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”

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 5/12

Some sweet sentiments just in time for Mother’s Day! I haven’t posted one of these for a long time. Not because I’m not still getting this crap, but I just haven’t felt like exhibiting it lately. However, I recently got not one but two of those bizarre scroll-down blathering entries, and I just had to share. If I have to suffer through this, then you do too. 😛

i saw your profil and i like everything on it.
you look sexy and i like it. your words sounds good to me and i hope your really mean it and are not playing here. i hope your attitude is as beauty as your look. i hope you are into the lifestyle like i am into BD(SM), because i am not going for less.
i know, i am not half as sexy as you are, but i know, if you are seirious, i could be the best master for you. if you are the sexy slave i see, dressed like i like for the right situation, i will respect, admire and love you for that.
here are to many fakes and many are playing.
if you aspect that i will pay your for anything before meeting, you are wrong. i don’t wanna be rude, but i have to make that clear.
i will pay for relocation, if we click, but when i pay, it will happen the way i want it.
my experiences are here was good, because i met my all-in-one-slave years ago. after her death, i was mourn for long, got married and divorced very quick (to personal, but will tell you later) …. there are some reason.
if you are serious and want a man that will be proud to be on your side, to live a safe live, you want a strong dom and a good protector, wants to have a good, happy and active life, that i am the right one for you.
so, show me that you are the right one for me.
kiss you all over
sir Xxxxxxx

Some people can’t believe these are real, that someone actually sends me this kind of stuff. Trust me, I am not making up a single word. The only change I made was to x out his name.

If I aspect? The only thing I aspect is that people who correspond with me be somewhat literate. In my best Carol Burnett/Eunice screech: “Is that too much to ask???” As for everything else, sorry, pal, but I didn’t ask. I don’t want to know anything that’s to [sic] personal. And if you think you saw a sexy slave in my pictures, you need a visit to the optometrist. (What? Oh. That’s eye doctor, Einstein.)

I’m very impressed with that secy ass

Secy? You can’t be that impressed if you can’t even spell what it is.

Hey sexy lady I have read every word of your profile and I got to stay looking at your pretty red ass has got to be so excited

I think you meant “got to say,” not “got to stay.” Please, please don’t stay. My ass has got to be excited? How do you know how my ass is feeling? I mean, that’s pretty presumptuous of you.

I just got this last one yesterday, and I posted a snippet of it on Twitter, because it made my brain bleed. But here it is in all its glory.

I must be honest, all that yelling and name calling in the BDSM world, that bullshit isnt for me, But I will restrain your ass and toy you till your dehydrated from squirting your love seed all over my face, So the answer to your question is a yes,..I love to eat pussy,..and if your a multiorgasmic girl that isnt afraid of passing her limit,..perhaps we should chat? Do you ride a Motorcycle, work on motors, are you like me and happen to be in healthcare or even better are you too a ventriloquist? Perhaps when you have the time you will come and say hello,.until then, I’ll be patiently waiting to hear back from you,.

Oh, brother. Where do I start with this? Um… I never, ever asked you if you like to eat pussy. I asked if you knew what a spanko is. Not even close. Squirting my what? That’s about as cornball as “lady garden.” No, I don’t work on motors. I wouldn’t know a fuel pump from a water pump. Or what the hell a head gasket is. Although your post just made me blow my own head’s gasket.

What the heck is this about? ,. ,.. ,.. ,. ,.

And finally… WTAF? Am I a what? A ventriloquist? Yeah, sure, honey, I’m a ventriloquist. I guess that makes you the dummy.

I hope you have plenty of patience, because you’re going to be waiting… *checking watch* … forever. Does forever work for you?

Ye gods.

In other news, last weekend for the Spanko Brunch, Hermione asked what we think during a spanking. I didn’t participate, but I gave the question some thought. I guess I think a lot of things, until I go into subspace and then I don’t think anything at all. If he’s starting out too light and the warmup is going on too long, I suppose I’ll be thinking along the lines of “Jeezus, ramp it up already.” But one thing I have noticed many times when the scene is at that point where I’m just teetering at my limit, where I don’t want it to stop but my body can’t stand anymore, where I’m wondering if I can finish: I have a little encouraging voice within that counteracts the voice saying “Ugh, I can’t do this” with “Yes, I can do this. I’ve got this.” (Yes, I have a rich inner life.)

In a recent scene that went on for a long time, I was loving it, I was in amazing hands, but I was getting tired. I was reaching my threshold. I was this close to saying, “I think we need to wind down.” And then that cheerleader voice piped up with, “Like hell you do! You don’t need to stop anything! You can take it! You’re Erica Fucking Scott!”

Swear to God. Those words went through my head. And of course, I then lasted until he ended it. 🙂

Have a great weekend, y’all. Happy Mother’s Day to those who celebrate it. ♥

Well, that was interesting

Not quite in the way we’d planned, though. (See previous post for details.)

The kiddie party went well. It was a beautiful day, there was pizza, and yes, there were even a couple of dogs to pet, so I was happy. We stayed for that a couple of hours, then came home to nap and then get ready to go to the kink party that evening.

We had about 45 minutes to an hour to drive, and we always use my car, as John’s truck is manual transmission and isn’t the most comfortable ride. John usually drives when we’re in unfamiliar territory, but he had a badly infected finger and I was trying to give him a break from stressing it, so I drove. We were over halfway there, on the freeway at full speed, and someone sideswiped me on the driver’s side. The jolt and noise were horrible and I screamed, but I kept control of the car and managed to pull onto the shoulder. Meanwhile, the driver took off into the night and we never knew what hit us.

We were lucky. It could have been so much worse. No injury, and the damage to the car was cosmetic. Really ugly — basically the back half of the left side was scraped and gouged — but the car was completely drivable. So now what? Should we go home? We decided, what the hell. We’re more than halfway there. We’re all dressed up. It would be horrible to have gone through this for nothing; we might as well go on and get ourselves there.

Damned if I know how I kept driving. I was shaking all over, trying to keep my breathing even. I didn’t cry. I kept it together. I had to. I was behind the wheel. It was like someone else took over my body and kept me going. John was very comforting, telling me I was doing great, that I hadn’t done anything wrong. He made a good point — if this had been my fault, the other driver would have stopped so they could get my information and so forth. But they’d plowed into me out of nowhere; I was in my own lane and minding my own business. So this was unavoidable.

