New Year Musings

Been a while. I have much on my mind, so hunker down. Get a beverage.

First, my thoughts on the past year:

Yeah. It sucked. And looking back at the beginning of last year, I’m amazed that I was so consumed with what I called my “existential bleccchhhh.” I wrote this post last January. What a difference a year makes. Now, how I fit into the spanking scene is no longer a priority. Or on my mind at all, really.

I’m not really part of the scene anymore. I will always love spanking, and I will always enjoy the 20+ years of memories. But honestly, I don’t feel like I fit in with it anymore. Why? To put it simply, it changed, as things do, and I didn’t. No one’s fault; it’s just the way it is. And now, with some time past, I feel like I can talk about at least some of it.

I’ve always been a niche player. I am a 100% bottom; I never switch. And I bottom to men only. This didn’t used to be an issue. Now things are different. The party scene is more fluid. Roles are not clearly defined any longer. And it seems everyone plays with pretty much everyone — orientations as well as genders are fluid. I am not — repeat, NOT — saying this is wrong. It’s far more inclusive, and good for many more people. But for someone like me, it creates a feeling of awkwardness.

It used to be at parties, you basically put people together in some rooms and left them to their own devices as to how to play. Now, it seems the trend is to organize things a lot more, with games, themes, roleplays, etc. And when everyone is playing with everyone, and you’re not, you feel like the oddball.

Case in point? The party John and I went to last year over New Year’s. It was a lovely party, with good people. The hosts were awesome, the venue was comfortable, and we were thrilled to be included. However, I quickly realized how different parties had become from the first night of three.

There were a lot of spanking games, with different themes. But they all had one thing in common: bowls of slips with names on them. Everyone who identified as a bottom put their names in one bowl, and everyone who identified as tops put their names in another. If they identified as both, they put a slip in each bowl. And then one slip from each bowl was drawn and the two people were paired to engage in some sort of roleplay, with spanking.

As it happened, there were a lot more women at this gathering than men. Nearly all the men were switches. And pretty much all the women were too. Therefore, there were lots of women in the top bowl. And damned if nearly every time my name was drawn, I got paired with a woman.

Granted, I could have opted out and just watched. John had chosen not to put his name in anything, and I could have just sat with him and watched, laughed. But I wanted to belong. I wanted to be a part of it. So I decided to be a sport and be topped by whoever. And so, over and over, I bottomed to women.

Most of them were very respectful to me, knowing that this wasn’t my preference. The play was more on the light side, over clothes, etc. But it was excruciating for me. I felt uncomfortable and ridiculous. Again, no one’s fault but my own. If I wanted to play, this was how I had to play. I just didn’t like it.

I did say “most of them.” But of course, there always has to be one…

Before I get into this part, I am going to segue, and say something I haven’t had the guts to say before. But I do now. Because fuck it, it’s on my mind, and I feel like it needs to be said. I was thinking about making it a separate post, but I’ll keep it brief.

The #MeToo movement hit the BDSM and spanking scene hard. A lot of predatory men were exposed, stories of past assaults and consent violations were revealed. Things got pretty ugly and the scene was a dumpster fire for a while. But safety is important, and these truths needed to come out and be discussed.

But there’s one thing that, still, no one ever talks about. We hear all about the men who are handsy, rape-y, who push past known limits, who go too far, etc., etc. However, no one talks about the women who do the same thing. Ever. Not that I’ve ever seen, anyway.

Mind you, I am not dissing femme dommes as a whole, so spare me that accusation. I am friends with several femme dommes, they know who they are, and they know I have mad respect for them. But there are also the ones out there who hate men, and use their fetish in order to act out that hate. Who think the world revolves around them and what they want. Who think they are all-powerful and can do whatever they damn well please, demand whatever they damn well please. And they get away with it because people keep allowing them to.

