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 “memories”

Somebody that I used to know

Have you seen her? Sometimes I wonder where she went. I look around, look back behind me. Then I realize she’s still here, just not the same as she once was.

Me. At the beginning of this journey. The first picture I ever sent to Eve Howard of Shadow Lane, right before the birth of Erica Scott. Fresh. Excited. Looking forward. So many possibilities.

I have not been posting much lately. Sometimes I think about it. Sometimes I want to. Then I don’t. Because I really don’t have much to say these days that hasn’t already been said a million times.

I had years and years of adventures and stories to share. Milestones. Friendships. Experiences I only dreamed of when I was younger.

I have all my memories. But right now, I am quiet, just pondering them. I have been done shooting for three years. The pandemic put the kibosh on the national parties, and just as they started to return, there was a stream of very ugly admissions from various people that turned the community inside out. Lines were drawn, sides were taken, and a lot of people disappeared. Myself included. I deactivated from FetLife for two months, and only just reactivated yesterday. It’s the same, and yet it isn’t. It used to be a place where I felt like I belonged, where I’d be missed if I were gone. But people come and go all the time now. Attention spans are fleeting. The overall broad scene community seems now to have distilled down into smaller, more local pockets.

I no longer have a regular play partner. I know a couple of men who I am able to see once in a great while for a special treat, but at this time, I do not have a regular source of play. I don’t know of any scene in Los Angeles, any munches. I still try to meet new people, but between the pandemic and just plain getting older (and not to mention being a reclusive introvert), it’s much more of a challenge now.

Times change. I remember years ago, I casually commented on a young woman’s blog because I liked what she wrote. And she went nuts, “SQUEEEEE”-ing and marveling about how “Erica Scott commented on MY blog!!” Recently, I saw another blog post that resonated with me and said so, although I’d never commented on this person’s blog before. The blog owner was unfamiliar with me and commented to that effect. Not meanly, just matter-of-factly. I wanted to reply back, “I used to be somebody.” But I didn’t.

No, this isn’t another one of those “I’m closing this blog” announcements. I did that a few years ago, and a year later, I decided I still had a lot to say and restarted it. And what do I detest, kids? People who make a big thing about leaving, and then don’t leave. Sooo… I am not doing that again. Perhaps this is just to say that my posts will be few and far between. When I feel like I have something to contribute, I will do so. If I ever go to parties again, I’ll write them up. Of course, there will always be the CHoS, because some things never change. People will always write rude, inappropriate things to strangers. Oh, and of course, there will no doubt be a 2021 Christmas carol parody. Just waiting for my creative muse to make her appearance.

I have been called things like “legend” and “icon.” I have also been referred to as a has-been and washed up. I suppose that’s the way it always has been and that won’t change either. I am not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m opinionated, I’m snarky, I’m outspoken. I’m also honest and passionate. Some people hate me. But others love me. And to this day, I’m still getting emails that tell me my encouragement to explore kink without shame enabled people to acknowledge and find what they needed. That means a hell of a lot to me.

So I’m not going anywhere. I’m still here. Just a lot quieter. I don’t need to keep talking. I’ve talked enough. Now is the time to sit back and let the fresh faces and voices have their turn. Allow the Jillian Keenans of the scene to speak their truths. I will chime in when I feel like it would be welcomed or enjoyed.

Oh, there she is. Yes, I know her. ♥ I hope she won’t be forgotten.

OT: A Week of Many Feels

This is a week of emotional overload for me. On the happy side, yesterday was the 25th anniversary of the day I met John. He sent me a bouquet of 25 roses. I posted a joyous picture of us on Twitter and got over 100 likes. But on the flip side, I am feeling deep sadness about the Shadow Lodge party at the end of this week, the one we will be missing. John and I decided to celebrate our anniversary this coming weekend, in hopes that it will distract me from thinking about the party and our friends.

But today, on what was his birthday, I’m thinking of my big brother, who passed away in 1972.

For those who have lost someone, you know this: You never forget. Time softens, dulls the pain, settles the anguish into a quiet background sadness that never quite goes away, like a scar.

