Strange Days Indeed

Most peculiar, Mama.

No, I’m not losing my mind (yet). It’s a song lyric.

Life is change. Which sucks, if you’re a person like me who hates change. Therefore, coming to terms with it is a process and a struggle. Feeling the need to ramble a bit, and not knowing where to put it, I return here, to my failsafe.

Those of you who have been with me for a long time know that the theme of my life was “I’m different.” Not just because of my kink, but overall, in so many ways. I scrambled and bumbled my way through the first half of my life, never feeling like I quite fit in anywhere.

For the longest time, I desperately craved to fit in somewhere, anywhere. Then in my 30s, after a lot of self-examination, I came to realize that yeah, while I was an oddball sort, I no longer cared. I was who I was. And really, fitting in with the straight and narrow and the expected wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. As a very wise friend said, “I don’t think you can help being different, Erica, so maybe you should just stop worrying about it.”

And with self-examination and exploration came my entry into TTWD. And after that, I got involved in “the scene.” The spanking community. The party groups, and later, the video groups, the blogosphere, all the related pockets of people who love spanking and everything about it. It was never perfect. There were always bumps and clashes and rollercoaster emotions.

But. I belonged somewhere. For years. I felt like I was part of the fabric of something. Not just something peripheral, like a decorative button, but deeply woven into it. These feelings were new to me, and I never took them for granted, because I’d never known them before. I liked them. And oh my God, nothing brought those feelings home like the spanking parties. My people. My friends. My peers. My bubble of unreality, where real life went away for a few hours or a few days and we immersed ourselves in hedonistic joy.

However, life goes on, and as I’d mentioned, life changes. Bodies, minds, situations change. And the happiest people are those who adapt and roll with it.

I’m not a very good adapter.

A strange thing has happened. Within the past six months, I have been to three separate spanking events. I enjoyed all three. I played at all three, had laughs, got hugs, did all the things. But I didn’t feel the same. I felt angst and otherness. And for the first time, the good didn’t outweigh the bad.

Why? That is what I’m in the process of accepting. So many changes. Some are me. Some are outside of me. All combine to make me feel like I’ve lost something, and perhaps it’s inevitable. Because that’s how life is.

The party scene has changed a lot, in many ways. I could list some of them, but I’m not going to. Because if I do, there will be readers out there who feel like I’m criticizing and shaming the changes, and I don’t want that. I am not saying anything is wrong. I’m saying it’s different. And I have that square peg feeling more and more. That “not enough” feeling. I didn’t “evolve” with the scene. I am of a past mind. I suppose some of that is simply due to ageing, and seeing so many people who are decades younger than I am. But it’s also just who I am. I like things a certain way. My niche in the scene is specific. And I don’t fit in like I used to. I can’t participate in so many of the various role-plays and games of the scene. I’m not a little or a middle. I’m not a student. I’m not one who enjoys period costumes and other cos play. I don’t have elaborate scenario fantasies. I don’t want a mommy, a daddy, an uncle or a teacher. I’m just a grown woman who wants to be spanked by a grown man. More and more, I feel like I’m the oddball. Again.

Also… the national party scene has gone through a lot in recent years. Mind you, there was always drama. Anywhere you find groups of people, you find drama. But when #MeToo hit our scene, it hit hard. Abuse was exposed. Stories went viral. People I’ve known and cared about for years were brought into question. Sides were taken, and it was no longer okay to choose not to take them. If you didn’t, you were considered part of the problem. And honestly, I don’t think I have the stomach for it anymore, especially since I’m really not in the loop these days. I can’t keep track of who hates whom, who is a must to avoid, who I’m supposed to be nice to even if I don’t like them because I don’t want them as an enemy, who’s rape-y, who’s back-stabby, who’s two-faced and gossipy, who is real and trustworthy and who isn’t. On the grand party scale, it’s just too overwhelming.

So… I’ve been trying something different. Trying to find something on a smaller, more local scale. I have dipped my toes into a couple of munches. I will go to more. I need to find different ways to scratch the spanking itch. Because I don’t think the big events are going to make me happy, not like they used to.

