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 “play partners”

To Bare or Not to Bare: Boobs, That is

This one is geared toward female bottoms, as you could probably tell by the title. But tops are welcome to chime in about their preferences as well. I know I’ve talked about this subject before, but it’s been a long time and I think it’s worth revisiting.

Thanks to Hermione’s Spanko Brunch post, I joined Spanking Needs last week. So far, I am liking it. It seems to be well managed, reasonably simple to navigate, and people have been nice and welcoming so far. I’ve gotten several messages, and all have been respectful.

One local man and I exchanged several messages, and were getting very close to making a coffee date. Then he said that he’d noticed, in all the video snippets he’d watched of me, that I always kept my upper half clothed. Was there a reason for that? Modesty?

This is true. With a single exception, I have not bared my breasts in any of my videos, not in eighteen years. Oftentimes I was down to lingerie, but I always kept the bra on.

I wrote back and told him my personal opinion — that unless the video is depicting husband/wife or lovers, full nudity seems gratuitous to me. After all, he’s not spanking my boobs. The focus is on my butt.

He then said that he has spanked nipples (shudder), but admitted that’s more BDSM-oriented. Then he confessed that he enjoys watching a woman’s breasts sway and bounce while she’s over his knee. Said he would never force that on anyone, though. (But yeah, clearly, that’s what he’d prefer, right? Why even bring it up otherwise?)

Crap.

I’m not a prude. I’m not ashamed of my body. There is nothing wrong with my breasts. They’re small. They’re still perky. I have posted naked pictures of myself on FetLife. Although that one time I posted what I thought was a sultry bare-breasted picture, some idiot’s comment was “You should smile.” Really? That’s what you’re focusing on?? I took that one down.

I have played unclothed with close play partners. My former top of 4+ years used to strip me naked outdoors in broad daylight, for heaven’s sake. (And I have the pictures to prove it.) Another one tied me down naked to my coffee table. But I knew these men very well. However, casual play with friends? Party scenes? With the exception of the occasional full-body flogging, I keep my top on.

I suppose stripping a female bottom fully nude adds to the embarrassment/vulnerability, and people like that, or love to hate it. But I just don’t care for it.

I am curious — granted, I know a lot of my readers are married and play with their husbands only, so of course y’all play naked. But for those who play more casually, who engage in party play, play with groups of friends, etc., how do you feel about full nudity while being spanked? Do you feel like that fits well into your scene dynamics/fantasies? Or does it make you feel uncomfortable?

And a side note: No matter what my state of undress is, I think it’s hottest when the top remains fully clothed. Any thoughts on that?

Back to the man on SN for a moment. I replied that he might be disappointed with me, if this is what he enjoyed doing, so perhaps we should reconsidering meeting. Much to my surprise, he wrote back, saying yes, he enjoys it, but it’s hardly a deal-breaker. That he’s a spanko, and enjoys spanking woman of all types and in all stages of dress. And that having coffee with me would be an honor.

Well. That’s nice. ♥ We’ll see what happens next week.

So, let me hear from you: Boobs or no boobs? Have a great weekend, y’all.

Ever Have One You Just Can’t Forget?

I really don’t like admitting vulnerability on here; while it helps readers relate to me, it also opens me up to ridicule from haters who have nothing better to do. But sometimes, in the process of letting go, one has to first admit there’s something they’re holding onto. I know this won’t be relatable to those who only play with their spouses/mates, but for those who have known the unique connection of a play partner who isn’t your primary, hopefully you’ll get this.

In 2019, I was in a bad place, emotionally. In the second half of 2018, I’d had a friend/play partner I’d let in and trusted completely, who ended up hurting me so badly I dropped out of the scene. I deactivated on FetLife and stopped going to parties, so I fell out of contact with a lot of people I was once close to. And then, in the summer of 2019, I met the man I referred to on here as D. He had answered my long-standing Alt ad.

Mind you, I was in a fog of depression. My spanking libido was nil. My confidence was even lower. But this guy tweaked my deadened nerves. He was warm, friendly, full of questions about me, open about his own experiences. We exchanged copious quantities of email. And yes… he was gorgeous, if I could go by his pictures.

We met for coffee… from the get-go, the attraction was mutual and intense. I remember the way he looked at me, the sparkle in his eye. I remember sitting at the table with him, staring at his face, his big hands, his beautiful physique in a suit. I felt that old familiar stirring, one I thought was long dead and buried. That click. That chemistry. That elusive, indescribable something that’s either there or it isn’t. And daaaaamn, was it ever there in this case.

