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”

Onward… where to, I’m not sure

So here I am, staring another birthday in the face. Didn’t I just have one of the damn things? Look, I enjoy birthday festivities as much as the next attention whore hog, but I can do without this ageing business.

And — confession time. I don’t have a birthday spanking to look forward to. Because as it happens, I do not have a play partner at this time.

I feel kind of ridiculous and thought perhaps if I just didn’t talk about it, people would forget that big announcement I made a few posts back. I thought about deleting it, but I really didn’t want to. That would be denying it ever happened, and it did. And it was lovely and lots of fun, however brief.

Please don’t ask me for details… it is what it is. I will tell you this much. I have not lost a friend. Ulf is a dear, kind-hearted and special man I am privileged to know and who I hope to keep in my life for a good long time, as my friend, part of my chosen family.

It just seems he’s not meant to be my play partner.

So. Once again, I am adrift in spanko land. And you know what? I’m tired of looking. I’m not going to make a thing out of finding another partner. If it happens, it happens. But the process can be so damned disheartening and frustrating, and many times, the best relationships have happened organically and not when I was specifically seeking them. So I won’t.

Of course I will miss regular play. I’m not going to kid myself and say no big deal, I won’t miss it, I’m busy, I’m working, I spend weekends with John, spanking isn’t everything, so on and so forth. It’s a huge part of me and I feel a sadness, an emptiness when I don’t have it in my life. However, I would rather go without it than to settle for anything less than what fulfills me. I’m not going to play with just anyone, simply for the sake of feeling a hand on my butt. I need the connection. I need the trust and chemistry and the humor and the attraction and all those wonderful things that come together to make the potent cocktail that sends me into bliss.

In recent times, I’ve befriended a couple of lovely young women on FetLife — very young (early twenties). Both have been lucky enough to have positive and caring early experiences with good men, which is so very important. Both are eager sponges, wanting to soak up everything about this kink and learn about where they fit in all of this, and with whom. One of them recently told me that she was concerned it wouldn’t always be this good, and she was setting the bar too high. “It can’t always be this perfect, can it?” she asked.

In a word, no. Nothing is always wonderful. Even chocolate cake isn’t always wonderful. (Come on, you know you’ve had a dry piece or two in your lifetime.) Yes, spanking is readily available pretty much anywhere if you look for it. So is chocolate. But sometimes you get See’s or Godiva… and sometimes you get Russell Stover’s. Don’t settle for the latter. It just makes you want the former even more.

This is what I said to both these women — I told them they were given a very special gift, getting to play with good partners early on. They would go on to have a lot of experiences with many different people, if they kept on this path, and not all of them would be so hot. BUT… they would always have a benchmark. They would always know how it was supposed to feel when it’s right. And when it wasn’t, they wouldn’t have to question themselves. No. I don’t like this. Doesn’t feel right. Next.

Well, guess what. I’m taking my own advice, because I too have benchmarks. I have had some incredible play partners. I have had dozens — hell, hundreds — of positive experiences. And yeah, I’ve had some really crappy, unsatisfying, and even a few traumatic ones as well. But they were anomalies. And I knew there was something better, something worth waiting for. Because when it happened, when all those elusive factors came together and made for that connection, it was blissful. Quality over quantity.

Recently, a good friend asked me how I deal with all the losses of play partners I’ve had over the years — how could I stand having my heart broken again and again? I told her that’s the risk you take. It’s an unusual relationship, often times a fleeting one. And yes, it hurts to open my heart, give my trust, and put my body and soul in a man’s hands, only to have him go away. But the alternative is not playing. The alternative is not experiencing the closeness, the intensity, the magic. And that’s worse. That’s so empty.

Yup, I know there are those who think I’m too picky. That I have too many hard limits, my play focus is too narrow, I should open myself up to more experiences and some different types of people, should experiment more, should be more scene-inclusive, blah blah blah. Yeah, maybe. But you know what?

