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 “rambling”

The ephemeral nature of kink intimacy: Can it be real?

And if it can, how do you know when it is?

ephemeral

[ ih-fem-er-uhl ]SHOW IPA

adjective

lasting a very short time; short-lived; transitory:

the ephemeral joys of childhood.

 

lasting but one day:
an ephemeral flower.

 

(Why do you show off so damn much with your million-dollar words, Erica?) I can’t help it. I like them. But you can’t complain if I provide the definition, right?

37k83l

Note: I’m aware that many of my readers are married to or monogamously involved with their spankers, and don’t play with others. This post is more for those who do play with others, whether or not they have a primary relationship… a situation that can be a lot more confusing. Leave it to me to choose the more complicated route.

According to general societal patterns (you know, those “normal” people), here’s the blueprint: Couples meet, however they meet. They exchange names. They talk, share basic information. In the course of a few hours, a few phone calls, a few dates, whatever, they learn more about one another. Preferences of all kinds. Music/book/movie tastes. Political leanings. Fears. Hopes. Dreams. Failures. The jigsaw puzzle of personality gets filled in, a piece at a time. In the course of this time, there are physical exchanges, often starting with kisses. Then a little more, and a little more, until we have full-on sexual intimacy.

Now we kinksters, we do everything ass backwards (word play intended). Oftentimes, basic vetting aside, we play first and ask questions later. We have physical intimacy first. Instead of that slow burn of growing attracted to one another as we learn more, we burn hot from the get-go, act on chemistry over personal knowledge, invite others into our homes, our beds, our bodies, our playrooms, etc. before we’ve even begun to invite them into our hearts or our day-to-day lives. Oftentimes, that last part doesn’t happen.

Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. It’s kind of hot. If I wanted to go the traditional route, I would have. I tried it for many years. It’s overrated.

Funny and perfect case in point: When D came over a few weeks ago, we’d met only once, and briefly. Essentially, I brought a strange man into my home, my space. I felt completely okay with that. We played. We had intense and close-up contact. I laid myself out, physically and emotionally. He inflicted both pain and pleasure. He saw me raw and open, exposed.

Afterward, when I was lying on the couch bare-ass naked with him massaging lotion into me, I dreamily turned my head and asked, “What’s your last name?”

He told me. I told him mine. And the massage continued.

I’ve been doing this for so long, this feels perfectly normal. But I know there are tons of people out there who would be shocked at the idea of someone seeing their bare ass (not to mention exposed genitalia) before said someone learns their full, real name.

This is what I call “pseudo-intimacy.” It’s an intimacy quickly forged out of a strong cocktail of physical attraction and a shared desire, a common bond of kink. But is it real intimacy — whatever the hell that is? And if it isn’t, can it become so? When does a play partnership cross over into a real friendship, a relationship of sorts, where people care about one another?

Most of you know the story of how John and I met. I placed an ad; he answered it. We chatted once on the phone. And then we met for coffee. We talked at Starbucks until they closed, then went for a walk. He ended up pulling me over his leg in the alley behind Starbucks and spanking me, until we heard the telltale jingle of a leash and a man appeared, walking his dog (and getting quite the eyeful). We then proceeded to John’s vehicle where he spanked me some more, gave me an orgasm, and he took my panties, claiming I’d have to see him again if I wanted them back.

This is not your typical “first date.” We were both seeing other people at the time.

Cut to the present — on August 30, we’ll be together 23 years. Somehow, that initial pseudo-intimacy became real, blossomed into something much fuller. It can happen.

But it’s complicated. Because of the nature of what we do, it’s easy to confuse pseudo-intimacy for something real. It’s easy to fall for the actions, thinking you’re falling for the person. When in fact you really don’t know them at all.

I remember my very first spanker. Saw him a total of three times, played twice. Paul. I never did learn his last name. But he changed my life. In one afternoon, in the time span of no more than an hour, he put me on a path of no return, opened me to a vast new world to explore and experience. That first spanking meant more to me than losing my virginity did.

At the time, I remember feeling like I’d fallen in love with Paul. But even then, in my haze of hormones and endorphins and wonder, I knew that wasn’t it. Of course I wasn’t in love with him. I was in love with what he gave me. But of course, sometimes, when your emotions get involved, it’s hard to compartmentalize it like that. The boundaries blur. Your mind says one thing, your body says another, and your heart says yet another.

