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 “FetLife”

Confession

CONFESSION - declarative concept

For what it’s worth, for the dozen or so of you who still read my blather, I’m admitting to a moment of weakness and foolishness. Nothing came of it, but I figured it was worth looking at anyway.

Like it or not, we’re still in the middle of a pandemic. Even with things reopening, I don’t think it’s safe to be in crowds of people. John and I are continuing to do takeout. I’m going to put a hold on my gym membership. The curve of the first wave never flattened and now they are talking about the second wave. I don’t think this is going away anytime soon. Ergo… even if Shadow Lodge goes ahead with the party in Vegas over Labor Day, John and I will not go.

I would consider carefully playing one on one with a trusted partner, though. If I could meet one who was willing to be patient, take things slowly, observe all the safety rules, etc.

A week or so ago, I heard from a man on FetLife who, at first, sounded exactly like who I was seeking. He wrote well. He loved spanking. Our world views were on the same page. He’d been isolating and took the pandemic very seriously. He was attractive, fit, educated, healthy, didn’t smoke or do drugs. And he was local, had his own place where he could host. In his profile and in his introduction to me, he stressed about how he believed in taking the time to establish trust and a connection, and that there was no rush. It seemed he was experienced in the scene and had been around long enough to know what was what.

He said nice things. Didn’t just say that I’m attractive, although he stressed that many times. Said I sounded like I had a good head on my shoulders, that I was smart, seemed like a lot of fun and he thought we’d get along well. He said, more than once, that I was “perfect.” So, I wrote back. We exchanged two or three brief messages. So far, so good.

Then last Friday, he sent me a message that threw me for a loop. Said he wouldn’t meet anyone for coffee right now, not with the virus and particles everywhere and so forth. However… I could come to his place and we could sit outside on his balcony, see where chemistry takes us.

I’m sorry, what??

Okay, this is BDSM 101, kids. You meet publicly first. Coffee, a drink, a meal, whatever you are comfortable with. You do not just up and go to a man’s house right off the bat when you don’t know him, or know of him through trusted others. Period. I couldn’t believe he was suggesting I do this.

So I wrote back, telling him I was sorry, but I couldn’t possibly do that. That I’d been meeting play partners for over 24 years and vetting them in public first. (There have been a couple of exceptions over all those years, but that’s exactly what they were, exceptions. And I’d had good communications with the men beforehand.) I said it seemed we both had much to offer, and hopefully we could figure out a way to move forward, carefully. That I understood “cabin fever” (his words) very well, but that I had to be safe.

Didn’t hear back. Five days went by. Then I got a message that was in a very different tone from all the others. It was part resentful, and part coaxing.

He said we were at an impasse, because I wouldn’t “step out of my comfort zone,” because I wouldn’t “bend a little.” That trying to meet with me was like trying to push a boulder up a very steep hill, and that he found “endless emails” frustrating. And then, he painted a sexy, tempting picture of what could happen if I would just come over, take his hand, and… so on.

I didn’t reply. But I was really, really angry and upset, and wasn’t quite sure why, besides the obvious that the guy’s a manipulative jerk.

Here’s where the confession part comes in.

I think I was rattled because, deep down inside, a part of me wanted to cast caution to the wind, ignore everything I knew, and just go “have an adventure.”

I mean, fuck it. I’ve been holed up for months. I haven’t played since February. Every damn day is some sort of bad news. And there is nothing to look forward to in the near future. Here was my chance to break out a little, go do something wild and forbidden and sexy and have some damn fun for a change. To feel sexy and free and attractive and naughty and just forget all this shit for a couple of hours.

And the fact that even a tiny part of me felt this way was horrifying to me. I know better than this! No, I wasn’t going to do it. But damned if I didn’t want to, just a little. Because I’m only human.

Anyway… turned out it didn’t matter. The morning after he’d written that latest message to me, I woke up to another one.

I’ve decided that it’s just too complicated to continue — good luck with all and be safe.

In other words: “You didn’t do things the way I wanted, so you’re not worth any more of my time.” Also: “I know you’re going to say no, so I’ll reject you first.”

Bastard.

