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 “rant”

Dear Ageism: You can GFY

Can we all agree that Halle Berry is one of the most stunningly beautiful women on the planet? The other day, she posted this gorgeous and tastefully sexy picture on Twitter. She is 56 years old.

Kudos to her. And then some asshole retweeted the picture and wrote this:

Imagine being in your 50s and still posting nudes for attention in menopause when you should be chilling with the grandkids. Aging with dignity is no longer a thing.

Oh. My. God.

This cretin was actually age/body shaming Halle Freaking Berry?? I saw red. A lot of other people did too.

Soooo… once we pass “a certain age,” all we’re good for is sitting around playing Dot to Dot with our age spots and singing “How Dry I Am”? We’re demoted from Woman to Grandma?

Well, y’all know me and how I feel on this subject, kids. I just had to make a statement. So I retweeted his tweet and wrote:

On behalf of all women in their 50s and beyond who refuse to sit in a rocker and knit socks, who think women are more than baby factories, who thumb their noses at ageing and ageism from people like you, I’ve got a special message for you.

And of course, I accompanied it with this picture:

That was yesterday, but the likes and retweets are still coming. 😀 Got some new followers too.

Put that in your Metamucil and shove it. 😛

Never assume; you know what happens when you do

So, in the sea of poor correspondence, I actually got a reply that sounded interesting earlier this week. He sounded like he knew what TTWD is all about and stated it articulately. He attached a head shot and he looked nice. He was local. He didn’t push to talk on the phone or text. All good signs, so I agreed to meet for coffee.

He wrote yesterday to check in and verify we were still on. Also good. But then later, he included a little poem that really had nothing to do with anything, and it was in questionable taste to say the least. Red flag? Yeah, probably. But everything else had been good so far, so I ignored it and figured if he asked about it, why I hadn’t reacted, I’d tell him.

I arrived at noon; he was already there. He was tall and attractive… but right away, something felt off. I can’t tell you what it was; it was just a vibe I got. This is why I always, always meet people publicly first. Because I have no idea what someone is really like until I see them and talk to them face to face.

We sat down. He said I looked great; I said thank you. Then he asked me how long I’ve been into spanking. I started with the general story of discovering Shadow Lane nearly 27 years ago, finding out I wasn’t alone, that there were lots of others like me, blah blah blah. He smiled and said something softly. I thought I heard him, but no… he couldn’t have said that. I must have heard wrong. So I said, “I’m sorry, what?”

And he repeated, “I know what c***s like you want.”

I felt like a freaking bus had slammed into my gut. I grabbed my purse and got up from the table, started to leave. He seemed genuinely shocked. “Where are you going? What happened?” I said, “You. Do. NOT. Call me that. Ever.” He asked me repeatedly to please sit back down, and I was so flummoxed, I did. I could tell from his rambling and justifying that somehow, he had gotten the idea that I would like that kind of talk. I took a deep breath. “I don’t like degradation. I don’t like humiliation. I don’t like being called names. And I don’t like men who use that word.”

I stayed for a few more minutes, trying to get past it, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I felt creeped out and uncomfortable and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t undo that. He brought up that poem he’d written to me the night before. I said, “Why did you send me that?” He said he was just “testing things.” Good grief. Yeah, I get it… some people like that kind of talk. But then I said, “You might want to get some preliminaries out of the way before you assume to go in that direction.” He had the grace to look sheepish.

Then he asked, “Do you think you could ever be comfortable with me?” I said no. He sighed. “Then I won’t keep you.” And we got up and left. I walked out ahead of him, and heard him call out, “Take care, Erica.” I couldn’t wait to jump into my car and peel out of there. I was shaking all the way home, and when I finally got back here. I burst into tears.

Goddammit.