No wonder so many scene relationships go sideways.

I have been thinking back on some of my play partnerships over the years, many of which have been chronicled in my blogs. All the time I’ve been with John, I’ve played with other men, all with his blessing. I am lucky that way. A lot of these partnerships simply faded away, due to various life circumstances. A couple, I really regret losing. Two come to mind that did indeed blossom into real friendship, much more than just the physical act of getting together to play.

Danny Chrighton and I were play partners for over three years. But we were also the best of friends. We didn’t just play. We hung out. We did stuff together. He and John were buddies. Our play chemistry was awesome, but beyond that, our closeness was true. He knew me, and I knew him. There was mutual trust and respect. And the only thing that ended it was distance, when he moved out of state. I loved him. I still do. I miss what we had, to this day, even though I haven’t seen him in years.

Then there was ST. Same deal, we met through an online ad, got together to play. From the beginning, we were consistent; he came over every Monday evening. We hung out and talked after playing. Our play was sometimes edgy, dancing on the boundaries and limits, maybe at times a little scary… because I trusted him. I knew within that he would never really hurt me. And on the flip side, we had our silly times, like when he showed up at my place on Halloween, masked and dressed as “Super Spanko.” I knew all kinds of odds and ends about him; the farming community, population 350, he’d grown up in; the names of all his siblings; how much he adored his dog.

We were friends/play partners for over two years. And… then he met someone. There was a mutual attraction, a couple of dates. He told her about me. She said, “I don’t think I like that.”

And just like that, we were done. The last time we played, I wept. I told him I loved him. He said he loved me too, and he always would. But then I never saw him again.

Does that mean that what we had wasn’t real? Is something real when it can be tossed aside so easily? Or is that simply just another sad fact about the nature of relationships? I don’t know.

I bear him no resentment. I did hear from him briefly once, via email. He’d bought a house. I hope he found happiness. He was a good guy; he deserved it.

I suppose the point of all this rambling is — damn. I’ve been doing this for over twenty-three years, and I still get muddled and mixed up emotionally over what’s real and what’s simply born of the intense, instant intimacy and vulnerability. And if I still get taken in by it, how the hell do scene newbies handle it?? How do they navigate the sea of feelings that can be stirred up when you put yourself into someone else’s hands? When they cut through layers and layers of outer bullshit and go straight to your core? When you gift each other with trust and vulnerability, and then it’s gone as quickly as it came?

In a perfect world, pseudo-intimacy would indeed develop into something more real, and more lasting. We could keep those wonderful feelings and experience them again and again. Where real life wouldn’t take them away. Where no matter what relationships go in and out of each person’s life, the core friendships and caring remain.

Is that too much to ask for? I know some say that I don’t have a right to expect this: that I have a relationship, so I shouldn’t want for this too. Well, guess what. I do anyway. I guess I will never stop yearning for it. Because I know it’s possible. And don’t ask me what the man is getting out of it, if he’s not my primary relationship. I sure hope to hell that all the men who have been my play partners over the years got something out of it.

Because I sure did, and I don’t think we could have connected as deeply if they didn’t.

Anyway. I should be working. But sometimes, I just have to ramble. And hope that it resonates with someone out there. Thoughts, anyone? Your own experiences with this?

So anyway…

I feel like I want to write something here, even though I’m not sure what that is. I used to think I had to have something special, something of interest or intrigue, to post, but perhaps this blog can also be a place for me to ramble.

I miss playing. I really do. No, it’s not physically essentially like air, food and water. But it is emotionally essential. It’s a part of my makeup. Even when times are funky and I’m down, the cravings come when I least expect them.

People ask, “Isn’t there anyone available to play with you?” That’s not the question. It’s more like “with whom I want to play.” Because despite my neediness, I still prefer quality. I would rather go without than settle for an experience that doesn’t fulfill me. That’s the weird dichotomy of spanking, for me. The good ones can be so rich, so intensely wonderful and memorable in every way. But the not-so-hot ones? They are almost repulsive. It’s like having sex with someone you’re not drawn to. Why would you? Just for the sensation of being screwed? I’ll never want sex — or spanking — that much.

And, unfortunately due to circumstances of recent times, I do not feel safe or comfortable seeking what I need. Because the last time I admitted to neediness, to vulnerability, it bit me in the ass. Not in a fun, sexy way, either. So even though there are those I would indeed enjoying seeing for some play, I will not be the one to ask.

