Bittersweet

It’s Memorial Day. Technically for me, being a freelancer, it’s Monday. I’m working today. But really, what else is there to do anyway? I’m not in any hurry to go to the beach. I never wanted to go to the beach before the damn pandemic.

Today we honor the fallen. And in that vein, an extra moment of silence for the nearly 100,000 people in the U.S., and many more globally, who have died from Covid-19. These are scary, uncertain times. Today, I’m grateful to be well and working, even though I feel like there’s a specter over my head, over John’s, over the heads of everyone I love.

Today is also a day of entirely different memories for me. On Memorial Day 1996, I got my very first adult consensual spanking. That one action changed my life. Lifelong fantasies became a reality that was so much better than I could have imagined. I started a new journey that took me to the most amazing places, to meet so many incredible people and have experiences I didn’t even dream of. All from a tall, handsome gentleman, whose last name I never knew, who came briefly into my life and turned my world upside down and inside out. Wherever you are, Paul, thank you. Again. I hope you found what you needed and wanted.

Today I remind everyone out there who is still ashamed, closeted, embarrassed, feeling like there’s something wrong with them — there isn’t. Societal dictates about relationships, sexual activities and fetishes are highly overrated. As long as you are hurting no one, as long as you are safe, sane, consensual and respectful, your desires are part of who you are. Embrace them, and dare I say, enjoy them. Because life is too fucking short not to.

Today, I can’t help comparing Memorial Day twenty-four years ago, when I brought an almost perfect stranger into my home and engaged in highly physical activity, with today, when I can’t even meet someone for a cup of coffee. Recently, a correspondent wrote, “It seems the days of meeting for coffee are behind us.” Oh my god, I hope he’s wrong. Because that is a truly depressing prospect.

Today, I’m dealing with a whole lot of powerlessness. A lot of feelings. Fear, anger, nervousness, sadness, uncertainty. Yesterday, John wasn’t feeling well, and of course, my mind has gone to all the worst possible places, even though it’s probably just a damn headache and perfectly innocuous. This year’s taxes have been postponed, but they are due soon and I owe a ton of money, because my quarterly taxes were underestimated last year and I ended up making more than my accountant and I thought I would. Trying to stay in the moment — it’s hot outside, but my place is nice and cool, I have plenty to eat, I am feeling okay. I can’t think past this moment in time or I’ll drive myself crazy. I’m not alone in this, I know. So in the midst of the craziness, there is gratitude.

Today, I’m grateful for friends, for people who have stayed the course, who are still with me and haven’t disappeared. I hope I get to see some of you in the future when all this is behind us, whenever that may be. ♥

Please take care of yourselves, and be kind. We are all on edge right now. The slightest gesture from another can pull someone back from the ledge… or push them over it. Which one do you want to do?

If you can, go play. And revel in it 100%. Celebrate your kinky wonderful self. Remember those who have gone, and honor them by living your truest life.

Kink in the time of Covid-19

Before I get to the subject of this post, an update on my friend with the virus. She is in the middle of Week #3. Still having fevers, still having O2 drops, and her exercise for the day is taking a shower. She has made two trips to the ER. However, her lungs are clear and unaffected, so the hope is that her body is simply exhausted and will rally after a time.

I remind you — she is fit, strong, and only 31 years old. You guys do not want this virus.

Anyway, enough of that.

In these days of social distancing and quarantining, if you’re a spanko and you’re fortunate enough to live with a spanking partner, more power to you. If you don’t… then as far as getting these needs met, you’re essentially screwed. No parties. No play dates. Not even small get-togethers, because even if you do have a limited gathering, you have to maintain distance. Anything tactile is off the table for now. Which cuts out… well, everything.

So what are people doing in efforts for some satisfaction? Seems you can do one of two things. You can either satisfy the physical craving and self-spank, or you can forgo the impact and focus on the head space part of things, by either FaceTiming/Zooming or talking on the phone. In other words, virtual scenes.

Some people are blessed with wonderful imaginations. Their minds can take them into the deepest and darkest recesses, simulating what they desire. They can take a paddle to themselves while imagining that Mr. or Ms. Deliciously Toppy is doing it. Or they can use a visual on a screen or a voice on the phone and put themselves into the same head space they feel when it’s in person.