We arrived and parked. I had to change shoes; I was wearing comfortable flats to drive and had to put on my fetishy high heels. It took several minutes to get them on; my hands were shaking so badly, I couldn’t get the damn tiny buckle to go into the even tinier hole. But finally we were pulled together and ready to go in.

Turns out it was the right decision. The party was a distraction. There were hugs and friendly faces. I was able to get a bottle of water right away, which helped. I was able to calm down, relax a bit, even laugh. And I was able to have two great scenes, with what I consider to be the two of the best men there (besides John, of course). 🙂 It felt like old times, especially the first scene. We were in a small room and my butt was facing toward the door. Behind me, I could hear voices, “Is that Erica?” “That looks like Erica’s butt.” And Mr. Woodland said, “Yes, it’s Erica! Say hi, Erica!” I raised my hand from the floor and did a backwards wave. Three women came in to watch, including the beautiful Maddy Marks, and then I heard, “I thought it was her! Those are the kinds of panties she likes to wear, with the lacy trim.” I’m known for my panties?? I couldn’t stop laughing; of course, then Mr. W felt like he needed to ramp things up a bit to refocus my attention.

The second scene was right before we left, with Maddy’s beau Siq (pronounced “Sick”; not his real name, of course); it was the first time I’ve ever played with him, and I loved it. It was just what I needed to end the night on a positive spin and I was so happy he’d sought me out. He was so sweet too — asked me how my nerves were feeling (he knew about the accident) and if I was up for playing. I would definitely enjoy a repeat performance.

Anyway, we made it home without further incident. John’s finger was feeling better — the swelling had gone down — so he drove this time, for which I was grateful. Part of me never wanted to drive again, but I need to get over that, of course. Yesterday I called and made a claim with AAA, and today I will be talking with an adjuster, arranging for body work, a rental car, etc. I have rental coverage and collision coverage, so I’m handled. There will be a deductible, of course. Yesterday, I caught John with his hands on my wallet. “Oops!” he said. “Nothing to see here.” He’d stuffed a bunch of cash into my wallet to handle the deductible. He insisted. “You drove. It’s your car. You have to deal with it all. You got us through it. It’s the least I can do.” I do love that man. ♥

So… hell of a price to pay for being able to play a bit, but I did have fun despite it all. Even got a few light marks; damn, I’m out of condition! Onward with the week.

The power of words

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, ever since what happened last Friday, and how an afternoon and potential play partnership was ruined with a single word. I know I’ve talked about this before; I believe words have a lot of power. That whole “sticks and stones” thing is BS. Granted, words can’t physically wound you. But what they can do to your heart, soul and psyche is as painful and lasting as any gun or knife.

We spankos are big on words. We all have our buzz phrases, our trigger words, the words we love, the words we hate. What is a massive button-pushing turn-on for one might be vomit-inducing for another. Since I spent so much time last week focusing on words I hate, I thought this week I’d counteract that with one of my all-time favorite phrases in our realm. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but I’d like to delve into it more in detail today.

It’s a simple phrase. Three words, and sometimes four.

“That’s my girl.”
Or “That’s my good girl.”

Hearing those words makes me melt. I don’t know why. I have said many times that I’m not a submissive, but that I can be submissive when someone taps into my headspace. And when a top says that to me, in the right context, I want to hang the moon for him.

I am not sure when I first realized that this particular phrase was such a turn-on for me, but I can remember an earlier awareness. Those of you who go wayyyyy back with me, back to the days of the MSN board Southern California Spanked Wives and Girlfriends, may recall that I had an ongoing crush on a gym instructor (who I ended up hiring as a personal trainer), P. For those who don’t know this story — essentially, P was a very popular instructor/trainer. His classes were always packed. He was enthusiastic and fun, encouraging, pushed us, but knew what he was doing and was very skilled at it. He made a point of learning everyone’s name, and addressing us in class, calling out praise. And yes, he was very, very toppy… and it was sexy AF. I think, back then, every heterosexual female gym member with a pulse had a thing for P. And probably some of the males too. He was that charismatic.

I remember he’d call out names, sometimes mine, saying, “That’s it! Good! Come on, [name]. That’s my girl.” And I’d feel a jolt. Suddenly, I had more energy. More willingness. I could push harder, do more. Just from those three words and what they did to me.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that P looked like this, but I digress…

Once I became aware of how that phrase affects me, I noticed it more within scenes. It’s not all that common a phrase to hear — not like “Good girl,” for example. Which makes it all the more special when it does happen. One of my favorite Vegas party playmates, Roy, who I’ve discussed here before, uses it, and I adore it. When we’re in scene, in the zone, and the energy and connection are at their peak, he’ll lean down to me and say, “More?” In my blissful stupor, I will murmur, “Yes, please,” and then I can feel him smiling as he says, “That’s my girl.” Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff…

What made me think of this? Something that happened recently; in fact, on the same day as that wretched coffee date.

I have a friend, A. He lives up north. We’ve never met in person, but we’ve been corresponding for about a year. We talk often on kik. We both love word games and do the daily Wordle faithfully. We both love Jeopardy! And of course, we’re both spankos. A has an extra fetish that I don’t happen to share — along with bottoms, he loves women’s feet. I’ve known a lot of foot fetishists over the years (they give damn good foot massages), so this is nothing new to me. After we’d gotten to know each other a bit better, he would ask me to send him pictures of my feet now and then. Sure, why not. He always asks politely, and he’s so appreciative and complimentary when I do. And it’s just feet.

Cut to last Friday, when I was reeling from my unpleasant encounter. I got a kik from A, asking about my day and how I did on the Wordle. I didn’t tell him about what had happened; I didn’t really feel like it. And then he said he felt like he hadn’t seen my soles in forever, and he’d love a new picture.

My first thought was “Oh, crap. I’m not in the mood for this. I’m feeling so unsexy and icky right now.” So I messaged back that I’d been super busy and preoccupied, but I’d send him something soon, I promise. And then he replied:

“That’s my good girl.”

There it was. That jolt. He has no idea how I feel about that phrase; he said it organically, not to be manipulative. And just like that, my mood shifted. My deeply hidden soft center melted like a Lindt truffle. I became willing. I set up my phone’s timer, and took not one but three pictures for him. He was his usual effusively appreciative self, and I enjoyed making him happy with such a simple thing. But what he doesn’t know is that he made me feel good too. And it helped me get past the ugliness.