Again… I get it. Not everyone feels like I do about this sort of thing. But you start out respectful. You start out polite, and you reveal your needs, wants, preferences. And if you like anything sort of edgy, that’s to be negotiated and clarified — not thrown in your face five minutes within meeting. Never. Assume. Err on the side of caution first. And as you get to know a play partner better, then you can experiment, take some chances, try things. But for sweet fuck’s sake, don’t come right out of the gate with that kind of talk. Just because I like to be spanked doesn’t mean I don’t have a healthy self-esteem. I want to be treated with respect and kindness. Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s a weird-ass dichotomy to say that when I’m also saying I want you to slap my butt. But it seems to me that anyone with a modicum of common sense would understand the difference. Why is common sense so goddamned uncommon?

Ugh. You know, before I left, I took a couple of selfies. I liked how I looked with my makeup on, my hair freshly blown out, and wearing a green sweater for St. Paddy’s Day. I felt pretty for about five minutes, before he made me feel like I needed to be steam cleaned. But screw it. He’s not taking that away from me.

So… maybe next time, the guy will be worth this. 😉 For now, I can’t concentrate on work to save my life, so I’m going to do some cleaning. Have a great weekend, y’all. ♥

2021…

… can go fuck itself with a 2 x 4. Sideways. With nails sticking out of it.

I was all prepared to post something altogether different for the last day of the year. Following the example of other bloggers doing top tens and favorites lists, I was going to write up my favorite things that tops say and do, with plenty of pictures. It was going to be sexy, sassy, and fun.

But today, Betty White died. The internet exploded in grief. And so did I. And I no longer give a rat’s ass about ending 2021 on a happy, positive note. Because it’s impossible, and to try to pretend otherwise would be disingenuous.

Look, I know she was ninety-nine years old. Even though she was a much-beloved national treasure and we all wished she’d live forever, she had a good long life. But what I cannot stand is that it was a mere eighteen days before her 100th birthday. A day that promised celebration, commemoration, live streams of Betty herself, retrospectives, the sheer joy of this incredible woman reaching such a milestone. That as I write, the goddamn newsstands are plastered with copies of the latest People magazine, with Betty smiling joyfully on the cover and the headline, “Betty White Turns 100!” Ugh.

Eighteen fucking days. But no. 2021 had to have one last punch to the gut. This miserable year had to send us all out in tears.

Yeah. I know that New Year’s Eve is the day we reflect, we think about the past year, our accomplishments, the good things that happened, things we’re grateful for. Ring out the old, ring in the new. You know what? Fuck that.

Tomorrow a new year begins. I’ll be with the man I love. I’ll take a few deep breaths, dry my eyes, and do my damnedest to look forward. To hope for better days. But right now, I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m crying. I hate life’s random cruelty, its inherent unfairness. I am beside myself with grief over all the sadness and pain of this past year. And I’m just going to let myself wallow in it for this one day.

Monday, January 3, will be a reset. On that day, I’m seeing Chris (I hope; there is a concern about snowstorms and a 12-hour drive probably should wait until better weather). Not only will it start my year off with a good experience, with something I need with all my heart and soul, it will help erase the utterly shitty play experience I had in recent months that left me feeling so lousy. It will restore my faith that there are men out there who get me, who know what I need and want, who want the same, who know how to deliver it. I told him I was worried about his drive, but he said he just got new snow tires and he’s very confident that it will go fine.

But right now, I am more than ready to kiss this year goodbye. Fuck off, 2021. Fuck off, Covid, Delta, Omicron, and all your other goddamn variants. Fuck off, anti-vaxxers who are keeping this pandemic going. Fuck off, Q-Anon and GOP. Fuck off, MAGAts. Fuck off, gun nuts. Fuck off, wildfires and all the other casualties of climate change, and the people who don’t want to cooperate with trying to save the planet. Fuck off, deaths of beloved icons. Fuck off, bazillionaires playing around in space while zillions are homeless. Go right to hell, every last one of you.

(sigh) And to my friends… I’m sorry. I really wanted this last post of the year to be better, funnier, happier. I still love you all, and wish the very best for you. Please take care, be safe, and hug your loved ones.

See you on the other side.