Before I put this behind me, I had to have a final word. I wrote back:

Your profile reads: “I like to go slow at first to develop a genuine connection, kindred spirits, feelings and trust.”
And yet, after a few brief exchanges in which I know next to nothing about you, you expect me to ignore one of the cardinal rules of BDSM, show up at your home without meeting you first. When I politely decline that, you throw up your hands, say “fuck this,” call our messages “endless emails” and I go from perfect to a boulder on a steep hill.
Everything about this has a clear message: “If you don’t give me immediate gratification, I can’t be bothered with you.”
Thanks for the early warning, I guess. I am a person of value and worth bothering with. Sorry you didn’t think so.

Didn’t hear anything back, of course. He’s moved on to find someone more gullible, more lonely and in need. I may be all three of those, but I’m not stupid. I. Know. Better. All emotions and desires aside, I know what’s right and what’s safe. He wasn’t.

And, as many people (including John) reminded me yesterday, it’s fortunate that he revealed who he really was this early on, before I got further invested. Or worse.

So why am I writing this? I guess because I’m reminded that, no matter how much experience we have, no matter how much we know better, we can still be swayed. We can still fall prey to a vulnerable moment and ignore our instincts, or want to. That these are scary times and a lot of us are not thinking clearly. These are the times when narcissists and predators can thrive. Don’t let them. And if someone tries to make you feel like you’re not worth bothering with, fuck them. (Figuratively speaking.) Because you are. And the people who don’t care to take the time, who just want what they want and want it now — their loss.

How ironic that his final words to me were “Be safe,” when he wanted me to be anything but. However, I will say the same to all of you. Please. Be safe. In these tough times, where so many of us are feeling vulnerable, uncertain, alone, scared, angry — keep your head. Keep your ears and heart open to your inner voice that knows best.

Hope everyone has a peaceful weekend. And Happy Father’s Day to the dads. ♥

 

 

 

Know your audience

Yes, I know I’ve talked about this before. But it seems that in these days of isolation and boredom, where people are itching for titillation and entertainment, it could use a refresher course.

This isn’t exactly CHoS material, which is why I’m keeping it separate. But it’s equally annoying. I like a fantasy scenario as much as the next spanko. I’ve read many and I’ve written quite a few. BUT. When you write and publish a spanking story, whether it be in a book or on a blog or wherever, you leave people the choice whether or not to read it. Generally, people pick and choose what they read according to what particulars float their boat. Sounds about right, no?

Until you get the guys (and yes, in my case, it’s always guys) who don’t know you, who have never corresponded with you (let alone played with you), who just feel like getting their rocks off by directly presenting their fantasy to you under the guise of “Hey, I wrote this just for you,” when you know damn well they probably dashed it off to a hundred women just to see who took the bait.

And, lucky me, these scenarios are almost always cringe-worthy on every level.

Here’s an example I received recently on FetLife. I had never had any contact with this man, other than a brief exchange of “hellos” on the site, but then he presented me with the following, completely unsolicited.

I am a huge role play, daddy daughter top too. If I may beg your indulgence (and I know you’ve probably played the little girl in your videos a lot and maybe even this same exact scenario) … So, my favorite scenario is scolding the lady for her indiscretions before the spanking (make her feel like a little naughty girl) and telling her that she needs and deserves a good ole fashion OTK bare bottom spanking. Telling her that’s long over due and much deserved, etc. I would then tell her to go upstairs to our room and prepare for her spanking (she would know the drill; all her clothes off, but her panties) and wait for me in the corner sitting on the ‘spanking chair.’ I would make her wait for 10 or 15 minutes before entering our room to give her the scolding and OTK. I would then enter the room and say, ‘it’s spanking time, young lady and you’re going to get a good one.” And, ”you won’t be sitting comfortably for quite a while after I am done with you, young lady.” I would ask her does she know why she’s getting spanking and ask her what happens to naughty girls under my roof, etc. And, then scold her some more before putting her over my knee and pulling her panties down and spanking her bottom rosy red as she bawls loudly (hopefully; if not, she may want the brush). When done, I would tell her to go back to her corner with her panties still down and lecture her on why she got the spanking, and that next time it will be harder and longer, etc. I then would come back in the room and comfort her. PS: The ‘spanking chair’ will always be in the corner of our room so she would be reminded each and every time she see’s it of what the consequences will be if she misbehaves again. What do you think? What would you add here in this scenario? I am just curious coming from a professional spanko bottom as you. I really respect and cheris your sage knowledge of the spanking kink!

