So, as I was saying…

Been a while. So where have I been?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Missing a clip — Chross? Anyone?

I never saw a single episode of “Saved By the Bell.”

And now you’re probably thinking I’ve finally lost my mind, wondering what the hell that has to do with anything. Follow my train of thought. All roads lead to spanking.

On Monday, I read about the unfortunate passing of Dustin Diamond (cancer, not Covid) at 44 — he played “Screech” on SBTB. And in the write-ups about him, he was often mentioned alongside co-star Mark-Paul Gosselaar.

MPG played the preppy, bleached blond high-schooler Zack Morris in SBTB. These days, he’s virtually unrecognizable, playing the derpy New Age dad on “Mixed-ish.” But somewhere between the two roles, MPG was quite the hunk of sexy beast.

And it was during that period that he guest-starred in a 2010 episode of “Weeds,” and participated in possibly the hottest scene in that show’s history. When most people think of “Weeds” and spanking, they recall the OTK scene between Mary-Louise Parker and Demian Bichir in the back of a limo. IMO, the scene between MPG and MLP made the limo spanking look like child’s play.

The actual spanking portion of the scene is brief; actually a bare-bottom belting. But the whole thing is so freaking hot, with the most perfect buildup ever, the most perfect dialogue. The chemistry between the two of them sizzles the screen. I think I blogged about it way back when. Used to be you could find the entire scene online, including on Chross’s Movies and TV Database. I watched it many times.

So, the other day I had a hankering to watch it once again. Went to Chross’s database, found it, clicked View. “This video has been flagged.” Whaaaat??

Okay. Maybe it was somewhere else. I remembered the name of the episode was “Gentle Puppies.” I Googled everything I could think of. “Weeds Gentle Puppies bar scene Mark-Paul Gosselaar.” I found articles about that scene; apparently a lot of people agreed that it was steamy. I found a few pictures and a couple of gifs. But I could not find the clip at all, not even part of it, not anywhere.

What happened?? Have we gotten so damned puritanical that the clip was deemed too pornographic or something to leave online? Ugh!

For those who don’t recall the scene, I’ll do the next best thing — I’ll describe it. Perhaps it will jog some pleasant memories. To the best of my recollection (remember, I watched this a hell of a lot of times), Nancy (Parker’s character) winds up in an empty dive bar in the middle of the day. She makes herself at home, walking behind the counter and helping herself to a beer. The owner (MPG) then comes out and doesn’t look too pleased. She proceeds to sit at the bar, helping herself to peanuts and being thoroughly obnoxious to him. Another man comes in, sits down and starts watching the game on the overhead TV.

Nancy then pulls out a cigarette and starts to light it. MPG tells her there’s no smoking in this bar. She protests that there’s no one there, and he insists she can’t smoke. She then gestures at the sole customer sitting at the bar, “You mind?” He shakes his head. So she lights up anyway. MPG looks pissed. Then, abruptly, he turns off the TV and tells the other guy “We’re closed.” The man leaves, and MPG locks the door after him. Meanwhile, Nancy still sits at the bar, looking a bit apprehensive.

MPG slowly walks over to her, comes up right next to her. With one hand, he takes her cigarette and stubs it out, and with the other he roughly fists her hair. Oh. My. God.

Look at her face. She knows she’s in trouble.

And then the following dialogue happens:

MPG: I said no smoking. You don’t listen.
Nancy: No… no, I don’t.
MPG: Do you need someone to make you?
Nancy: Mmmhmmm…

Holy crap. Not since “You’re going to grow up, all the way, right now” has a bit of spanko dialogue made me so weak in the knees. Then the scene jumps to Nancy’s bare bottom bent over the bar, and MPG is thrashing it with his belt.

Aaaaand then the next thing we know, they’re both naked and he’s going at her like a wild stallion. Glasses are crashing and smashing and no one cares.

The scene ends with him clinging to her from behind, and Nancy, ever the grifter and opportunist, is slipping an expensive-looking watch from his wrist onto hers.