Some deaths, like the passing of parents, are a rite of passage. You know they’re coming, and they still suck, but they are expected. But the sudden death of a 22-year-old is not. My life was forever changed that day. I saw my parents gutted with grief. They had lost their firstborn, their happy, curious, talented boy with so much promise. And here I was, left to pick up the slack alone. To deal with things I was way too damn young to deal with. I mean, Jesus Christ… for several years after his death, my mother would give me a present on Mother’s Day. She’d always say the same thing: “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be a mother.” Yeah, that wasn’t heart-wrenching at all.

Memories of Ken are fragmented, blurred over many years. He was a popular kid in high school; his friends were always coming over. Every year on his birthday, he had a massive party. The house exploded with teenagers and music. My mother once cooked beef stroganoff for 65 kids. The living room was packed with bodies, and some of them spilled out the front door and out on the lawn, into the street. But mine wasn’t one of them. I was never allowed in the room. Teenagers don’t want a pesky little girl among them.

I could watch from the staircase. But I couldn’t enter. Which broke my heart, every year. Except the year of his 18th birthday, his last year at home, his final party. At long last, I was allowed to join. I sat quietly off to the side, sipping a soda, in awe of everything going on around me, watching my brother’s band play, my head bursting with noise and sensations. His friends mostly ignored me, but a few of them were nice, commenting about how I got to “hang out with the big kids” tonight.

Never forgot that… I felt included. I felt a part of, that night. And of course, I never had parties like his. I was an isolated loner with eating disorders in my teens.

I remember he gave me the first record album I ever got. What was it? Of course. “Something New” by the Beatles.

I remember him trying to gross me out, telling me that chocolate mousse was actually made from the pancreas of a moose.

I remember hearing him sing “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?” and I asked him, “Do what?” He didn’t answer me.

I am an atheist. I don’t believe in heaven or any afterlife — when you die, you’re gone. But… sometimes I wish I could believe that our loved ones are on another plane, reuniting. I have images of my dad, mom and brother together again, a tight unit like they were in the years before I was born, before divorce broke us apart. My dad is clowning with my brother, singing him his song parodies (for example, he’d sing “My Boy Ken” to the tune of “My Boy Bill,” a song from the musical Carousel). Probably telling him dirty jokes too, and yanking my mother’s chain. (“Mommy makes her meatballs, taste like people’s feet balls.”) Yes, he really said that; he had a whole little song about it. And Mom would be saying to Ken, “For God’s sake, get those wings trimmed already.”

Even after all these years, I wonder about what could have been. What kind of man Ken would have turned out to be. Would we have been close? Would I have been an aunt? Would we have talked; would he have given me perspective on our parents? And… every time I hear Stevie Ray Vaughan’s “Look At Little Sister,” I think of Ken. What would he have thought of his little sister, and who she grew up to be? Would I have ever shared Erica Scott with him?

So many questions, unanswered.

Tomorrow, I’ll put these memories away, back on their shelf. But for today, they surround me.

Like I said, a week of many feels.

Thanks for reading.

Revisiting old parodies

The music world had two tough losses this past week: Don Everly (last remaining Everly Brother) and Charlie Watts, drummer for the Rolling Stones since 1964.

One of the million reasons why I love the Beatles is their gorgeous two- and three-part harmonies. But before John, Paul and George, we had Phil and Don. Everly — two brothers with voices of velvet. They influenced the Beatles and others; listen to “If I Fell” and you will hear John and Paul channeling Phil and Don with their sublime harmonizing.

My favorite song by the Everlys is “All I Have to Do is Dream,” a sad song about a man whose lover only appears in his dreams. Many years ago, after I became a spanko, I thought the song would work well for a parody. I mean, if you could have a dream lover, how about a dream spanker? So I wrote what I think (?) is the first spanking parody I ever did. Not sure; back in those days, I didn’t have a blog. I don’t know if I posted this anywhere; I might have in the long-defunct Spanked Wives and Girlfriends message board on MSN, but only those readers who go waaaaaayyyy back with me would have seen it there.

First, for those who don’t know the song, here is the original. It’s short, I promise. You won’t regret spending a couple of minutes listening to this — it’s beautiful.

And now, my spanko version. By the way — the line “paddle me with wood” is purely artistic license to create a rhyme. It is not to be taken as a directive!

Dreeeeam, dream dream dream
Dreeeeam, dream dream dream
When I behave,
With no regard,
And I need you,
To spank me hard,
Whenever I’m naughty,
All I have to do, is dreeeeam, dream dream dream

You come to me,
In my bed,
And then you spank,
My bottom red,
When I am a bad girl,
All I have to do, is dreaaammmmm

I just can’t be good,
Paddle me with wood,
OTK, night or day,
But I’m in a jam,
Oh, damn,
I have to be sleeping to play!

I need your hand,
On my behind,
I need you so,
I’ll learn to mind,
Whatever my crime is,
All I have to do, is dreeaaammmm

Pull my panties down,
Scold me with a frown,
As I drowse peacefully
Only trouble is,
Gee whiz,
The daytime is empty for me!

Oh please come back,
To set me straight,
Are fantasies
To be my fate?
When craving a spanking,
All I have to do, is dreeeaaaaam, dream dream dream
Dreeeeeaaam, dream dream dream…

Not bad for a first effort, huh? Oh, and just to show that I’m not neglecting the Stones, some of you may remember this — a parody I wrote in 2012 of “Mother’s Little Helper.” Apologies to anyone who’s already seen these. I figure there are always people who are newer to my blog and haven’t seen some of the old stuff, and these parodies seemed apropos to repost this week.

Rest well, Don and Charlie. Thanks for all the memorable music.

And in other news… meh. Never mind. Other news sucks. Have a good weekend, y’all. Be safe. ♥

All Over the Map

It’s been quite a week. I have been at the heights of joy, in the pits of sadness, and boiling over with frustration and anger. Because everything has felt so random and crazy, I think I’ll just list things in no particular order. That way, people can read, pick and choose what they relate to, and ignore the rest.

I watched a special on ABC last night: “Eyewitness to the Death of John Lennon.” It was first aired in December 2020, marking the 40-year anniversary of John Lennon’s murder. Jeezus, forty years. And just like that, all the feels and the tears came rushing back. Guns and crazy people then; guns and crazy people now. What’s changed? What’s gotten better? Broke my heart all over again.

Here in Southern CA, Orange County specifically, there is an Italian restaurant who — yes, you are reading correctly — will not allow people to wear masks inside and who demands proof of NON-vaccination before you’re allowed to dine there. (How the hell do you show proof of that, anyway?) The owner is self-righteous and smug and militant about his stance; I watched part of an interview with him and he was so belligerent that the newscaster cut it short and said, on the air, “You sound like an idiot.” Last Tuesday night, I saw a tweet about an article that stated the owner was getting a huge kick out of the anger over this and he’d said he was “enjoying watching people’s head explode.”

So, Miss Mouth here tweeted: “What an asshole. I hope HIS head explodes when his restaurant is shut down due to massive Covid infection.”

Y’all know I didn’t mean that literally, right? You know it’s a figure of speech? Of course you do. Well, apparently Twitter didn’t. They locked down my account for a week. Said I violated their policy about “abuse and harassment.” Seriously?? Unbelievable. I saw many tweets that were a great deal worse than what I’d said; Twitter is so damn arbitrary. Oh well. I do have an alternate account for these instances, so I’ve kept up. Oh, and just for grins, I went and checked out the restaurant’s Yelp page. The place was bombarded with so many one-star angry reviews that Yelp temporarily disabled all the reviews and comments. Good. Fuck that guy. It’s too bad, though. It would have been fun to post a review along the lines of “Be sure to try the special: Roast Leg of Lambda with a side of Covidini. Better yet, stay the hell away from this Petri dish.”

On the good news front: Guess who is coming back to CA to visit me? C from Oregon! I can’t believe he is making that long trip again, and just for one day this time, but I’m thrilled that he wants to. I am seeing him two weeks from Monday and I can’t wait. Also, I heard from Mr. Woodland and he wants to play again soon too. Ah, this makes me happy.

And it helps make up for the fact that the man I played with a week ago Tuesday has seemingly dropped off the planet. Never heard another word from him — no email, no text, nothing. No feedback on our play. No check-in. Radio silence. I thought he enjoyed himself — I guess I was mistaken. Fortunately, I had no emotional investment this time.

Covid is on the rise again, escalating rapidly, with the Delta variant taking over. Breakthrough cases in people who are fully vaxxed are increasing. First they said the cases were 99% unvaxxed people; the latest I read is that the new cases are 86% unvaxxed. The numbers are going in the wrong direction. And guess where the latest really bad red zone is? Yup. Las Vegas.

Where we’re supposed to be headed in a month.

Our tickets are purchased, our hotel room is booked. I am craving this party with all my heart and soul. Not just because of the play — that’s actually secondary. I want to see our friends. I want hugs, lots and lots and lots of hugs. Jay, my sweet, wonderful Sister In Spirit is coming — this is her first SL. And it would be our first time meeting in person. We have been online friends for seven years, shared a million emails and texts, exchanged many presents… but I’ve never gotten to look her in the face, throw my arms around her.

But I have to face reality. It might not be safe to go. Yes, everyone at the party will be vaxxed. But we’ll be all over the hotel. Hallways, restaurants, elevators. Constant exposure. Tons of people — it’s a holiday weekend. And even vaxxed people can carry and transmit the Delta variant. Yes, the vaccine helps. Yes, even if we got Covid, it would most likely be a mild case. I’m not concerned about myself.

But John is another story. He is high-risk. He is compromised.

I’m seeing the writing on the wall. He’s already saying things like “Well, we’ll have to spend more time in our room, take more breaks,” “We can bring more snacks and eat in our room more,” “We’ll have to keep our masks on even in the party rooms,” “Maybe we can just stay for a couple of days instead of all four,” and so on. It sounds like if we go, we’re going to be uptight and preoccupied about the specter of Covid every damn minute. And what fun is that? People are coming from all over, bringing who knows what. And, as mentioned, Vegas is a hot spot now.

I suppose I could go by myself, take John out of possible harm’s way. But the thought of that is nearly as unbearable as not going at all. I’ve never gone to a party without John, not once in 25 years. I can’t imagine being there without him. Yeah, I’d have lots of people to hang with. But I’d feel like I was missing a limb.

So. There isn’t a blessed thing I can do at this point. All I can do is watch and wait, and hope. Maybe things will improve in Vegas over the next month.

Or maybe things will get so bad that we’ll all get locked down again. Who knows. It’s unthinkable. But then again, having this pandemic go on and on like it has is unthinkable as well.

Here is where I could go on a long, expletive-filled rant about what I think of anti-vaxxers and Covid deniers. But I won’t. Y’all know me. You can well imagine what I’m thinking and feeling right now about these people with their willful ignorance and utter selfishness.

Perhaps this says it all.

So yeah. I’m all over the place. Oh, and did I mention that John’s and my 25th anniversary is at the end of August? SL was going to be our celebration getaway. Hopefully it still will be. Only time will tell.

How are you doing? Come talk to me. Stay safe, everyone. ♥

Random memories

I have been feeling nostalgic lately. Part of it is due to the recent podcast and the reminiscing over all my scene years, and another part is because play has pretty much been nonexistent since Covid hit. Since I don’t have anything new to blog, I thought perhaps I’d dig into the archives of my brain and tell some stories I probably hadn’t before, and if I did, they were so long ago that no one would remember them. If people enjoy this one, I’ll try to come up with more.

The world of spanking with all its orientations and flavors and varieties requires time to learn. And as you navigate it and discover what works for you (and what doesn’t), sometimes (screw it, all the time) you make mistakes. You try things that don’t work. Something sounds like it could be hot and it falls flatter than a run-over pancake. At the time when they’re happening, they’re cringe-worthy. Hopefully later, you can laugh about them. Because we all go through it.

A loooong time ago (I don’t remember exactly when, but it was early on in my scene explorations), a man answered my ongoing spanking ad on You guys know I have a love/hate relationship with that site. Over the years, it’s mostly been good for CHoS fodder. But on the other hand, I have met many men and had countless experiences from it as well. Anyway, this guy had a nice picture (his face, not his dick), wrote an articulate introduction, and was local. However… he identified as a sub. I replied to him that I was a bottom and while I appreciated his nice intro, I didn’t see how we could be a match. If that were to happen now, I’d firmly say “No, thank you” and move on. But then, I was a lot more easily cajoled. So when he politely insisted that I should meet him for coffee and hear him out, I agreed to do so.