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That’s right. Screw this whole PC thing that says we’re supposed to embrace all varieties of our kink. That we’re supposed to “evolve” — implication being that if your scene tastes don’t broaden, you’re a dinosaur. Well, call me Erica-sauras. Or sore-ass. Whatever. I’m too old for this shit, y’all. I’ve tried other stuff. I tried to push my square peg self into some other round kinks and just got scraped and chafed and miserable. I have been doing this long enough… I know who I am. I know what I like, I know what works for me and what does not. I know where my comfort zones are. I get to say I don’t like stuff and I don’t want it. That doesn’t mean I don’t accept when others do it. People are welcome to do their own consensual kinky-fuckery. But acknowledging/accepting it and embracing it are very different things. For example? The recent Shadow Lane party and the extreme scene I mentioned that was stopped. It’s. A. Spanking. Party. If a man wants to kick and stomp on a woman while wearing heavy boots, and she wants him to kick and stomp on her while he’s wearing heavy boots, fine. They can knock themselves out… at a dungeon. Not at a spanking party. I don’t want to see it, and I shouldn’t have to.

If I were younger, newer, then I’d say sure, experiment. But I’ve done that. Sometimes I wish I did like more varieties of play — I’d certainly have more opportunities for fulfillment. But we are who we are.

So, here’s what I do want.

I am a bottom, a strong woman who happens to enjoy the power exchange of being spanked by a man. I am not someone who needs to be held accountable, except in a playful realm — I hold myself accountable. I am a living, breathing human — I am not an object. I am not something to be owned and controlled. Yes, you can push me, test my limits. You can break down my walls, break through my defenses, touch my soft center. But you do not get to break me. Don’t break my heart or my trust. Be my friend and give me loving firmness. Make me sting, make me sore, but don’t harm me. I can take a lot of pain from you if it is done with caring and proper technique. But if you slap/strike anything other than my butt/thighs, you will not like my reaction. You want to punch/kick something? Go to the gym, and stay the hell away from me.

Make me laugh, and let me make you laugh. There is great joy in what we do; it is not a dark and serious thing. Embrace it with me.

Yes, I like playing with younger men. Enough with the cougar crap and other ageist insults. I’m not a predatory beast. I’m a woman who is young at heart and in mind, in good shape, and I just happen to relate well to people who are younger than I am — both male and female.

And for sweet Christ’s sake — don’t disappear, don’t ghost. I have seen more damn disappearing acts than the Magic Castle, and I’m tired of them. Yes, I get that lives are busy. Mine is too. I don’t ask for much of your time and attention. I just want to know you are in my life and you care, and know in my heart of hearts that I will see you, get to spend some time with you, sooner or later. Shoot me a text or a tweet when life is crazy. It takes seconds.

I guess time will tell if my dream play partner will materialize. Meanwhile, life goes on. John is making a big fuss over my birthday and I love him for it. He’s already sent me beautiful flowers, and this Saturday (the actual birthday), he’s taking me to the Walt Disney Concert Hall to hear a live performance of Mozart’s Requiem. I have never been to this particular venue, and I love classical music, so this is a huge treat.

So, like I said, onward. I am a bit melancholy, a bit adrift, but I am okay. It is what it is. And life has a way of surprising me when I least expect it. We shall see.

Reflections on relationships

Next week, on Thursday, John and I will be together for twenty-two years. On Friday, we will head for yet another Shadow Lane party. That’s sort of become our anniversary celebration. I will be very busy for the next week or so, so I figured I’d squeeze in a post here so y’all won’t think I’ve disappeared.

John and I never married, and we don’t live together. And yet we have been through so much in our years. Countless laughs, many tears. Many of life’s passages, including the losses of both our parents, job losses/transitions, and an illness and open heart surgery that nearly took him from me. When I first met him, he was living in an apartment; now he owns two homes. We’ve shared so many things, so many events. To this day, he still makes me laugh like no other. To this day, no one knows me better than he does.