Ring any bells, kids? Any ideas where this scene could be found? Hell, I’ll purchase the entire episode if I have to. This one is a keeper. Weeds, Gentle Puppies, 2010. Anyone?

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. ♥

Know your audience

Yes, I know I’ve talked about this before. But it seems that in these days of isolation and boredom, where people are itching for titillation and entertainment, it could use a refresher course.

This isn’t exactly CHoS material, which is why I’m keeping it separate. But it’s equally annoying. I like a fantasy scenario as much as the next spanko. I’ve read many and I’ve written quite a few. BUT. When you write and publish a spanking story, whether it be in a book or on a blog or wherever, you leave people the choice whether or not to read it. Generally, people pick and choose what they read according to what particulars float their boat. Sounds about right, no?

Until you get the guys (and yes, in my case, it’s always guys) who don’t know you, who have never corresponded with you (let alone played with you), who just feel like getting their rocks off by directly presenting their fantasy to you under the guise of “Hey, I wrote this just for you,” when you know damn well they probably dashed it off to a hundred women just to see who took the bait.

And, lucky me, these scenarios are almost always cringe-worthy on every level.

Here’s an example I received recently on FetLife. I had never had any contact with this man, other than a brief exchange of “hellos” on the site, but then he presented me with the following, completely unsolicited.

I am a huge role play, daddy daughter top too. If I may beg your indulgence (and I know you’ve probably played the little girl in your videos a lot and maybe even this same exact scenario) … So, my favorite scenario is scolding the lady for her indiscretions before the spanking (make her feel like a little naughty girl) and telling her that she needs and deserves a good ole fashion OTK bare bottom spanking. Telling her that’s long over due and much deserved, etc. I would then tell her to go upstairs to our room and prepare for her spanking (she would know the drill; all her clothes off, but her panties) and wait for me in the corner sitting on the ‘spanking chair.’ I would make her wait for 10 or 15 minutes before entering our room to give her the scolding and OTK. I would then enter the room and say, ‘it’s spanking time, young lady and you’re going to get a good one.” And, ”you won’t be sitting comfortably for quite a while after I am done with you, young lady.” I would ask her does she know why she’s getting spanking and ask her what happens to naughty girls under my roof, etc. And, then scold her some more before putting her over my knee and pulling her panties down and spanking her bottom rosy red as she bawls loudly (hopefully; if not, she may want the brush). When done, I would tell her to go back to her corner with her panties still down and lecture her on why she got the spanking, and that next time it will be harder and longer, etc. I then would come back in the room and comfort her. PS: The ‘spanking chair’ will always be in the corner of our room so she would be reminded each and every time she see’s it of what the consequences will be if she misbehaves again. What do you think? What would you add here in this scenario? I am just curious coming from a professional spanko bottom as you. I really respect and cheris your sage knowledge of the spanking kink!

Good lord. Pass me the barf bag.

So what’s the problem? I mean, besides the fact that it is horribly written and crammed with cheesy, clichéd corn? Well… in the very beginning, he says he knows I have probably often played the little girl in my videos. In what universe? Anyone who has known me, or known of me, for more than five minutes in the scene knows that I have never played a little girl, that I am not a little in private, that I’ve never participated in a scene like this in all my 24 years in the spanking scene. It. Is. Not. My. Thing. When you have a specific kink such as age play, know who you’re writing to before you dash off an elaborate scenario such as this. (And FFS, try proofreading it first.)

In case you’re wondering, since he did ask for feedback, I answered briefly.

“Never once have I played a little girl. I am not into the DD/lg dynamic in the least.
Know your audience.”

He didn’t answer. Buh-bye. I checked him out on FetLife again after a couple of weeks and saw that he was posting overly personal and cheesy comments all over the freaking place on many women’s pictures. (sigh) Some people just don’t learn.

And while I’m on the subject of clichés… Look, y’all. I like a well placed “young lady” or “you won’t sit down for a week” or what have you as much as the next bottom. But notice I said “well placed.” Some tops know when the time is right for these phrases, when they are hottest, when they are effective. Others spew them like rote Spanking 101 phrases, almost like there’s a checklist they have to tick off. Hint: Less is more. Subtlety and timing are key.

