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.

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Okay, okay, here’s the real parody

hohocat

You didn’t think I was going to skip the annual carol parody, did you? The one from last week was simply a bonus, because… well, because I felt like it. But ’tis an Erica Scott tradition to create a spanko parody of a Christmas carol every year, and I wasn’t about to slack off on it. Besides, work is slow this week, I have a wretched cold, so I have plenty of time on my hands and could use the distraction.

I’ve done several of these already (like this one from last year, for example), but as we all know, there is no shortage of carols to work with. The one from last year was complex with multiple verses, but this year, with my brain muddled with mucus, I needed to keep it simple. And what’s more simple and classic than “A Christmas Song”? Besides, to this day, I can’t think about that song without remembering my dad warbling “Jack Frost roasting on an open fire…”

So, with all apologies to Mel Tormé (co-writer) and Nat King Cole, here you go:

Bottoms roasting under open palms
Teardrops dripping off their nose
Misbehavior being handled by doms
And brats dressed up like Santa’s hos

Everybody knows a paddle and a strap or two
Help to keep the backsides bright
Whiny imps and the miscreants too
Will find it hard to sit tonight

They know a spanking’s on its way
They’ve got it coming and there’s nothing they can say
And all the good girls are gonna spy
To see what happens when you scheme and lie

And so the tops are rolling back their cuffs
To give the little brats their due
All Grinches out there, say goodbye to your duffs
Many spankings to you!

And yes, before anyone comments on it, it doesn’t escape me that I’m the biggest Grinch out there and should be the recipient of this holiday fare. To that I say, “Yes, please, bring it!” My mojo is definitely still very much alive. Yesterday, while in the throes of fever and boredom, I engaged in a brat war on Twitter — two other women and me against one male top. It was immature, it was silly… and it was so damn much fun. I haven’t done anything like that in years. And I’ve still got it, if I do say so myself. The top involved actually admitted, “Wow, you’re good. You’re really good.” 😀 So… once I get rid of this damn cold and get past the annual ho-ho shit, I will try to get back into the game and redouble my efforts to find a local play partner. Because I need this.

A final note… despite the heartache and disappointment and other bullshit that life tosses in our direction on a daily basis, I get by with a little help from my friends. For the special friend who had my back this week, thank you. ♥

Have a great weekend, y’all.

To Give Or Not to Give… a Fuck?

(Caution: Many f-bombs ahead)

Despite the fact that in many things I’m a moderate person (drink in moderation, eat sugar in moderation, indulge myself overall in moderation), my feelings of self-worth occupy opposite poles.

On good days, I feel strong, confident, reasonably comfortable in my skin. I am inner-directed, rather than focusing outward, and my self-acceptance is at an all-time high. During these times, I think, “I give zero fucks what people think of me.”

Then, for whatever reason (or sometimes no reason at all, simply because my brain wiring is screwy), I drift to the opposite extreme. Those are the times when my long-gone mother’s ghost natters in my ear like a relentless mosquito. “Don’t say that (do that, look like that, act like that, wear that, etc., etc., ad nauseam) — people will think you’re weird.” (God forbid, right?) And that’s when I think, “You’re a fraud, Erica. You give ALL the fucks about what people think of you.”

These down times are particularly insidious when they come at the end of something fun, something exciting, because life seems even drearier than usual in comparison after them. The drop is real.

I think what I need in this instance is balance. Giving zero fucks is unrealistic. Giving all the fucks is overwhelming. I need to learn how to give some fucks. In other words, be selective about my fucks-giving.

So who should get them? Who should be worthy of taking up space in my brain and my heart and my mercurial feelings? The people who care about me. Who love me. Who accept me, even when I’m being weird. (Which is pretty much all the time. Because come on — normal is overrated. So there, Mom.)

John, for example. For another example, the friend who drops me an email nearly every day; who, despite whatever is on her plate, always cares about what’s on mine. Or for yet another example, the friend who, after reading my tweet this morning about feeling blech again, texted me this:

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Which made me cry. But it was the touched kind of tears, not the hurt kind.