While we’re on the subject of buzz words, here is another one of mine: Punish. Or punishment. Again, I have no idea why. But damned if hearing that word doesn’t do things to me. Yummy things

Funny story about that word, and as it happens, it has to do with the aforementioned P. One day in class, he had pushed us particularly hard, and when we were lying on our mats and stretching, I felt a twinge in my lower back, which tends to act up anyway. So, as we stretched, I idly reached down with one hand and massaged that spot. P, with his eagle eye, noticed that from across the room and called out, “Erica, is your back hurting?” I said, “Yeah, it’s okay, just a little.” And then he teasingly said… wait for it…

“Aw, I’m sorry, honey! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to punish you a little.”

Oh. My. Freaking. GOD. I felt that blush all the way into my hair follicles. I thought he was going to have to scrape me off that mat. Of course, he had no idea what he’d said and what it had done to me. That was around the time that I became convinced that he was one of us, and I was determined to find out for sure. But that’s another story, a very long one.

Any of you want to share your button pushers? This is always a fun subject. I know that just writing this out has gotten me rather… flustered. And on that note, guess I should re-route my mind and get back to work.

Have a great weekend, y’all. ♥

Oasis party in Vegas, 2022

I think I’m finally ready to attempt writing this. Sorry for the long delay! I hope I haven’t forgotten anything important in all the craziness of work and COVID that ensued after I came home. But better late than never. Settle in. Get a refreshing beverage. This is long.

It was a great party, I had fun, and I have zero regrets. COVID be damned. I needed to do this, and I’m glad I did. But of course, I’m also glad we chose to leave John out of this one. I would have been beside myself had he caught this. Me? I’ll live. He might not have.

Of course, it was a strange weekend without him. I missed him a lot. I had a lot of different moods throughout the three days there, and spent more time by myself than I normally would have. But I had prepared myself for this well in advance and was determined to go forward with it, with all the confidence I could muster. I tried to replace my nervousness with a calm curiosity — what would it be like? New party, new hotel, a lot of new people, flying for the first time rather than driving. I wanted to be open to the new experiences and feelings. And also… be prepared in case it simply was no longer the same. That was a very real possibility. Things are different. I’m different. It’s been a long time. But I’d never know unless I tried.

Friday: I woke up at 5:00 a.m. showered, washed my hair, blew it out, drank coffee, and finished packing. My flight was at 9:00, but I wanted to get to the airport two hours early, so I was on the road by 6:15. That felt weird — it was still dark out, and the roads were nearly empty. I made it to Burbank in plenty of time, found the Economy parking lot, and shuttled to the Southwest entry, where I checked one of my bags. I hadn’t flown since 2019, but the whole rigmarole came back to me and it passed without incident. I found my gate and then bought a bottle of water ($6 and change? Are you @#$%ing kidding me??), and settled in to charge my phone and people watch. A couple nearby had brought their dog! You know me and dogs… of course, I had to go over there and ask if it was okay to say hello. They were very nice, and I hunkered down to pet a very sweet, mellow dog with the softest coat (a Jindo, which is a Korean breed).

Flight was brief, which was merciful, since I could only find a middle seat and it was tightly packed. Plus, the young woman on my right kept falling asleep and laying her head on my shoulder. (Actually, that was kind of sweet. I tried hard to keep still and not disturb her. At least she was wearing a mask!)

I’ve never been to Las Vegas Airport. Holy crap, what a zoo! It was hot as hell, my bags were heavy, and I couldn’t find the Uber area to save my life. I ended up in the shuttle/taxi area, but then they told me I was in the wrong place and I needed to backtrack and go in another direction. (groan) When I found the Uber/Lyft area, it was mobbed with people, but I called for my Uber and they were able to find me. Thank goodness it took only about ten minutes, because I was dying of the heat. The driver was very sweet, helped load my stuff, and I collapsed into the back seat. “Do you need anything?” he asked. “Just air conditioning,” I gasped.

We arrived at the Tuscany Suites in ten minutes, and I went in. It was only 11:30 and check-in time was 3:00, but I had called beforehand to ask if I could have early check-in and they said it shouldn’t be a problem. After I got checked in, they directed me to my building. This was a very neat hotel, made up of separate, lettered buildings they called villas. Our party had three villas — C, F and G. The party suites were in building G, and my room was in C. Huffing and puffing, I managed to shlep my increasingly heavy bags to the building and to my room. Damn, did John spoil me — he never, ever let me help with the bags. I was lucky if I got to carry my own purse.

And of course, because I am a dork, I couldn’t figure out how to open the hotel room door. I had a card, but where was the key card slot you slide it into? (To be fair, there were key card slots in 2020, when I last attended a party.) I finally had to ask a maid, and she showed me where you tap the card. Oh. Duh. Finally straggled into my suite and closed the door, put the stuff down and turned around… and here’s the first thing I saw.

Wait… what? At first my addled brain thought they came with the room, but then I realized of course they didn’t. Somehow, John had arranged for me to arrive to these. Damn, I love that man. ♥ ♥ ♥ I texted him immediately, fighting tears, and thanked him. He, of course, denied doing it. (“Was there a card?” “No.” “Then how did you know it’s me?” “Because you never provide a card!”)

I then took stock of the room. In this hotel, all the rooms are suites, so this was much bigger than we were used to. It had a little living room area, a dinette and kitchenette along with two beds and the typical bathroom area. One thing I did notice right away — despite the wall unit AC blasting away, the room was warm. Uh oh. What was up with that? I did some scoping around, and figured out the problem. First, the AC temp was set too high. Second, it was on low instead of high. And third, there were two large windows in the room with blackout shades, but the shades were wide open and allowing the Vegas sun to bake the room. So I made all the necessary adjustments, and unpacked. (Yes, I unpack in a hotel room.) By the time I was done, it was around 1:00, and the ice-breaker/registration event I wanted to attend wasn’t until 4:00. So I figured, perfect time for a nap, right? Nope. Yeah, I was tired, but I was also keyed up and excited and overheated, and I just couldn’t come down enough to fall asleep. Oh well. Onward.