Okay, Erica, I hear people thinking. Since you’re such an expert, give us an example of well placed, what you consider hot.

All right.

End of last year, I met a man for coffee. We stood in line, ordered, and then I went to reach for my wallet. I always offer to pay my share; I never assume.

Now, he could have said: “Young lady, you even think about touching that wallet and I’ll take you outside to the car, bare your little bottom and give you a spanking you’ll never forget.” Oooh, yeah, that would tick off about four of those check boxes.

He didn’t. Because he knew that would have been a bit much right out of the gate.

Instead, he didn’t even look up from his own wallet, but very quietly said, “That stops right now.”

My hand, poised over my wallet, froze. And with those four words, so subtly delivered, I needed a change of underwear.

Spanko talk is a lot like humor. If you’re too heavy-handed with it (if you’ll pardon the expression), it does the opposite of what it’s meant to do.

And that concludes today’s installment of Erica’s Helpful Hints. By the way, if I sound grumpy, it’s because I fucking well am. Back to work with me. Hope everyone is staying safe and well.

 

Happy 2020

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope everyone had safe, happy and healthy holidays. Mine were quiet, exactly as I wanted them. Now it’s time to get back into work mode.

Also, it’s time for a fresh start, to dip my toes tentatively back into the scheme of things. I can’t believe it’s been nearly a year since I wrote Notes on the Scene. Back then, I was coming from a place of sadness, hurt and disillusionment. Now, after coming out the other side of an ocean of tears, I think I’m more in a place of clarity. This past year opened my eyes to many things, and I will never again look upon the kink scene as I once did. However, I feel like I can now start to take back what’s good, and leave the rest.

To that end, I reactivated my FetLife account after being off for eleven months. And I plan to go to 50 Freaks in Vegas at the end of February, after a year off from parties. It’s a scary prospect, going back, but there are people I look forward to seeing. As for local play partners, the search continues. But I am hopeful.

For everyone out there reading this who is having a hard time, please hang in there. This time last year, I was going to bed each night and wishing I wouldn’t wake up. But the worst of it seems to have passed. There is a flip side to the darkness. And once again, I recall this expression of hope and comfort: May the depth of your despair be the height of your joy.

So, here’s to a new year, to new beginnings. Because I want to come out from under the covers and get back into this part of who I am. To bring some color back into my life.

Cheers. ♥

Notes on The Scene

You might want to settle in with your refreshing beverage of choice for this one, as it’s really freaking long.

Recently, someone I’m very fond of, and who is quite prominent in the spanking scene, wrote a piece about the scene and where he feels he stands in it, in particular the large national parties. Lest people accuse me of name-dropping (“oooh, she’s friends with him“), I won’t say who it is. But his post was honest and brave, and it gave me the courage and impetus to do some reflecting of my own.

I have stated, time and again, that throughout life, I have felt like this photo:

The piece that doesn’t fit. The square peg in a round world. Or, as I once heard in a 12-step meeting: “I feel like I’m trespassing on the planet.” Different. Weird. Etc. Throw kinkiness into the mix and you really get the stench of otherness.

I’ve also often said that navigating the scene is like dancing on a double-edged sword. On one side, you have infinite potential for belonging, for acceptance, for connecting with others. For personal fulfillment. For expressing your truest self. But misstep, and that sword can hurt you. Sometimes it’s little cuts that bleed, and leave tiny scars that no one sees but you. And other times, it can outright disembowel you.

The scene is loving. The scene is fickle. It is kind. It is brutal. The scene gives. The scene takes away.

I’ve seen so much in my scene years. Some of it has happened to me, and some things have happened to others. I’ve been loved, hated, accepted, misunderstood, put up on a pedestal, knocked back off it, immortalized on film and in cartoons, stalked, cat-fished, supported, betrayed, judged, defended. I’ve hit the highest highs and the lowest lows, and everything in between.