In the following months, we had three incredible scenes at my place. He brought me chocolate each time. He was fun, sexy, good with his hands and with implements, great with the talk, and very eager to learn and improve. Very caring about how my experience had been, how I was feeling. And the attraction? I am not ashamed to admit that my physical attraction to him made our scenes all the more amazing. I can’t explain what it was or how it was happening, but I was like a teenage in hormone hell around this man. My legs would tremble so hard, I could barely stand. My body came alive in every way. No, we didn’t do anything sexual, just played very intensely and I wept in his arms. But yeah. After feeling rejected and horrible for so long, it was pure joy to feel this alive and sexy and wanted again. Plus, I liked him. I liked talking with him. I saw this as something that could be a real friendship that lasted for years.

But it didn’t.

As you guys may remember, he slowly slipped away, got more distant, wrote less, texted less, told me again and again how busy he was. I knew he worked two jobs… but as I’d said then, he’d always had those two jobs and he still found the time to write and text before. And of course, all the old insecurities kicked in, wondering what I’d done or said, blah blah blah. And then, in a moment of weakness, I posted this blog entry.

And he read it. Shit.

He wrote a long email, apologizing, saying he didn’t mean to make me feel that way, that it wasn’t me, it was him… and then admitted that he was back with an on-again, off-again girlfriend. Our play had been great, he learned a lot, I’m sexy and beautiful, and anyone would be privileged to play with me.

I read between the lines. I reread what I had posted and cringed. More than likely, he thought I was a neurotic, needy nut job and he was backing way off, as kindly as he could.

And I was heartbroken. I couldn’t believe I’d found this kind of special friendship again, only to have it yanked away. It took me a very long time to move past it. I’d see his profile on Alt still, and I could see that he had looked at mine. Several times, long after he ended things. But then his profile was deactivated.

Life went on. I played with others, eventually went back to FetLife, and went back to parties. The person who had broken me in 2018 was no longer around. Then Covid hit and I didn’t play with anyone for 15 months. I found C and reunited with Mr. Woodland, and kept up my search for someone regular. I had moved on, or so I thought.

Last week, I had a coffee date with someone who had been giving me the runaround for, quite literally, months. He was interested, he wanted to meet, then he’d disappear. Then reappear, and start up the correspondence again. He told me one name, and then another name. We were writing on Fet, and then he gave me an email address… that didn’t work. We made a plan to meet… and he stood me up. And then apologized profusely and pleaded for another chance. I said okay… and then he disappeared for seven weeks. By then, I’d said screw it, this isn’t happening. Until he contacted me again. I was skeptical, but he seemed sincere this time. He gave me a proper email address. He sent face pictures. He answered messages in a timely manner. And I thought, what the hell. I was curious. After all this, I just had to see who this was.

Long story short — we met last Wednesday. He was 40 minutes late. The pictures he’d sent me were of a much younger man. And the vibe was all wrong. When I said I was sorry but I just wasn’t feeling what I needed to feel, he abruptly got up and walked away. And I went home.

And on the drive home, D flooded into my mind unexpectedly. I couldn’t help but compare the difference between this coffee date and the one I had had with D in 2019. Oh my God, I wanted that again.

When I got home, before I could talk myself out of it, I emailed D. Kept it brief — just said I didn’t know what his situation was these days, but if he should ever want to play again, my door was open. I also said that if the answer was no, that he didn’t have to reply, and I’d have my answer.

Of course, he didn’t reply. I knew he wouldn’t.

I wish I could talk with him one more time. I wish I could tell him that I’m really not a needy, neurotic nut job, that I’m an independent woman with a partner I adore, but I have specific spanking needs and they are hard to fulfill. That he came into my life at a time when I was at a very low and vulnerable point, and that I developed an attachment to him probably too quickly. I wish I could tell him that I don’t want anything from him except play now and then, friendship, and that lovely bliss from great scenes with someone who gets it, who gets me. But I can’t. And I have to let this go.

It’s disconcerting, to say the least, to have all these feelings come crashing back three years after the fact. I am not sure why last week’s encounter made this happen. But I gave it one last try, and now I need to let go.

The other night, feeling defeated, all I could think was, “I am just so fucking tired.” And then, out of nowhere, a lyric from an old Electric Light Orchestra song, “Hold On Tight,” came into my head.

When you need a shoulder to cry on
When you get so sick of trying
Hold on tight to your dream

I guess that’s all any of us can do.