I found the room where they were having some ice-breaker games and registration, got my badge (which would be worn the rest of the weekend), and found a few familiar faces. Let the hugs begin! The party had actually been going since Thursday, but a lot of people came on Friday like me. I had heard there would be hors d’oeuvres, which there were, but I didn’t realize there would be a cash bar, and I didn’t bring my purse. I needed water, and a very lovely person offered to buy me a bottle. Thank you! ♥ Did some mingling, and enjoyed watching the ice-breakers — a spanking version of Musical Chairs, and then a truly demented scavenger hunt where we all got into teams and were asked to come up with the craziest things (your best drawing rendition of the Last Supper? Three different colored socks tied together end to end??). My team came in dead last — boooooo! But we gave it our best try.

This gathering was over a little after six, and the party suites would be open at eight, so I decided to go back to my room to chill out a bit. They had asked for volunteers to help during the party, and one of the requests was taking shifts as door guards, making sure only those of our party came in. (The security at this event was amazing! They were so thorough — there was no chance of party-crashers.) I had signed up to do the 9:00-10:00 shift, in front of the elevator. I figured it would be the perfect way to get to see everyone.

I changed my clothes, put on makeup, and headed to the G suites. The entire G building was ours and ours alone, so we could make all the noise we wanted. They had two party suites directly across the hall from one another, and so the guests meandered back and forth (and also hung out in the hallway when the rooms got too crowded).

What can I tell you about the first day/night? You already know it — greetings, greetings, and more greetings! A million hugs! Oh, that felt so good. There were faces I didn’t recognize, but also plenty of the ones I knew, and it was so good to see everyone again. I grabbed a spot on one of the couches while I could, and just observed things for a while until I had to go take my guard post. Each of the two rooms had bins filled with ice and water/drinks, plus other bins of snacks. All were portion controlled, individual packages, which made it a lot healthier than having communal dishes of candy and what have you. I think (?) they had beers, but the huge spread of all kinds of liquor was no longer. Which is for the best, I believe.

Anyway, I ended up next to a man who looked familiar — that happens a lot at these weekends — but I don’t recall meeting before. His name was Matt; he seemed to know me, and chatted with me a bit. He asked if I’d played yet, I said no, and then mentioned that I was due to do a guard shift in about fifteen minutes. “Well,” he said, “would you like a warm-up scene, first of the weekend?” He seemed nice — why not? I almost never do my first and last scenes with people I don’t know, but what the hell, I was doing everything differently this time. He took me into one of the bedroom and gave me a lovely hand spanking. And what was I thinking the whole time? (“Why have I not played with this man before??”) He was awesome! Perfect technique, and not super hard, which was just what I needed at the outset of things. Great start!

Then I was off to sit by the elevator. I was joined by JC, who was one of the security people for this party, and he and I chatted and caught up. I was right; sitting there was the perfect place to see everyone as they came and went. The halls were clamorous, with rambunctious bottoms striding up and down, singing 90s songs (Friday night was “90s night,” although I didn’t dress for it because I had no clue what to wear) and announcing that they could do whatever the hell they wanted. I got to greet lots of people, everyone who came by had their badge, and I enjoyed my shift, even when it extended past an hour because no one showed up to relieve us! JC went to find out what had happened, and it turned out that the shift change person was at the elevator downstairs! Oh well… no problem. I had been approached by a gentleman named Andy, with whom I’d played at the party in 2020 and enjoyed thoroughly. He asked when I would be sprung from my post, and he had that evil glint in his eye — what could he have in mind…

When I went back to the rooms and freshened up, he was waiting for me, and we went into one of the bedrooms to play. Oh, that was fun. He was playing with my skirt, slightly lifting it, yanking it back down, inching it up again, then down again… I said, “You know, you can lift that, it’s okay!” I mean, really, being spanked over clothes is so tedious. He just kept on teasing and I finally blurted, “Just lift the damn thing already!” (Oh, Erica, you’re so demure and ladylike.) And he did. A wonderful spanking ensued, and then, after he smoothed everything back in place, just like he’d done the last time, he swooped me up in his arms and twirled me around and around. I love that!

That was it for my play on Friday night, just two scenes. I was a little disappointed at the slow start, but figured I had to be patient. The weekend had just begun. Also, even though I knew the party was going to go long into the night, the long day finally crashed in on me and I started fading around 12:30. The FOMO part of me said, “Noooo, it’s too early, you can’t go, you’ll miss stuff!” But the reasonable adult part said, “There are two more days and nights. You’re exhausted. If you push to stay up later, you’ll just feel lousy.” So, I picked myself up and left, meandering back to my room. I think it was somewhere between 12:30-1:00 a.m. when I went to bed.

Saturday: Before I get into that, I should do a brief review of the strange nether region I found myself in at this party. I mean, for years, I knew where I stood at these things. People knew me. Or they knew of me. I had a solid group of regulars to hang with. I knew the drill of the events. I knew the hotel. Blah blah blah.

Now… all new territory. I was by myself. The venue and events were unfamiliar. And as for the group, that was a mix. A percentage of the people knew me. Another percentage knew of me. And yet another percentage knew neither — I was a stranger. And the weird part was that I didn’t know how those percentages fell. So every single time I walked into a room this weekend, I didn’t really know where I stood. And — I can’t keep emphasizing this enough — I didn’t have John to fall back on.

I suppose there are some thinking, “What’s the BFD?” That’s okay. I know I’m sounding a bit melodramatic. But those who know me, and know these parties, get it. It was weird. Not bad, not good, just… different and strange.

Anyway… I slept in on Saturday. This party had a lot of events scheduled all throughout the days. However, many of them were based on role play, age play, or both, and while those are hugely popular, that’s not a good fit for me. One event was for POC — I didn’t qualify for that. Another was FF — nope. So you get the picture. I didn’t attend too many things, so I had a lot of free time on my hands.

After showering and dressing, I realized that the day before, I hadn’t had a single proper meal. All I did was graze all day on snacks I brought to my room (peanuts, grapes, pretzels) a couple of hors d’oeuvres, and a Nutri-Grain bar in the party suite. I needed fuel. But… I didn’t have anyone to go to lunch with.

So what, Erica? You want lunch? Go take yourself to lunch.