Just a few random things I’ve borne witness to over the years, that touched me deeply:

When a long-time party-goer had a massive heart attack and nearly died, he ended up in an extended hospital stay, unable to pay his mortgage and his bills. A GoFundMe was set up for him — contributions came pouring in. I believe they ended up with $15-20,000. He survived.

When a young woman mentioned on FetLife that she had a birthday party and no one showed up, a surprise party was arranged for her at one of the national gatherings. When she walked into the room and everyone cheered, she actually turned around, looking for who was being greeted. Then realization dawned, and she burst into tears.

When a woman had devastating losses from a fire, a GoFundMe was set up for her as well. Many came through for her.

A long-time host of room parties, who had been absent for years due to illness, came to his first party in years with his wife. They were given a tribute, complete with speakers (I was one of them) and an award. It was a beautiful recognition of a great scene contributor. Not too long after that, he passed away from cancer.

When a young woman came to her first party, not knowing anyone and having only connected online with a few people on FetLife, the enormity of it all, the noise, the crush of bodies overwhelmed her. The first night, she left the party room in tears. The party might have ended for her there, had it not been for a dear friend of mine intercepting her in the hallway. He pulled her into his room, let her cry, gave her a pep talk. She calmed down and regained her composure, took a break, then went back to the party. Later that weekend, I saw the same woman happily, joyously playing, right in the midst of the main party room.

When a beloved scene member nearly died giving birth to twins and then one of them tragically didn’t make it, a beautiful soul took up a collection to buy the shell-shocked couple a ton of essentials — everything from diapers to formula to clothes — plus a cleaning service and a subscription to Netflix for distraction.

Countless displays of welcome, of support, of love. The more I think about this, the more incidents I come up with. But of course, there is the other side.

I’ve seen relationships form, then crash and burn. I’ve seen countless emotional meltdowns at parties, including several of my own. I’ve seen friendships dissolve, jealousies flare, hurts inflicted. People who put out their time, money and efforts to open their hotel suites to everyone at parties get criticized and picked apart by those who consider themselves entitled to everything they want at someone else’s expense. I read an account of someone who welcomed everyone in their suite for several days/nights at a national party — and then was thoroughly reamed for having the audacity to restrict their suite to friends only on the final night. That’s just one story of many. I have witnessed people being systemically and cruelly shunned from groups. This one hates that one; so-and-so violated so-and-so; stay away from that guy; don’t talk to this woman. Battle lines are drawn; gossip runs rampant. Granted, if someone is a genuine hot mess, a violator, a predator, etc., with accounts from many to back up the concerns, that’s one thing; friends should be warned and safety should be paramount. But sometimes, good people who cross the wrong individuals can find they become pariahs in short order.

The scene can foster closeness and special relationships, but it also provides a sort of pseudo-intimacy. We are in close proximity, we bare our body parts before we even learn each other’s real names, we engage in intimate activity. We are emotionally invested and vulnerable. We open fully and trust quickly. But sometimes, it simply isn’t real. And when reality does hit, it hurts worse. Because we’ve invested so much of ourselves. Not just our bodies, but our hearts and souls.

I have watched people rally and rise above bad times to eventually prevail. And I have seen people disappear, burned out or driven away. The trouble with being too close to the scene is it’s like a personal house of cards. The loss of a key card can cause the whole thing to come down for you. And although you know logically that there are other components of life, at the moment of that crash, it can feel like your entire world is crashing. Your source of support. Your place of belonging.

There have been many ups and downs for me over the years, navigating this scene. Luckily, I was spared the tumult of multiple relationships, of breakups, of having to see exes at gatherings, because I have been with John the entire time. A couple of times, I came very close to dropping out. When I thought I was done shooting because one company didn’t want me, I felt like a has-been and like my time was done. It was the first time I became aware of the fickleness of the scene, how much is about the newest hot young thing. However, I was able to work through that, with the help of a much beloved friend (thank you again, Danny)… and went on to shoot with several other companies for another ten years. I beat the odds, over and over.