Good lord. Pass me the barf bag.

So what’s the problem? I mean, besides the fact that it is horribly written and crammed with cheesy, clichéd corn? Well… in the very beginning, he says he knows I have probably often played the little girl in my videos. In what universe? Anyone who has known me, or known of me, for more than five minutes in the scene knows that I have never played a little girl, that I am not a little in private, that I’ve never participated in a scene like this in all my 24 years in the spanking scene. It. Is. Not. My. Thing. When you have a specific kink such as age play, know who you’re writing to before you dash off an elaborate scenario such as this. (And FFS, try proofreading it first.)

In case you’re wondering, since he did ask for feedback, I answered briefly.

“Never once have I played a little girl. I am not into the DD/lg dynamic in the least.
Know your audience.”

He didn’t answer. Buh-bye. I checked him out on FetLife again after a couple of weeks and saw that he was posting overly personal and cheesy comments all over the freaking place on many women’s pictures. (sigh) Some people just don’t learn.

And while I’m on the subject of clichés… Look, y’all. I like a well placed “young lady” or “you won’t sit down for a week” or what have you as much as the next bottom. But notice I said “well placed.” Some tops know when the time is right for these phrases, when they are hottest, when they are effective. Others spew them like rote Spanking 101 phrases, almost like there’s a checklist they have to tick off. Hint: Less is more. Subtlety and timing are key.

Okay, Erica, I hear people thinking. Since you’re such an expert, give us an example of well placed, what you consider hot.

All right.

End of last year, I met a man for coffee. We stood in line, ordered, and then I went to reach for my wallet. I always offer to pay my share; I never assume.

Now, he could have said: “Young lady, you even think about touching that wallet and I’ll take you outside to the car, bare your little bottom and give you a spanking you’ll never forget.” Oooh, yeah, that would tick off about four of those check boxes.

He didn’t. Because he knew that would have been a bit much right out of the gate.

Instead, he didn’t even look up from his own wallet, but very quietly said, “That stops right now.”

My hand, poised over my wallet, froze. And with those four words, so subtly delivered, I needed a change of underwear.

Spanko talk is a lot like humor. If you’re too heavy-handed with it (if you’ll pardon the expression), it does the opposite of what it’s meant to do.

And that concludes today’s installment of Erica’s Helpful Hints. By the way, if I sound grumpy, it’s because I fucking well am. Back to work with me. Hope everyone is staying safe and well.

 

Happy 2020

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope everyone had safe, happy and healthy holidays. Mine were quiet, exactly as I wanted them. Now it’s time to get back into work mode.

Also, it’s time for a fresh start, to dip my toes tentatively back into the scheme of things. I can’t believe it’s been nearly a year since I wrote Notes on the Scene. Back then, I was coming from a place of sadness, hurt and disillusionment. Now, after coming out the other side of an ocean of tears, I think I’m more in a place of clarity. This past year opened my eyes to many things, and I will never again look upon the kink scene as I once did. However, I feel like I can now start to take back what’s good, and leave the rest.

To that end, I reactivated my FetLife account after being off for eleven months. And I plan to go to 50 Freaks in Vegas at the end of February, after a year off from parties. It’s a scary prospect, going back, but there are people I look forward to seeing. As for local play partners, the search continues. But I am hopeful.

For everyone out there reading this who is having a hard time, please hang in there. This time last year, I was going to bed each night and wishing I wouldn’t wake up. But the worst of it seems to have passed. There is a flip side to the darkness. And once again, I recall this expression of hope and comfort: May the depth of your despair be the height of your joy.

So, here’s to a new year, to new beginnings. Because I want to come out from under the covers and get back into this part of who I am. To bring some color back into my life.

