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”

Finally!!!!

No, it isn’t July 4th. And no, it’s not raining. California is in another damn drought. Still, this wonderful caricature Dave Wolfe did of me years ago suits the mood.

After over a year of pandemic isolation, I finally got to play on Monday. And it was glorious.

As many of you know, I had been corresponding for months with a friend I knew from way back, whom I hadn’t seen in many years. He came to a couple of Shadow Lane parties and we’d played, and then he dropped out of the scene to move out of state and start a family. When he first suggested driving here to visit me and play, my first thought was, “Why would you want to do that? It’s one hell of a long drive!” Personally, I detest road trips and even the 4-5 hour drive to Vegas makes me nuts.

Luckily for me, C doesn’t share my distaste for long drives. He figured what with the pandemic still going on, it was safer than flying. And he enjoys books on tape. So… this was going to happen. He was already fully vaxed, so he asked me to let him know when I was. When that finally happened and I told him, we made a date. He booked a hotel. And we were on.

Holy crap.

As I’d mentioned earlier, I was really, really nervous. Not about him. Even not having seen him for, what, 15 years, I knew I would be in very good hands. I knew he was a heavy player, but also a kind and caring one. No, my worry was about myself. I mean, aside from quickie impromptu scenes with John, and one really godawful attempt at self-spanking, I hadn’t been spanked since February 2020. I felt like my tolerance was shot to hell.

Also, let’s be real. Aside from going to John’s on the weekend, and the occasional necessary errands, I’d basically been sitting around my apartment in sloppy clothes and no makeup for over a year. I didn’t feel presentable, let alone sexy or spankable. I felt… unattractive.

So, the fact that someone was willing to go to all that effort in order to spend some time with me was a good antidote to all those damn negative voices in my head. ♥ I jumped in, said let’s do this, and didn’t look back.

He teased me with emails: “Two weeks and counting!” “Almost here!” “Getting nervous?” Each message got the intended result; I squirmed and grinned and felt all the butterflies. On FetLife, I had said something or another to a top and he’d replied that he thought I “needed a reminder.” C saw this and posted, “I believe Erica will be getting a reminder very soon.” Oh, gawd…

Finally, Monday arrived. I got up early, and for the first time in I’ve forgotten how long, I put makeup on. I’d thrown out a lot of the old stuff since it had been sitting for over a year and bought fresh. I had asked him if he had any particular requests for what he’d like me to wear. He suggested I dress comfortably and lightly. I could do that.

Our meeting time was noon and I showed up at his hotel at 11:53. I had to call him from the lobby, since their elevators were key card operated. He came down to get me and enveloped me in a huge bear hug. I have missed soooo many hugs the past year! We went to his room and fell into chatting and catching up immediately. But after about 45 minutes, it was time to play.

I had plugged my phone in to charge and I checked it one last time before we started. And of course, John had sent me a text:

So, what kind of slutty trouble are you getting into — or are going to get into — today? Names, places, and what you did wrong. Now, young lady. … Have a nice day. Hi C!

Knowing that was John-speak for “I give you my blessing,” I laughed and we began. I assumed the position across his lap on the bed.

This is hard to describe, but I’ll try… from the first moment, the first smack, the feel of it, the sound of it, I felt a burst of euphoria. I’m home. I’m in the right place. This is where I belong. And as the sensations slowly built up and intensified, those feelings escalated until I wanted to laugh with sheer joy.

My yoga pants didn’t stay up for more than a minute. My panties soon followed. And I remembered just how spot on and amazing C’s hand was. How he switched things up and kept me guessing. How he knew exactly when was the point to stop for a second and when to continue. He checked in with me just enough. At one point he asked if I wanted water, but I said no thank you.

He took this picture after warm-up. (!)

After that, we changed positions and I laid over pillows on the bed. He had brought a backpack filled with implements, but he let me choose. I said nix to the wooden paddles and yes to a couple of different leather straps and a hairbrush. Honestly, he doesn’t need implements. His hand is a mighty force, and it never seems to tire or get sore. I told him about the times I’d made men’s hands blister and bleed, and he just chuckled. I don’t think he’ll experience that in his lifetime.