The hotel had a very nice diner called Marilyn’s Café, and I meandered over there, getting a table by myself in the corner. There I sat, catching up with everything on my phone and enjoying a healthy breakfast. I’m not usually one to take pictures of my food, but I thought my breakfast was unusually picturesque. Egg white omelet with veggies, fruit cup, multi-grain toast with jam, and really good coffee. Great service, too!

Almost forgot — before lunch, I ran into M in the hallway. I had discovered a blister forming on my toe, which I didn’t want to get worse, so I had called the hotel to see if they had Band-Aids. They did not. But when I found M and mentioned needing a Band-Aid, she said she had some, so we went back to her room to get one for me. And then of course I realized I hadn’t put my badge on, so we traipsed back to my room to get it! (There was a lot of walking this weekend. Which is fine by me, since that’s the only working out I did.) Then I went with her to the gift shop so she could buy a bottle of water, and we parted company.

There was a vendor fair starting at 3:00 in the suites, so I went back to my room after I ate and got ready to attend that. Upon leaving my room, I saw Madame Samantha lingering in the hallway. She was waiting for assistance, having locked herself out of her room. I ended up hanging out with her until she was let in, and then went into her room and we spent the next hour chatting and catching up. She then headed to shoot with Sarah Gregory, and I headed down to the vendor fair. That was pretty low-key. But the main event of the day was ahead. On my way back to my room, I ran into my friends K and Adalia from Jillian’s Discord group in the lobby — they had come on a one-day pass so they could attend the Saturday night festivities. Enthusiastic hugs ensued.

The return of the ballroom dinner/dance! Dressing up! The Vegas parties had not done this for many years, so it was like a throwback to another time. They had a very cool backdrop set up so people could take pictures, and we were all encouraged to dress our finest. Soooo… I pulled out a dress I had buried in my closet, one I’d only worn once, and that was to a BDSM dungeon event. Over the top? You bet. Perfect for this? Yup. When it was time, I got dressed, put on full makeup, primped and fussed with my hair, and then I was ready to go. First, of course, I took a selfie for John, so he could be the first to see me.

Yes, it was covered with sequins. And you can’t see it, but it had a tie-up, corset-style back. How did I get myself into it without someone to tie it for me? It wasn’t easy. I had pre-tied it perfectly before putting it on, and then I just struggled into it. When there’s a will, there’s a way.

I made my way to the main building and then upstairs to our ballroom — gorgeous! People were milling around inside and in the hallway, and I greeted several friends. We all looked so good! Men in suits, women in gorgeous dresses — festive and fun! Here’s a shot with three friends — Jada on the left OKed showing her face, while M and S preferred to remain anonymous. Aren’t we spiffy?

There was a lot of oohing and aahing over each other’s outfits, and pretty soon, people were lining up to take pictures in front of the backdrop. My friend K was in a stunning, off the shoulder white sequined dress, and with me in a black sequined dress, I just had to get a shot with her. Can’t show her pretty face, but trust me, she is such a cutie! ♥

I also took a picture with one of my favorite tops, who I’ve mentioned in several party blogs — Roy. Soooo good to see him again! But he said, “Don’t put this on the internet,” and I must respect that. More on him later.

I wandered about a little, saying hello to people and exclaiming over their clothes. The stunning Snow Mercy was there — with her dog! A poodle puppy. Of course I had to pet her, and she chewed on my hand and gave me kisses. I saw Sarah G and her new hubby John Osborne — we talked briefly, and she said something unexpected that touched me. If I ever changed my mind about shooting again, they’d have me back in a heartbeat — she said no one plays the bratty wife quite like me. Damn. I’m not going to take her up on it — there is no going back — but that was sweet to hear. ♥ John took a picture of Sarah and me — she was in purple sequins — but I haven’t gotten that.

We chose our tables/seats and sat, watching people mill about the backdrop, greeting one another. I sat between Jada and TallAndStrict (AKA the artist formerly known as Ralph Marvell). I should mention that we hadn’t seen Jada in many years and it was such a treat catching up with her and hanging out. We first met her in 2009. Some things never change — these parties are such a whirlwind of faces, past and present, and they all come at you so quickly. I hope I’m remembering everyone.

The buffet dinner was very nice, with something for everyone, including vegetarian and healthy choices. And for dessert, they had an assortment of mini-pastries, all kinds of goodies, each one about two-three bites (yours truly took three of them, thank you very much). There was a cash bar, but I just drank water. I usually like to have a glass of champagne at some point at these parties, but I eschewed that this weekend, being alone. John always watches out for me when I get a little tipsy.

And speaking of John… in the spirit of honest reporting, the bad with the good, I had my first droppy moment after dinner. The music and dancing started, and people filled the dance floor. Not everyone went up there — in fact, it was the same small group of people who danced nearly every dance. Because the music was nearly all the same style. In the past, the dance selections have been a mix, with current blending with classics for those of us of the AARP persuasion. Not so this time. So I sat at the table, thinking okay, I’ll just talk with people, but it was too loud with the music to hear yourself talk. At that moment, I missed John fiercely. I wanted him there with me. And I could feel my mood plunging.

Okay, Erica. What now? You could stay here and be miserable, hoping for a different outcome, or you can exit, go back to your room, and get ready for the party suites. What’s it going to be?

I chose to leave. It was getting near the end of the ballroom time anyway. I’d made my appearances, had my dinner, gotten my pictures. Time to keep moving on. And to get some play in already!

I changed into a more casual dress, traded in my pumps for flat sandals, and went to the party suites, which were hopping. The night is a blur now, but I know I played three more times. The first time was with T&S, who I have not played with in many years. We had some fun reminiscing about when we first met, and how he’d autographed my butt with a Sharpie. I said I should have never washed my butt again, which cracked up the entire room around us. After that, I watched a beautiful double-team scene with Zoey on a massage table (they had a couple of tables set up in each suite, for flogging/caning/strapping scenes), and when I complimented John O. afterwards, he said, “Wanna be next? Hop up.” Sure! Hadn’t played with him for a long time either. It was a fun, floaty scene, lots of different implements and sensations, finishing with some caning (not hard, though — more sensual, which was perfect). Yum!

And then there was Roy. I was chatting away with a few people when I saw him come in. He caught my eye and winked at me, but didn’t approach yet. But I knew he would. Sure enough, soon, he walked behind me, brushing my shoulder on the way, peeked into one of the bedrooms, then gestured for me to follow him in there. “Excuse me,” I cheerfully told my friends as I exited the conversation.

