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”

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.

Our high school selves… who knew?

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Yup, I’m getting notices for yet another one of mine. And not just any high school, mind you, but good old Beverly Hills High School. Home of former/future stars, kids and other relations of famous people.

Have any of my readers attended their high school reunions? I’ve never gone to any of mine. High school wasn’t a good time for me; I was pretty much a loner and a misfit there. I didn’t fit into any of the cliques; I wasn’t a brain, I wasn’t in the popular crowd, I wasn’t into sports, I didn’t belong to any clubs. I wasn’t even part of the “bad” crowd; I dabbled in that in my first two years, cutting classes, smoking cigarettes in the 3rd floor girls’ bathroom, hanging out with stoners and highly sexually active kids (I was a virgin). But that wasn’t a good fit for me either. In my freshman and sophomore years, I was overweight. Then I lost a bunch of weight, developed an eating disorder, and in my junior and senior years, I was pretty much invisible. I really doubt anyone would remember me, so why bother attending?

Then, when I think back on school days and people I knew, my mind wanders to this story. When I was in grade school, I had a friend named Rebecca. She had one of those moms who were involved in everything — Girl Scouts and other groups, school functions, etc. — and Rebecca’s family was always on some adventure or having some party or gathering. Rebecca was very sweet… and painfully shy. Like me, she went through years of being pudgy, of having braces. She was smart, friendly, but quiet. I liked being at her house because there was a warmth and family enthusiasm there that wasn’t present in mine. But she and I fell out of touch and went through high school basically passing one another in the halls, but not in contact.

Cut to my high school’s 10-year reunion. I did not attend, but another friend did, and she told me all about it, showing me pictures and relating stories about people we knew. The biggest shocker? Rebecca. She had changed her name from Rebecca Xxxxx to Becky Xxxxxx, lost weight, dyed her hair blonde, bought a pair of 39DDs, and was now acting in soft-core porn. I saw a picture of her and she was unrecognizable.

Who knew??

I Googled her recently, thinking about her after I got the high school reunion notice. She is certainly all over the internet, not just as a model and actress, but a producer and distributor. She has an IMDB page; I was amused when I looked it up to see she’d shaved five years off her birth date, when I know she was born the same year as I was. She’s successful, no doubt wealthy, and although I don’t think I saw any recent pictures, she’s probably still quite stunning.

I wonder if she’d remember me. There’s a contact on one of her websites, and I thought for about thirty seconds about writing to her, then thought “Nahhhhh.” Ancient history.

But it makes me think. What did my high school peers think of this sad, colorless, semi-invisible girl?

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Looking at this picture makes me sad. I was sixteen. I look sad. I was sad. And, like Rebecca, there was a whole other self yearning to break free and express herself. Rebecca transformed herself, and so did I. I just took a lot longer.

Did anyone who saw that girl imagine she’d become this woman?

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So no, I won’t be going to my high school reunion. I seriously don’t think anyone there would care about Erica [real name] OR Erica Scott. But in a week, I’ll be going to another reunion of sorts — the party in Las Vegas. After a year off.

I have a feeling — at least I am hoping — that this reunion will be much more fulfilling. ♥

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I haven’t written in over two weeks. Main reason? I don’t feel like I’ve had anything new or interesting to say. This sucks. But you know, life. All work and no play. Responsibilities. Deadlines. Stuff.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had lots of subjects come up in my mind, things for random discussion, but then I’d get back to work and forget about them. And honestly, I shouldn’t be writing this now, but I felt the need for a break. So instead of elaborating on any of them, I’m just going to toss out some random thoughts here, and if any of you would like to pick up on one or more of them, please feel free.