We love each other. ♥

Here is the part that continually baffles me. I must be doing something right, being able to maintain this relationship for so long. And yet, it seems I cannot keep any other kind of relationship for any length of time. Friends, play partners, etc. They come into my life, they exit. Sometimes the exits are dramatic, sometimes they just fade out. Sometimes they ghost. Sometimes, they’re still there, but otherwise preoccupied. Online, I have several people who enjoy communicating with me. People who don’t even know me send me beautiful words like these:

I’m writing to make sure you understand that there are many, many people out there just like me who appreciate and admire you. You may not know this, but you’ve been an inspiration to so many of us, with your blog, with the films you’ve been in, with your humor and honesty. With your politics. Also, if you’ll forgive me, your incredibly spankable bottom. 🙂

The above is real, and it moved me to tears. But if I’m this wonderful, why don’t people stay?

And for those who are wondering who I’m talking about — please don’t. This post is cumulative. This post is, sadly, about many.

Is this just the nature of today’s relationships? Are we all so busy, so distracted, so caught up in social media and work and life’s constant barrage of insanity that we don’t have time to invest in lasting closeness? Are we torn in too many different directions? The irony is that in today’s age, it’s easier than ever to connect to people. You don’t even have to go anywhere. You can Skype, you can text, you can email. You don’t even have to talk on the phone if you don’t want to (and I don’t). It takes mere seconds to fire off a text to someone. A “Hi, really busy, but thinking of you,” or “Hi, just wanted to say I love you.” And yet, we’re more disconnected than ever.

Or is it that I’m a fatally flawed human who can’t keep people in my immediate circle? Am I not interesting enough, in person? Fun enough? Kinky enough? Available enough? Are John and I together this long because we’re both social square pegs and birds of a feather and all that?

Because I am an introvert and somewhat reclusive, it’s true I don’t open my heart to many. I don’t have the time or patience for acquaintances and small talk. But when I do open that door, it is fully open; I am loving, supportive, deeply loyal. Lately, I’m beginning to wonder if I should simply seal my heart away for good. Because there isn’t much of it left. Over the years, so many people have come in, taken what they needed, and left the rest behind. I’m getting too old for this shit.

So, another party. The sweet torture of being thrust into three days of noise and crowds, feeling overwhelmed, and talking more in those three days than I do in six months — and yet loving it because I’m among my people. Because I can play to my heart’s content. As seems to be the case every damn time now, I haven’t been spanked for a couple of months, so I’m feeling out of condition and worried that the play will be too much for me. And of course, then there’s the other part of me that’s afraid the people I want to play with, won’t want to play with me. But I’ve gone through the proper motions. I bought new panties and a couple of new dresses. I will get my hair cut, get a pedicure. Fake it till you make it (although I detest that expression).

My heart is not in it right now. But I will take my body into it, and hopefully my heart and spirit and joyous spanko side will follow. I will have my beloved with me. The man who has stayed.

Enough of that. Work has gotten busy again, for which I am grateful. Sorry I’ve been MIA.  For those who want to see pictures, here ya go. My new panties.

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And here’s a butt shot from a few months ago. No, I haven’t let myself go and disappeared into a vat of bonbons. I’m too fucking vain for that. :-Þ

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Part of me thinks it may have been a mistake to start this blog up again, but I’m not going to make another dramatic exit. I will write when time allows and when the spirit moves me. When I have something to say.

Until then, have a good weekend, y’all. And be kind to each other.

Ladies and gentlemen, my play partner

OK, so enough of this depression crap for a while. Time for fun.

Back in September 2016, in my Shadow Lane party write-up, I spoke of playing with Ulf Sayer for the first time. I had met him at a previous party and felt an immediate connection, but we didn’t have the chance to play at that time. This first scene was intense and fun; he enjoys clever bratting and I started in right away, calling him a hockey puck (he is Canadian).

Oh, and I assed his hand. 🙂

He was doing videos and so forth and I thought perhaps we’d be seeing a lot more of him, but then he left the scene for a while.

Cut to last March, when I heard from him via Twitter Direct Message. He was now living in L.A. and would love to touch base. We met for coffee and talked for hours. Started texting. Then he came over for coffee… and asked if I’d like to be play partners. Oh, yes, I would. He wasn’t ready to ease his way back into the scene proper just yet, so I promised I would not mention him by name anywhere. I would just post pictures of play results.