Well-placed gossip can destroy someone in this scene. Roughly fifteen years ago, a woman accused me of trying to sabotage her relationship and steal her boyfriend. Ridiculous, since I had John. The man in question had been my play partner, she had been my friend, but when she began dating him, suddenly I became the enemy. Not only was he not to play with me anymore, he wasn’t to communicate with me at all. I don’t know where this jealousy and paranoia came from. I consider myself the least threatening woman on earth, hardly a femme fatale. I was older than her, and not nearly as striking.

Seems like this sort of thing is no big deal, right? Unfortunately, she happened to be a well loved icon of videos — definitely a case of “boys want to meet her, girls want to be her.” And she was telling anyone who would listen to her that I was a relationship wrecker. I lost friends. I was put in the awful state of wondering who was saying what about me and to whom. Or, even worse, having damning words come directly back to me, like the time a friend told me she’d been admonished in no uncertain terms by another that she should “sever all ties with Erica.”

I was devastated and thought I was done. But somehow, with support, I made it through that too. She sabotaged her own relationship, it ended without any of my involvement, and she eventually disappeared. Friends who had believed her ended up apologizing to me (including the “sever all ties” person). It was an ugly and painful time, and I think that came the closest to driving me out. (Please, no guesses. And no, it was not Samantha Woodley.)

But I was younger then. I had time on my side. I could ride it out, even though it seemed impossible at the time. Because there was a greater good. There was something to fight for, to persevere for.

Humans are resilient beings. We have to be. There is so much in life that is devastating and inevitable. Death. Illness. Crushing losses. And then there is the suffering that shouldn’t be inevitable, but it is: the pain from the careless cruelty and indifference of fellow humans.

We are able to move past and survive a whole lot of grief and loss, recover from disappointments, rise above life’s meanness. But I think everyone has a breaking point. Everyone has that one last straw, the one where they realize something has to change. Something has to give… or something has to go.

I am reminded of a woman I knew in the scene many years ago. She, along with her play partner and friend, hosted many room parties at Shadow Lane and was one of the organizers of a spanking group in her hometown. She was someone who had been through her share of pain in life; prolonged illness and death of her first husband with no support from his family, raising two children alone, addiction. But now her kids were older, she’d fallen in love and married again, and it seemed that life was finally going to turn around.

Until she was hit with not one, but two unspeakable betrayals from people she trusted. I will not elaborate on what happened or who was involved, only that the incidents were scene-related. They were her final straw. She withdrew from the groups, disappeared from the online boards. I stopped hearing from her; she lived in another state, so it wasn’t like I could go for coffee or lunch and hang out with her.

She died from acute liver failure at age 50, drinking herself to death.

No, I’m not going to drink myself to death. Or anything myself to death. But I think I’ve experienced my last straw as well. And I don’t think I’m going to get past this one. Unlike with the others, time is not on my side. I know I harp about my age a lot, but this statement has never been more true: I really am too old for this shit. I’m already dealing with a lot of insecurity about the changes in my body, my face. And now that I feel like my confidence, sense of kinship, and trust have disappeared, that’s simply too much to cope with. I can’t put the face on anymore. I don’t want to be seen. When I look in the mirror, the face that gazes back at me looks pale and lifeless.

50 Freaks was this past weekend. This is the first time since this party was conceived that we’ve missed one. The decision was painful and I’ve shed copious tears over it. I hope Joe will understand and forgive me; it had absolutely nothing to do with him. But I simply couldn’t do it. And interwoven with all the sadness and regret was a feeling of relief. All the prep of getting there felt overwhelming and exhausting. I’ve never liked that part; I’ve always found it stressful. But I also always knew there was great joy and welcoming and fun and play and escape on the other side. Now… that has been tainted.

It snowed in Vegas, a rare occurrence. Several flights were canceled. I told myself, meh, it would have been a hassle driving in it (I read about road closures and other traffic nightmares), it would have been freezing, I’d have to bring a ton of heavy clothes, and who feels sexy and spanky when they’re bundled up like an Eskimo? But of course, I knew that was ridiculous. We’d be in a hotel, not in a freaking tent. In our room, we could turn on the heat. In the party room, all the bodies would keep things plenty warm. So that was just a rationale.