Have a good weekend, y’all. Be safe. ♥

Another visit from Oregon

What happens when you apply makeup, but then end up haplessly screaming and smashing your face in a pillow?

Well, this…

… and then this, an utterly derpy but blissful face, surrounded by walk-of-shame hair.

Yes, it was another delicious spanking session. A wonderful time was had by all.

I arrived at C’s hotel room at 11:30 last Friday morning. We sat and talked for a while, catching up with everything. And then it was time to play. He hadn’t brought many implements this time, just two London Tanner straps. Oh, and a thick wooden brush of some kind, but I took one look at it and just said, “No.” With the way I’d marked the week before, I didn’t think I could take that. (Plus, I didn’t want to.)

C thought it would be fun to take pictures throughout the various stages, rather than just at the end. So this was the “before” picture:

Then a nice, long, thorough OTK warm-up commenced. He brought me up so slowly, I really couldn’t tell when he started ramping things up. I was pleasantly warm and squirmy when he took this:

Just a bit of color. Then things got a bit more serious. His hand is a force to be reckoned with on its own, and when he goes full bore, it’s not for the faint-hearted. (Or the faint-assed.) He was concerned because I was starting to mark already (!!), so he spread it around, moving onto my thighs more. “Little more sensitive there,” he mused. Gee, ya think? Oy vey.

I had no concept of how much time passed, but by the time the OTK/hand portion was done, I was already quite toasty. But I still had the two straps coming…

I realized later that this angle makes my legs look weird — like two drumsticks! Oh well. And yes, we did take a final picture after the straps, but… I think some people were a little squeamish about my marks last week, so I’ll just stop here, photo-wise. 🙂

We then transitioned onto a pile of pillows under my belly and moved onto the strap phase. I don’t know how long that went; it seemed to simply flow into an escalation of sensation, pain and pleasure. My noises escalate too — I start out with small grunts, which grow louder, and when I am reaching my peak, where the pain is almost unbearable but not quite, when my body and mind are challenged and pushed and exhilarated, the grunts morph into a continuous guttural scream, which is when I have to bury my face in the pillow so the cops won’t get called.

I love that point. I love how I feel extreme power in that moment, if that makes any sense. My body is strong and resilient, but I am soft and trusting enough to give myself over in this fashion. It’s my choice, I want it, and a trusted partner is giving it to me, while feeling his own pleasure and power in our connection. Is there anything better?

When I get to my tipping point, I start babbling. Mostly I say “Please” over and over. It’s not “Please stop” or “Please don’t stop.” It’s just “Please,” and I can’t explain it. But that’s my tell. And around that time is when I break down in tears. That is exactly what happened on Friday. I didn’t know where they came from; I hadn’t been feeling particularly weepy that week. But there they were.

And then it was over. In my haze of tears and endorphins, I felt his hands rubbing lotion on me. I was aware of tissues pressed into my hand. It was a long time before I raised my head and spoke again, and he didn’t rush me. He simply curled up next to me and held me close. Let me come down at my own pace. And then we just hung out, cuddling, talking, relaxing. Returning to Earth.

I think I left around 3:30. I had arranged for the day off work, but I still wanted to get a little bit of it done just to stay on top of things. C, with his usual thoughtfulness, checked in with me later that evening, and then again the next morning. My reply:

“Feeling spacey this morning, sleepy, sore, tender. In other words, great! As always, thank you.”

Of course, what goes up, must come down. I’ve been feeling very droppy the past couple of days. But then I hear C saying, “It’s such a joy to come see you,” and I smile.

Thank you, my friend. You are a joy. ♥

So, as I was saying…

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Been a while. So where have I been?

Some people wrote to me to ask if I was okay (and thank you). I just needed to take a few steps back for a while and process some things.

I realize a lot of my readers aren’t in the national spanking community/party scene. I’ve been a part of it for 25 years and the parties/gatherings brought me untold joy. But I think that time may be over.

Last year, there was major upheaval on FetLife and other kinky social media sites. Several women had come forward with stories of consent violations and abuse. It started mostly with the focus on one man (someone I don’t know, BTW), and one by one, women were stepping up with what happened to them. But then it spread into a wave of accusations about party hosts, people who denied that this guy had done bad things, and people who enabled him to continue. More and more names came up, more and more people spoke up.