But now he is fully returned — back on FetLife, back on Twitter, shooting again, attending parties, and I have the green light to talk about him all I want.

So what does one say about Ulf? By his own admission, he is a very silly man. Very playful, loves spanking banter. Smart and thoughtful, he’s someone I can talk with for hours (and have). He is caring and kind. Oh, and it’s way too damn easy to get into protracted nonsensical battles with him online.

For example, a while back on FetLife, he noticed that several bottoms (myself included) feel that they have earned chocolate, ice cream or other treats after a spanking. He then decreed that “brats don’t deserve treats, they deserve a spanking and nothing else” and that treats were forever banned.

Yeah, you can imagine how well that went over with the bottoms on FetLife. This quickly escalated into an epic battle known as the #WarOnTreats, #TreatsForAll, and several other hashtags. Pictures and posts ensued. Everyone talked about the various treats they had purchased and were consuming, and Ulf would scold and natter about how we should learn to like vegetables and how all the treat monsters were going to be punished.

Here he is chastising me because I bought two bags of Hershey’s dark chocolate almond nuggets. Hey, I had a two-for-one coupon. I thought I was being industrious with savings.

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One of my responses to this insanity was to encourage all the women involved on FetLife to take a selfie eating a treat and flipping the bird. I started the ball rolling with this one (that’s a Lindt truffle, BTW):

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I wish I could post all the other pictures this inspired — they were marvelous. The sisterhood is still alive and well!

Of course, I had to pay the price for encouraging all this anarchy; he had to make an example of me, in the hardest scene we’ve done to date. Ouch.

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By the way, my left butt cheek isn’t dented. That’s an illusion of the lamp light. I got lotion and cuddles afterward; he bought me lunch, too.

And I’m still assing his hand.

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Perhaps he needs to toughen his hand more instead of having so damn many implements.

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I did not make this face of my own volition, incidentally. I believe his words were, “Come on, let’s see that tongue, brat.”

So this is my play partner. I don’t call him my top, even though I am a bottom and he tops me. He’s my friend and we play. I saw a term on another blog that I kinda liked: SSO (Spanking Significant Other). I think this needs to be a Thing.

Here are a few random facts about Ulf:

  • He can’t spell “fascist.”
  • He has forbidden treats for bottoms, but he indulges in them himself. I have pictorial evidence of this pinnacle of Top Hypocrisy.
  • If you follow him on Twitter, be forewarned that his tweeting persona is often irreverent, blasphemous, and off-color. Then again, so is mine.
  • Some of his nicknames are Olaf, Snowman, Your Plaidness (the Canada thing), and Ulfiekins. I came up with that last one.
  • Oh, and he’s cute AF, but don’t tell him I said that.

So everyone welcome him back to the kinky family. He was missed greatly. ♥

A brief update

Just a quickie on Sunday night before a busy week. I’m not bursting with news, just wanted to pop in and update on three things.

First, regarding the situation I mentioned at the party a couple of weeks ago, on the last night — all was resolved, in the nicest possible way. It was handled reasonably, compassionately, and I even seem to have made a new friend over it. Rather than hold me in contempt, the parties involved were actually concerned and caring that I’d been upset, and we talked it out. I wish everyone could be this pleasant. So that’s a relief.

Second… I suppose I need to say something about the fact that I haven’t posted about Steve in several months. No, he did not leave the relationship. He always said he wouldn’t, and he was true to his word. However, we have not played for over four months, and the only thing I’m willing to give as an explanation at this time is that we have irreconcilable differences. It makes me sad, and I miss what we had. I’d been with him a little over four years — longer than I was with ST and even my beloved Danny. And I certainly miss having regular play. But honestly, my life is different these days. I’m spending a lot more hours working (which is a good thing), and I don’t have the play time I used to. And being busy with work keeps me productively occupied, rather than spending time ruminating online over the state of the country. So. I hope there will come a day when I have local play again. But for now, it’s not happening.

