First things first…

Some of you might have noticed I posted a blog a week or so ago and then deleted it. I decided I didn’t like it; it was too negative and there really wasn’t anything anyone could say to it. Essentially, I did a social thing and felt like a misfit, and it set me back a ways, missing John and feeling like I don’t know where I belong now. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, nothing anyone said; it was about me, trying to recapture what once was. But I came to realize that the “get yourself out there” and “you have to move on” messages I’m seeing are nothing more than societal dictates, the rules that “they” put forth in order to have a proper life. According to whom?? After I reminded myself that I’ve never given a flying fuck about societal dictates and I’m not going to start now, I realized that I have to go about this grieving business in my own way, in my own time. And do whatever I need to do. If staying at home a lot and watching old movies is soothing to me, then that’s what I’ll do. And let’s face it — with the exception, of course, of the beloved individuals in our lives, people can be so overrated.

Enough of that. On to the good stuff — I played with B again last Friday. 🙂

I went to his house in the afternoon. This time, his wife P was there. I had met her once before, but this was the first time she and I got to talk a bit and get to know one another. She had to run an errand, and I guess it was the plan that B and I would be playing when she came back and she’d join in, but it didn’t go that way. B and I got to talking, and we were still yapping away when P came home. So she came in and joined the conversation, and we ended up sitting there on the couch (with the dog, of course) talking until it got dark. I went to use the restroom, and when I came back, it was just B, saying that P had begged off, needing a nap.

I didn’t get to see this last time, but they have a separate playroom outside of the house! B called it a woodshed, but it certainly doesn’t look like one. Very comfortable, with carpeting, a desk, a chair, a bed, and heating/AC. He closed the door (nope, no dog hanging around kissing me this time), and we got down to playing. Like the first time, I enjoyed myself so much. We started with OTK and his hand, and then moved on with me on the bed, pillow under my hips, being strapped with his belt and then caned. Just to switch things up, he had me stand and bend over a chair, putting my palms on the seat, for the final cane strokes. A couple of them went low, and he apologized, but I assured him that does not bother me. What I don’t like is when they’re too high, or all on one side. Gotta be even! Or somewhat, anyway. And the belt was delicious. Always my favorite. And he didn’t wrap at all.

I cried this time. Not because it was too much, or too painful. It pushed me, but I could take it. No… the tears came later, when he was holding me close afterwards. He said, “You’re beautiful, Erica Scott,” and I said, “Don’t… you’ll make me cry.” He said that was very much allowed, and that I was safe in this space and he was here. And so I clung to him for dear life and wept. Couldn’t help it. It’s been a while since a man said I was beautiful. ♥ And my emotions are very close to the surface these days (not that they were ever very far below).

We went back into the main house, B woke P up, and then I said goodnight to them and took off; it was after 8:00 and starting to rain. He will be out of town all this week, but we agreed to get together again after he comes back. Also, one of their favorite cafés happens to be a long-time favorite of mine as well, so we’ll probably go there at some point. I really like both of them.

I’d promised I’d send him pictures, so I took a couple when I got home.

I’ve been getting professional deep-tissue massages lately; they help with my chronic tension. I found a local massage studio and a favorite masseur there (the owner, no less), and I had an appointment with him yesterday. I usually keep panties on during the hour, but everything else is off.

However… even though I put on my most full coverage boy shorts, there was no hiding those lower cane stripes. Ooops. Well, I wasn’t about to cancel the massage; I needed it. And I figured this guy is a professional; if he sees anything, he will be too discreet to mention it. So I went.

Sure enough, he didn’t say a word. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t vary in his technique at all. It was my fourth time there and I think this was the best massage yet; I was in la-la-land when I left and very glad I didn’t have to drive far. When I got home, I wondered… maybe he didn’t notice? I mean, the lighting is sorta dim. So I took another picture.

Oh yeah. He noticed. *blushing* Those boxers covered my butt, but nothing below it. Oh well…

All jokes aside, I’m glad he was professional and discreet about it. If he’s said anything, I would have felt a little skeevy about it. But I’ll confess that when he was working on those areas, I had a powerful urge to giggle. (I didn’t, though.)

Between Friday’s scene and Saturday’s massage, I was truly out of it. In a good way. So relaxed. I tried to watch TV last night and kept falling asleep, so I finally gave up and went to bed. And slept until nearly noon today.