As always, he was worth the wait. So good. Not a complicated scene, just a good long OTK hand spanking, but our chemistry is amazing. He could have gone on for hours and I wouldn’t have complained. Every time I thought the scene was winding down, he’d say, “Few more?” I’d say “Yes, please,” and it would continue. It was interspersed with caresses and snippets of conversation, easy, comfortable. I love love LOVE when a scene comes together so perfectly.

Sadly, I didn’t get to play with him again. The poor guy woke up the next day feeling sick to his stomach and he took an early flight home. (No, it wasn’t COVID; I checked on him later.) Maybe he had a touch of food poisoning. But at least we had one wonderful scene.

After that, I figured that was my high note for the night, so I didn’t play anymore. I did stay in the suites for a while longer, though. Piper plopped down on the couch next to me at some point and we had a bit of catch-up talk — she and JC are two of my favorite people. But then she was unceremoniously hauled away by Mistress Josephine for a caning, which she bratted all the way through. It was hilarious.

And there it was, that moment where you realize you’re tired AF, you’re running on fumes, but you don’t want to leave because you’re having fun and you might miss something. That hit me about 2:30 a.m., sitting around with a group of friends who all looked as exhausted as I was, but no one was making a move to leave. (“Lightweight! Sleep is overrated! The party is still going!”) But. I couldn’t sleep super late, because there was Strict Dave’s Spanking Court the next morning. I still had one more full day. So once again, Adult Erica took charge, and I bid everyone goodnight.

damn, this is long…

Sunday: After finally getting to sleep at nearly 4:00 a.m., the alarm the next morning was particularly rude. But Dave’s Court is a no-miss, a party staple. So I straggled out of bed, showered and dressed, and went to the hotel coffee shop for some caffeine fortification. Unfortunately, everyone else had the same idea, and the line was long. (groan) So I stood there, semi-comatose, and waited my turn, finally getting some coffee and making my way to the room where Court was taking place. I needn’t have worried about being late, though — there was a hiccup, a missing power cord. One of the party organizers had to hunt one down, which took a while, and we started 40 minutes late. But of course, it was well worth the wait. The usual assortment of funny, bizarre cases, and Dave was his brilliant, dry-witted self.

In the past, I have often been taken to Court for various bratty things, and always had fun pleading my case. This year, I was not. I didn’t expect to be, of course, but it still felt a little sad. It was also kind of sad to me to realize that, watching all the cases ensue, I did not know most of the participants. Ch-ch-changes…

After Court ended, the strange feelings remained. Once again, I felt at a loss for what to do next. Usually, this would be the time John and I went to a late lunch with our friend M or whoever else happened to be going. I tried mingling a bit, but it seemed that every conversation I tried to enter fell flat. No matter what I did, this was how I felt at the moment.

(Perfect image, no?)

I had one interesting encounter — the day before, a very nice man had approached me, looked at me quizzically, and said, “You’re kinda famous, aren’t you?” I laughed and made the “so-so” gesture with my hand. I guess he figured it out, because then he came up with me with a couple of young women in tow and enthusiastically introduced them to me, saying I was a “famous spanking model” and that I had been “immortalized” in caricature. He then pulled up a picture on his phone to show them — aaaaand there I was, in all my Dave Wolfe glory, from one of his birthday toons for me:

That was flattering… but also kind of awkward. I mean, that picture is fourteen years old. Shortly after that, someone accidentally bumped me and splashed a cup of water down the front of my sundress. (No biggie; it was only water.) And as I looked around, figuring that was my cue to leave, I didn’t see anyone I knew — people had dispersed. And I really, really didn’t want to go to lunch alone once again.

It seems every party has a moment of emotional meltdown. This was mine. All the insecurities, missing John, feeling old, wondering where I fit in, etc., etc., ad nauseam came rolling in waves… and I went back to my room and cried. Here it was Sunday afternoon and I’d only played five times, didn’t have a mark on me — that was unheard of. I texted John, saying it was a good party, but I was lonely and missed him and was struggling at the moment. At least I didn’t lose it in front of anyone. He texted back and then I settled down a bit.

Okay, Erica. Two things left — the afternoon pool party, and the Sunday night party blowout. You can sit in the room and feel sorry for yourself, or you can take a few deep breaths, shake it off, rest, and then get ready for the pool.

I had some snacks, then briefly napped. The pool party was from 4:00 to 7:00, so that was a nice break time and one in which I pulled myself together and was determined to make the most of what was left. In yet another burst of courage, I donned a bikini that I haven’t worn in twenty years, put my sundress over it, and went to the lap pool, which had been reserved just for our party.

Well. Things turned around after that. That pool party was so. Much. Fun. Of course, since it was an outdoor pool on hotel grounds, we couldn’t play. But we could make all the noise we wanted, be silly, say whatever wanted without being overheard. I’m not sure how many of us ended up at this gathering, but we all splashed around, playing water volleyball and riding around on inflatable pool toys. It was about 110 degrees, and the pool water felt exquisite.

And speaking of pool toys, our good friend IMLX had brought what is apparently the mascot of the Seattle spanking group — Sea Chad, the Wonder Whale. Sea Chad is gender fluid and has their own account on FetLife. I got to ride SC twice, once by myself, and once with two other women behind me on SC’s back. I do have a picture of that, but the other women in the picture wished not to be publicized, and they look so damn cute that I didn’t want to blur their faces, so I think I’ll just keep that private. But here’s a shot of me on a pink flamingo, with Sea Chad photo-bombing behind me. (Photo by IMLX)

Side note about Sea Chad: When I was riding SC, IMLX was pushing me around the pool, and he was going to back me up to get me away from the volleyball players. As he did so, he bellowed, “Backing up the whale!” To which I yelled, “Hey! I resent that!” (Yup, he’s never going to live that one down…)

I wandered about in the water, striking up conversations, and had several very nice ones. Saw one of the veteran members, Amy, and we had a sweet chat, sharing memories of Tony Elka. Got to catch up with my video hubby Stephen Lewis a bit. I also introduced myself to one of the party organizers (FetLife name Melville) and we had a great talk. She told me all about how this venue came to be, and how instrumental Eve Howard had been in helping them snag it. After we were banned from the Suncoast (and I still don’t know exactly why), finding a new, kink-friendly venue was a challenge. So this was a huge coup, and they worked hard for it, this new Oasis team. Kudos to them. I told her how impressed I was with how well organized everything was, and she was grateful to hear that.