Regarding the party at the end of February… because I know how the gossip train is in this scene, I figured my hesitation about it would get back to the host, and his feelings would be hurt, which I do not want. So I headed things off at the pass and wrote him a long message, explaining what was going on with me and that my desire to withdraw from everything had absolutely nothing to do with him and I loved him dearly. He wrote back to me with such sweet words, I wept. I am a treasured friend and the party wouldn’t be the same without me. That he really wants me to be there, so please, please come.

So. I booked our room. That has to be done in advance. As for the rest, I have a month and a half to think about it. Everyone says I should go. Part of me wants to, so much. But the ugly, bleak voice within that seems to have taken over in recent weeks keeps saying no.

What else am I thinking about… oh, just random stuff. Like, remember I mentioned watching the Twilight Zone marathon over New Year’s? We happened to catch “It’s a Good Life.” Y’all know that one, don’t you? It’s the classic about the town that is being held hostage by a monstrous child, six-year-old Anthony Fremont? A child with too much power, but a complete dearth of empathy or caring? Who hates everyone who doesn’t like him, eliminates necessary things simply because he doesn’t care for them? Just one tiny little man-child, running the town according to his whims, making everyone suffer.

I was especially remembering the part where the party guest gets drunk and loses it, pleading tearfully to the others in the room to please, PLEASE, somebody, grab something heavy when he’s not looking and lay it across his skull, and end this once and for all?? Of course, no one did, but they all wanted to. The poor guy died for his outburst. And then for good measure, the little bastard changed the weather so it would ruin all the crops.

Why am I thinking about this so much? Eh, no particular reason…

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Social media, spankos, and me

It’s not secret that I’m a bit of a social media addict. I currently have nearly 15,000 tweets on Twitter (I’m not proud of this, BTW). I enjoy Twitter; it’s a fun way to stay connected with everything that’s going on, and I’ve made some interesting friends on there. I stay out of the flame wars and enjoy the hashtag games. But of course, it’s limited. You can’t exactly be profound in 140 characters. And oftentimes, as I’ve said before, it feels like the 21st-century techno version of talking to yourself.

Then there’s Facebook. Vanilla land, although there are many spankos on there. I straddle two fences there. I use Erica Scott, as I do pretty much everywhere. But because I have many vanilla friends on there, or spanko friends under their vanilla names, I avoid spanking talk and photos. Oh, there’s hinting and playing at it. But I’m discreet. What do I like about FB? I love to play Scrabble and Words With Friends. I like looking at my friends’ pictures. I’m a sucker for all the cute animal videos. I like keeping up with the authors of spanking e-books, as I copy-edit several of them. But I can only hang around there so often. The political and religious stuff is hot and heavy there and I find myself getting angry. I realize that underneath my anger is a lot of fear over what the hell is happening to us and what’s going to happen, but I can’t fix that and immersing myself in it is not good for me and my depressive tendencies.

Aaaaand then there’s FetLife. From which I’m still deactivated, and have been for about a month now. It feels a little strange, like there’s a hole in my online life. But I feel like in many ways, going there was like beating a dead horse. It simply wasn’t what it used to be: a fun place to connect with all my kinky friends, talk about spanking, share thoughts and fantasies and memories, make new friends. FetLife currently has millions of members; I was member number 16,919. So we go way back.

There’s a lot I don’t miss on FetLife. For example:

  1. “[Our party] is the best/most well attended/most inclusive party and has the most cool kids and spanking models!” “No, [party B] is!” “No, [party C] is!” “[Your party] sucks!” “No, yours does!” “No, yours!” “You suck!” “No, you do!”
  2. Dick pics, twat shots and wide-open back door pictures where you can practically count the feet of intestines.
  3. Endless pontificating from the handful of “experts” who could post the Gettysburg Address and have it land on Kinky and Popular.
  4. Stuff like “[A well-known top] is awesome, and if you don’t like him, then fuck you!” Worship of false idols.
  5. The never-ending barrage of accusations — an almost daily report of whose consent got violated. There was an epic flame war over a woman who claimed her consent was violated at a private spanking party. Why? Because the host jokingly referred to her as “naughty.” I kid you not. This one did this, this one said that… and the result is when someone really is raped/violated, it’s not taken seriously.
  6. Inappropriate comments and insults on women’s pictures. I say “women” because I honestly haven’t seen them on men’s photos, but I’m sure those exist too. Treating the spanking models like they’re sexy life-sized dolls there for your entertainment, rather than like the real people they are.
  7. “Which celebrity would you like to spank/be spanked by?” “What’s your favorite implement/position/word for bottom?” “Is spanking sexual?” being brought up and discussed for the 11,527th time in a new thread.
  8. Flaming, bullying and sock puppetry. So many fakes that one never really knows who and what is real.