Sadly, I’m not one of those people.

I have tried self-spanking a few times. I figured if I could achieve sexual satisfaction by masturbating, I could scratch the spanking itch myself, right? Wrong. It is so not the same. First, it’s physically awkward, and very hard on the shoulder. I don’t need anymore shoulder issues after dealing with shoulder impingement syndrome all last year. Second, there is no way I can get the angle and speed and distance good enough to make a proper impact. And finally, perhaps most important, it makes me feel ridiculous. Not the feeling I’m going for.

So then we move onto the virtual stuff. Instantly, Zoom and FaceTime are out for me on my old computer. It doesn’t have a built-in mic, and my every effort to use an external mic has failed. For whatever reason, I get picture, but no audio. My tech practically took the thing apart and couldn’t figure out what was wrong. So until I get a new computer, that’s out. I suppose I could video chat on my phone, but the small screen is a hindrance.

So that leaves the phone. A disembodied voice + my imagination. Not something I’ve ever found fulfilling in the past. But in these times, needs must. We do what we can. We try things. We endeavor to broaden our horizons. Especially someone like me, whose horizons are admittedly rather narrow.

I was talking with a gentleman from Alt.com, a very interesting and bright man, good conversationalist, funny. He is local, but we had already determined that our kinks in person wouldn’t mesh properly. No one’s fault; it is what it is. However, since no one is doing anything in person right now anyway, he suggested we try a phone scene. He said he had a lot of experience weaving fantasy scenarios and all I would have to do is stay engaged and keep answering his questions, so he’d know in which direction to go (or not).

Because he was so articulate and seemed confident about his abilities, I thought, oh, what the hell. Go for it. Life is short, and fun is at a premium right now. It’s human contact, it’s kink, it’s exciting. Give it a shot.

So, last Monday, I called him at the time we’d designated, right on time. I had my cell plugged in so the battery wouldn’t die. Per his suggestion, I had water nearby and no TV or any other distractions on. We fell into easy conversation and the first hour or so was just vanilla get-to-know-you stuff.

Remember, I’m not a fan of the phone in general. I’d rather email or text people. About the only person I speak to regularly on the phone is John. That said… would you believe we were on the phone for six hours and twenty-seven minutes???

He was, as promised, very imaginative and there were no lags in the conversation. He needed a lot of feedback from me — whenever he said something or another, went in a particular direction, he’d ask me to rate how I liked it — a little, medium, a lot, extremely. Just saying “Yes” wasn’t enough. I can understand that; he had nothing else to read, not being able to see me, see my bodily reactions. A couple of times when the scenario went in a way I didn’t care for, he switched gears immediately without faltering. And he had a wonderful voice, deep and rich. A radio host voice. (And by the way, I saw his picture — he does not have a “face for radio,” as the saying goes. 😀 He’s quite the attractive man.)

I let myself feel, and to the best of my ability, I tried to imagine. My body reacted. We took breaks, used the bathroom, drank water, checked in, etc. But the action was almost continuous. Without spelling out any details, we went to some dark places, darker than I usually go, but I felt safe doing so. I came four times. When I was starting to feel rather selfish, he finally did too. Then we talked for about another 45 minutes to an hour.

Something of note happened, toward the end. After my third intense orgasm, I started to cry.

“What are you thinking right now?” he asked. “What do you want?”

Without thinking about it, I blurted, “I wish you were here! I want to feel your hands on me, your arms around me. I need impact, I need physical contact, I need I need I need…” and I kept babbling on and crying. He was very kind, and in a few minutes I calmed back down.

But there it was. I. Need. The. Real. Thing.

This was fun, and he was lovely. He worked hard to give me some pleasure. I did have an intense emotional release, and some laughs and titillation. I don’t regret doing it at all; I’m glad I did. But I don’t think I’ll be doing it again. Hell, I’d love to talk with this man again. As friends. He’s fascinating. And so damned smart. But virtual doesn’t cut it for me. It was hard for me to give the constant verbal feedback; in person, it’s not as necessary. You have breathing, you have body reactions, you have skin color. A bottom can simply sink into the space of the scene, stop talking and just feel. Is it better than nothing at all? I suppose. But I experienced a kind of rebound.