I miss John every day. I probably always will. But my life goes on. And damn, it feels good to feel good for a while. ♥

Another visit from Oregon

What happens when you apply makeup, but then end up haplessly screaming and smashing your face in a pillow?

Well, this…

… and then this, an utterly derpy but blissful face, surrounded by walk-of-shame hair.

Yes, it was another delicious spanking session. A wonderful time was had by all.

I arrived at C’s hotel room at 11:30 last Friday morning. We sat and talked for a while, catching up with everything. And then it was time to play. He hadn’t brought many implements this time, just two London Tanner straps. Oh, and a thick wooden brush of some kind, but I took one look at it and just said, “No.” With the way I’d marked the week before, I didn’t think I could take that. (Plus, I didn’t want to.)

C thought it would be fun to take pictures throughout the various stages, rather than just at the end. So this was the “before” picture:

Then a nice, long, thorough OTK warm-up commenced. He brought me up so slowly, I really couldn’t tell when he started ramping things up. I was pleasantly warm and squirmy when he took this:

Just a bit of color. Then things got a bit more serious. His hand is a force to be reckoned with on its own, and when he goes full bore, it’s not for the faint-hearted. (Or the faint-assed.) He was concerned because I was starting to mark already (!!), so he spread it around, moving onto my thighs more. “Little more sensitive there,” he mused. Gee, ya think? Oy vey.

I had no concept of how much time passed, but by the time the OTK/hand portion was done, I was already quite toasty. But I still had the two straps coming…

I realized later that this angle makes my legs look weird — like two drumsticks! Oh well. And yes, we did take a final picture after the straps, but… I think some people were a little squeamish about my marks last week, so I’ll just stop here, photo-wise. 🙂

We then transitioned onto a pile of pillows under my belly and moved onto the strap phase. I don’t know how long that went; it seemed to simply flow into an escalation of sensation, pain and pleasure. My noises escalate too — I start out with small grunts, which grow louder, and when I am reaching my peak, where the pain is almost unbearable but not quite, when my body and mind are challenged and pushed and exhilarated, the grunts morph into a continuous guttural scream, which is when I have to bury my face in the pillow so the cops won’t get called.

I love that point. I love how I feel extreme power in that moment, if that makes any sense. My body is strong and resilient, but I am soft and trusting enough to give myself over in this fashion. It’s my choice, I want it, and a trusted partner is giving it to me, while feeling his own pleasure and power in our connection. Is there anything better?

When I get to my tipping point, I start babbling. Mostly I say “Please” over and over. It’s not “Please stop” or “Please don’t stop.” It’s just “Please,” and I can’t explain it. But that’s my tell. And around that time is when I break down in tears. That is exactly what happened on Friday. I didn’t know where they came from; I hadn’t been feeling particularly weepy that week. But there they were.

And then it was over. In my haze of tears and endorphins, I felt his hands rubbing lotion on me. I was aware of tissues pressed into my hand. It was a long time before I raised my head and spoke again, and he didn’t rush me. He simply curled up next to me and held me close. Let me come down at my own pace. And then we just hung out, cuddling, talking, relaxing. Returning to Earth.

I think I left around 3:30. I had arranged for the day off work, but I still wanted to get a little bit of it done just to stay on top of things. C, with his usual thoughtfulness, checked in with me later that evening, and then again the next morning. My reply:

“Feeling spacey this morning, sleepy, sore, tender. In other words, great! As always, thank you.”

Of course, what goes up, must come down. I’ve been feeling very droppy the past couple of days. But then I hear C saying, “It’s such a joy to come see you,” and I smile.

Thank you, my friend. You are a joy. ♥

Consider me reset

And so it’s 2022. Sadly, 2021 ended with tears. But what goes down must come up. Eventually. And yesterday, this picture captured my moment of spacey, giddy serenity.

Spending New Year’s Day with John lightened my spirits. Then yesterday, I got to see Chris, who braved snow and a rental car and a long-ass drive to come see me.

It was a perfect visit, start to finish. Just so comfortable. It was chilly outside, but his hotel room was warm and cozy, and we sat and talked for about an hour when I first arrived. And then, of course, we began our play.

