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.

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