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.

Contrary to popular belief…

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

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

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

Um…

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know she didn’t.

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

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

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

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

Escape

People cope in different ways.

Some drink. Actually, many drink.

Some dive face first into a half-gallon of ice cream. (Been there.)

Some people have mood enhancers of choice.

Some disappear under the covers and don’t come out.

Some binge-watch their favorite shows. And then binge-watch them again.

Me?

I go for the sweet oblivion, the deliverance from pain into pleasure that is spanking play.

I sink into the depths of dopamine, the excess of endorphins, the orgy of oxytocin.

And I float away in that blissful, fragile bubble of unreality.

Because… reality is pretty damned intolerable lately.

Everyone be safe. ♥

2021…

… can go fuck itself with a 2 x 4. Sideways. With nails sticking out of it.

I was all prepared to post something altogether different for the last day of the year. Following the example of other bloggers doing top tens and favorites lists, I was going to write up my favorite things that tops say and do, with plenty of pictures. It was going to be sexy, sassy, and fun.

But today, Betty White died. The internet exploded in grief. And so did I. And I no longer give a rat’s ass about ending 2021 on a happy, positive note. Because it’s impossible, and to try to pretend otherwise would be disingenuous.

Look, I know she was ninety-nine years old. Even though she was a much-beloved national treasure and we all wished she’d live forever, she had a good long life. But what I cannot stand is that it was a mere eighteen days before her 100th birthday. A day that promised celebration, commemoration, live streams of Betty herself, retrospectives, the sheer joy of this incredible woman reaching such a milestone. That as I write, the goddamn newsstands are plastered with copies of the latest People magazine, with Betty smiling joyfully on the cover and the headline, “Betty White Turns 100!” Ugh.

Eighteen fucking days. But no. 2021 had to have one last punch to the gut. This miserable year had to send us all out in tears.

Yeah. I know that New Year’s Eve is the day we reflect, we think about the past year, our accomplishments, the good things that happened, things we’re grateful for. Ring out the old, ring in the new. You know what? Fuck that.

Tomorrow a new year begins. I’ll be with the man I love. I’ll take a few deep breaths, dry my eyes, and do my damnedest to look forward. To hope for better days. But right now, I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m crying. I hate life’s random cruelty, its inherent unfairness. I am beside myself with grief over all the sadness and pain of this past year. And I’m just going to let myself wallow in it for this one day.

Monday, January 3, will be a reset. On that day, I’m seeing Chris (I hope; there is a concern about snowstorms and a 12-hour drive probably should wait until better weather). Not only will it start my year off with a good experience, with something I need with all my heart and soul, it will help erase the utterly shitty play experience I had in recent months that left me feeling so lousy. It will restore my faith that there are men out there who get me, who know what I need and want, who want the same, who know how to deliver it. I told him I was worried about his drive, but he said he just got new snow tires and he’s very confident that it will go fine.

But right now, I am more than ready to kiss this year goodbye. Fuck off, 2021. Fuck off, Covid, Delta, Omicron, and all your other goddamn variants. Fuck off, anti-vaxxers who are keeping this pandemic going. Fuck off, Q-Anon and GOP. Fuck off, MAGAts. Fuck off, gun nuts. Fuck off, wildfires and all the other casualties of climate change, and the people who don’t want to cooperate with trying to save the planet. Fuck off, deaths of beloved icons. Fuck off, bazillionaires playing around in space while zillions are homeless. Go right to hell, every last one of you.

(sigh) And to my friends… I’m sorry. I really wanted this last post of the year to be better, funnier, happier. I still love you all, and wish the very best for you. Please take care, be safe, and hug your loved ones.

See you on the other side.