What a sheer joy it was to settle in, rest my head on the bed, and know with every fiber of my being that I was in the best of hands. No worries about being injured, of too high/too low/too whatever strikes yanking me out of the zone. You simply don’t know how crappy and unfulfilling it can be until you experience a bad player. And then, a good one is like the sweetest of treats.

I felt a little concerned about him, as he’d taken a bad slip on an escalator and pretty much tore his knee open (it shredded the jeans he was wearing). As I was going across his lap, I was afraid of hitting that area, and I said, “I don’t want to hurt you.” He answered, “Well… I can’t say the same!” Okay then. And we were off.

Nice, long, slow warm-up with his hand. He varied it so much that I never knew what he was going to do, which added that extra edge. And he didn’t spare my upper thighs at all. When he announced that it was time to move on to implements, I blurted, “What for? Your hand is a fucking meat mallet!” But I really didn’t mind at all. I enjoy implements, if I can trust the hand wielding them. I know they will hurt, but not harm. Such an important differentiation.

We played hard. He knew I needed it, and so did he. We’d both had a crummy time of it recently, so this was really a reset for both of us. He pushed me right to the edge, even using a few wooden implements, which I normally say NO to but with him, I knew I’d be okay. I went from clenching my fists and groaning to burying my face in the bedspread and screaming. And then I dissolved into tears. Cleansing, healing tears.

(Warning: some might find my marks a bit extreme. It’s all relative. There was no broken skin whatsoever, and much of this had faded already.)

We took a break. For me to calm down (and cool down), and for him to go take care of his poor knee, which had broken open again and bled right through the bandage and onto his jeans. For a long time, I didn’t want to talk, just wanted to float, and he held me in his arms and let me be. I felt… safe.

After a long rest, with cuddlings, talking, and almond oil, we had a brief Round Two, but it was just with his hand this time. I knew he’d stop when it was time. And sure enough, he announced, “Well, it looks like this bottom has taken all that it can for today.” “Sorry to disappoint you,” I quipped. “Not in the least!” he assured me.

He was annoyed with himself that I was uneven. But didn’t want to do what he’d need to do to make the right cheek match the left. For this, I said a most heartfelt thank you.

I said goodbye and left around 3:45. The floatiness remained with me for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I’m surprised I was able to get some work done, but even in my mush-mind state, I had focus.

He checked in with me a couple of hours later, and first thing this morning. Of course he did. Because that’s who he is.

Today, a lot of this faded, but daaaaaaamn, I’m sore. And tired. But calm. I’m even going to attempt a workout, although my butt might protest. And I lost a half-day of work yesterday, so I need to get back into it full speed.

So. Friends are good things. And good tops are worth their weight in gold. Appreciate yours always. I do. Last night, I said thank you to John for being so supportive of my needs, And thank you, Chris, for making the long trip to see me. And thank you for loving it as much I did… that’s half my joy. ♥

Community ♥

It’s been nearly a month since I posted, but really, there hasn’t been that much to write about. Well, except one huge thing that happened two weeks ago, and I haven’t had the time to talk about it since because of work and life and so forth. But now is a good breaking point to stop and reflect. Settle in and grab your beverage of choice.

Let’s backtrack a bit; you all know I dropped out of the public scene for all of 2019. It was a really dark time for me, one in which I felt like I didn’t belong anymore, I didn’t know who my friends were (with a few exceptions who stuck with me through it all). Come 2020, I was ready to reenter things. I reactivated FetLife, and in February, I went to a big national party after skipping the last two. I had a fabulous time, felt reconnected and renewed, and was looking forward to further adventures.

Then COVID-19 hit. And everything shut down. No parties. No play dates. No coffee dates. No anything, socially. I’d reentered the scene just in time to have it disappear.

Virtual meetings became the norm. Zoom, FaceTime, Skype, etc. The only way we could see our friends was on a computer screen. But it was better than nothing, right?

Except I couldn’t do any of that. Because I still had this old desktop that ran perfectly well with just one glitch: I couldn’t chat with anyone online. It didn’t have a built-in cam, and I tried three different external webcams, all with the same result: picture, but no sound. I had my computer tech take the system home with him and tear it apart, trying to find out what was wrong, and he couldn’t. So I knew I wouldn’t be able to do virtual chat with anyone until I got a new computer system.