When we got off the phone, I was delirious with tiredness. It was nearly 3:00 a.m. But I was also really hungry, and still a bit keyed up; I couldn’t just shut everything off. So I made myself something to eat, then answered a couple of emails. Then I even did a bit more work. By the time I went to sleep, it was 4:30.

I was very relaxed but exhausted the next day, and in a fog of unreality. I went through the motions of the day, worked, managed to work out, although I had to break the session in two because I hit a wall and had to stop and take a nap. I finally caught up with my sleep and by Wednesday I felt back to normal.

And extremely frustrated. The craving for play had come back with a vengeance and a ferocity.

Not his fault. Not mine either. It’s just the way it is. I need what I need, and all the facsimiles and simulations and fantasies and discussions and pictures painted with words just won’t cut it.

For those of you who have better imaginations than I do, I salute you and I envy you your ability to suspend disbelief and immerse yourself in what’s available to you. Me? I don’t know when the hell people will be able to play in person again safely, but until then, looks like I’m going to do without it.

I’m working. I’m healthy. John is well. I have a place to live and I can make rent. Life goes on, and this is not the end of the world.

It’s just kinda fucking frustrating.

Have a great weekend, y’all. Please be safe and take care.

How are we doing, kids?

I wish I had something interesting to say. But here in Pandemic Paradise, each day is the same. Get up. Dress. Go online. Work. Take a break to exercise. Do some more work. Return texts and emails. Eat something. Work a bit more. Watch TV. Undress. Go to bed. Rinse and repeat.

The only time I leave my building is on Saturday when I head out to John’s to bring him groceries. To get my own groceries. Or for absolutely necessary errands, of which there really aren’t that many right now. I tried for two days to resolve a banking issue over the phone and online and was unsuccessful. So I made an appointment to take care of it in person at my branch tomorrow. Wearing a mask, of course.

And hey, look, I cut my own bangs. Haven’t done that since I was about five years old.

No play, of course. Can’t even go on a pre-play coffee date these days. I miss it. Definitely a First World Problem in the face of death and unemployment and financial ruin, but what can I say. It’s wired into me and I crave it.

Many parties, small and large, have been canceled. Joe is staying positive and hoping Shadow Lane/Lodge can still happen over Labor Day. I’m skeptical. But that’s four months from now. Hope springs eternal. If we’re all still living, that is.

My stepmom turns 89 today. I can’t see her to take her to lunch like I usually do, but I sent her flowers. It’s a crap time to be having a birthday, but I wanted to brighten her day if I could. She loved them.

My moods fluctuate. Sometimes I can hunker down and work, and forget what’s going on out there. Sometimes I can go on Twitter or Facebook and banter with friends. Sometimes I even laugh. Other times, I feel so damn powerless and angry and frustrated I could rip through walls with my bare hands. Other times, I’m so scared, all I can do is break down and cry.

My dear friend Jay sent me a care package a couple of weeks ago. It was completely unexpected and I had no idea what was inside. As I opened the large box, the first thing I saw was a jumbo-sized canister of Lysol wipes. There was hand sanitizer included too. I bawled like a baby.

Another friend had a neighbor knock on her door on Easter Sunday. They backed away when she came to the door, but on the doorstep was a plate filled with Easter dinner, some candy, and half a 12-pack of toilet paper, wrapped with ribbon. This sort of situation tends to bring out the best among us. ♥

Unfortunately, it also brings out the worst. Yeah, I understand wanting to get back to normal life. But the stay-at-home rules aren’t a punishment cooked up to make us miserable — they are to keep us safe. So, to all those ignorant, belligerent little @#$%s out there protesting the quarantine, blocking traffic, carrying your stupid misspelled signs and Confederate flags, spreading your germs everywhere, and whining because you can’t play golf or get your hair cut — do us all a favor. Please feel free to spread all the virus you want among yourselves. Have at it and have an orgy for all I care. Just stay. The Fuck. Away from those of us who are following the rules and want to stay alive. 😦

And for those who attend this thing, or others like it (bring your children?? Jeezus Effing Christ) — oh, so many things I’d like to say. But I will refrain. I’ll just say one thing, paraphrasing Forrest Gump:

“Stupid is as stupid DIES.”