I felt so connected to him. At one point, my hand was flexing on the bed near my face, my fist opening and closing. Then I felt him reach over and squeeze my hand, holding onto it. I see you. I care about you.

So we kept going, and going, and going. I lost track of time. It was starting to hurt, but the pain intertwined with the pleasure and joy and I just wanted more more more. I could feel the power and energy behind his swats and I rejoiced. I can still do this. I’ll still got it! Oh my god, he’s amazing… Can I stop time and just stay here?

By the time we’d come to the end, I was drumming my feet on the bed and hollering into a pillow. My carefully applied makeup was smeared down my face and on the linens (sorry, Marriott) and my breath was coming in deep gasps. And I couldn’t. Be. Happier.

Ow. Been a while since I’ve looked like this. I missed it.

He asked how I feel about lotion, and I said it was very welcome. So he went to get some… and it turned out he didn’t have any. Oops! I giggled and gave him a hard time about it, but it was fine — I had some in my purse. I’m sure my skin must have sucked it right up.

We both had a drink and came back down, lying on the bed, snuggling, talking. So much to talk about, so many things to catch up on. I asked him how long the drive was — he said 10 hours. He was going to stay overnight and then drive back the next day. I didn’t want to go, and yet I figured after a while I should get on back home, let him relax. I had people waiting for check-in texts from me. ♥

I had parked in the hotel parking garage, but when we went down to the front desk and I asked about validation, the man said that lot was for guests, not guests of guests. Oh, dear. He took the card I’d gotten, checked how long I’d been there (4 1/2 hours), futzed at his computer for a minute, then said, “You know what, forget it. You got free parking. When you drive up to the gate, just press the call button and I’ll let you out.” Thank you, kind sir!

So C walked me to my car, we exchanged another warm hug, and I was off.

I felt kind of loopy and wound up for the rest of the evening. He’d sent me the pictures he’d taken, so I posted a couple of them on FetLife. Been a long time since I’ve had any pictures to put up there. The reactions were gratifying.

So, remember when I was crowing “I’ve still got it!”?? Yeah. I woke up yesterday morning and groaned, “The hell I don’t.” Wow. Sitting hurt. Walking hurt. I felt like I’d been playing for four straight days at a party instead of doing just one scene. When I attempted to do a workout, my body was yelling and swearing at me through the whole thing, especially during the lower body exercises.

And I enjoyed all that, too. Although it was very hard to focus on work, I admit. I finally had to take a break, because of course I needed a “day after” picture.

C checked in Monday evening, then let me know when he’d gotten home yesterday. He checked in this morning as well. So important. I wish more tops knew that.

And in anticipation that I might get droppy, my sweet SIS Jay sent me a box of See’s chocolate. ♥ Chocolate and depression are mutually incompatible, you know.

So… when the euphoria fades, when the marks and soreness disappear, I suppose I am in for some drop. A sense of, okay, now what? Where do I go from here? How do I bring regular play back into my life, and with whom? But for now, I’m not going to think about that. I’m just going to bask in the feels and smile. And be grateful.

Thank you, C. You gave me more of a gift than you know.

I get by…

…with a little help from my friends.

Hey, that’s catchy. Someone ought to set that to music sometime.

This happened a couple of weeks ago, but due to what was going on in the country, I figured I’d postpone it for a while.

We all know the spanking scene is a mixed bag. But one of the things I’ve always loved over the years is the solidarity many of us share. We have each other’s back(sides). And sometimes, it’s not just about playful bratting or what have you. Sometimes, the subjects are serious.

About 3 1/2 years ago, a friend of mine wrote a post on FetLife. In it, she took a bold stance: she stated that she would not play with anyone who is a Trump supporter. She listed her reasons why; it was a well-written, detailed post, no name-calling, just stating her position and why.