Which I couldn’t afford.

However, my birthday is at the end of September. And John was making noises about how I should start shopping and researching computer systems. I knew what that meant; he was going to buy me a new system for my birthday. He does stuff like that. I mean, he bought me my current system, and insisted I get the best. When I was going to buy a 19-inch monitor, he said live a little, get a 21-inch one. This system has served me well, and still runs well (and quickly), save for that webcam issue. But perhaps it was time to move on. After all, I was still on Windows 7 and Word 2010.

Online, I complained endlessly to anyone who would listen about how I couldn’t cam with anyone. People said things like “You really need to upgrade.” Sure, okay. Wanna buy me a new computer?? Tell me something I don’t know.

A couple of weeks ago, my dear friend Jay and I were having our usual daily email exchange, and she cryptically told me that she’d “done a thing” and had help with it. That I would be getting a package from Fed-Ex that I’d have to sign for, and it would be coming from Zack’s address. (You remember Zack from 50 Freaks; I had several pictures of him and me in my party blog.) Um… what? She said she knew it was my birthday next month and she had planned an early surprise gift. She had one request: when I got it and opened it, she wanted me to record my reactions on my phone.

What on earth had she been up to?? I couldn’t imagine what it was. John couldn’t either.

The package was supposed to arrive sometime Thursday… but then midday Jay got a notification that it was now bumped to sometime Friday. (Of course, they don’t give you a time window — they just say “sometime before end of day.”) Argh. Well, at least I was going to be home all day and evening Friday, right? So we waited.

On Friday, I got up early and got as much work done as I could. Jay had warned me that once the package arrived, I wouldn’t be getting much of anything done for the rest of the day. Good grief, this was getting more and more intriguing. And at 2:15, my doorbell rang. Yup, Fed-Ex. A huge, heavy box. I signed for it and dragged it inside. Then, as requested, I set up my phone to record my opening it. I grabbed a sharp knife and hit the record button.

Oh. My. God.

There was a ton of packing material, piles of bubble wrap, and two distinctly wrapped packages within. Recording all the while, I babbled in confusion as I tore through things, trying to figure out what the hell I was looking at here. And then I saw the laptop case.

No. They didn’t.

They did.

I fumbled and fumfered around with the case; I was so flustered, I couldn’t even get the damn thing open! Finally I did, and then I pulled out the new Asus Chromebook. Oh. My. God.

When I lifted the lid, I saw a couple of sheets of paper within. One was a note from Zack, explaining everything that was included, and letting me know that he had installed software to allow him to remotely get into my computer, help me figure things out, copy over all my files, etc. The other sheet was from Jay. Along with a very loving note, she let me know that this had been a group effort; she’d contacted several people and gotten contributions from them. She listed all of them and their FetLife/Twitter names. And on the other side was a list of messages from all the people. Besides Jay and Zack, ten other people had contributed to this. When I saw the messages, the waterworks started.

Mind you, I was being recorded. So here I was, sobbing, babbling incoherently, sitting on the carpet fumbling about with all this wrapping detritus around me, thanking Jay and Zack, saying how much I loved everyone, that I couldn’t believe they did this, that I didn’t have the faintest idea what to do with this right now because I’m such a techno-dork… and then I shut off the recorder.

Before I finished unwrapping the gift(s).

There was still another package to open. They thought of everything.

Besides the laptop and its new travel case, there was a separate, larger monitor. A separate webcam, because Zack said the built-in cam was a little grainy. Plugs and connectors and other things I didn’t recognize. And a wireless mouse.

The laptop was loaded with software. Microsoft Office 2016, which Zack said was the latest and the best before they went to that Microsoft 365 nonsense that you sort of “rent” instead of buying the program. A full Adobe suite, including Acrobat and Photoshop. Zoom was loaded. Zack had even linked me into his streaming service, so I could watch things from his collection of shows and movies.

Unreal.

I ended up making a second recording to add my thanks for all the other stuff I’d discovered after I made the first one. Yes, I came off like a complete dork. But it was real. It was me, raw, overwhelmed and touched beyond belief.