EDIT, 4/23: IMPORTANT!

I have just been informed that the above rally poster was a hoax. (Some hoax!) Whatever, thank goodness. However, the picture below is quite real. I stand by my statement about stupid.

For those who can still play, please have fun, escape a bit and blow off some stress. We need to stay strong. We need to find our moments of fun, of joy, of abandon, of release.

And for those who can’t… well. There’s still plenty of chocolate out there.

Or ice cream. And remember, pints are for lightweights.

 

Please stay safe, friends.

Correspondence Hall of Shame, a Very Special Edition

Yup, I’m still here, kids. How is everyone? How are we all holding up in this insanity? I don’t know about you, but it’s the little things that are helping to keep me sane. Things that make me laugh. Or that give me a tiny sense of empowerment in a sea of powerlessness. Hence this post.

Some things never change. Even in the midst of a pandemic, I still hear from the pervs. I’m still getting inappropriate messages. Someone asked why I haven’t done a CHoS lately, especially since I had so much material. My answer was that I really hadn’t been up for it. But then something happened this week that was different.

You guys know that in all the years I’ve been doing this, I would write (on here) what I would like to reply to the perpetrators. It was just fantasy. I never actually replied to any of them… until now. For the first time this week, I wrote back to one of them. I let them @#$%ing have it. And it felt gooooood, dammit.

On FetLife, there are “relationships” you can have with others, including sisters and brothers. I have several sisters on Fet. One of them is Alex (different Alex, not Alex Reynolds, although she’s my sister on there too). This is a very sweet young woman whom I’ve never met in person, but I’ve been in correspondence with for a couple of years and have grown to feel very protective over. Anyway, the other night, she messaged me, warning me about some creep on FetLife who was following a bunch of women and who had written very rude things to her. She then showed me a screen shot of their conversation and I saw red.

He’d written this arrogant little note to her, saying he wanted to be her dom, how much fun she could have with his “Big Dick Energy” (yes, really), and so forth. I would have not answered at all, but she politely wrote back, “No thank you.” It should have ended there. Instead, he wrote back, launching into Uber-Dom speak, saying, “That’s ‘no thank you, SIR,'” and a bunch of other drivel about her bad manners. He ended it by calling her a really nasty name.

UGH.

She blocked him, and that would have been the end of it. But nooooo. The creep saw that I’m her sister, so he then proceeded to write to me!

I blocked out his FetLife name, but as you can see, the little twit is all of 24 years old. And he wrote the same “Big Dick Energy” BS to me — guess that’s his signature line? 😛 But the reference to Alex and the threesome was the last straw. I wasn’t going to let this stand. I’d reached my saturation point with these creeps.

So… I sent this back to him.

I knew I’d probably opened up a huge can of whoop-ass, but I didn’t care. If he wrote a bunch of nasty stuff back to me, I’d report him.

A few hours went by and nothing. Then later that evening, I heard back from him. I opened the message, bracing myself for abusive filth.

LOL — really? She took it the wrong way? What other way was there to take it, you Troglodyte? Still, I was shocked that he didn’t send me back a lot of righteous indignation. Guess I scared him, the little wuss. Didn’t hear from him again.

Of course, don’t think I initiated any sort of personality overhaul or anything. Next day, I found out he’d written to Alex’s “brother” and top, Zack, telling him how rude she is and how he should “tighten the leash” and punish her for her disrespect. Jeeeezus.

*groan* I wish Zack had also ripped him a new one. But he’s nicer than I am, so he tried to reason with the guy instead. Didn’t get anywhere. Oh, well. Out of my hands now, for sure. No regrets on my end. Like I said, writing that to him felt damn good. It was like striking back after years and years of getting shit like this. Empowerment!

Anyway… yeah, I know this is nothing in the overall scheme of things right now. But like I said, it’s the little things. The mini-laughs, the small victories, the fleeting moments of good feelings among the fear, the anger, the uncertainty.