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Cheers. ♥

If at first you don’t succeed…

… fuck it up one more time. Oh wait, that’s not how it goes. Well, something like that. Keep trying, in other words. Eventually, hopefully, something will happen.

So earlier this week, I got a message from a guy on FetLife. Local, wrote a nice note, interesting in spanking. Also tickling, which is not my thing. But I figured since he was polite, I’d be polite back, and wrote my own nice note in return. Figured that was it, but he kept writing, so we exchanged a few messages.

I thought, maybe? Who knows. He seemed smart and interesting. But a couple of things were bothering me. One, he had no profile filled out, only a lot of different quotes. He had no pictures of himself, only one of his arm. And he wrote in slash/speak.

For those who aren’t familiar, it’s a D/s protocol. The dominants refer to themselves in upper case, and the subs in lower case. The dominant will write Me and My and so forth capitalized, whereas the sub writes their name in lower case, “i” in lower case, etc. And if they are talking about both people? Slashes. W/we. O/our. Etc.

If, and I mean IF, you are in a relationship with that dynamic, and both parties are good with it, it’s fine. But if you’re talking to a stranger who doesn’t necessarily subscribe to that protocol, you shouldn’t assume to use it. It’s annoying and distracting, and comes off as arrogant and pretentious to someone like me who isn’t into it.

So I kidded him about it. He said I was bratting (which I was). Meanwhile, we had established that our schedules were opposite, we lived far from each other, I hate phone calls and he hates texting. It wasn’t looking good. But you know, desperate times. I tried one more time. I said that I’m a writer/editor, and it offends my sensibilities to see otherwise good writing hacked up with a bunch of slashes and unnecessary capitalizations, or improper lower casing. That I don’t respect capital letters; I respect people. And I added a smiley face to soften it.

On Thursday night, he wrote back. One portion read, “I don’t care what you think about capitalization, little one. Deal with it.” He added a winky face. It didn’t help. All that resonated was “I don’t care what you think.” And at this point, I was a stranger. I was not his “little one.” I was done.

I wrote a polite note back, saying that I didn’t think we were compatible, there were too many differences in what we seek, but I wished him luck and thanked him for the outreach.

His last communication to me read: “Very well, young lady. I’m not one to jump through hoops nor am I one to change My ways just to get into a lovely woman’s panties. Be good.” Sheesh. At least he didn’t call me a girl.

However, this mini-saga has a good ending. I was so damn frustrated after three days of wasting time with this exchange, and left at square one once again. I was sick to death of all work and no play. So I got up my nerve, and contacted someone I’ve known for some time, who is local, but so far we have only played with each other at 50 Freaks and Shadow Lane. And every time we do, we have a great time, and say “We should get together in L.A.!” and then promptly forget about it until the next party. I decided to put myself out there and ask him if he wanted to play.

I wrote a nice message, saying that I was dealing with a dearth of play lately, and while I didn’t have the time or desire to go through the whole vetting process of finding a new play partner, it sure would be fun if I had a local friend with whom I could get together, hang out and play when it suited our busy schedules. I said that he and I had already played, we knew we had good chemistry, the trust factor had already been established, so this could be mutually beneficial. What were his thoughts on making this happen?

Within minutes, he replied. “My thoughts? Count me in! When are you available?”

So, long story short, he’s coming over this Tuesday afternoon. I am slam-jammed with work and truth be told, I am not available, but screw it. I need this. My mental and emotional health need this. I’ll get the work done somehow, and if I skip the gym, screw that too. My body needs a different kind of workout right now. 😀

I guess I should thank Mr. Slash/Speak. If I hadn’t had the encounter with him, I don’t think I would have had the frustration-fueled nerve to put myself out to this other man.

Fingers crossed that it doesn’t fall through. Wish me luck.

Onward… where to, I’m not sure

So here I am, staring another birthday in the face. Didn’t I just have one of the damn things? Look, I enjoy birthday festivities as much as the next attention whore hog, but I can do without this ageing business.

And — confession time. I don’t have a birthday spanking to look forward to. Because as it happens, I do not have a play partner at this time.