Priorities. The first thing I did was upload the two recordings of my reactions and send them to both Jay and Zack. I took a selfie, in the midst of my sob-fest, with red nose and wet eyes and the whole shebang. I sent a tweet, linking nearly everyone involved, and attached the selfie, saying words couldn’t express what was in my heart, so here was a picture of me bawling with joy. For the three people who weren’t on Twitter, I texted two and emailed the third.

Zack told me that he’d be available that evening and would help me figure stuff out. After I had my nightly phone chat with John (and I cried all the way through that too), first thing I did was take a picture of the bits and pieces I couldn’t figure out and text it to Zack, and he explained what they were. I connected the laptop to my WiFi. Then we connected via Zoom (first time for me, using that) and then were online together for the next two hours. He was in my system remotely, so he could see everything that was going on, and after I let him into my desktop, he copied over all my files, pictures, and music. He showed me around some of the programs.

During our chat, my signal dropped twice and I lost the connection. I asked him what this could be, and he said perhaps I should reboot my router. I did that after our talk, but then the next time I tried the laptop, the signal dropped again. My desktop is connected to my router via Ethernet cable, so the signal never drops, and it never drops on my cell phone either, so I couldn’t understand why this was happening. I spent some time on the phone with AT&T, and they said my router is fine and the connection is strong. So, that’s the next project with Zack — try to work out why the signal to the laptop is glitchy and how to strengthen it without using an Ethernet cable. But that will be later. Also, I want to try to figure out how to sync my laptop and desktop. I’m still keeping the latter, so I’d like to be able to have whatever I do on one happen on the other, if that’s possible. I have so much to learn. Oh, and my work table now has the desktop, laptop, and extra monitor on it, and it’s too crowded. So I’m shopping for a small side table I can use for the laptop. Oh, and accessories like a lap tray and a cooling pad. And and and… I’m getting ahead of myself. This is all so new and exciting.

Back to that night — after I said goodbye to Zack, I played around with the laptop for a while longer, adding my email accounts, choosing a desktop picture and screen saver, adding my MalwareBytes account. At 10 p.m., I was still so wound up I was shaking, and I realized I hadn’t eaten any dinner. I shut everything down, figuring I’d done all I could for one night, and grabbed a KIND bar and a yogurt. The next day I went to John’s, but I didn’t bring the laptop with me — I figured I wanted to give John all my attention and it would be waiting for me when I came home. John was as blown away by this as I was. I think he was a little disappointed that he didn’t get to buy it for me, and he confessed to being worried that our friends would think he was cheap or something because he didn’t do this first. I assured him that they all knew he had intended to, but they just did it sooner!

So. Even though the bulk of this year has been a clusterfuck, even with pandemics and elections and protests and fires and general mayhem happening all around me… I got a wonderful gift. No, not the laptop and the accessories, although those were indeed wonderful. I got the gift of feeling loved. Of knowing how many people care about me. I still can’t believe all the preparation that went into this. First, Jay painstakingly contacted as many people as she could think of, collected the funds, coordinated the messages, kept in touch with everyone with updates. Then Zack took over, getting the system, loading all the software, packing everything so thoroughly and carefully. (I was popping bubble wrap for a week.) It was a labor of love by all, and I still can’t believe I was the recipient. Even two weeks later, writing about this makes me choke up.

And yes, I’m typing up this blog on my new laptop.

In this awful time of isolation and uncertainty, I feel very much loved. I belong.

I love you, Jay. I love you, Zack. I love all of you who contributed to this. When I finally get all this stuff figured out, I hope to Zoom or FaceTime with some of you.

Although I haven’t worn makeup in months and I have about an inch of gray roots and maybe I don’t want people seeing me after all…

SHUT UP, ERICA!

Take care, everyone. Stay safe and well. ♥

 

Yes, we’re strong, but…

Earlier this morning, a conversation on Twitter got my mind going. A friend was saying how hard it is to let go, to admit that she needs/wants to be taken care of, that her strong, independent and take-charge personality won’t allow it. How many bottoms — women and men — have struggled with this? We work. We function. We struggle and juggle. We make decisions. We pay bills and take care of others. We are responsible. And yet… for many of us, there’s that tiny inner vulnerable person who just wants to give up the control and hand it over to someone stronger.

Me too.

(For the sake of simplicity and my own viewpoint, I’m going to assume the strong female/stronger male dynamic, but please feel free to substitute whatever works for you.)