And then things took a turn. They went from honest and brave revelations of improper behavior to mass attacks and mob mentality. The anger was palpable, the words ugly. Friendships were ruined. A party organizer had to step down. Other organizers were blamed for this and that. And worst of all, it wasn’t enough to try to stay neutral, to hear both sides of all the stories. The outcries of “You’re either with us or against us” and “You people who are silent are supporting the perpetrators” were everywhere. If you didn’t hate so-and-so, you were part of the problem. If you went to such-and-such party anyway, you were enabling rapists. If you didn’t jump on the bandwagon and shove your pitchforks into the accused, you weren’t supporting the victims.

The pain and anger were real. My heart hurt for the people who had been traumatized. But the tarring and feathering blurred the lines. The hatred and finger-pointing tainted the original issues.

John said it would blow over after a while. It didn’t. There are many people I know who won’t go to parties anymore. Others won’t go to this one or that one because of so-and-so. There is such a negative pall over something that used to be so joyous for me.

The parties twice a year in Vegas were our go-to, because we could drive there, lots of our friends came, and we loved the hotel. But now our beloved hotel kicked us out; I have heard it was because of an incident that happened at one of the parties, but I can’t say for sure; I wasn’t there. Several of our friends are no longer going. And honestly, I think I’d rather remember the wonderfully happy time I had in February 2020 and end on that note. If someone starts a party here in Los Angeles, then we’ll consider that. But for now, I believe our national party days are behind us. I may change my mind, but we’ll see. It’s several months until Labor Day.

So. What with all the ugliness that went down, and all the information that was revealed, it was a great deal to process. I had to face some hard truths about the community I loved, about people I’d known for years. And honestly, it hurt like hell. I had to take some time to come to terms with new realities. And while I was doing so, I really didn’t feel like posting here. It felt like the same whine over and over and I figured it was enough already, and that I’d come back when I had something new to say.

By the way… what’s my take on all the stories of abuse incidents? I don’t have one. Because in every one of those instances, there’s one thing in common — I wasn’t there. I don’t know. I never will know. I have my thoughts. But that’s all they are — thoughts. Not facts. Some questions will never be answered. The old expression goes as follows: There are three versions of every story — Version A from one side, Version B from the other side, and the truth. And I just don’t have the wherewithal to sift through it all.

I dunno… I hope things get better. There is a core group of friends we only see twice a year. It makes me very sad to think about never seeing them again.

So yeah, I guess I’ve been “spankless.” But you know what? When you look at the big picture, all the terrible things happening right now, and how truly awful and mean-spirited some people are, there are worse things than being spankless.

Thoughtless.
Brainless.
Classless.
And so on. You get my drift.

And hey, all is not lost. I still get by with a little help from my friends. Like my pal Mr. Woodland, who came over last week. So good to see him! We spent several hours catching up. Of course, because it had been a while, I was de-conditioned, and started marking almost immediately. Within 20 minutes, he was looking at this:

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He was concerned about those spots breaking, so we had to keep the scene relatively short. But it was quite intense nonetheless and left me feeling relaxed and happy.

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And this Friday, my friend from Oregon will be in town! So I’ll be seeing him too. Always a wonderful time there.

So… there may not be any more party reports, sadly. Things have changed too much. Time will tell. Meanwhile, I’ll find what I need. Somehow, I always do.

How hard IS it?

(Oh, get your minds out of the gutter.)

A few years ago, I shot a video with Lily Starr called The Secret Life of the Kinky Wife. In it, Robert Wolf plays my new husband who discovers I have a spanking fetish and that I’ve been secretly seeing another man for spanking sessions. He is understandably upset, and I try to make him understand that I’m not having sex with the guy, that it’s purely spanking, and I’d already been seeing him for years and he was so good at it that I didn’t want to give him up. Robert then scoffs, “How hard is it to give a spanking?”

(We’ve all heard this one, haven’t we? In other words, what’s the big deal? You have a lap, a hand and a butt, and the hand hits the butt. It’s not rocket science.) I hasten to protest that it’s harder than it seems, that there’s an art to it, a technique, a lot of nuance, its own language, and trying to teach someone how to do it is like training a puppy. (Yeah, that didn’t go over well.)

In the video, of course, hubby turns out to be a naturally great spanker right out of the gate and we live happily ever after. Ah, fantasy.

In reality, if someone doesn’t have this je ne sais quoi thing we seem to have wired into our DNA, a natural flair and instinct for it, it is damn hard to give a proper spanking. And it seems there are more ways to do it wrong than correctly.