Oh, FFS…

So I told you guys before about CuriousCat and how people can ask anonymous questions there. Most of the time, it’s quite harmless. Maybe some questions are repetitive or presumptuous, but they can also be quite thoughtful and fun to answer.

However, it seems I have myself a troll of sorts on there. Someone who keeps posting unpleasant questions and comments about “DrLectr” (AKA Joe, the gentleman who organizes 50 Freaks and has now taken over Shadow Lodge parties, whenever we can have parties again). I don’t know why this person has dragged me into things; I guess he has seen that Joe and I are friends. But he clearly has an ax to grind and I don’t know just what the hell I’m supposed to do about it.

So, I’ve ignored him. Tried to reason with him. But he just keeps coming back. And yesterday, he posted a series a questions that are so wrong in so many ways, I felt the need to address them in a blog post. You want attention, buddy? You got it. Still not sure what the hell you want from me, though. But you asked, so I’m answering. And to my nice loyal readers, sorry you get to be dragged into this, but such is online BS sometimes.

Why are you and the other shadowlaners and hookers/models such pariahs and bullies to anyone who disagrees with you? Do you wonder why new comers don’t come back as much or at all? You think newbies who are nervous like being looked down upon by you and drlectr’s entourage and the models/hookers hustling all the men? Do you think newbie females like being on drlectr’s entourage’s menu and if they say no they are run off by them and you?

 

Which brings me to my first question: What the hell is wrong with you? I mean… really? We’re in the middle of a damn pandemic, thousands of people are dead, thousands more are unemployed, people are losing everything, there’s no end in sight, and we’re in the hands of a madman… and this is what you’re fixated on? Why would you even care about something like this now? Don’t you have anything else with which to concern yourself?

Clearly not. All right, fine. I’ll address each one of your points separately, and then hopefully we can be done with this. Also, I am speaking strictly for myself, not for DrLectr. I could defend Joe until I’m blue in the face, but you won’t listen to me. And I’m not going to presume to answer these questions for him. But I can certainly answer them for me.

Contrary to what you and some others may believe, I do not bully people who disagree with me. If people are civil and polite, don’t get in my face, insult me, speak condescendingly, etc., I am civil in return. I can agree to disagree. But yeah… if you give me a hard time, I’m damn well giving you one back. Or, worse, if you give any of my friends a hard time.

Here are a couple of examples, both from Facebook. On my own feed, I posted something political. I realize not everyone subscribes to my political leanings, but I figure on Facebook, if you don’t want to read something, you move on to something else. You don’t charge onto someone else’s page and get in their face. However, some clown who is a complete stranger to me came on and said that I and a friend of mine were “stuipd [sic] Communists and should stick it where the sun don’t shine.” Excuse me? I suppose I could have deleted it, but it really irked me — who asked him?? So I replied “Oh, noooo… [my friend’s name], did you hear that? We’re ‘stuipd’! Scram, fool. Nobody asked you to post here.”

Is that bullying, when he instigated it? I’m thinking not. If someone punches me in the face, I’m not going to smile, offer up my face again and tell them they missed a spot.

Another example — this wasn’t on my page, but a friend’s. Again, a political post. One of my friends got into it with a Trumpite who was insulting him left, right, and sideways, in a very ugly, personal way. Calling him a “whiny Jew boy” and a “pussy who probably got beat up all the time in school.” I saw red. Being Jewish myself, when people drag antisemitism into things, I really get pissed off. I looked at this guy’s profile. He had a girl’s name. 

So I came on and replied to the “pussy who got beat up” comment: “So says the man with a girl’s name. Projecting much, you Nazi fucktard?”

He didn’t reply. I have zero regrets and give zero fucks. No one talks to my friends like that. Would I have barged onto the page and said that on my own? No. I need a reason. Someone has to push me into it. It has nothing to do with whether or not I agree with you. It’s how you present your opinion. Your respect gets mine.