How do women reconcile their strength, their feminism and independence with that inner need to be taken down, spanked, held and comforted? I’ve heard that question for years and years, and I still don’t know the answer to it. I only know the need is real.

I am fiercely independent to a fault. I am a loner. I have lived alone since I was seventeen years old. And I hate needing people. That is one hell of a clash with the part of me who wants to lie over a man’s lap, feel his strong hand spanking me, and then disappear into his arms. Who wants to hear his voice in my ear, softly crooning, “Shhh. Good girl. That’s my girl. I’ve got you.” Who wants to sob until his shirt is soaked with my tears… knowing he won’t think my crying is ugly.

An old (and honestly, really sexist) song from the movie “Funny Girl” comes to mind, in particular the lyric, “You are woman, I am man. You are smaller, so I can be taller than.” I’m not a small woman; I’m 5′ 7″ flat-footed. I accepted years ago that a lot of men (and play partners) aren’t going to be taller/bigger than I am, and that’s fine. But guess what… yup. There’s still that part of me that yearns to be tiny, that loves the fact that John is 6′ 2″. When I’m barefooted and he’s hugging me, he likes to say, “What are you doing down there?” My answer is always the same: “Looking up at you.”

Does that make me weak? A traitor to the feminist cause? I don’t think so. I’m not looking for a caretaker or a protector. I don’t want to be absolved of all responsibility, to be permanently removed from adulthood. I just want the chance now and then to be vulnerable, to let go and know I have a safety net. To know that if I crack my hard exterior and let the softer, inner me show, that side will be cherished, not crushed.

This is an old picture of a former play partner. Sadly, he showed himself to be someone with whom I can no longer share my vulnerability.  But I still love this picture. And I want this — not him, but this — back in my life again regularly, in my home, in my moments of softness. So, so, so damn much.

I hope I find it again.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Sometimes, life’s timing is perverse

Thanks to everyone who dropped in to say hello during LOL Days. I know this event isn’t as well attended as it used to be, but it’s still fun to see the people who stop by.

So, about last week. I need to back up a bit to last Tuesday.

You know how you can know in your gut that something bad is coming, but in your head and heart, you still hang on to a bit of hope that it won’t? Therefore, when the inevitable happens, even though you knew it was coming, it still knocks you sideways and hurts like hell? Yeah, that was my last Tuesday. I really don’t want to go into any more detail than that. It doesn’t matter.

I bawled, on and off, all day long and into the evening. I felt like hell, my eyes swelled nearly shut, my face burned from the constant tears. But I had to keep going, keep working. First, I had a lot of work to do and several things committed. And second, the next day, I’d be on my way up north for another visit with B. So I quite literally didn’t have time for pain or emotional fallout.

I finally finished the work I’d promised before taking off Wednesday/Thursday, and went to bed. I didn’t sleep well. When I woke up Wednesday morning, I wondered how I was going to switch gears. I looked awful. And while I was no longer sobbing, my eyes still kept dripping like a broken faucet. In the car on the way to the airport. At the airport. In the plane. In the Uber. Blech. When I arrived at our meeting place, I had an hour before B got off work, so I went into the bathroom and put on some makeup. Time to put all this crap on hold and be in the moment. I was here to have some fun. It was a brief escape and distraction. I could continue to hurt after I got home. But for now, I was going to shelve it and enjoy myself — and be a guest who was a pleasure, not a drag.

After B came to get me and we went back to his place, he put on some music and we chatted a bit. Despite the mood I’d been in for the past day and a half, I felt my spirits perk up and knew my emotions were under control. Whew. I can do this. I can forget about all this crap for a while and be present.

A couple of weeks ago, B had emailed me and asked if we could speak on the phone later, regarding our plans for my visit. As it happened, I was on a deadline that night and I was all stressed out about it, and so I asked if this could be handled by email. You guys know I have a thing about the phone; email and voicemail and texts are my friend. About the only person I talk to on the phone these days is John. So I truly wasn’t trying to be offensive… but I guess I should have been more flexible and agreed to a brief call. We did settle things by email — he wanted to know my choice between November 6 and November 13. I chose November 13 and all was well; he booked it for me and sent me the confirmation. And then told me I was going to be punished for not taking his phone call. Oh, dear.