There is a party in Vegas next month. Of course, there is a part of me that craves to be there. There are people I wish I could see. I want to play. I want the hugs. I want the bubble. But then I remember the reality of the last party, where I had a great time, but I also struggled. I spent way too much time alone in my room. I cried too much. And I spent way too damn much time of the weekend feeling like a spare button instead of part of the fabric. That was reality. The good times were great. I don’t regret going, even after catching Covid. The party owners did a great job. But this time, I don’t feel like risking it. It feels like a lot of time and effort and money to shove myself in like a mismatched puzzle piece. Not because anyone is doing anything wrong. But simply because things change. I used to feel like I was home, at a big spanking party. Not so much anymore.

When you spend half your life feeling like you don’t belong, and then you finally do belong somewhere, it is one hell of a wrench to feel like you’ve lost that. I am dealing with a lot of grief these days. A lot of new realities. It’s definitely a life transition, and I’ve never been one to transition smoothly. I kick and scream and fight it. Until depression takes over. Then I withdraw. Then it’s even harder to do the things so I can find a new path. Last Thursday there was a local munch. I know and like the person who put it together, I know and like several people who were going. I wanted to go. But I didn’t. It was cold and drizzly out, I was tired and down, and I simply didn’t have the spoons to get my ass in the car and drive there. That’s on me.

My therapist says that perhaps I’m having an existential crisis. That’s a bit too dramatic for me. I’m not in a crisis. I’m functional. I’m working. I get up, I get dressed, I do the things. But yeah, I’m questioning who I am and where my place is, these days. And I’m sad. So perhaps it’s an existential bleccchhhh. An existential “fuck this.”

And now that I’ve written all this, I’m questioning whether or not to post it. Because it’s so damn raw. But I’ve always been real on here. I’ve always been who I am, the good and the bad. And damned if I’m going to change that.

So, kids. Thanks for reading. ♥ Oh, and just to return to topic briefly — those cane stripes from New Year’s? Those took three weeks to completely fade. I think that has to be a record for me. Not something I think I want to repeat, but it was quite the experience, with people I trust, and I wouldn’t undo it.

Finally, something to post!

Sorry to have been MIA for a while. Even after I tested negative for COVID, I had a crappy couple of weeks with lingering symptoms — relentless cough, body aches, and then, my poor overactive and stressed immune system did its usual thing and broke me out in hives. So much fun! Oh, and car problems on top of all that. Essentially, the past few weeks, it’s been all about work and recovery, and little else. I spent my birthday in isolation. So for those who were asking me about birthday spankings — sorry. No way. Not this year. But not to worry. I still had a nice birthday. Flowers, cake, gifts, texts, cards, and other greetings kept rolling in all that day and I was overwhelmed with love. ♥

So now, I’m finally starting to feel somewhat normal. I really don’t recommend this COVID thing, y’all. I mean, I didn’t even have to deal with shortness of breath or loss of taste/smell, but it was not fun. And it does tend to linger on even after you test negative. People kept telling me it was okay, I’d be okay, this is all normal stuff, but of course, I was nervous about long COVID, since that is so random. But now I think I’m okay. And even getting a bit of my spanking mojo back. COVID knocked all the desire out of me.

And just in time, my video with Jillian came out yesterday. So far, the feedback has been very good. We had chatted on and on for well over a half hour, but the final product clocks in at just under twenty-one minutes. Probably just as well, since people have such short attention spans these days. (Too Long: Didn’t Watch.) Of course, I have my usual mixed feelings about seeing myself on video. I make derpy faces when I’m listening, it seems. I widen my eyes and look like I’ve just been Botoxed. But hey, that fits in with the video subject (Aging in the Spanko Scene), so what the hell. (laughing) Considering I did not know what she was going to ask me and I had to answer everything off the cuff (we had agreed beforehand to do it this way, for a more spontaneous feel), I think I did a pretty decent job of it. I do wish I could have said even more — there really is so much to say on this subject, and I feel like we just scratched the surface. But hopefully I made some good points. Most important, I hope I convinced some people that we all have validity in this scene, at all ages, and these desires should be pursued and enjoyed without shame. Live life now.