I’ve had haters say my Correspondence Hall of Shame is bullying. Um, no, it is not. I only highlight people who are rude and presumptuous, and I never identify them. As I’ve said a bazillion times, if someone writes me something that is nice, that is thoughtful, that is polite, but they don’t spell everything correctly, I am not going to poke fun at them. But hey, if they’re rude first? All bets are off.

Next — newcomers don’t come back? I beg to differ. There are more people going to parties now, not fewer. I have been going to parties for 23 years, and I remember how it was to be new. Nervous? Hell, I still get nervous going to these things. I have made a point over the years, especially after I started doing videos and had somewhat of a scene presence, to welcome new people, to be friendly. I have had many people tell me how helpful I was to them when they were new. And I don’t do a quarter of the stuff DrLectr does — hosting, planning, arranging, trying to make people happy.

And this “models/hookers” shit needs to go already. What the hell do you have against the women in the spanking video industry? Is it because you probably made such a bad impression on the ones you met that they wanted nothing further to do with you? News flash, pal: just because someone works in the industry doesn’t mean they are public domain at a party. You cannot demand their time any more than you can demand anyone’s time. They don’t owe you anything. And, like with every other person, if you are respectful and nice, they will be respectful and nice back. You don’t get to be rude and then cry “cliques! hookers!” when they respond in kind.

So knock it off with the sour grapes bullshit. I can taste them all the way over here. You want to be treated well? Be the person you would like others to be to you. And that does not include throwing anonymous potshots and insults at others from behind your computer screen.

I really don’t know why you assume I’m in the inner circle of everything and I know who did what to whom and why and all the dramas. I am not. I was out of the public scene for an entire year, and only just put my toe back into it this year. I’ve been to exactly one party in 2020 and haven’t socialized with any scene friends since February. I rarely go on FetLife. When I do go to a party, I don’t know half the people there. I’m retired from shooting videos. I. Am. Not. That. Involved.

Are Joe and I friends? Yes, indeed we are. I have known him for several years and he has never been anything but respectful and kind to me. I have enjoyed many scenes with him, and several years of his party hospitality, and I know many others who can say the same. He and his girlfriend recently contributed to a wonderful group birthday present for me, and I have seen him start many GoFundMe efforts over the years for scene people who were sick or had financial troubles. Joe has a lot of friends. If you want to call that an “entourage,” I can’t stop you. All I can say is I belong to no entourage.

If you have an issue with me, then say so and be direct about it. But if you have an issue with Joe, for fuck’s sake, talk to Joe! Why do you keep pulling me into your drama? Joe doesn’t answer to me. I am not Joe’s keeper. I don’t have any control over anyone but myself. I don’t know why you think I have so much power in this scene, but you couldn’t be more wrong.

I do not “run people off.” My friends do not “hustle” others. Again, this argument is so old, and so wrong, and yet it keeps perpetuating, thanks to ignorant people with bad attitudes. The spanking models are not at parties to make your life and your time there miserable. They are paying guests. They are working guests. They are shooting, juggling sessions, and trying to have time to spend with friends as well. They have stresses and insecurities and tire out like everyone else. They are people, not cardboard cutouts for you to objectify. They have feelings.

Sure, I don’t like everyone in the scene. I don’t like everyone at parties. So? Everyone doesn’t like me, either. If someone is a known abuser from several sources I trust, or someone I have personal bad experience with, that’s one thing. But if I don’t like someone? I don’t try to ruin their time, or ruin their reputation. I just spend time elsewhere, with people I want to be with. I really don’t think that makes me a snob or an elitist or part of a some nefarious entourage.

Life’s too short to spend time doing things that don’t make you happy or fulfilled in some way. That’s why I can’t understand why people who can’t stand my blog read it anyway. Why bother? I don’t read blogs I hate! I also don’t watch TV shows I don’t like, read books I don’t like, eat food I don’t like, and so on and on. You get my point. I hate cottage cheese. So I don’t buy it and I don’t eat it. Wouldn’t it really be asinine of me if I ate it anyway and then complained bitterly about it? So the same logic follows with people. If I don’t care for them, I don’t go out of my way to interact negatively with them. I ignore them as best I can, unless they really poke at me. (Snarking on Twitter doesn’t count. Everyone snarks on Twitter.)