I work at home, so I basically hole up all week in my apartment and stay there. I use the gym equipment in the apartment building, wiping it down first. Grocery shopping has been quite the adventure, although I have discovered the odds of finding things are better if you go early. I went at the ungodly hour of 7 a.m. this week and actually scored some toilet paper and antibacterial wipes, which I hadn’t seen in weeks. My bangs are growing into my eyes and my gray roots are spreading. I miss all the little things we take for granted every day.

John is an essential worker, so he is still going to the office three days a week, but he’s in an isolated office with no one else and all communications are done via phone and teleconferences. He works at home two days. My biggest terror over this whole situation is his vulnerability, what with his heart condition and compromised immune system. If I catch Covid-19, I’ll probably get over it. If he catches it, it could kill him.

In an effort to minimize his public contact, I go to his place on Saturday morning. Beforehand, I stop and buy all his groceries, as well as food for us for Saturday and Sunday. Then I head to his place, delouse everything and put it away, and we hunker down there until I go back home. We decided that was far less risky than his going out and buying his own necessities. Needs must and all that.

I’m grateful for work, more than I can say. I’m grateful I don’t have children or aging parents to worry about. I’m grateful I was able to pay my rent two days ago. I’m grateful for my friends who check in with me every day. I just have to ensure, a day at a time, that I don’t give in to the fear. That I don’t fall into the abyss of depression. Seeing this the other day made me laugh; I know it’s dark, I know it’s horrible, but for those of us who have been there, we get it.

So. Everyone please stay safe. Stay the @#$% at home as much as you are able to. Turn off the 24/7 news; it’s not good for your mental health and well-being. Stay in touch virtually with your friends. And hang in there. Whatever you are going through, please hang in there. Somehow, we’re going to get through this goddamn pandemic, eventually. ♥ ♥ ♥

Strange days indeed…

Most peculiar, Mama.

(NO GOOGLING — quick, what song is that a line from?)

Well now. Just touching base, kids. Because things are a wee bit nuts right now.

I work at home already, so this is not impacting my work. No gym for me, though, of course, because gyms, among many other places here in Los Angeles County, are closed until at least April. There is a treadmill in my apartment building and I have a few free weights, so I will do my best to stay fit and release stress during this time.

I don’t even want to think about the stock market and people’s investments.

The markets look like war zones. I currently have enough food for this week and next, and I have four rolls of toilet paper. I’m in reasonably decent shape, but the uncertainty of not knowing how and where I’ll get things I need is daunting.

My beloved has a heart condition. He is squarely in the high-risk category. The good news is, he works in a building by himself and has very little contact with others. But I’m still worried to death about him.

I will refrain from comment as to how this pandemic is being handled here in the U.S. I’m just grateful my state has an efficient and proactive governor. Because, otherwise, I am freaking terrified.

Covid-19 is affecting the spanking/kink scene. Shoots and sessions are being canceled. Travel is curtailed. And next month’s Boardwalk Badness national party in Atlantic City has been canceled. If this continues, then the two Texas parties in May and June, Lone Star and TASSP, will likely be canceled as well. This is a huge hardship on people who make their living with these events and with sessions, shoots, etc.

I may end up staying home on weekends. Because even if I go to John’s, we can’t go anywhere. And if I’m going to be stuck home, I’d feel more comfortable in my own home. At least here I can work.

I am playing music all day, and I will not listen to the news. I’m trying to keep social media to a minimum. Because the fear-mongering and doom and gloom and anger are off the charts, and it’s bad for our psyches to be immersed in this every damn minute.

Here’s the really weird, stupid part. Through all this, with all the worry and fear, I’ve kept it together. I’ve remained calm. But then, out of left field today, this bit of news broke me. I have been weeping uncontrollably ever since. I guess I just needed one more last bit of sadness to tip me over… but I feel ridiculous about it. Figures I’d be losing it over a TV star when everything feels like it’s falling apart around me. But, you know… my dad worked with him. 😦 I just watched him last night, a really old clip of him singing “All of Me” to a swooning teenage girl from the Carol Burnett audience. It was priceless. I wonder where she is now — what a memory for her.

Please, everyone. Take good care. Be vigilant. Breathe deep. And cling on to your loved ones.

Oh, and read this. Follow it as best you can, within your own life’s parameters. Good luck and good health to all of us.