Finally, I had expressed frustration that I’d gotten so few pictures at the party, and one of my readers pleaded for me to take pictures of the lingerie I wore on Purple Night. So, Friday, I dusted off my old-school digital camera, set up the timer and took some shots. (I’m just not that good with phone selfies.) Hope you like ’em! 😉

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Would you believe Target? Yeah, Victoria’s Secret has some really nice stuff, but good Christ, they’re expensive. And I’ve always liked Target. For those poor narrow-minded folks out there with misguided phobias who are boycotting Target over their bathroom policies — go right ahead! More for the rest of us!

Hope everyone is well out there. Please drop by and say hello!

At long last…

…play. Finally. It’s been a while.

Steve and I celebrated our four-year play partner anniversary yesterday. It occurred to me that he has now been my top longer than any other I’ve had in my twenty years of playing. (I don’t count John in that number, as he occupies a completely different place.) Steve always told me he wasn’t going anywhere. It took me a long time, but now I believe him.

He showed up with a small chocolate cake and a card (I had a card for him as well), and then we went out for a late breakfast in one of my favorite local spots where they specialize in breakfasts (waffles, in particular). It had cooled down enough so that we could sit outside and enjoy the patio area with a pretty fountain, and we even had a table in the shade. After a lovely meal (I got to have two kinds of homemade jam for my toast), we came back to my place and played.

Ah. It was worth the wait. 🙂

It was nice to take a short break from the insanity that’s been my life lately and stop thinking… just feel. Just immerse myself in pleasure-pain and have the world dwindle down to nothing but me and my top, in the moment.

Steve had no camera with him, just his cell, so our pictures aren’t the greatest of quality. But it sure is nice to have some new ones.

Love love love our crop!

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Ah, so ladylike am I…

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Since my work week isn’t quite as hectic, I’m going to treat myself to a couple of hours off, and some retail therapy. The Shadow Lane party is in a few weeks — new panties are in order! Perhaps a cute summer dress or two as well. Happy hump day!

That ITCH

Who knows what I mean, just from those two words? No, I’m not talking about a yeast infection. I’m talking about that urge that hits us bottoms (no pun intended) sometimes, the one where the craving for a spanking is So. Damn. Powerful, you feel like you’ll jump out of your skin if you don’t get some physical relief.

Many of us have spouses/mates/regular play partners. Some don’t. Some go to a lot of parties; others don’t have access or the funds for them. Some of us don’t play at all, just think about it, and for that, I am so sorry. We all have different spanking schedules. I am lucky enough to have a play partner whom I get to see fairly regularly, but you know, sometimes, life interferes. And most of the time I roll with that. But every now and then, that urge, that ITCH strikes so hard, I really do wish 1-800-SPANK-YOU was a thing. Order up a spanker, just like you order Uber or takeout food or whatever. You want it, you punch in the number, pull up the App, and poof. There he/she is. You even get to choose height, weight, age, hair color, banter style, level of intensity… imagine the possibilities.

It all started yesterday. Before I get into this, I want to make sure I’m being clear — yeah, I have a bit of a spanko-type crush on my chiropractor, because I really do get a toppy vibe from him. No, I don’t expect that anything would ever happen, nor would I want it to. But I’m having one hell of a lot of fun with these fantasies, so you all just get to bear with me and put up with ’em! 😀

When I walked into his office, he greeted me with, “How are we today?” To which I sniped, “I don’t know how you are, but I’m fine!” Without missing a beat, he said, “Thank you for the snark! Much appreciated. Of course, that will directly influence how hard I drive my elbow into your ass.” Right out of the gate, huh? The appointment went as it usually goes, with him working through the various knots of tension and trying to unkink me (physically, of course. No one will ever unkink my twisted little soul). He kept up a regular stream of banter, distracting me from the discomfort. At one point he was leaning his weight onto me while stretching out my hamstring, and he gleefully said, “I just love putting all my weight into pushing on such a tiny little person!” “Sadist,” I grumbled, and he replied, “Maybe a little.” AHA!! At the end of each session, he takes me into another room where they have tables with built-in massagers, and he lays me out on one of those with ice packs under my back, so I get a massage and an icing at the same time. Yesterday, he covered me with a blanket and then said, “Don’t you move for ten minutes.” I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “What if I do?”

