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 category “ageism”

What’s in a name?

Actually, quite a bit, if we’re talking about choices for scene/kink monikers. What prompted this? This week, I saw two of them that were such a turn-off, I wouldn’t even bother checking out the person behind them.

I’ve said before that I keep my profiles on the various kink sites, because I never know who’s out there and it never hurts to know more locals. I have many friends with whom I share TTWD, but so many of them are far away. One of said sites will sometimes email a notice to me if their algorithm somehow concludes that a potential match is brewing. So this week, I received this:

“Hey, Erica Scott! Have you met DrSausage? He’s ready to meet you!”

spraying coffee all over the screen  Dr. Sausage??? How does one get a doctorate in sausageology? Does the PhD stand for Perky Hard Dick?

When I tweeted about this, one of my friends cleverly replied, “But… he’s a doctor!” Which made me laugh. Suddenly, I was taken back over 30 years and remembering my mother, who had a dreadful habit of trying to fix me up. She’d attempted it many times, but her most egregious effort came one day when she called me and said I was going to be mad. I listened, feeling my blood pressure spike into emergency levels, while she told me about how she’d been at the beauty parlor that day and had struck up a conversation with a woman sitting next to her at the dryers. Turns out said woman had a single son. All my mother needed to hear was “single,” “Jewish,” and “doctor” — she didn’t even need a photo or any further description.

That’s right. She gave my phone number to this woman, who she’d known for about ten minutes. To give to her son, who she didn’t know at all.

I exploded. “How could you DO that?? You don’t know this woman! You don’t know her son! You don’t know anything about him — and you give my phone number to perfect strangers? And what kind of a man needs his mother to fix him up with unseen women?”

Her defense? “She seemed nice. And how bad could he be — he’s a doctor!”

Oy vey.

Yes, the guy called me, and I met him for coffee. Turned out he was cute, charming, funny and sexy, and we dated for a few years. And if you believe that, please allow me to sell you some magic beans.

Part of me was tempted to write to DrSausage and say, “Here I am, oh meaty one! Come and do your wurst!” But I decided against it.

And then, same week, I get, “Erica Scott, someone just checked you out!” I looked to see who it was.

GrannyLover.

Just shoot me now. No, wait. Shoot HIM. Yeah, I get it. He likes older women. But there needs to be a little finesse here.

News flash, pal. I don’t usually presume to speak for all women, but I’m making an exception here. There isn’t a woman on this entire f&#%ing planet who would find it a compliment, within a sexual and/or kink realm, to be referred to as “Granny.” “Mommy,” yes. I can certainly see that, even though it’s not my thing. But “Granny”? NO. What’s she going to do, bake you cookies until you beg for mercy? Knit you some ankle restraints?

I wanted to write to GrannyLover and attach a charming picture I found of a prim and proper white-haired grandma flipping the bird. But I decided against that as well.

Just another week in the life of a spanko. Have a great weekend, y’all.

Yes, I’m in a bad mood

Trying to get some work done, and they are replacing some of the pipes in my apartment building. Pipes that are apparently very close to my unit. So, it’s been BANG BANG BANG, POUND POUND POUND, THUD THUD CRASH BANG for hours. This is not working wonders for my concentration, or for my temper.

So take a break, Erica. Go to the gym and work off the aggravation. Can’t. I tweaked my back and it hurts. No gym for me. I know better than to exercise when my back is out.

Steve left early this morning for his vacation. Haven’t heard from him since he called to cancel this week, last Sunday, and, despite his promises to write, to text, to send pictures, I can pretty much bet that I won’t hear from him again until after he comes home sometime next week. I know he doesn’t mean it. I know it’s not personal; it’s just what he does. He’s scattered and he forgets, especially when he’s all excited about a trip. Still sucks, though. It doesn’t take much to get me feeling forgotten, even though I know I’m not. Bleah.

I need a spanking like crazy. Sometimes, I really do wish I had more local top friends, ones who could step in when Steve isn’t available. Then again, I couldn’t play now anyway. Because, you know, my back hurts.

John is going back to work next Tuesday. I wish he were taking another couple of weeks off. He’s just starting to get his energy back, doing some odd jobs and projects around his house, and I wish he had a little more time to build up and be fully ready. But it’s been nine weeks. His friend and co-worker has been calling him nearly every day, regaling him with work stories (and no, they’re not fun, feel-good stories), which annoys the hell out of me. Why do people do that? What, is John supposed to feel guilty or something? He says he doesn’t mind, that in a way, it gets him prepared for what he’s coming back to. Meh. I didn’t want him thinking about work.

Just read online today that Maggie Gyllenhaal (you know, from Secretary), who is now 37, was turned down for a role playing the love interest of a 55-year-old man, because she’s “too old.” Thirty-seven is too old for a fifty-five-year-old?? UGH! I hate our ageist society. Just effing hate it. On FetLife, a woman wrote that her friends are making age jokes because it’s her 30th birthday. Sometimes, I want to slap people. Repeatedly.

Ugh. This day can kiss my ass.

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