God damn, I miss play. So much. Part of me is yearning, fully, bodily, emotionally, to lose myself in the pain, to be spanked to tears, to feel those incomparable endorphins cleanse me. But I don’t know where that is to be found right now. I don’t know who I can trust with it. In case you’re wondering whatever happened to Mr. Woodland — he is not gone. He is great and I would unquestionably scene with him. However, he is very busy dealing with Life at this time and not available.

And more than play, I miss the connection. I miss the bubble of parties, the complete immersion into an altered state for a while. A few days of respite from reality. The hugs. The laughs. I miss the me I was at these events. I don’t know if she’ll ever come back.

I am and will always be a spanko. I just don’t know what my outlets will be now. And like I said, it doesn’t seem like time is on my side. I feel a profound emptiness, a sense of loss. I suppose, like everything else, I just have to let it be there and wait to see what’s ahead.

By the way, the absurdity of this post doesn’t escape me. I can hear people out there thinking, “Oh, boo-hoo, you little snowflake victim. First World Problems. Get over yourself.” One friend I know is dealing with her mother’s terminal cancer. Another lost both her parents within seven weeks at the end of last year. Others are dealing with physical ailments, money worries, dying pets, relationship issues, and life’s other assorted crises and grievous situations.

Right now, John’s health is stable. I am working. I love my quiet, safe apartment. I am lucky enough to live in a strong, progressive and enlightened state during these terrifying times. I don’t wish to minimize any of the good things I’m grateful for. However, this is one of the worst and most long-lasting depressions I’ve had in years. And it is about more than just parties and playing. It’s about feeling like I’m losing a piece of myself. John says I am going through an existential crisis. He’s not one given to exaggeration, although I think this phrase sounds melodramatic. But perhaps I am. I’m questioning everything and everyone, including myself.

They say depression is anger turned inward. I am angry. More than anything, I am angry at myself. I allowed my power to be taken from me, let harsh words break me. I should be stronger than that. But I guess it’s that last straw thing again. Sometimes our well of strength runs dry. I don’t have it in me to go through another episode of wondering who’s saying what to whom. It’s soul-sucking.

I was told, among other things, that I use my depression like a shield, so people will feel sorry for me and not hold me accountable for my actions. That is the lowest of the low blows, cruel, and untrue. I hold myself accountable for my actions. When I fuck up, I say so. No one is harder on me than I am. But if one person believes this of me, then surely others do too. There are flawed humans, as we all are, and then there are those who cross the line and are fatally flawed. I’m not sure which side of the line I’m on… or am considered to be.

I stayed off social media this past weekend. John did his best to keep me distracted, taking me to see a movie, joking and being silly. It was a strange, surreal feeling all weekend, knowing what was going on and not being there. Wondering how everyone was doing. Who made it, and who got held up by the inclement weather. Who played with whom. Two of my favorite people there recently married; I hope they got lots of attention. What dramas occurred, because they always do. Would they have been mine, or someone else’s?

Since our going missing from the party, John has received one text, and I’ve received two messages, asking if we’re okay… and that’s it. Ouch. Humbling indeed. 😦 “It’s not personal,” John said. “People just have short attention spans.” I like his kinder, gentler take on it, rather than mine — that my reputation has been damaged, and people are staying away. Or, even worse, that no one cared all that much to begin with. Out of sight, out of mind. We’re all just faces in the crowd. (Or asses, in this case.)

So no party report, I’m afraid. May not be much of anything from me, at least for a while. I will always love the spanking scene, sharp edges and all, and love some very special people in it. I’ll always be grateful for what it gave to me. I just don’t know if I can be part of it anymore. Or if it even wants me to be.

John has done all he can to assure me that I am indeed lovable, that I matter. He told me that I make his life worth living, every single day. The same goes for you, my beloved fellow misfit. I love you with all my heart.

Carry on, kids.