Soooooo… not long after I arrived, it was time to address that. Upstairs we went. The scene that followed had a lighter tone; B was a bit more playful, and he used his belt for the first time, which I loved. There was the requisite cane, but just twelve this time. And then he did something new; he put a small digital clock (one that counts off seconds) in front of my face on the bed and said he was going to use the tawse very quickly in flurries all over for three minutes. Which sounded like a lot, but I was actually a bit disappointed when it was over — I liked it!

“Was that like I said it would be?” he asked. “Very fast and spread out over a large area?”

“Hey,” I blurted. “Watch it with that ‘large area’ business!”

“Excuse me?”

Oh, crap. “I mean, uh, please refrain from saying ‘large area’ when you’re talking to a woman’s butt… sir!” I think he just replied with “ExCUSE me??” again, so I just broke down and started giggling hysterically, and buried my face in the spread, preparing for an onslaught. But he let it pass. 🙂

“I think you need two more minutes.” Well, okay then. I think two minutes turned into another three and then some more after that — I lost track.

“You enjoyed that too much,” he observed. Guilty.

This scene left me pleasantly warm and stinging, and relaxed. We then meandered back downstairs and he prepared an omelet for dinner, which was delicious. And then, more music, plus a selection of artisan truffles and Moet Chandon. It’s not all pain and strictness, y’all. B is the consummate host. 🙂

The picture doesn’t do them justice — his champagne flutes are gorgeous. Can you see the gold rim at the top? And the chocolates were insanely good. The silver ones were my favorite.

It was a cool evening, so we went out to his building’s courtyard and he lit the gas fireplace there, and we sat outside talking for a while. I told him stories about some of my shoots and the people I worked with — he thought Sierra Salem was lovely, and I had spent lots of time with her. I also mentioned about how Keith Jones had nicknamed me “Bionic Bottom” way back when. It’s fun to reminisce; I really have had some amazing times.

Back inside, somehow we got on the subject of the Marx Brothers (!?), and B actually had the temerity to say that “the one who didn’t talk was useless.” Sacrilege! Harpo was brilliant! But what does he know — he’d never even heard of Zeppo, the fourth brother! So one minute we were bickering about this, and the next minute I was OTK, feeling this nasty little strap he has. It’s leather, but it’s very stiff and narrow and it has rivets on both sides, so it really bites.

“Bragging about your video exploits?” he huffed.

“You enjoyed that!” I protested.

“And your, what… your bipolar butt?”

I damn near lost it, laughing so hard. (Yes, it is possible to laugh hysterically and shriek in pain at the same time.) “Bionic! Not bipolar!”

On that note, it was near midnight, so we said good night and I went to the guest suite. By the time I showered, caught up on my phone and settled down, it was about 12:30. I think I was somewhere past exhausted. Nearly three glasses of champagne had taken its effects as well.

And so, 6:45 a.m. arrived swiftly and rudely. I dragged myself out of bed, dressed, sent the requisite “Hi sweetie, I’m okay” text to John, and wandered downstairs, where B was in the kitchen making coffee. He gave me a shot of espresso first, then made a beautiful latte with the swirls on top and everything. And he had multi-grain toast with black cherry jam. It’s the little things in life — give me some caffeine, some carbs and a bit of sugar, and I’m a happy woman.

I was already packed up, and we had about an hour before we had to leave. After he cleaned up, he came and took my hand, saying it was time to go upstairs once more. Okay, I thought, I know the drill — we always play once in the morning. But once there, instead of having me immediately assume the position over the foot of the bed, he kept me standing and looked into my eyes.

“You’ve been very self-reflective lately,” he said without preamble.

Oh, crap. He knew. I’m not sure how; perhaps he read that damned “Catch and Release” post from a couple of weeks ago (one I probably should have taken down). Or perhaps he saw my tweet on Wednesday, talking about the perverse dichotomy of crying all day one day and then flying up north to play the next.

I said yes, I have. And he added, “You’re falling into yourself.”

Never heard it put quite that way, but it works. I often refer to depression as the abyss. Perhaps the abyss is me. I nodded, feeling my throat start to close. He said I needed some therapy; well, that’s for damn sure, so I agreed.

“What do you think would be the proper therapy?” he asked. I looked away. “Pain?” I replied.