How do I know so much about femme dommes, when I’ve never played with them? Easy. John did. Oh, mercy. Do I have stories. Years and years of stories. But I won’t go into them here. I will simply end this segue with something for everyone to consider and keep in mind, especially newbies. It is a reality that some tops are to be avoided (which, of course, makes us all appreciate the good ones even more). When you think of the worst kinds of tops — arrogant, egotistical, uncaring, cruel, in it for themselves alone — remember this: Not all of them have a Y chromosome. Predators and abusers are not limited to males.

So, back to the party. At midnight on New Year’s Eve, there was another game with the bowls of names. There was a table loaded up with implements. And this time, after people were paired, the top would give the bottom 23 strokes with an implement of the bottom’s choosing.

Again, I got paired with several women who were nice and respectful and kept things light. And then there was the one I didn’t know, had never met before.

When I went to choose my implement, I picked up the belt on the table. She said, “Uh-uh… my belt.” Okay, fine. She took her own belt off, and I started to bend over a stool. Then she said, “No. Those jeans need to come down.”

Say what now?

See, this is where I should have stood back up and said, “No, they don’t.” I should have honored my own boundaries. But again… I didn’t want to rock the boat. I didn’t want to be a poor sport. I didn’t want to not fit in.

So instead, I simply shrugged and said, “Okay,” and started to unbutton my jeans. And then she doubled down and said, “Hmmm… that didn’t sound anything like ‘yes, ma’am’ to me.”

Are you kidding me, lady? Who do you think you’re talking to?

Still, I didn’t say a word. I unzipped my jeans and shoved them down (leaving my underwear up, thank you very much) and bent back over. She gave me the 23 strokes, and they weren’t light, either. I grit my teeth through the whole thing. Then it was time to stand back up and finish with a hug.

I couldn’t resist. As I hugged her, I said in my snarkiest tone, “Happy New Year… maaaaaa’am.”

She laughed humorlessly. And then she said, in a voice dripping with condescension: “Oh, dear. I’m afraid you’re not going to have a Happy New Year with that attitude.”

I’ll be damned. I don’t believe in this sort of thing, but I’d swear that woman put a curse on me. Because 2023 turned out to be the worst year of my life.

Anyway… the experience left me feeling icky. And I realized this party wasn’t an anomaly. These games and icebreakers are now being played at the national parties too. And nearly every scheduled event involves some sort of roleplay, oftentimes ones I’m not comfortable with. I’m too damned old for the school themes, and I don’t like the whole family oriented themes either. And I don’t do any sort of age play. Again, more power to everyone who enjoys these things. The fact that I don’t is my problem. And I had to come to accept that maybe I’ve had my run and it’s time to bow out. Especially now that I don’t have John with me anymore.

I miss spanking. I still hope to find a local play partner. But my party days are definitely behind me.

So… a new year. 2023 was brutal, start to finish. Even in the early months, bad things happened. John had four different infections in rapid succession, which was stressful for both of us. My car was sideswiped on the freeway, on the driver’s side, when I was at the wheel. Then in June, the love of my life died.

The remaining half of the year was a blur of sheer hell, dealing with two problematic properties, bills, probate, a million forms to fill out, endless phone calls, handymen, roofers, painters, exterminators, you name it. It became ludicrous, so many things went wrong. After we finally sold John’s house, we went to work on the condo. New appliances, a new patio door, new lights and fixtures, new toilet, new mantel over the fireplace, the list went on and on. And when it was all done and the condo was sparkling and perfect, my realtor listed it. On the first day of the listing, it was 98 degrees, and she went to turn on the A/C. And then called me, telling me it was completely dead. My reaction was “Of course it is.”

I just had to roll with it all. I remember when the AC guy called and was trying to carefully and tactfully explain to me that the unit was fully shot, that the condo was built in the 80s and this was the original AC system, and they didn’t make them like this anymore, and he was going to have to cut things to make more room, and so on and so on and so on… and then I heard my realtor pipe up in the background: “In other words, we’re fucked!” And I laughed. What else could I do, really? I replaced the AC. And we sold the condo too.

And finally, after all that was done, this past month my favorite cousin passed away.