ADDENDUM: The Lone Star party in Houston has been postponed until November.

Someone needs to vent…

So look out! (warning: fluent cussing to follow)

Before I get into this, I should say I am not sick. I’m not depressed. John is well. My apartment is fine and I have plenty of work. I still have the lovely memories of the party from a couple of weeks ago. So at this moment in time, I am all right.

I’m just overwhelmed with a feeling of unease and powerlessness, and like the whole damn world around me is in free-fall. We have a global pandemic that’s spreading every day. The stock market is crashing. People are freaking out and social media is a disaster area. The anger is off the charts. I feel like I’m not going to get through 2020 without losing my mind. And while I am well, I have several friends who are in various stages of illness and despair, and there’s not a damn thing I can do for them.

Finally, being a recluse and a misanthrope is going to be a huge plus. I’m not scared that I’m going to get COVID-19. I live alone, I work alone. I hate travel. I hate large crowds, for the most part. And I’m healthy with a strong immune system. However… John has a heart condition. And his immune system is compromised. And this is not the fucking flu.

The stock market plummeting on a daily basis scares the bejesus out of me. People hoarding stuff and acting crazy scare me. My finances worry me, especially since I just spent the last of my emergency cash on a hefty car repair. My computer is old AF, so are my TVs. My car is twelve years old. But I can’t afford to replace anything.

So what do I want to do in the midst of all this insanity? I want to play. I want to escape and forget all this crap for a while. I want an endorphin rush and a stress release. And I’m fucking frustrated with that situation as well.

This is party season — there’s a huge national spanking party next month, then in May, and then in June. Personally? I think going to airports and being among mass throngs of people from all over is insane right now, so I’m quite worried about all my friends going to these things, even though I envy them as well. I’m so very grateful we managed to get to our own party before this all blew up. But the local situation continues to suck, and sometimes it gets damn tiresome.

In particular, I am frustrated with the tops on Alt.com. Yeah, lots of them look at me. I can tell who’s looking at my profile, and it’s often the same guys over and over. But they don’t contact me, and I can’t contact them, because I’m not a paying member. What’s up with that? About once a week, I see that the man who ended things last November still looks at my profile. Why??? Every time I see that he’s looked at me, I want to write to him and say, “FFS, come on over and look at me up close and personal, why don’t you?” Argh. But I don’t. I say nothing. Because if he wanted to be in touch, he would be. Still, I really can’t comprehend why he’s still checking me out. What a useless exercise that is if you don’t follow up with anything.

Another one has been dancing around me for months. We met once for coffee and things went splendidly, but then the holidays happened, he had a family emergency and he went back East for a few months. I waited patiently, and now he’s back… and he’s dancing around me again. Writing brief emails, dropping hints, asking questions, commenting how he saw one of my clips… but not suggesting a concrete get-together. Dude! Life is short and neither one of us is getting any younger here. If we’re all gonna die, I want to go with a sore butt and a big smile on my face. Stop tiptoeing… if you want to play, then fucking tell me you want to play and tell me when!

And yet another one texts me every now and then and says let’s reconnect. I enthusiastically agree and say just tell me when. And then he disappears again until the next time.

I wish they’d freaking man up, turn my ass up and spank the hell out of me already, dammit!

(I know. I sound so fucking submissive. I’d laugh at that if I didn’t feel like screaming.)

But then I calm down, I work out, I sigh, and I pick up my work again. And hope for things to get better. But I can’t help feeling they’re going to get a whole lot worse first.

One of my old bosses, whenever people complained about stuff, had the weirdest saying: “Yeah, well, people in hell want lemonade.” I never quite understood what that meant. But I suppose the kinky version of that is “People in hell want spanking.” Because right now, besides the basics of shelter and food and good health, that’s what I want most.

I. Am. Scared. I know why people drink. I know why people smoke. I know why people do geographics. Escape. Of course, there is no escape, not really. There is postponement, though. There is temporary distraction. And sometimes, that sounds pretty damn sublime.

(sigh) Rant over. I will get back to work now.

Friends — be safe. Be careful. And if you have a chance to have some fun, do it. Because we simply don’t know what the fuck is going to happen.