I haven’t been writing about this, but I will now. Recently, I met a man from Alt and we hit it off beautifully in writing. He was smart, funny, we had a lot in common in the vanilla realm, and he seemed to know his way around kink. He said he hadn’t done a whole lot of spanking, but he had done some, and he found it all very intriguing. He was local, and unlike so many men I’ve played with, he could actually host in his own home. So I thought, let’s do this.

Well…

I won’t drag this out with too many details. We played a total of four times. I really liked him as a person, and I kept hoping that he’d improve technique-wise, so I kept giving him more chances. The first time should have been the red flag — he hit so high, I had bruises along the tops of both cheeks, and a substantial mark from where he wrapped me with the belt. I took a picture, showed it to him, and told him which places to avoid.

But something was off each time. He’d still hit too high on occasion, which would snap me out of scene space. He overcompensated and hit way too low. He was uneven; after the third session, I was marked and bruised all down my right leg, while the left side was completely pristine. And then came the fourth session… the one where my skin got broken.

My skin does not break easily. Not even after four days of a party and a lot of spanking. I’ve been playing for over 25 years and I can count the times I’ve had broken skin on one hand and have digits left over. This was it — I’d reached my limit.

He was apologetic. He checked in with me the next day. It’s not that he didn’t care. But for whatever reason, he just wasn’t grasping the fine points. The more we played, the more I realized he really wasn’t familiar with this at all. Besides the technique flaws, the little nuances were missing. He didn’t take me OTK; just put me over the edge of the couch or bed. He didn’t work over layers, just stripped me from the waist down at the outset. All those little things add up. He was a very nice host; always made sure I had water and gave me fresh fruit after each scene to help me through the dip. He made me laugh. He was sweet and complimentary. But the spanking wasn’t going to work, no matter how much I wanted it to. And broken skin is completely unacceptable for me. It took me two weeks to heal.

Last week, I worked up my courage and wrote to him. I said I really liked him, but that the spanking part of our relationship wasn’t working. I said I hoped we could remain friends. I was so concerned, so worried that I’d hurt his feelings. I really didn’t want to. The next day, he wrote back — said he agreed, that it had been “interesting,” but that he “really didn’t get the whole spanko thing.”

Well. Geez. That left me feeling… deflated. I wish he had told me that a whole lot earlier. So what was I, an experiment? A curiosity? Something new and fun to try?

Kids, I’m too old for this shit. At this stage in life, I don’t want to be something new that you try because you think it sounds fun. I want to be able to put myself in your hands and relax, knowing that I am safe and will have an experience that hurts in the right way, not harms. I do not want to have to give an indoctrination. I don’t want to top from the bottom. Granted, there are always little tweaks to be made when you have a new partner. When I played with D a couple of years back, in our first session, he thudded a bit, hitting flat-handed. I suggested that he cup his hand a bit more to the butt cheek so that he’d get that satisfying smack instead of the dull thud. And guess what — no more thudding.

I have been depressed and frustrated over this. It was like trying to force a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and I invested too much time and too much of my body in it. If I haven’t liked him so much, the first scene would have been our last. But… lesson learned. From now on, I will have radar up strongly. Unless someone identifies as a spanko and has a fair amount of experience, I will not meet with them. Because there is no faking this. It’s either there or it isn’t.

Fortunately, my friend Chris is driving down from Oregon to see me again; we have a date on January 3. It will be so lovely, being able to hand myself over to him, close my eyes and blissfully absorb, knowing each and every strike will be spot on, all will be precise and even, and I will hurt so good in all the right places. I need this so, so much. Especially since it doesn’t seem like parties are ever going to be a reality for me anymore. Covid is exploding once again, all over the place, and breakthrough cases are happening with people who took the vaccines. Shadow Lodge will be in February, but I can already see that it won’t happen for us. It doesn’t matter that we are vaxxed and boostered; John still feels it’s irresponsible and risky to gather in large indoor crowds, to travel. And I’m not going without him. So, my scene life has ground to a halt. And thanks to the FUCKING ANTI-VAXXERS, indefinitely. Yes, I’m using all caps. I detest these selfish, ignorant, awful people. (No, I’m not talking about the small percentage who have allergies or other medical reasons to not be vaxxed, so don’t jump on me.) Therefore, finding a local and available play partner is still my Holy Grail.

So, yeah. Next time someone says, “How hard is it to give a spanking?” you can answer, not hard at all. But to give a proper spanking, a good spanking, a satisfying, safe and fulfilling spanking? That’s a whole different story.

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. ♥

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