Speaking of not having power over others — I don’t have any power over you, either. If you want to go on with this childish nonsense, I can’t stop you. But I suggest you seek some professional help for your rage/resentment issues, and for crying out loud, stop hiding in your little cyber tower with your little sniper rifle. You can hate and blame others all you want, but it’s about as pointless as drinking poison and hoping someone else dies. Just. Fucking. Stop. You’re making a fool of yourself, and you’re changing absolutely nothing.

(deep breath) The rest of you — take care and have a good weekend. Stay safe. ♥

Someone needs to vent…

screaming

So look out! (warning: fluent cussing to follow)

Before I get into this, I should say I am not sick. I’m not depressed. John is well. My apartment is fine and I have plenty of work. I still have the lovely memories of the party from a couple of weeks ago. So at this moment in time, I am all right.

I’m just overwhelmed with a feeling of unease and powerlessness, and like the whole damn world around me is in free-fall. We have a global pandemic that’s spreading every day. The stock market is crashing. People are freaking out and social media is a disaster area. The anger is off the charts. I feel like I’m not going to get through 2020 without losing my mind. And while I am well, I have several friends who are in various stages of illness and despair, and there’s not a damn thing I can do for them.

Finally, being a recluse and a misanthrope is going to be a huge plus. I’m not scared that I’m going to get COVID-19. I live alone, I work alone. I hate travel. I hate large crowds, for the most part. And I’m healthy with a strong immune system. However… John has a heart condition. And his immune system is compromised. And this is not the fucking flu.

The stock market plummeting on a daily basis scares the bejesus out of me. People hoarding stuff and acting crazy scare me. My finances worry me, especially since I just spent the last of my emergency cash on a hefty car repair. My computer is old AF, so are my TVs. My car is twelve years old. But I can’t afford to replace anything.

So what do I want to do in the midst of all this insanity? I want to play. I want to escape and forget all this crap for a while. I want an endorphin rush and a stress release. And I’m fucking frustrated with that situation as well.

This is party season — there’s a huge national spanking party next month, then in May, and then in June. Personally? I think going to airports and being among mass throngs of people from all over is insane right now, so I’m quite worried about all my friends going to these things, even though I envy them as well. I’m so very grateful we managed to get to our own party before this all blew up. But the local situation continues to suck, and sometimes it gets damn tiresome.

In particular, I am frustrated with the tops on Alt.com. Yeah, lots of them look at me. I can tell who’s looking at my profile, and it’s often the same guys over and over. But they don’t contact me, and I can’t contact them, because I’m not a paying member. What’s up with that? About once a week, I see that the man who ended things last November still looks at my profile. Why??? Every time I see that he’s looked at me, I want to write to him and say, “FFS, come on over and look at me up close and personal, why don’t you?” Argh. But I don’t. I say nothing. Because if he wanted to be in touch, he would be. Still, I really can’t comprehend why he’s still checking me out. What a useless exercise that is if you don’t follow up with anything.

Another one has been dancing around me for months. We met once for coffee and things went splendidly, but then the holidays happened, he had a family emergency and he went back East for a few months. I waited patiently, and now he’s back… and he’s dancing around me again. Writing brief emails, dropping hints, asking questions, commenting how he saw one of my clips… but not suggesting a concrete get-together. Dude! Life is short and neither one of us is getting any younger here. If we’re all gonna die, I want to go with a sore butt and a big smile on my face. Stop tiptoeing… if you want to play, then fucking tell me you want to play and tell me when!

And yet another one texts me every now and then and says let’s reconnect. I enthusiastically agree and say just tell me when. And then he disappears again until the next time.

I wish they’d freaking man up, turn my ass up and spank the hell out of me already, dammit!

(I know. I sound so fucking submissive. I’d laugh at that if I didn’t feel like screaming.)