I stayed in the pool until 6:45 and my fingers looked like prunes. Got out, dried off, put my sundress and shoes back on, and made my way back to my room. There had been hot dogs and grilled cheese sandwiches from Shake Shack provided at the pool, but I had passed on that. So once again, I didn’t eat a proper meal on Sunday. But it was okay. I had KIND bars and peanuts for protein, grapes for energy, and chocolate, so I had all the important food groups.

Here’s a bit of weirdness: right before the party, I had a fresh pedicure. (My polish was called Lucky Red; perfect for Vegas!) I went into that pool with ten perfect toenails. Nearly three hours later, I looked down and saw that the polish on two of my nails was completely gone. Not chipped — I mean gone. WTF? Did the chlorine eat off my polish? That’s a little scary. And so much for keeping the pedicure nice for a while! *grumble*

I showered and washed my hair, got into a casual Sunday night outfit, and headed for the final party later that evening. I had decided I was going to play through, and not go to bed. I needed to call for an Uber around 4:00 a.m., and there was no point in trying to get a couple of hours’ sleep. I’d just stay up until it was time to leave, go pack and check out, and go straight to the airport and home. I could sleep once I got there. That decided, I stopped by the gift shop on my way there for a 20-oz. bottle of Diet Coke, for the caffeine.

I’d made another decision. Throughout the weekend, I’d felt off and uncomfortable because I wasn’t getting a lot of requests to play. There were a lot of handsome young men, new to me, who I would have loved to play with, but there was no way I was going to ask them. And a lot of my old favorite familiars weren’t there. But by Sunday night, I thought, screw it. You want to play? Ask, dammit. The men are as intimidated as you are, especially in the party climate now, post #MeToo and the huge and devastating uproar that blew through our scene last year.

With that in mind, I found a comfy couch spot in one of the suites and struck up a chat with the man sitting next to me (FetLife name: Joker10). He was not new, but hadn’t been to the parties for a while. I had watched him doing a Florentine flogging the night before and was impressed with his technique. He was a lot of fun to talk with and we covered a lot of topics. He asked me if I liked flogging, and I said yes, very much, but it’s hard to find people who can do it well. He said he would be getting his toy bag later, and I thought, there you go, Erica. There’s your Sunday night end-the-party flogging. Lovely. I told him I’d see him later, and he said, “Okay. Behave yourself.” To which I said, “What for??” I mean, really? Was there any other answer?

IMLX and I had been chatting on and off all weekend and he made a point of telling me, “Find me on Sunday night so we can play!” He knows how distracted he gets and he didn’t want the opportunity to pass. So when I was sitting and chatting with Jada, I saw him come in, and beckoned him over. “So are we going to play, or what?” He assured me that we were, but first, he was being called upon to take a picture of someone’s scene, and then he was all mine! Okay… I waited for that, and then he approached once again, rambling about how busy he’d been and how time had gotten away from him as usual and so on and on… “Yeah, yeah, blah blah blah, let’s go!” I interrupted. (You have to understand my relationship with IMLX — it’s much the same as a lot of the other bottoms. He is a great guy, a great player, and one hell of a great sport, because we all give him shit like you wouldn’t believe. But he knows we love him.) T&S overheard that, burst out laughing and said, “You never change, do you!” “NO!” I hurled back on my way into the bedroom.

Oh, damn, that was such a fun scene. It’s been a long time since the two of us played, and I have to say, his hand is wayyyyyy stronger! Years ago, we played at Boardwalk Badness and I very slightly assed his hand. (You’d think it was blistered and bleeding beyond recognition, the way the poor dear was carrying on.) No such occurrence now! But of course, variety is the spice of scenes, so he took off his belt too. Delicious. Wonderful long scene, loud and exuberant and filled with laughs. I felt that unmitigated joy once again. There is nothing like it.

After that, I wandered about the suites, had a bit more chit-chat, and then saw Paul Kennedy. You all know how much I love playing with Paul. I don’t know why I was being so reticent, waiting for him to ask — probably because he usually does. He has a way of just coming up to me in a crowded room and spiriting me away with a beckoning finger. However, when that didn’t happen, I thought, well, you wanna wait passively and see if it does, or do you wanna be proactive? Since the theme of the weekend was the latter, I asked him. And of course, he said yes, no hesitation. *beaming*

We chose a bedroom, I took down my cropped jeans, and settled in for a long OTK hand spanking. He built me up slowly, lighter at first, then adding in flurries of fast and hard, going down onto the upper thighs as well. After a nice long while of that, I heard him murmuring to me to get up, so I pushed myself up, and saw that he had laid out pillows on the bed for me to lie on. Then he showed me a wicked-looking two-tongue tawse. Gulp.

Without preamble, he calmly asked me a simple question: “Do you want marks?” I didn’t have to think about it. My answer was: “From you? Yes.”

Oh my. Ow ow ow. That thing really had a fierce bite. Especially on my thighs. I called forth all my fortitude for the last set of strokes, delivered evenly, measured, perfect. As Paul always is. ♥

Another side note, speaking of Paul: Have I mentioned how freaking adorable Alex Reynolds looked every time I saw her? I haven’t? Well, she did. It seems she is living her very best life these days, happily married and in love, a loving stepmom, a beautiful new home (filled with cats!), all the good things. It made me happy to see. It brought back memories of being at their wedding, which had been a complete joy for both John and me.

And finallyyyyyyy (Jesus, it’s about time, Erica) — I floated out of the bedroom, where I saw Joker10 wrapping up a flogging scene, so I plunked myself down on the carpet nearby and waited my turn. I didn’t have to wait long. After stripping down to my underwear, I laid on the massage table. He took one look and said, “Wow, you’ve been a bad girl.” Why, yes, yes I have! He asked some questions about limits, and showed me a pair of gloves with long silver claws at each finger, asked if some sensual play was okay with those. You know, I don’t usually like sharp things. They scare me. But there was something about this guy that made me instantly trust him. I can’t explain it; it’s just one of those things that happens, and I went with it. So I said yes.