Oh, but… I do miss things too. Such as:

  1. The way the community could band together when someone is in need. A couple of years ago, a beloved long-time member of the scene had a massive heart attack and nearly died. He was incapacitated and couldn’t pay a lot of his immediate bills. A GoFundMe (or something similar, I can’t recall for sure) was organized for him, with a goal of $10,000. That was surpassed in just two days. I think they ended up with about $17,000 for him. Another member had serious complications with a high-risk pregnancy and ended up giving birth prematurely — she too nearly died. A collection was taken up for her as well.
  2. Fun, silly, playful stuff, friends enjoying each other. One of my favorites: when our friend Piper was “grounded” from FetLife and a bunch of us were pleading with her top to “free” her and let her come back. Some of us even taped little videos of our pleas, including yours truly. I actually sang.
  3. Post-party discussions about our favorite memories.
  4. My wall filled with greetings on my birthday.
  5. Unexpected messages/comments that brightened my day.
  6. Connecting with my friends and feeling “a part of.” Right now, I feel disconnected and sad. I feel unmissed and insignificant. But then again, they are probably feeling like I abandoned them. I read a depressing meme on Facebook recently: Something along the lines of “If your disappearance didn’t affect your friends’ lives, then your existence probably didn’t either.” Ugh. Not what I needed to see.

So where does one go to connect online with other kinksters? Is that a place that simply doesn’t exist anymore? Is it all about photos and hookups and parties and little else? Part of me wants to go back to FetLife; another part says, “Why?” I know I don’t want to just yet, not when the national party season is in full swing. I’m not going to any of them and I don’t need to read about them.

It’s all part of the “where do I go from here” thing I’ve been dealing with. I had a sense of belonging for a very long time, something I spent most of my life without. Now, I am questioning where I belong. With John, of course. With Steve. In video archives. But where else? That’s a rhetorical question — I’m not expecting any answers. The spanking community is and has been important to me for a long time, and I want to continue to be a part of it, to contribute to it. I’m just not sure how.

Anyway. Enough of this meandering. I have to go get a pedicure. Tomorrow, I’m going with John to his high school’s 40-year reunion and he wants to show off his “hot girlfriend.” (Looking at my sloppy self at the moment and thinking “WTF??”). I don’t think he needs me there, really. He has a good job, a good career, two residences, and will probably be the only guy there who is still fit and trim and has hair. But what the hell… it’s just a couple of hours. I won’t know anyone there, but I’ll smile and nod and fake my way through it. Like I did for years and years at his family events, of which we have been relieved, thank you very much. And I’ll get to go home with the best guy there. ♥

Have a great weekend, y’all.

So it’s come to this…

I have nothing to say. Work is slow, life is slow, nothing exciting coming up, slogging through holiday sludge for the next few weeks. Complete writer’s block. How sad.

I guess I could change the name of this blog to “Life, Love, Spanking and Utterly Boring Minutiae.” But that’s no fun to read.

I could find something to rant about, but honestly, I don’t feel like it. Too much negativity around lately.

So, when at a loss, the only thing left to do is post nekkid pictures.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

So here you go — me, with the other John I love watching over me. 🙂

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Monday morning ramblings

Not sure where I’m going with this, so just ride along with me if you will. I’m a bit scattered and my thoughts are going off in various directions.

As is often the case, I remain baffled by some of the ad replies I’m receiving. Not the CHoS types; I know what to do with those. I mean the ones that mystify in other ways. The ones that clearly have nothing to do with my ad(s). Or perhaps the ones that show interest, then back off when I show interest in return.

Recently I was contacted on FetLife by a local gentleman, a switch, who was quite articulate and interesting. He and I differed greatly on our ideas of bottoming and I hesitated to give any of my thoughts for fear of offending him, but he assured me that he would not take offense. We exchanged a few messages; he asked me if I might be a submissive, just not a masochist, and I said I do not identify with being a submissive because I’m too feisty. I can submit, but it has to be earned, and I liked tops who enjoyed and could work off a bit of witty provocation.