WARNING: Controversial statement ahead. (I saw this disclaimer on one of Jillian’s videos and decided to borrow it.)

Getting older is not for the faint of heart. It’s damn hard. Yes, there are advantages. But I’m not going to sugarcoat any of it. The clichés like “Age is just a number” drive me up the wall. It isn’t. “You’re only as old as you feel.” Well, some days, I feel pretty damned old. And then there is this one, which sounds right, but it gets my back up for very personal reasons: “Getting old isn’t that bad when you consider the alternative.”

Um… yeah. Sometimes, it is. Because it’s not the years in your life, it’s the life in your years. Quality over quantity. Sometimes, the alternative is a blessing. It certainly would have been for my mother, who lost her mind, her dignity and her independence from dementia at age 84, but whose existence dragged on for another six years. Living longer doesn’t matter a damn if that life has no quality. You may be assured that you’ll have more years these days because of longer life spans, but you are not guaranteed health. Yet another reason to live your life as best you can now, and don’t wait to fulfill your fantasies and dreams. Because you never know.

*end rant*

Jillian, I don’t know if you’re reading this, but thank you. I admire you so very much, and I appreciate all you do for our scene. *big cyber hugs*

Have a great weekend, y’all. ♥

Women and Topping — Can We Talk?

(Disclaimer: I do not intend this post to offend anyone, or make them feel defensive. This is simply a subject I’m passionate about, I want to speak my truths about it, and I would like others to as well. I hope you will share yours with me.)

You all know I’m a big fan of Jillian Keenan’s. I subscribe to her Patreon channel and I enjoy her videos. Her most recent two have been about “Spanko Self-Awareness” — the questions we all need to ask ourselves to determine what works for us in TTWD… and what doesn’t. In Part 2, released last weekend, she delves into some deeper questions. One of which is “Do I like a thing because I like it? Or because I like the attention it brings me?”

She does not posit this with any sort of judgment either way; it’s simply a request for self-honesty. The more we know about ourselves in this scene, the better choices we can make, and the more we can be our truest selves.

As this question is explored, she goes into a specific situation: namely, the pressure women in our scene receive to switch/top. She brings up the unfortunate fact of how women, as we age, are often devalued in society (and in the scene too… unless we learn how to top). Topping, for a woman in the spanking scene, may be a way to gain back some of that value. And value = positive attention. Let’s be honest — we all like attention, at least to some degree. (I’m not saying y’all are attention whores like me, but come on, it’s nice to be appreciated, no?)

This is a direct quote from Jillian, and I listened three times and wrote it down to make sure I got it right:

“No one is more popular at a spanking party,
or in more demand as a play partner,
than a woman who is holding a hairbrush.”

I don’t disagree with this at all. I think she’s right. But you know what? It pisses me off! I would happily accept “as popular as,” or “as much in demand as.” But more? Why? It doesn’t seem fair. And it’s especially not fair to those of us who have absolutely no desire to top.

Which brings me to my controversial question, and what might put some people’s noses out of joint. For all the spanko women out there, whether professionals in the industry or not, who transitioned into topping: I would love to know the percentage of those who did so because they genuinely wanted to, because they enjoy topping — and the percentage of those who started topping because they felt pressured to do so. Because they thought their continued acceptance in the scene hinged upon that.

Again, no judgment. Just curious. And yes, I know professionals can’t really answer me here. It would be detrimental for business if a spanking model were to publicly admit here, “Yeah, topping isn’t really my thing, but I had to learn to do it anyway because money.” A female bottom’s shelf life in the film/session industry is limited. A female top, on the other hand, can keep going well into her fifties and sixties. There may be exceptions, but generally, past a particular age, a woman needs to switch, or go behind the camera and produce, in order to remain competitive. The most successful women producers I know of do both.

I am a rebel in this scene. I have staunchly resisted two things that seem almost expected of women: 1. Switching, and 2. Playing with other women. I simply don’t want to, never did, and I never will.