I feel kind of ridiculous and thought perhaps if I just didn’t talk about it, people would forget that big announcement I made a few posts back. I thought about deleting it, but I really didn’t want to. That would be denying it ever happened, and it did. And it was lovely and lots of fun, however brief.

Please don’t ask me for details… it is what it is. I will tell you this much. I have not lost a friend. Ulf is a dear, kind-hearted and special man I am privileged to know and who I hope to keep in my life for a good long time, as my friend, part of my chosen family.

It just seems he’s not meant to be my play partner.

So. Once again, I am adrift in spanko land. And you know what? I’m tired of looking. I’m not going to make a thing out of finding another partner. If it happens, it happens. But the process can be so damned disheartening and frustrating, and many times, the best relationships have happened organically and not when I was specifically seeking them. So I won’t.

Of course I will miss regular play. I’m not going to kid myself and say no big deal, I won’t miss it, I’m busy, I’m working, I spend weekends with John, spanking isn’t everything, so on and so forth. It’s a huge part of me and I feel a sadness, an emptiness when I don’t have it in my life. However, I would rather go without it than to settle for anything less than what fulfills me. I’m not going to play with just anyone, simply for the sake of feeling a hand on my butt. I need the connection. I need the trust and chemistry and the humor and the attraction and all those wonderful things that come together to make the potent cocktail that sends me into bliss.

In recent times, I’ve befriended a couple of lovely young women on FetLife — very young (early twenties). Both have been lucky enough to have positive and caring early experiences with good men, which is so very important. Both are eager sponges, wanting to soak up everything about this kink and learn about where they fit in all of this, and with whom. One of them recently told me that she was concerned it wouldn’t always be this good, and she was setting the bar too high. “It can’t always be this perfect, can it?” she asked.

In a word, no. Nothing is always wonderful. Even chocolate cake isn’t always wonderful. (Come on, you know you’ve had a dry piece or two in your lifetime.) Yes, spanking is readily available pretty much anywhere if you look for it. So is chocolate. But sometimes you get See’s or Godiva… and sometimes you get Russell Stover’s. Don’t settle for the latter. It just makes you want the former even more.

This is what I said to both these women — I told them they were given a very special gift, getting to play with good partners early on. They would go on to have a lot of experiences with many different people, if they kept on this path, and not all of them would be so hot. BUT… they would always have a benchmark. They would always know how it was supposed to feel when it’s right. And when it wasn’t, they wouldn’t have to question themselves. No. I don’t like this. Doesn’t feel right. Next.

Well, guess what. I’m taking my own advice, because I too have benchmarks. I have had some incredible play partners. I have had dozens — hell, hundreds — of positive experiences. And yeah, I’ve had some really crappy, unsatisfying, and even a few traumatic ones as well. But they were anomalies. And I knew there was something better, something worth waiting for. Because when it happened, when all those elusive factors came together and made for that connection, it was blissful. Quality over quantity.

Recently, a good friend asked me how I deal with all the losses of play partners I’ve had over the years — how could I stand having my heart broken again and again? I told her that’s the risk you take. It’s an unusual relationship, often times a fleeting one. And yes, it hurts to open my heart, give my trust, and put my body and soul in a man’s hands, only to have him go away. But the alternative is not playing. The alternative is not experiencing the closeness, the intensity, the magic. And that’s worse. That’s so empty.

Yup, I know there are those who think I’m too picky. That I have too many hard limits, my play focus is too narrow, I should open myself up to more experiences and some different types of people, should experiment more, should be more scene-inclusive, blah blah blah. Yeah, maybe. But you know what?

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That’s right. Screw this whole PC thing that says we’re supposed to embrace all varieties of our kink. That we’re supposed to “evolve” — implication being that if your scene tastes don’t broaden, you’re a dinosaur. Well, call me Erica-sauras. Or sore-ass. Whatever. I’m too old for this shit, y’all. I’ve tried other stuff. I tried to push my square peg self into some other round kinks and just got scraped and chafed and miserable. I have been doing this long enough… I know who I am. I know what I like, I know what works for me and what does not. I know where my comfort zones are. I get to say I don’t like stuff and I don’t want it. That doesn’t mean I don’t accept when others do it. People are welcome to do their own consensual kinky-fuckery. But acknowledging/accepting it and embracing it are very different things. For example? The recent Shadow Lane party and the extreme scene I mentioned that was stopped. It’s. A. Spanking. Party. If a man wants to kick and stomp on a woman while wearing heavy boots, and she wants him to kick and stomp on her while he’s wearing heavy boots, fine. They can knock themselves out… at a dungeon. Not at a spanking party. I don’t want to see it, and I shouldn’t have to.