So yeah. Here’s my final thought on 2023.

Screw achievements. My achievement was I survived. I’m sad, I feel like I’ve aged ten years, I still cry every damn day, but I survived.

This year, I hope I can do more than just survive. I hope I can find some happiness again. I will never find love like I had with John again, I know this. But I need to decide what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, without him. More will be revealed, as they say.

I hope everyone had nice holidays, and that 2024 is good to you. ♥

Nothing new here

Not a whole lot going on at the moment. April was mostly dreck and I’m glad it’s over. However, things seem to be on the upswing. I got my car back (eight days early!) and you can’t even tell what happened to it. And John is finally recovering from an abscessed tooth with the infection spreading into his sinuses and his lungs. The tooth is pulled, he was put on industrial strength antibiotics, and I can finally breathe and drop my shoulders.

The one exception in the massive suckiness that was April — I finally got to meet my dear friend Jay after being online friends for nearly nine years. It is amazing, the friendships you can forge on this Internet thing. ♥

And this made me giggle. If I were a dog, this would be me. Right down to the “stupid.” 😛

Carry on. Here’s to some fun in May.

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. ♥

On the Twelfth Day of COVID…

…I tested negative!

I will test again midweek, just to be double-double sure, but I think I am good to go. Not 100% — still have a lingering cough and a bit of congestion, and I tire easily. Feel like I’m getting over a cold. Overall, I cannot complain.

My desire to play hasn’t come back yet, but I suspect it will very soon. I am missing John terribly. I didn’t see him the weekend of the party, and I’ve stayed away from him the past two weekends. As it happens, this coming weekend, he’s having a bunch of construction done at his house — his front deck is being completely rebuilt. It will take all day Saturday and Sunday, and my garage space will be filled with construction detritus. Park on the street? It’s the canyon. Parking on only one side, and his street is filled with his neighbors’ cars. Plus I need a parking permit. Plus there will be hours of hammering, drilling and sawing. Upshot? Looks like I’m not going there next weekend either. 😦 And considering Thursday is my birthday, this realllllly sucks.

BUT. It’s temporary. We’ll have a belated celebration. I’ve waited this long; I can wait a little longer. And guess what? Still no regrets whatsoever. I’d do it again. I needed that party. I needed that burst of life. Am I now ready to throw all caution to the wind? Hell, no. COVID is still very much a reality. And now I can’t get the new bivalent booster for three months. Meh. So I’ll be antisocial during the holidays. Considering I hate the damn things anyway, that doesn’t exactly break my heart.

Ooooh! If all goes according to plan, I am being interviewed via Zoom by Jillian Keenan tomorrow for one of her Kinking Out Loud videos. This was supposed to happen two weeks ago, but had to be postponed due to COVID. Stay tuned!

So…

… where the hell is my post-party report?

It’s late, but I promise, it’s coming.

I did have a great time, never fear. Lots to share. However, when I came home, I was slammed with work. And it was slow going, because I was distracted every other second with texts and emails and pictures and all the post-party stuff. I really should have taken a couple of more days off, just to decompress, unwind, catch up with everything. But work was busy and I wanted to do the responsible thing.

Then yesterday, I felt weird. Ached all over. I had taken a COVID test, but it was negative. But by the time I went to bed last night, I knew something was up. Sure enough, I tested positive this morning.

Well, shoot. How much does that suck.

Looks like I’m staying home this weekend. No John. 😦 But I suppose, putting a positive spin on it, I’ll be able to finally catch up with things. Get a handle on work. And actually write the damn report before I forget everything.

So far, this just feels like a flu — aches, fever, a cough. I have a phone consultation scheduled with a doc this afternoon. Meanwhile, the Advil/Tylenol combo knocked the fever down from 101.3 to 99.5, so I’m feeling pretty functional.

Stay tuned.

Oh, and do I regret going to the party? Not for a second. I took a chance, and now I’m paying for it, but it was 100% worth it. It was time to live again. This too shall pass.