“Strapping. To tears,” he answered. My heart started to pound. “You look nervous; are you nervous?” I said yes, I am. “Why?” he asked. “You’ve been spanked by lots of men before.”

Strange question. Kind of a non-sequitur, really. I mean, the nerves and anticipation beforehand are all part of it. If I didn’t feel any butterflies, wouldn’t that mean I’d become jaded and blasé about all this? And what fun would that be? I answered something lame about how toppy he is.

I settled into the bed, and he told me he’d be using two tawses, twelve with a lighter one and then twelve with a heavy one, and we’d go from there. No warm-up, I was already sore from the night before, so I was really going to feel this. Of that I had no doubt.

It didn’t take long. He’d already gotten into my head before giving me a single stroke. The first twelve with the lighter tawse felt like hell. During the next twelve with the heavier one, I broke. After a pause, he gave me six more. The fucking dam cracked yet again; the walls I’d put up the day before crumbled.

He let me cry, gave me a hug. Said he wanted me to be a good girl, to get outside of myself. Yeah. I want that too.

I lay back down and he sat in front of me, and we talked a few minutes. He asked how I was feeling. I said, quite honestly, that I wanted to sleep for a week. Shortly after that, it was time to pull myself together and get ready to go.

I asked him how he’d known what I needed. He declined to answer.

He drove me to the train station, and we said goodbye once again. “Thank you” seemed inadequate, but it was all I had.

I was so tired, I damn near felt delirious. Just physically and emotionally wiped out. I made my first train, no problem. But then at BART, trying to catch the shuttle to the airport, I hit a snag. First ticket machine I came to had a long line, and when I finally got to the front, two women were struggling with it. I tried to help them, and then we gave up and went to the guy in the booth. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, “that machine is malfunctioning and will only take Clipper cards.” [whatever the fuck those are] “Walk to your right, take the elevator up one floor and there are more ticket dispensers there.”

So we went to an antique elevator that looked like it had been in operation since 1922, that took forever to open and then forever again to go up one freaking floor. Once there, I dashed out, saw the nearest ticket machine — and the “out of order” sign. Arrrggh! I ran around and found another — but directly in front of it were two security guards in some sort of altercation with a guy who was arguing with them, and they wouldn’t move. So I rushed over to a third machine, finally got my damn ticket… and by then I’d missed the train. However, I got the next one in a half hour, made it to SFO and got checked in with a half hour to spare. All was well. All I wanted now was to go home and collapse, and I finally arrived at around 2:30. Sent a few “I made it home” texts, unpacked, and went straight to bed for a 2 1/2-hour nap.

No rest for the wicked; I had a huge deadline for the next day and I didn’t have time to think, let alone blog or reminisce or talk to friends about my visit. I just swung right into work mode and hit it hard. When I finally sent the finished document to my client at 5:00 Friday, I was so relieved and so pleased with myself, I was beaming. And now it really was time to relax. Time to head for John’s, have a quiet weekend, catch up with sleep, come back to earth. Between work, emotional insanity and the brief whirlwind of travel and adventure, I was toast.

Strange how we get what we need, no matter how fucked up things can feel. Thank you, B. I hope you know how much I appreciate your care.

Just a word to people who have expressed that they’re concerned about me — here’s the deal. Yeah, I’m depressed. This has been a crap year for many reasons and I’m looking forward to kissing it goodbye. There have been losses, hurts, uncomfortable transitions and painful things to accept. Plus for several months I had shoulder impingement syndrome, so I had physical pain thrown into the mix. (Fortunately, that has mostly resolved.) But, to paraphrase the old Kinks’ song “Destroyer,” I’m not going crazy, I’m just a little sad. I don’t need to be avoided or treated with kid gloves. Support means the world to me. Disappearances break my heart. I need little, as I’m a loner by nature. I don’t need constant reassurance. But knowing people are out there caring makes a huge difference and brings bright spots to the darkest days. So for those who are still with me, thank you. ♥

Okay, time for me to adult and get work done. And get back to working out after taking most of last week off. Hopefully, I will be too busy to overthink things. I really didn’t have the time to be writing this blog, but you know, sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do. Now I can work with a clear head. (Well… as clear as my head gets, which isn’t ever that clear, but you get my drift. Later, kids)