But wait, Erica… what about that one time…? Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyone who’s been with me over the years knows damn well that I topped a young girl on video once, back in 2004. And yes, I played a mom. It was a very domestic scene, nothing sensual about it, her bent over the kitchen table and me with a wooden spoon. Why did I do it? Because I really, really, really wanted to be in this film — it was Spanking Epics’ premiere film, and I wanted in on it. It was a brief scene. And my reward would be getting to bottom later in the film.

But… I hated doing it. Hated every damn minute of it. I still can’t watch that scene. I sucked at it. And oh, the crap I took for it. “My three-year-old could spank harder than that!” Oh, and my favorites, along these lines: “Oh boy, you’re playing a mom already? It’s all downhill from here!” Screw that. Yeah, I played a frumpy widowed mother in 1912, with unflattering hair and clothes. But I also got to do this:

Yup, that was my old mom butt. Put that in your pipe and shove it. (Yeah, I know that’s not how the expression goes. I don’t care.)

However, aside from that, I somehow managed to carve out eighteen years of bottoming on video, even though I was well past the age most women do it. When I first started out, I took a look at some of the producer sites, and when it came to applying to appear on film as a bottom, I saw the same thing many times: “Women 18-35.” Well, humph. I was definitely past that. Fortunately, Shadow Lane didn’t have this limitation, and they happily cast me as a bottom in my first video (and three more after that). But at the time, that was a rarity. In later years, I think production companies let go of some of this ageism and several others cast me. However…

I am not immune to ageing. My body, face and skin have seen some changes. But I do have a few things going for me. I have a youthful air about me. I’ve shunned the sun for years. I keep myself fit with diet and regular exercise. And I made no secret of the fact that I had a face lift. So, I believe the average viewer, not knowing me personally (and not looking too closely), thinks I’m younger than I really am. And I believe that was, at least in part, one of the primary reasons I lasted as long as I did.

Don’t believe that? True story, and I am removing all identifiers. A few years ago, a production company received a request for a custom shoot, and the client specifically requested me in the bottom role. The producer told their client, “I’ll ask Erica, but I’m not sure if she’s still shooting. If she isn’t, would someone else work? How about [another model]?” The client’s answer?

“No, I don’t want [her]. She’s too old.”

As it happened, there was a fourteen-year span between me and the suggested alternative. And no, I don’t mean she was older. I mean she was fourteen years younger. Ouch.

So yeah, ageism is alive and well in the scene, just like in overall society. But forget about the professional world for now. What about average female bottoms, going to parties, enjoying bottoming to different play partners, but finding that as they get older, their play time somehow seems to dwindle? What to do? Oh, and one more point of irritation. There is an attitude that subtly worms its way through not just the spanking scene, but all types of kink — that being, if you are in a scene for X amount of time, you are somehow expected to branch out, to get into new things, to experiment further, to… I hate this fucking word… evolve. In other words, if you don’t grow in your scene, you’re stagnant and un-evolved? What if you just happen to like one thing, like one thing a lot, and are perfectly content sticking with that and have no desire to do other stuff? Why is that somehow considered “less than”?

I’m digressing. My point is, between the ageism and the pressure to evolve, female bottoms have a challenge being true to their inner desires. That at some point, even if it’s not a desire that comes naturally and organically to them, they feel pressure to top.

So, ladies… who out there would be willing to admit that, while you might enjoy topping on occasion, it’s not really and truly your thing, that your true love is bottoming? Who would confess that they initially tried it not out of desire, but out of feeling pressure? Again, this is not a judgment thing. I’m trying to establish just how prevalent and pervasive the pressure to switch/top is. Also, I’d like to know, if you started out doing it out of pressure, did you grow to like it? Or did you simply accept that it’s now something you do, and you keep doing it because 1. it gives your friends pleasure, and 2. you feel like you’re more in demand/more highly valued in the scene because of it?

And of course, if you top because you love it, because you always wanted to, then more power to you! Enjoy your ageless popularity. Hell, I’ve often said I wished I were more versatile and liked to do more things in our scene. More fun to be had, right? But I’m simply not. I had to make my choices. And I wonder about the choices of others sometimes. Peer pressure — and the pressure to maintain one’s perceived value, even if that’s just in our own head — is powerful AF.