So I come home from this, with my body feeling like overcooked spaghetti but my kinky neurons firing… and then Steve texts me. Poor thing… yet another sinus infection. I swear, that man is the most infection-prone person I know. Sinus infections, pinkeye, bronchitis, that thing that started out like a pimple and then damn near ate off his face… such a drag! Either his immune system is whacked, or he’s taken so many antibiotics, they don’t work for him anymore. So of course, I wouldn’t be seeing him this week.

No biggie, I thought. I had a lot of work to do today. But as I got into it this morning, I was restless. I felt snarky and prickly; I was definitely in Looking For Trouble mode, I could feel it. I wanted to be spanked like nobody’s business. No emotional involvement, nothing complicated, just the pure physicality of a man’s hand smacking my backside hard.

Times like these, it’s a damn shame that I’m not a self-spanker. It would be pretty simple if that were the case, kind of like masturbating for sexual release. But I’m not.

As I squirmed and bounced in my computer chair, eating way too much peanut butter, my mind wandered back to something that happened a long time ago, maybe 13-15 years? It was so long ago, I’d written about it on the old Southern California Spanked Wives Club forum. We were at a Shadow Lane party, sitting in the ballroom at dinner, and a very handsome young man came over to the table and started talking with someone there. My friend at the time and I started whispering among ourselves: “Who’s that?” “Damn, he’s cute!” “I’ve never seen him here before!” “He certainly is easy on the eyes, isn’t he.” We simpered on and on until John, overhearing it all, laughed at us and blurted, “Oh for God’s sake, you two! You’re making me sick! Shut up! Less talking, more action — tell you what. The first one of you who gets Mr. Dreamboat to spank you, I’ll give you $25!”

“You’re on!” we said in unison.

I won. 😀  Yup, I bratted him into it first, which was quite the triumph, considering my friend was a lot younger, had a killer body and was cuter than any one woman should be. Anyway… it turned out he lived in Los Angeles, and before the weekend was over, he gave me his phone number. “Any time you feel like playing, give me a holler,” he said. I didn’t think I’d take him up on it; he was maybe 15-20 years younger than me and I felt weird about it.

However.

There came an afternoon when I was home, back in the days when I didn’t have a regular spanking partner, work was slow, and I was feeling that ITCH. I was craving spanking so hard, it consumed my thoughts. It also overrode my pride, because I actually picked up the phone and dialed G’s number, which I’d saved. It had been a couple of months since the party, and I hoped he’d remember me. When he answered, I told him who it was and why I was calling. He sounded a bit distracted; he was polite, but it was pretty clear he was busy and wasn’t up for an impromptu play time. Feeling myself shrivel with embarrassment, I said, “OK, sorry to bother you, maybe another time,” and hung up the phone, swearing that I would never reach out like that again.

Two minutes later, my phone rang. I picked it up; it was him again.

“How bad do you want it?”

(Yeah, I know he should have said “how badLY.” But at the moment, I didn’t give a happy rat’s ass about his grammar.)

“Really, really, realllllly bad,” I murmured, feeling my heart race. Long story short, he was willing to meet up with me that evening, but I needed to drive to his place.

So. I dressed up, made up, fixed my hair, and drove approximately 35-40 miles. He lived in one of those beach communities that are notorious for having absolutely no parking anywhere. I’m not exaggerating; I drove around and around his apartment complex for twenty minutes before I finally called him in despair. He had to come out, guide me into his building’s garage, and show me where deliveries could park temporarily. What a hassle.

But I got exactly what I needed. 😀  My itch was scratched. I didn’t stay long, we didn’t talk much, it was just a spanking, nothing more. But I drove home relaxed, pleasantly sore and blissfully happy.

Spanker on Call. What a concept. That was the only time I did that with him, and I don’t think I ever saw him again after that. I don’t think I know anyone like that now, someone I can just call out of the blue, and I don’t even think I could pull it off now. I would overthink it, and think myself out of it. But damn, that was hot.

For crying out loud, there’s an App for everything these days. Why isn’t there a Spanko App?

Thanks for listening. Who else but other spankos would understand this??

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