As you can imagine, the comments flowed. Some were supportive. Some were neutral. And of course, many others were nasty. I felt like I wanted to do something to support her, so people would see she’s not alone in this stance.

So I posted this picture:

I said I was doing this in solidarity with [her name], and I made it my avatar. Aaaaand the comments rolled in. Most were supportive. But of course, some were nasty.

And then, much to my delight, the incomparable Michael Masterson posted this picture:

He captioned it with “In support of my girl Erica Scott, who has the courage to make her voice heard, I offer you this.” My comment? “I love you, Mike.”

(Sorry about the editing, but the pic was a bit too gynecological. I figured it took away from the message.)

Anyway, cut to the present. I decided it was time to dump the old avatar and put up a new picture. So I chose this one from the end of 2019 (because 2020 was sadly lacking in play).

What is it we FetLife veterans know? No matter what kind of picture you put up, some people aren’t going to like it. And some people won’t hesitate to let you know they don’t like it, and why. You’re wearing panties. You’re not wearing panties. You’re too heavy, you’re too thin, you’re too old, you’re too young, etc. etc. The picture is too graphic. The picture isn’t graphic enough. And of course, one of my favorites: if it shows the results of a spanking, you get the ‘I could have done a better job’ comments.

Sure enough, the picture wasn’t up five minutes when I got this right off the bat:

Not red or bruised enough… just saying. 😉 😉

Really?? And is the “wink, wink” supposed to make it okay?

I mean, come on. If you’re of the persuasion of preferring more graphicly walloped bottoms, you have thousands to choose from on FetLife. Knock yourself out. Go look at the pictures of butts that look like they were pounded with a meat cleaver and then thrown on a barbecue grill, and have a wank-fest. Why bother stopping to comment on mine if you don’t like it?

Sheesh. I hadn’t put up a new picture on Fet in ages, and right out of the gate, I hear from the basement critics. But I didn’t want to start a thing on FetLife, so I didn’t reply to the comment. However, I did go on Twitter and grouse about it, saying that I really wanted to answer, “Who the fuck asked you?” but I’d refrain.

Next thing I knew, my buddy Sarah (not Gregory; a different Sarah I’ve mentioned on here, she of the full-body tackle hugs at parties) tweeted to me: “Allow me… BRB.” And within a minute, I saw I had a notification on Fet of a new comment. I went to look, and nearly fell on the floor.

Below the guy’s comment, Sarah had typed:

[His name]: Who the fuck asked you? 😉 😉

But wait, there’s more: Within minutes, the guy commented back to her. I braced myself for some vitriol, figuring I’d have to step in at some point. But all he wrote was:

Good comment. 🙂

Well, how about that. I chose to interpret that as saying, “Yeahhhh, you’re right, I guess that was kind of a dumb thing to say.” No harm done. And the picture got a lot more attention after that. Sarah, you really do rock. 😀

Not that I spend much time on FetLife these days, anyway. I’m usually there to network about parties, or post about scenes I’ve had. And what with Covid, there’s been none of that. Still… it’s nice to know your friends still look out for you. ♥ I miss everyone so much. The February party has already been canceled, but we are hoping for Labor Day.

Final note: Regarding this week’s momentous occasion, I will say just one thing and then leave it alone.

Four years ago, my stepmother, then 85 and in poor health, was in complete despair over Trump’s presidency. She wrote to me: “I was born during one the country’s darkest times [the Great Depression], and I’m probably going to die during another one.” That broke my heart. I was afraid she wouldn’t stick around; that she’d get so despondent, she’d give up and stop fighting.

Yesterday, she emailed me and said, among other things, “After Biden’s speech, I broke down and sobbed like a child.” She’s now 89. But she’s still with me. She made it. She hung in there long enough to watch us all come out the other side. And I’m so very grateful. It sickened me to the core that the Honorable Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg didn’t live to see this, but damn, this sure helps soothe that pain.

That’s all, folks. Have a great weekend. Stay safe.

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.

DSC00009BW

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.

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