Contrary to popular belief…

… I do show restraint when it’s called for.

There is a big difference between some classless, clueless fuckwad getting in my face, and people who mean well but their words don’t come out quite right. In the latter case, I am measured and kind. I look at the intent rather than the actual verbiage.

I went to a spanko munch last week, which was a lot of fun. Everyone was friendly. It was a little weird for me, because they all knew each other and I felt like the odd one out, but they were welcoming. Then a very nice young woman asked me, “So Erica, what was the L.A. spanking scene like back in the day?”

Um…

I don’t know if I’d call twenty-five years ago “back in the day,” but I suppose when you’re thirty, that’s exactly what it is. I just said that back then, the people who ran Shadow Lane lived here and they had their finger on the pulse of all that was going on in the local spanking scene, so if you were connected to them, you had an in.

I resisted the urge to say that we all used to meet up in each other’s covered wagons. (sigh)

Last Friday, a woman wrote to me on FetLife. She said she loved my writings on Fet, and asked if I would like to join her group.

The name of the group? “Grandma Needs Love Too.” You know, for “mature” spankos.

Every fiber of my being was screaming, “Are you @#$%ing KIDDING me right now with that name??” But I kept that to myself. I wrote back, politely declined joining the group, but thanked her for the compliments on my writing.

And then this morning, another very nice young woman reached out to me, and during the correspondence, she said, “Full disclosure — I had no idea who you were.” Then she apologized and said she didn’t mean that as an insult.

I know she didn’t.

So I answered, “It’s okay. ‘Were’ is the operative word here.”

JFC. No chance of having an inflated ego in these parts.

In an attempt to find a silver lining (and no, I’m not talking about my freaking hair roots), I’m kinda grateful and relieved to be older now. I really, really, really wouldn’t want to be a woman of child-bearing age right now, not with SCOTUS and the GOP up in my uterus and demanding that I be a baby factory, or else. It was nice, enjoying the peak of my youth in a time where I had other choices besides “reproduce or keep your legs closed.”

Meanwhile… this ain’t yer grandma’s butt. :-Þ

A Little More on that Damned “Age Thing”

Last week, I wrote about life changes (and resulting insecurities). The always thought-provoking KD Pierre said my post triggered his own thoughts, and he wrote this post, clearly indicating that it was not meant to compare or contrast, merely that my post set off his own thoughts. Well, of course, I read his post and now I feel like I want to bounce back off him with some further thoughts on this subject.

KD talked about friends who want to go back, who want to relive their pasts, their “glory days.” He mentioned Gloria Swanson in her classic “Sunset Boulevard” role, the fading movie star who dwells in her past and goes mad doing so. Here’s the deal with me: I don’t want to relive my youth. My youth sucked! A lot of you who have been with me for a long time know this. I went from a chubby, awkward child who was afraid of everything to a confused teenager who went from overweight to anorexic to a depressed but high-functioning adult with anger issues and eating disorders. Exactly what part of that would I want to revisit? Blech. As I mentioned in my book, decades of my life were spent existing. It was only when I finally got on the right meds that I began to live.

And y’all know what happened then. Erica Scott broke out of the closet and there was no stopping her. But I had a lot of ground to catch up on. A lot of lost time to make up for. And I wanted to experience everything.

In reading KD’s post, this statement jumped out at me:

Another positive I have in my life that I recommend to others is to have younger people around you as much as possible. 

Interesting, I thought. Through most of my adult life, I have been drawn to people younger than I am. I’m not sure why, and I don’t think it matters. But of course, since some people really suck, this has been criticized. I remember someone sneering to me somewhere on FetLife or someplace like that, regarding my friendships with some of the younger spanking models, that my “envy of younger women was palpable.” Yeah, yeah. Do I want to be in my 20s again? Christ, no. Okay, I’d take 40s. But that’s beside the point. I’m also, for the most part, attracted to younger men. I play often with younger men. I’ve taken heat for this too.