He wrote back, said I was a SAM, and any bottom who provoked him would end up in the corner with soap in her mouth, watching him spank someone else. Ouch. I wrote once again, saying I hadn’t intended to sound arrogant; that I don’t endeavor to seriously annoy anyone, I just like to be a bit playful, and this stuff is supposed to be fun, right? My message was earnest and completely non-snotty.

Never heard back.

Someone on Alt.com “winked” at me, so I thanked him for it. He wrote me a note, saying he’d like to talk, that he found me intriguing.

Intriguing. I hear that a lot. I’m not sure why, though.

Intrigue: to arouse the curiosity or interest of by unusual, new, or otherwise fascinating or compelling qualities; appeal strongly to; captivate

Am I really that unusual? That much of a curiosity? Why?

Anyway, I wrote back, asking what he found intriguing and would he like to tell me about himself.

Never heard back.

Same day, I got a message from a man with “daddy” in his screen name. Said he found me “interesting” and “complicated” and would love to talk. I looked up his profile; in it, he stressed how any partner of his must be into daddy/daughter play. I clearly state in my profile that I’m not looking for daddies or masters.

I replied, “Interesting, maybe. Complicated, definitely. And definitely not into anything to do with the daddy/daughter dynamic — sorry.”

Wait, there’s more. One more message, this time from a young couple, saying they read my profile and preferences and they’d love to play. Looked them up; they’re swingers, she’s bisexual, they’re seeking sex partners. Ummm… they read my profile? I don’t think so. Why do they even bother?

I’m just blowing off a little here; I know there aren’t any answers. I simply wonder about people sometimes, what motivates them, what they’re thinking. And if there’s something I’m doing or saying that draws them.

However, in the midst of all this, I did get one reply that might actually have some promise. Don’t want to say too much right now, as I’m afraid I’ll jinx it. We’ll see.

It was a strange weekend. J was very sweet, took me to a special dinner, but I could tell he was off his game. I think I might have told you that he finally, finally had a physical a couple of months ago, after my getting on his case about it. He asked the doc about why he’s so exhausted all the time. Well, duh… he barely sleeps. Not only because he works ungodly hours, but he has arthritis in his back and he can’t lie comfortably for more than a couple of hours, so he almost never gets any decent rest. She told him to start taking Tylenol, arthritis strength, at night before bed, so he could sleep better, because sleep deprivation is one of the reasons he gets sick all the time.

Did he buy any Tylenol? Nooooooo. The man is completely averse to taking any kind of medication. He has to be practically dying before he’ll take an aspirin.

So this weekend, I could tell he was in pain. I’d catch him wincing when he didn’t know I was looking. He couldn’t sit still. He thrashed around in his sleep. And by Sunday morning, he could barely move. That did it. I said, we’re going to Rite-Aid before we go to brunch and buying you some Tylenol, and you’re taking it. He didn’t argue. When J doesn’t argue, you know he’s in dire straits.

As soon as we arrived at the restaurant, I opened the bottle and took out two tablets, pushed them over to him. He hedged. “Don’t I have to eat first?” “No… not with Tylenol.” “Why do I have to take two?” “Two is the dose.” “What if just one works?” “I don’t care. Take both of them.” “But…” “TAKE THEM.”

He did. And as brunch progressed, I could see the transition… the glazed, pinched look left his face, his eyes took on their usual sparkle, he ate all his food and was back to his silly, jokey self. He sheepishly admitted that at the moment, his back was pain-free. Why did things have to get so far before he’d take those damn pills? What’s up with that? Is it a guy thing, or a J thing?

He teased me, said, “You’re going to make my life hell now, aren’t you, nagging me to take Tylenol?” Damn straight, honey.

Is this what getting older looks like? Ugh, ugh, ugh. Yeah, the age thing is on my mind this week, for obvious reasons.

J was so very kind — he gave me two books. I opened one of them, and found a sum of cash, crisp new bills, tucked into the end flap. He knew I’ve been worried about money… I started to cry. He also tucked several rolls of quarters into my suitcase, knowing I use them for laundry. What am I going to do with this man? This stubborn, wonderful, thoughtful, loving and maddening man? He makes my heart explode, truly he does.

Told you I was rambling and all over the place. I think I need to go work out.

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: