definitely norovirus — a fancy word for the stomach bug. Not the flu, nothing to do with Covid, just that special type of virus that affects the gastrointestinal system and makes you wish that you could die.

Mine wasn’t actually that bad, thank goodness. Mostly a persistent nausea and vertigo (I dragged myself to the market to pick up Pepto Bismol and juice and damn near passed out in the middle of Aisle 5), and pervasive exhaustion (I was taking naps every few hours). Absolutely zero appetite, and everything I tried to eat made me feel worse.

Also, this thing is highly contagious. And reportedly is still contagious for a while even after you start feeling better. So it was looking like I had to stay away from John’s house this weekend, which sucked all to hell and made me sad.

But finally, today, some light. I seemed to have reached the stage this morning where, while I still had no appetite, my body was accepting food more graciously. So I very slowly ate a bowl of cereal and crossed my fingers.

Then it was brought to my attention by a friend that the scrapings at the bottom of the cracker barrel (AKA classless conservatives) were at it again, and had taken shots at me. Sad, really, their obsession with me. I went to investigate. Wow. I must admit that the anti-Semitic tone of this latest batch of barbs was a new and disgusting low. But I suppose nothing should surprise me. There is no bottom to their cesspool of ugliness.

But you know, anti-Semitism is especially revolting, and my poor beleaguered stomach couldn’t help but churn.

Until the doorbell rang unexpectedly, minutes later. It was a floral delivery.

From John, of course. Early Valentine’s Day flowers. Because he knew I needed some cheer. But of course, he had no way of knowing just how perfect his timing was.

My stomach settled. And then I smiled. Because everything was all right. Better than all right. I was well loved. And none of this petty shit mattered a damn. Love conquers hate.

I may have felt like I was at death’s door all this week, but that is temporary. It will pass and I’ll feel better. Overall, I am healthy and vital, I have good things and good people in my life, and there are many more fun and happy times ahead for me. And while the haters continue to offer me free room and board inside their heads, I have no need to live in such a small and ugly place. Too bad, so sad. Sucks to be them. As much as I love being left-leaning (and left-handed), I’m grateful not to be on the left side of the bell curve.

Have a great weekend, y’all. ♥ Stay safe, hug your loved ones, and for the love of imaginary deities, avoid norovirus.

Some words about pictures

We’re all visual creatures, aren’t we? We love our spanko pictures, videos, clips. We talk about them, we share them, we collect them, and some of us get to create our own. But if you’re like me, after seeing a ton of content for more years than I care to count, you get a little jaded. Not as easily impressed. It takes more to push my buttons these days. Especially since, being the male-top-focused woman I am, I’m looking more at the men in the shots/clips than the women.

So what’s one of my buttons, kids? Men’s hands/forearms. Bonus — rolled-up sleeves, or in the process of doing so. You wanna make me weak in the knees? Don’t send me your junk. Send me your arms.

Remember this shot I took in my own living room in 2019? Still one of my personal favorites.

What is it about button-pushing pictures? If you’re like me, they take you somewhere. They ignite fantasies and/or memories. They quicken your pulse and make you catch yourself grinning like an idiot. It had been a while since I’d had that happen.

That is, until a couple of days ago when I stumbled across this.

First, I fainted.

Then, after I scraped myself off the floor, I stared. And stared some more.

Fellow bottoms, do you agree that this is perfection? The purposeful stance. The well-worn jeans. The doubled-over belt, and his strong grip on it. Knowing that just seconds ago, he unbuckled it and whipped it out of his belt loops with a loud snap. And also knowing that the next snap you hear will be that belt across your backside.

So, kids, do tell — is it possible to fall in lust with a photograph?

Of course it is.

For those of you who have been with me for a long time, bear with me, because you’ve read about this before. For my newer people, about twelve years ago, same kind of thing happened. I ran across a public photo from a kinky video company and it stopped me in my tracks. And strangely, it had absolutely nothing to do with spanking. But it touched off the part of me that is turned on by the thought of helplessness, of being overpowered by a handsome stranger. This was the picture:

And so I wrote a post about it. I had no idea who the man was. However, someone who read my blog did… and they told him.

Turned out he was local. And he contacted me on FetLife. Cue heart attack.

Most of you remember this story. For those who don’t, the short version was we met, we played, we became friends, and we even got to shoot together. Extra awesome bonus: I got to re-enact that picture with him.

This is the sort of thing the fantasy stories are made of. And I got to live it. Damn. Sometimes it doesn’t suck being me. 😀

So, if anyone happens to know who this handsome stranger with the belt is, do feel free to send him here. Hey… a girl can dream, can’t she?

In other news, I actually got my lazy cranky butt in the car and went to a lovely munch last night. We had the entire back alley behind a pub, with outdoor heaters, and we had a nice group. Got to see some old friends, and made a couple of new ones. This is a new group, run by my friend Mr. Woodland and his adorable partner, and so far, it’s gaining in popularity. Great to see some spanking scene in L.A. again!

Crap. I have to adult now and work. How tedious. Anyway, enjoy. The line for swooning forms to the left.

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