Following are a few random past pictures of me with friends. In the first one, I’m buried in the pillow fight pile at a party. The second one is Alex Reynolds’ bridal shower. And the third one is me with the incomparable Sierra Salem at her birthday party. Yes, we are lying on the pavement.

What do all these pictures have in common? Every single other woman in them could be my kid. I’m not sure why they all wanted to hang out with me, but I’m glad they did.

Here is a possible explanation, not that I owe anyone one. You have to keep in mind that, regarding people my own age, I actually have very little in common with them, aside from an aging body. The larger percentage of people in my age group are married, or have been (often more than once). A lot of them have grown kids, and even grandkids. They have houses and mortgages (with all the accompanying taxes, repairs, and other grownup headaches). They’ve traveled the world (or at least part of it). And then there’s me. Never married, never lived with anyone, never had kids. Have lived in an apartment my entire adult life. And aside from Mexico, I’ve never left the United States. I don’t even own a passport. I just can’t relate to the life experiences of most of my peers. And let’s face it — with my unusual experiences, a lot of them can’t relate to me, either.

However, there is one major drawback to having young friends. They don’t get my references. They don’t know the music I knew, the TV shows I watched, the world events I lived through. My cultural literacy memories are not theirs. I recall years ago, being in an airport gift shop, traveling with a 20-something co-star for videos back East. There was a t-shirt with the Marx Brothers on it, and she asked me who they were. I said, “You’ve never heard of Groucho Marx?” She thought for a moment and then answered, “I’ve heard of Karl Marx…?” Oy vey. This kind of thing makes me feel ancient. Compare it to just recently, when I mentioned to a new friend (who is a mere five years younger) that I like the Marx Brothers, and he not only knew who they were, he started quoting their movies and calling me “Spanko, the unknown Marx Sister.” It’s comforting to have someone speak your language.

Recently on Twitter, someone tweeted, “Can you imagine being alive during the time The Beatles were writing and recording music??” Uh… He sounded so incredulous, I couldn’t help but comment, “Yeahhh… a lot of us are still around. It’s not like we were there for Beethoven composing his nine symphonies.” (sigh)

There are exceptions, of course. When I was 50 years old, I was approached by a man of 21 who wanted to play with me. I balked. I said I was too old for him and I’d feel ridiculous. He said, “You’re not too old — I’m an old soul.” We met, I was impressed by his poise, and yup, we played several times. I remember the first time he was at my place and I had an oldies station playing in the background. I was shocked when a song from the 1960s came on and he started singing along with it. “How the hell do you know this song?” I blurted. He really was an old soul. I still know him, and I still play with him when I see him at a party.

So, in short, generally speaking, I don’t comprehend the life references of many people my age. And younger people don’t comprehend mine. Is it any wonder that I refer to myself as a square peg in a round world? And question just where the hell I belong now?

As I mentioned on KD’s post, I don’t want to go back to the flower of my youth. It had way too goddamn many weeds in it. But, as many of you know, I’m also terrified of aging. Watching one’s mother rot for seven years from dementia will do that to a person. It’s terrifying to witness. If you’re lucky enough to remain healthy, have some money in the bank, have loved ones to be with, getting older doesn’t have to be a train wreck. But for many, it is, and there’s no sugar-coating that. That’s why I hate age jokes. My former top used to think it was so hilarious to say, “We’re gonna still be playing in our 80s! I’ll be pulling down your Depends!” I always responded with a disgusted, “Don’t say stuff like that,” and then he’d compound it by laughing and adding, “Don’t worry, I’d wipe your ass for you!” And I’d want to punch him in the nose. Not funny, jackass. Incontinence isn’t funny, and neither are diapers. And they sure AF aren’t sexy either — not when you have to wear them, because your body and mind have stripped you of your independence and your dignity.

What would be my ideal? If I had my druthers, I’d hang around indefinitely in the middle. Old enough to have gained wisdom and experience, to have outgrown a lot of the insecurities and doubts of youth (although we never fully outgrow some of them). But not so old that I don’t recognize my own body and face anymore. I really, really hate looking down at my arms and thinking, “When the fuck did I get my mother’s arms???” No, I don’t want my teenage skin anymore. But I could do without some of the weird shit I see going on with my skin these days.

And of course, to swing this back onto topic a little, there is always the niggling fear that we’re too old to spank. That no one wants to look at our butts or anything else anymore. I mean, I heard from a lovely woman on FetLife who just friended me, who lives in another country. She wrote that she would love to come to a U.S. party someday, but time is running out and she’s afraid she’s too old. She’s 52. (heavy sigh) So yeah. The fear is real. And it gets a little worse every year.

But of course, the clock continues to tick, and life stages continue to morph and change. I don’t want to go back. But I’m not sure who the hell I am and where I fit in now, going forward. Hence the rambles.

If you slogged through all this, thank you. If you relate, please feel free to chime in. Have a good weekend, y’all. Stay safe. ♥

Somebody that I used to know

Have you seen her? Sometimes I wonder where she went. I look around, look back behind me. Then I realize she’s still here, just not the same as she once was.

Me. At the beginning of this journey. The first picture I ever sent to Eve Howard of Shadow Lane, right before the birth of Erica Scott. Fresh. Excited. Looking forward. So many possibilities.

I have not been posting much lately. Sometimes I think about it. Sometimes I want to. Then I don’t. Because I really don’t have much to say these days that hasn’t already been said a million times.

I had years and years of adventures and stories to share. Milestones. Friendships. Experiences I only dreamed of when I was younger.

I have all my memories. But right now, I am quiet, just pondering them. I have been done shooting for three years. The pandemic put the kibosh on the national parties, and just as they started to return, there was a stream of very ugly admissions from various people that turned the community inside out. Lines were drawn, sides were taken, and a lot of people disappeared. Myself included. I deactivated from FetLife for two months, and only just reactivated yesterday. It’s the same, and yet it isn’t. It used to be a place where I felt like I belonged, where I’d be missed if I were gone. But people come and go all the time now. Attention spans are fleeting. The overall broad scene community seems now to have distilled down into smaller, more local pockets.

I no longer have a regular play partner. I know a couple of men who I am able to see once in a great while for a special treat, but at this time, I do not have a regular source of play. I don’t know of any scene in Los Angeles, any munches. I still try to meet new people, but between the pandemic and just plain getting older (and not to mention being a reclusive introvert), it’s much more of a challenge now.

Times change. I remember years ago, I casually commented on a young woman’s blog because I liked what she wrote. And she went nuts, “SQUEEEEE”-ing and marveling about how “Erica Scott commented on MY blog!!” Recently, I saw another blog post that resonated with me and said so, although I’d never commented on this person’s blog before. The blog owner was unfamiliar with me and commented to that effect. Not meanly, just matter-of-factly. I wanted to reply back, “I used to be somebody.” But I didn’t.

No, this isn’t another one of those “I’m closing this blog” announcements. I did that a few years ago, and a year later, I decided I still had a lot to say and restarted it. And what do I detest, kids? People who make a big thing about leaving, and then don’t leave. Sooo… I am not doing that again. Perhaps this is just to say that my posts will be few and far between. When I feel like I have something to contribute, I will do so. If I ever go to parties again, I’ll write them up. Of course, there will always be the CHoS, because some things never change. People will always write rude, inappropriate things to strangers. Oh, and of course, there will no doubt be a 2021 Christmas carol parody. Just waiting for my creative muse to make her appearance.

I have been called things like “legend” and “icon.” I have also been referred to as a has-been and washed up. I suppose that’s the way it always has been and that won’t change either. I am not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m opinionated, I’m snarky, I’m outspoken. I’m also honest and passionate. Some people hate me. But others love me. And to this day, I’m still getting emails that tell me my encouragement to explore kink without shame enabled people to acknowledge and find what they needed. That means a hell of a lot to me.

So I’m not going anywhere. I’m still here. Just a lot quieter. I don’t need to keep talking. I’ve talked enough. Now is the time to sit back and let the fresh faces and voices have their turn. Allow the Jillian Keenans of the scene to speak their truths. I will chime in when I feel like it would be welcomed or enjoyed.

Oh, there she is. Yes, I know her. ♥ I hope she won’t be forgotten.