WOWWWWW. My instincts did not fail me. J10 was wonderful with the floggers, and then, he ran the claws carefully over me — up and down my back, into my hair, down my legs, and yes, on my tender butt. It felt shivery and sensual and a little tickle-y and a lot very good. Perfect, perfect end-of-party scene. “What planet are you on?” he asked as he wrapped it up. “Mars,” I mumbled. He brought me a piece of chocolate for my blood sugar, and I took my time savoring it before I finally got up and put my clothes back on.

But wait, there’s more. (Whaaat? Oh, FFS… Sorry, readers. Just a little longer.)

Throughout the evening, I’d been running into Piper, who said that JC wanted to play with me (to which I said most emphatically yes), but he was working security and we kept missing one another. Now it was quarter to three and I was walking around saying my goodbyes. JC thought I was just saying goodnight — he didn’t know I was leaving for the airport. “Can we do a quick scene before you go to bed?” he asked. I said I wasn’t going to bed, this was it, I was on my way to the airport after I packed. “Oh, then we have to do a quick scene! I won’t make you late!” Sure. Let’s do it.

What a great little scene — did I mention I really love JC and Piper? He then announced, “I’m making this quick because I know your time is limited and you have to get going, so I don’t want to read anything on your blog about how JC sucks, that I end scenes too early!” I laughed… yeah, like I’d ever say that. You reading this, JC? You rock!

And then that was it, the final round of goodbyes. Went back to my room, where I had already piled everything up neatly, ready to throw into my bags. But of course, I had to get a selfie of my butt first! I mean, I hadn’t gotten any butt shots all weekend, and it’s not a spanking party without that.

Nine scenes in three days. Not as much as usual. But then again, I don’t know if I could have taken a whole lot more. And they were all good scenes. I’m not complaining.

Had to leave the flowers, sadly. Checked out, and then sat outside at 4:00 a.m., the air hot and thick and muggy, and called my Uber. They dropped me right off at the Southwest entrance, I checked my bag, did the TSA check-in, and went to my gate. What did I see right in front of it? A 24-hour Einstein’s Bagels kiosk. At that moment, at that ungodly hour, not having eaten and existing on fumes, nothing sounded more exquisite than a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel with jam and a cup of hot coffee. So I waited in line, bought my treat, then sat down, plugged in my phone, and wolfed down the bagel. After that, I just relaxed, too tired to read anything, until my flight at 6:30. This time, I got an aisle seat. Good thing, because that half-hour squeezed into that tiny seat with my sore butt and my aching exhausted body was one of the most uncomfortable half hours I could imagine! Christ, how did I manage to fly home from shoots back East?? But then it was over, I got my bag, and shuttled to my car. When I staggered in my front door, it was 8:30. I sent a few “I’m home!” texts, and then I went straight to bed, where I slept six hours.

Aaaaand you know the rest. That was Monday. Tuesday and Wednesday I was slam-jammed with work, Wednesday night I started feeling bad, and Thursday morning I tested positive. I have been home for the past several days — no John this past weekend. I had a couple of really uncomfortable days, slept a lot, and then it dissipated into feeling like a mild flu or cold. I’ve been able to work, which was very good, because I was so busy. Now I’m caught up. And as of this moment, I’ve had no fever all day, I still have a deep cough but it’s not out of control, and I haven’t taken any Advil or Tylenol all day (whereas I took it around the clock before). So I’d say I had a mild case. Thank goodness for vaccinations and boosters. Oh — and if a positive spin can possibly be put on COVID? I’ve been too damn sick to feel any post-party drop!

It was a weekend of myriad experiences, old and new, happy and sad. Many emotions. But again, absolutely no regrets. I’d do it all over again.

I am damn proud of myself.

Thank you, Oasis. See you in February. ♥

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. ♥

Been a while…

Almost two months, to be exact. So what’s been going on? In the past couple of months, John and I celebrated our 25th anniversary together, and I had another birthday. The latter was last week and there were many fun treats and surprises. If I tried to list everything I received, I’d probably forget someone or something and cause hurt feelings, so I’ll just say I loved everything!

Oh, and the wonderful Dave Wolfe immortalized me yet again in another birthday toon! I love these so much. And love you, Wolfie!!

I mentioned this on his blog, but I really do appreciate the chesticular enhancements he gave me.

In non-birthday present news, a friend on Twitter sent me (gulp) a personalized clothes brush. You know, like a hairbrush, but bigger and heavier?

I was very tickled and touched by this, but ya know, I need to be careful who I allow to handle this. Clothes brushes are mean little mofos! The last time I had an encounter with one, I ended up like this:

Ow. The same gentleman also sent me a DVD he’d burned for me with several hours of Beatles footage, including “Yellow Submarine” (which I haven’t seen since I was a kid) and the wonderful documentary “The Compleat Beatles” (which I haven’t seen since I had it on VHS in the 80s). How cool is that?

Back to the birthday — okay, so I got flowers and chocolates and cake and bubble bath and jigsaw puzzles and coffee cups and facial mask and candles and a UPS (Uninterruptible Power Supply) and and and and… but no spanking. (sigh) However! That is going to be rectified, belatedly. My friend C from Oregon is coming for another visit! I will be seeing him Monday morning. Squeeee! He has promised to make this one “challenging” (what, the last one wasn’t??), and said I should get as much work done as possible this week because next week I won’t feel like sitting. Oy… I’m screwed. And I love it. Can’t wait.

Stay tuned for a play report next week!

In other news, I have deactivated from FetLife, for personal reasons. That cuts out yet another connection to our community — but right now, the spanking community is so fractured, I wonder if it will ever be whole again. (sigh) I wish I had a local posse like I used to… and ways to connect with them without having to wade through the cesspool that is Alt.com. I met with a man from there last week; he was nice enough, but a total mismatch. I have made it crystal clear that I am a spanking fetishist, that this isn’t about sex for me, and that I seek men who feel the same way and would enjoy a spanking scene as much as I do. This guy? All about sex. But “open-minded” and willing to learn to do something if it turned me on. (sigh again) Guys… that’s not the same thing. I appreciate the thought, but it’s absolutely not the same. I don’t want you to play with me because that’s what I like, and meanwhile, you’re fantasizing about post-spanking blowjob. Also, at this stage in my life, I really don’t want to play teacher. I want to be able to relax into a session and know I’m in experienced and good hands.

Where are the spankos? I know you’re out there, dammit!! I am here waiting for you…

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