  1. Good tops are worth their weight in gold. The more stories I hear about the crappy ones (and the more I recall my own experiences with a few of them over the years), the more I appreciate the kind, considerate and thoughtful tops who know they hold our vulnerability in their hands and treat it well. ♥
  2. I don’t regret my bad scene experiences. Luckily, I was not badly damaged by any of them, and I learned from them.
  3. Always keep your instincts well honed. If things seem off, or too good to be true, then oftentimes that’s your gut trying to tell you something. People are not always what they seem to be.
  4. (Here comes Granny Buzzkill) A moving car is not a toy. It’s a potentially lethal weapon. Horsing around in them, texting, speeding, isn’t funny; it’s utterly irresponsible. And to keep this on topic, no, it’s not a spanking offense. It warrants license suspension. Yeah, I know, I’m being a hard-ass. I will say this once and then never again — if you ever lose a loved one to a car accident, you will know where I’m coming from. Please. Just don’t.
  5. Question: Why does a top who ended things with me keep checking out my profile on a kink site? I mean, what’s up with that? If he didn’t want anything more to do with me, why does he keep looking at me? (sigh) And yes, I’d welcome him back in a heartbeat were he to change his mind.
  6. I am nervous AF about going back to a national party next month. Excited too, looking forward to seeing/meeting some people, but after a year off, it’s going to feel weird. I’m really not sure where my place is in these things, nowadays.
  7. And finally, last but most definitely not least: My friend Jay has returned to blogging. Like me, she took a long break (hers was four years to my one). Like me, she’s trying to find her way back, find her people, dipping her toes back in and trying to get past some hard times. Please welcome her back, link her blog to your roll if it isn’t there already, and give her a read. I hope she will stick around.

Back to work with me. 🙂

Couple more birthday tidbits

I’d forgotten to mention that, along with flowers and lunch, Steve gave me a gift card. What’s so unusual about that, you might wonder. Take a look at it.

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What, pray tell, is a “Vanilla VISA”??? Does that mean I can’t buy anything naughty with it? So what shall I purchase? Maybe go to the book section of Amazon and buy “The Joys of Missionary”? Or get some nice virginal white granny panties? Oh, I know! I’ll go to the music section and buy “Shades of White: The Pat Boone Box Set”! (snort)

Incidentally, Steve was the one who scrawled KINKY under the No Fees line.

And really, is my birthday complete without a new cartoon from the uber-talented Dave Wolfe? No, it is not. He never forgets, no matter what. ♥ Here is the 2016 Erica’s Birthday Toon:

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Thank you, Wolfie!!

And finally — this part is off topic, but it definitely concerns another topic about which I’m passionate: The Beatles. Yesterday, John took me to see “The Beatles: Eight Days A Week — The Touring Years,” the documentary by Ron Howard. It focused on 1962-1966, the years in which they traveled worldwide and performed live for thousands of teenagers. At the end of the film, there was a remastered film of their 30-minute Shea Stadium concert in 1965, to over 55,000 screaming fans.

It was magical. Especially for me, because I much prefer the first half of their career to the second. I loved them overall, but whenever I have my druthers, I choose to listen to the music from their “moptop” days, when they wore identical suits and haircuts, when they were brimming with youth and exuberance and cheekiness. Before they grew tired and jaded, before they withdrew from the public and retreated into the studio. When they could still do no wrong, before that unfortunate throwaway remark by John (“We’re bigger than Jesus”) in 1966 brought the wrath of the Bible Belt on their heads, inciting everything from mass burnings of Beatles albums and merchandise to death threats. Yes, their later music grew more sophisticated and complex, it gained in maturity and brilliance… but it lost something as well, for me: the unbridled joy. The playfulness, the boyishness. Before “She Loves You” morphed into “She’s Leaving Home.”

Some parts of the film made me cry… I’m not sure why. Nostalgia, perhaps, or sadness for days gone by. I thought of my brother, who was a teen in the thick of Beatlemania, who went to see them at the Hollywood Bowl. In fact, when the film showed footage of the Bowl concert, John leaned over and whispered, “Ken was there!”

But most of it made me happy. And I’d like to share just a tidbit, the last song in the Shea Stadium concert. Where the screaming was so loud, they couldn’t hear themselves, so they had to count on each other for musical cues (Ringo said he kept the drum beat by “watching John’s ass”). For me, this little two-minute clip encapsulates everything I loved about the Beatles. Watch Paul gleefully singing at the top of his lungs; John and George singing accompanying harmonies and cracking up; John clowning at the keyboard. I defy anyone to not feel the infectious joy. Indulge me — it’s just two minutes. 🙂 Hope everyone had a nice weekend.

#FlashbackFriday

Recently, my good friend SpankCake and I were talking about blogs, and I said I struggle sometimes, trying to come up with new posts, not repeating stuff that’s already been discussed to death, etc. She suggested that for the slow news days, I might want to consider having a sort of “Throwback Thursday” or “Flashback Friday” post, where I talk about a fun favorite memory at random from my twenty years in this scene, maybe post older photos. I don’t think I’ll make it a regular feature, but rather I’ll throw one in when the mood strikes. Today, with so much sadness and ugliness going on in our country, I feel the need to look back to a happy time.