But then I calm down, I work out, I sigh, and I pick up my work again. And hope for things to get better. But I can’t help feeling they’re going to get a whole lot worse first.

One of my old bosses, whenever people complained about stuff, had the weirdest saying: “Yeah, well, people in hell want lemonade.” I never quite understood what that meant. But I suppose the kinky version of that is “People in hell want spanking.” Because right now, besides the basics of shelter and food and good health, that’s what I want most.

I. Am. Scared. I know why people drink. I know why people smoke. I know why people do geographics. Escape. Of course, there is no escape, not really. There is postponement, though. There is temporary distraction. And sometimes, that sounds pretty damn sublime.

(sigh) Rant over. I will get back to work now.

Friends — be safe. Be careful. And if you have a chance to have some fun, do it. Because we simply don’t know what the fuck is going to happen.

A pet peeve about a pet peeve

What’s our pet peeve when it comes to scene pictures, kids? People who cut off the watermark of professional photos and repost them without providing any kind of credit for where they came from. This, of course, is rampant in the Tumblr blogs, on FetLife, and yes, even on Twitter.

But what really annoys the bejesus out of me? When people steal a photo, post it like it’s their own, and then make up some stupid, cheesy caption to go with it — one that has absolutely nothing to do with the original picture. They make up names, scenarios, etc. Really, do they think they’re fooling anyone? (sigh) I guess they are, when the viewers aren’t in the industry. But anyone who has even a passing familiarity with spanking videos knows when a picture is from a professional shoot.

Last week, one of my friends on FetLife alerted all of us to a Twitter poster whose entire feed was stolen pictures with cheeseball captions. She asked us all to tell him to knock it off and if he didn’t, to report him. So I went to look at this guy’s feed. Sure enough, nothing but pictures taken from various video productions, all with captions hashtagged #SpankingFamily. Scrolled down and voila! There I was, with Alex and Paul. So I commented to the guy, told him that if he wanted to make up scenarios, he should do it with his own damn pictures and stop stealing them. Several other people jumped on him as well. And then? Next time I checked, not only were the photos gone, but the guy’s page was gone too. Good riddance. If only all the others were that easily vanquished.

Those captions really irk me. I mean, for one thing, they’re usually corny to the point of being vomit-worthy. But also, it irks me that the poster thinks the viewers are that stupid.

I especially like some of the captions I’ve seen with stolen pictures of me. One read something along the lines of, “MILF Betty Sue thought she was too old for a spanking. She soon realized the error of her ways!”

Oh, go fuck yourself sideways with a 2 x 4.

My favorite was one from years ago, on FetLife. This guy had posted a picture of Sierra Salem from when she was living with Dallas, standing in front of the fireplace mantel with a bright red backside. Then the clown captioned it with something like, “Barbara learned that bad grades at school would earn her a dose of Daddy’s strap.” Oh, FFS…

I commented on the picture, “This is Sierra Salem, not Barbara. She’s not in school, and this is Dallas’s photo. I don’t think he’d appreciate you appropriating it.”

You’d think the guy would take it down, right? No… he comes back with this: “I know it’s Sierra. Her real name is Barbara and Dallas gave me special permission to spank her.”

Are you kidding me?? How stupid do you think I am, fool? I shot with Sierra. I traveled with her, sat next to her on long plane flights. I shared a hotel room with her. Do you really think I don’t know what her real name is? It ain’t Barbara.

So I did the only thing I could do — I wrote to Dallas and alerted him to the photo and its comments. You can bet that joker took it down after Dallas had a few words with him. :-Þ

Look, I know there are tons of photos floating around out there that have long since had their credits cut off and people who are new may see them and have no clue where they’re from, so they just repost them. That can’t be helped. But please, y’all. If you have any sort of idea where a picture is from, who is in it, etc., credit it properly. Do not cut the identifying watermarks off. And for the love of God, don’t make up those stupid captions. Here’s a thought — take your own freaking pictures, and then you can caption them any cornball way your little heart desires. Fair?

**rant over**

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