The coffee date was surprisingly pleasant. He was a nice guy in person, easy to talk with, and as it turned out, we’d gone to the same high school. I hadn’t known him, because he was a senior and I was a freshman, but still — small world. We talked for a couple of hours, ended up closing the place. I asked him just how the heck a bottom male would play with a bottom female.

“Easy,” he said. “I’m a bottom. I follow orders. All you have to do is command me to top you. Order me to spank you.”


“Think about it,” he urged. “It’s win/win. We both get what we want. I’m doing what you tell me to do, and you’re getting the spanking you desire. Couldn’t be better, right?”

Remember, I was fairly new. I was a lot more willing to experiment back then. And back then, this sounded like it could be feasible. Plus, I liked the guy. I thought he was interesting. So, despite my instincts whispering that I really didn’t think this could work, I said yes and we agreed to a time when he’d come over.

So he came over, we played, it was shockingly wonderful, he was a natural, and I was fulfilled and happy.

In my dreams.

In reality… he tried. He really did. He was polite. I dressed up nicely for him, did everything I could to make him feel comfortable. I assumed the position. He “had his orders.” But he couldn’t deliver.

It was one thing to attempt to carry out the “order” in a physical sense. It was quite another to achieve the proper head space. And that was impossible.

Yeah, he was slapping my butt. Half-heartedly. Timidly. He kept stopping. It was clearly much more painful for him than it was for me. I tried bratting a little, pushing him a bit, but he didn’t know how to play back. The man didn’t have a toppy bone in his body, and he could. Not. Do. This. Oh my god, so awkward. Sooo uncomfortable.

It didn’t go on for very long; I don’t recall which one of us called it quits. I felt a little sorry for him, along with feeling incredibly stupid that I’d thought this might work. I was all for saying good night… but then he said, “I’m really much better at pleasuring than spanking; would you let me?”

Poor guy was trying to save face. Oy vey. Again, if this happened now, I’d say no, thank you. But at the time, I felt like, well, we’re both here, I’m all dressed up, might as well get something out of this? Again, that turned out to be the wrong decision.

He asked me if I had stockings; I said yes, I did. Long story short, he tied me down to my bed, spread-eagled, with my own stockings, and then… you know. That in itself was weird enough, and I wasn’t in the head space for it at all. But what made it even more preposterous was that he seemed to detach from it, split off, become another personality. How did I know? Because, when he wasn’t pleasuring, he was talking… in a strong Scottish burr. Yup. I was hearing stuff like “There ye go… how’s that, lass?” I had a stranger going Sean Connery on my cooch.

Okay, this was just too damn weird for me. Clearly, this whole meeting was a big mistake and I had to end it. So I did my best Meg-Ryan-in-a-deli imitation and he untied me. At least he was happy. I couldn’t wait for him to leave and wanted to shower. And use brain bleach.

Would you believe a day or so later, he contacted me and asked if I’d like to do it again? Was he at the same scene I was?? I was kind and polite, but I told him no, that it was a worthy experiment, but I really didn’t want to repeat it. He understood. It was worth a try, he said.

I wonder now what became of him. I remember now, in the course of our conversations, he had asked me what my ultimate fantasy was. At the time, I really didn’t have an answer, so I asked him for his. He didn’t hesitate, replied right away. “That’s easy; I’d love to die being smothered by a beautiful woman.” I was taken aback. “But, but…” I sputtered. “You’d be dead!” “Yeah,” he said, “but what a way to go!” Ye gods…

So, kids, what did I learn? Spanking is not just a hand slapping a bottom. There is a mindset to go with it. A spanker needs to be a top, or at least a switch. Ordering a bottom to top someone is not a good idea; it satisfies no one. But I guess I had to learn that the wretchedly awkward and embarrassing way. Hey, I do this stuff so you don’t have to! (rolling eyes)

Anyone wanna share their scene fails? Come on, I did.


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.

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