Many years ago, there was a Seattle spanking group, and several of their members used to come to the Shadow Lane parties. One of them was a man named Joe (not the same Joe as “DrLectr” Joe), and he was a wonderful player, very creative, did long, intense scenes. (He was cute, too.) The Seattle group stopped coming after a few years, but during their time there, I got to play with Joe many times.

One night, we were off in one of the suite bedrooms playing, and our scene had gone on and on and on until I was limp as wet laundry and blissfully happy. We were in aftercare mode, and Joe noticed that someone had left an unopened can of ice-cold soda on the nightstand. At the moment, no one else was in the room to claim it, so Joe picked it up and started rolling it back and forth, back and forth against my scalded butt. Oh myyyy… that felt so good.

Aaaaand then someone came in, approached us and looked pointedly at the soda in Joe’s hand. “Is this yours?” Joe asked, holding the can up. “Yes,” they replied.

Joe then smiled sheepishly, handed the can to them, and said, “I hope you don’t mind that your soda is now eighty-five degrees!”

I almost rolled off his lap and onto the floor, I was laughing so hard. Yeah, that soda was pretty much undrinkable at that point.

Fun times.

Searching back in the picture archives, here’s my favorite shot from “Naughty Secretaries Week Part 2,” from Shadow Lane, my very first video in 2000 (with the incomparable Keith Jones). I don’t know what Keith had said to make me laugh (or what the hell I was looking at up there), but I so love this. What a great day that was.

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Have a great weekend, y’all. Be safe.

Partially OT: Rumor has it…

So what’s trending in social media today, besides election crap ad nauseam and whatever the Kardashian/Jenner clan have been up to? Some are saying that hyper screaming-Mimi exercise guru Richard Simmons has been secretly transitioning into a woman. I really couldn’t care less one way or another, but every time I see this guy, I’m taken back to the 70s.

I’ve mentioned before that I knew him then… as a maitre d’. Yes, that’s right. When I was 14-15 years old, he was the host at an Italian/Continental restaurant/bar that one of my dad’s closest friends owned. We went there at least once a week, oftentimes more.

What was Mr. Simmons like back then? Exactly the same as he is now, except he wore long pants and a collared shirt. Same wild hair, same loud, pushy demeanor. I honestly don’t know how he got this job, or how he kept it. He was obnoxious. He’d butt into conversations, sit on the arm of the plush dining chairs and poke his nose into what we were eating. He once told me that I was too fat to be eating fettuccine Alfredo. (He was right, but it still wasn’t his place to say so.)

(If I’ve told this story before, forgive me. I’m old.) One time, I had ordered shrimp salad. I knew of the chef’s penchant for covering salads with black pepper, which I hate, so I specifically said, “No pepper, please.” When Richard brought me my salad, sure enough — tons of black pepper. So I asked him to take it back. “Oh, come on,” he snapped at me. I insisted, and he left in a huff. A few minutes later, he came back with a fresh salad, plunked it down in front of me so hard the lettuce jumped a little, and said, “Here you go, spoiled brat.”

Ha. I guess he got that part right. *snicker*

It was shortly after this job that he got interested in health and fitness (I guess that was partially due to watching a bunch of people consume platefuls of heart-attack food), opened his first gym, and the rest is history.

Just another little tidbit from my crazy past. In other, more on-topic news — Steve came over yesterday! Finally! He showed up at the door, announcing, “Hi, you called 1-800-SPANK-YOU?” I really, really needed this; I was one big ball of leftover tension from the day before. I had not yet learned out to work the navigation thingamajig on my new phone, and I had to drive someone unfamiliar. I Mapquested it, but the directions turned out to be vague and open for interpretation (and of course, I interpreted them the wrong way), and I got ridiculously, hopelessly lost, driving around and around, disoriented, pulling over, trying to figure out how to get directions on my phone, shooting texts, pulling back into traffic, getting lost again, pulling over again… UGH!! This is what happens when a Baby Boomer tries to be a Millennial! The good news? Steve showed me how to work Google Maps on my phone and get the spoken directions, so this won’t happen again. And oh, a lot of my tension is gone. 😀  No pictures this time, sorry. We were too busy making up for lost time.

I have lots of work (yay!), and I need to get to the gym, so I’m out of here. Happy Hump Day.

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