If I were younger, newer, then I’d say sure, experiment. But I’ve done that. Sometimes I wish I did like more varieties of play — I’d certainly have more opportunities for fulfillment. But we are who we are.

So, here’s what I do want.

I am a bottom, a strong woman who happens to enjoy the power exchange of being spanked by a man. I am not someone who needs to be held accountable, except in a playful realm — I hold myself accountable. I am a living, breathing human — I am not an object. I am not something to be owned and controlled. Yes, you can push me, test my limits. You can break down my walls, break through my defenses, touch my soft center. But you do not get to break me. Don’t break my heart or my trust. Be my friend and give me loving firmness. Make me sting, make me sore, but don’t harm me. I can take a lot of pain from you if it is done with caring and proper technique. But if you slap/strike anything other than my butt/thighs, you will not like my reaction. You want to punch/kick something? Go to the gym, and stay the hell away from me.

Make me laugh, and let me make you laugh. There is great joy in what we do; it is not a dark and serious thing. Embrace it with me.

Yes, I like playing with younger men. Enough with the cougar crap and other ageist insults. I’m not a predatory beast. I’m a woman who is young at heart and in mind, in good shape, and I just happen to relate well to people who are younger than I am — both male and female.

And for sweet Christ’s sake — don’t disappear, don’t ghost. I have seen more damn disappearing acts than the Magic Castle, and I’m tired of them. Yes, I get that lives are busy. Mine is too. I don’t ask for much of your time and attention. I just want to know you are in my life and you care, and know in my heart of hearts that I will see you, get to spend some time with you, sooner or later. Shoot me a text or a tweet when life is crazy. It takes seconds.

I guess time will tell if my dream play partner will materialize. Meanwhile, life goes on. John is making a big fuss over my birthday and I love him for it. He’s already sent me beautiful flowers, and this Saturday (the actual birthday), he’s taking me to the Walt Disney Concert Hall to hear a live performance of Mozart’s Requiem. I have never been to this particular venue, and I love classical music, so this is a huge treat.

So, like I said, onward. I am a bit melancholy, a bit adrift, but I am okay. It is what it is. And life has a way of surprising me when I least expect it. We shall see.

If not “brat,” then what?

As I expected, once the Shadow Lane party was over and the situational camaraderie dissipated, FetLife returned once more to its usual state of arguments, accusations and pontifications. I haven’t been on much, mostly to “like” pictures or wish a kinky friend Happy Birthday. But last week, I admit I got caught up a bit with one person’s essay on yet another subject that’s been done to death: Brats, and how much domly doms hate them.

This guy really let it fly, with a long, scroll-down post, basically taking all bottoms who aren’t purely submissive and painting them with the same broad brush — they’re obnoxious, they’re destructive, they’re nasty, they’re demanding and manipulative, they care only about themselves, etc., etc., blah blah blah. Oh, and how put upon the poor tops are, having to tolerate their behavior.

“Dominant” is not spelled “D O O R M A T,” he exclaimed.

No, it isn’t. In your case, pal, it’s spelled A S S H O L E.

Look, I know about the kind of brats he’s talking about. Yes, they can be annoying, destructive, manipulative. I have news for this guy, though. These particular bottoms aren’t brats. They are narcissists. Some of them are borderline psychotic. And yes, they are to be avoided. But to paint all playful, provocative, spirited and clever bottoms into the same corner with the nut cases is egregiously unfair.

I confess, I couldn’t resist adding my own comment. (The posting has received 140 comments so far, spanning the spectrum from “Hear hear!” to “Screw you.” This was my contribution:

Not all brats are destructive, willful monsters. And not all tops hate bottoms with a bit of spirit.

But it’s OK. We get it. Some Doms don’t want to have to make the effort to engage in a battle of wits with a clever provocateur. Some Doms don’t want to hear any words other than “yes, sir.” And the only time an Uber-Dom wants to see a sub’s tongue sticking out is when she’s about to suck his dick.

Don’t like brats? By all means, avoid them. But there’s no need to malign them so thoroughly.

(snicker) I waited with bated breath for the fallout on that one. But it didn’t come, amazingly. One person commented “Well said,” and another called me a “fabulous wordsmith.”

This post, however, is not about good brats vs. bad brats and who hates them and who loves them. This is about the term itself: Brat. The very word conjures up negative images. Spoiled kids, whining and stamping their feet. Defiance, childishness, acting out, tantrums, generally unpleasant behavior.

But what if a bottom doesn’t fit into the quiet, acquiescent, submissive mode that this Uber-Dom prefers? Is she (I’m using the feminine pronoun here for simplicity, but this can include male bottoms too) doomed to accept the opposite moniker of brat? What if she just likes to tease a bit, play, challenge? What if she is clever and funny, rather than obnoxious?

Yeah, I hear you. Labels suck. But they exist, and they’re here to stay, like it or not. So my issue is, people like me need a different name, a different category. Because being lumped in with the brats doesn’t work, and it’s automatically assumed (by some), if we call ourselves “brats,” that we’re going to be “snotty little shits” (one of the many colorful descriptions the post writer used).

Granted, I’ve done and said some pretty awful, bratty things on video. But anyone with common sense knows that the situations in videos and stories are exaggerated to make the bottom deserving of the punishment, and so the viewers/readers will root for the top. However, in my real-life play, I challenge, but I don’t insult. And I won’t be playful with a top unless I sense that he enjoys it.

Here’s a random example of my “bratting.” Years ago at a party, my friend Andy wanted to cane me in one of the suite parties, but he’d left his canes in his room. So he borrowed one from a gentleman named Ben, who had cheerfully offered it up. After our scene (which drew a crowd; this was back in the days when people actually gathered round and watched party scenes), Andy handed me the cane, pointed to Ben across the room and said, “Go bring this back to the nice man, and say ‘thank you, Ben.'” Slowly, I ambled across the room, several pairs of eyes upon me, and when I reached Ben, who was grinning in anticipation, I said, loudly and clearly: “Up yours, Ben.”

Yes, that’s my bratting style. Hardly fits into that nasty picture painted by the brat hater. Bratting is also a matter of degrees. I’ve been known to toss implements across the room. Hardly submissive, I know. But it’s not like I tossed them out the window, into the Dumpster, or into the fireplace. I’m playful. I’m not destructive.

So here’s my question: Can we come up with a term that describes the brats who aren’t really brats? The bottoms who fall between the polarities of must-to-avoid, disrespectful little twits and fully compliant submissives? I like the term “provocateur,” myself. Even the word itself is clever. However, I know it’s a bit of a mouthful, and for simplicity’s sake, I’d rather come up with something shorter. But what? A synonym for provocateur is “challenger,” but that too is awkward.

I’m serious, kids! Language is always in flux, and kink terminology is too. There are always new terms being introduced. Let’s come up with a term for “clever, non-destructive, non-manipulative, respectful and sensible brats.” You know, the ones that make a top want to spank them, not wring their neck.

Thoughts? Put your creative caps on and let me know.

In other news, life goes on. My computer is finally fixed, but my landline is on the fritz again, after being fixed not two weeks ago. John’s ongoing issues at work are worrisome, but my own work is keeping me busy, which is good. No news with my stepmother; I had emailed her asking if she needed anything, but she didn’t reply. And I have another birthday coming up, with all the usual ambivalent feelings. Meh. First world problems. I am stuck here all day waiting for AT&T, so I guess I should get back to work. I will be seeing Steve tomorrow, and he plans to take me out for a birthday lunch. 🙂 There should be a spanking or two in the plans as well.

Because I sure as hell need one. Or two.

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