The gestures don’t have to be grandiose. I am appreciative of all of them.

People who remember my birthday.
People who notice when I haven’t been around and check in.
People who surprise me with special little treats (you know, like chocolate, champagne… 😉 )
People who make me laugh.
People who, even for just a few minutes, lighten my spirits and make me forget about The Putin Pleasin’ Treason Boy of Company Pee. (Thank you for that one, Bette Midler.)
Thoughtful, kind, caring people. People who bring out all the good in me, all I have to offer. Who make me want to be the best me.

These are the people I need to focus on, whose opinions I should value, whose thoughts and feelings I should care about. Balance.

So that’s my goal. Keep in mind those who are give-a-fuck worthy, and give them their due. The rest shouldn’t matter.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of fucking work to do…

 

Sorry… no tell-all here

nothingtoseehere

There is plenty to see, but I’m not going to post it. I know I’ve been saying for a long time that something bad happened to me last year. Let me clear one thing up, lest people think I’m over-dramatizing by revealing too little. I was not physically assaulted or otherwise bodily damaged in any way; I am not covering up for some scene “rape-y guy.” In short, I believed in, trusted and supported someone, and in turn, I got thrown into a world of hurt. Exiting my life as quickly as he entered it, his parting gift was a very long, painfully detailed, damning email — one he said he’d shared with our mutual friends. I had revealed my insecurities and vulnerabilities, and in this missive, they were all gouged with a rusty knife. Essentially, I was painted as needy, neurotic, narcissistic and manipulative. John was stunned, and pronounced it to be “character assassination.” I had no idea who had seen it, or what people were saying/thinking. My self-esteem and confidence took a nosedive.

After this, I dropped out of scene activity. With a couple of exceptions, no one came forward to ask me for my side of things. I sank further into depression until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and sought help. My new therapist said I gave away all my power and suggested I take it back, perhaps by blogging about it and telling my story.

So last week, over three days, I wrote the longest blog post I’ve ever crafted. I dredged up a year and a half of memories and feelings, wept a great deal, and chronicled what happened (but without naming names, or giving away unique personal details).

I then shared it with John. And he said, “This is well written, and all true. And if you post it publicly, no good will come from it, it will just stir shit up, and it will backfire in your face.”

That was hard to hear. But of course, he’s right. After all this time, who would believe me? On top of all the other faults ascribed to me, we could add “vindictive bitch” to the list. Drama queen. Troublemaker.

So it looks like I have to suck this one up, and deal the best I can. My scene life has definitely been altered. I cannot imagine going back to any national party at this point. Not if there’s any chance of encountering the person whose words gutted me. I should be stronger than this. I thought I was. But as time goes by and I don’t feel any different, it’s pretty clear that I’m not.

I know my truth, and John knows it.  I will have to be satisfied with that, and do the best I can to move forward.

On a positive note, it seems that B from Northern CA may be flying me to his place on a weeknight for a second go-round. Win-win, no impact on John’s time, and a wonderful adventure for me. Stay tuned.

Have you seen this woman?

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She seems to have disappeared.

Only her beloved knows where she is these days. He’s the only person who can enter her abyss.

She hadn’t played in months. She wants to, very much. But hasn’t been able to ask for what she needs. Not since voicing her needs and revealing her vulnerability ended up gutting her.

She does her work. She works out. She functions. Always, she functions. But she’s frozen from within.

Can anyone find her? Perhaps this will help.

She used to look like this…

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But now, she mostly looks like this…

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If you find her, perhaps you can help her find her confidence. Her self-esteem. Her strength and bravery. Her belief in other people.

Perhaps you can tell her who she can trust.

It’s parody time again, kids…

xmasornament

What, you were expecting something sentimental and Yuletide-y? Do you know me?

Anyway… it will surprise no one to read that I’m not feeling the holiday spirit this year. I’m actually working on Christmas Day, by choice. 1. I’m a Grinch, and a Jewish Grinch at that. 2. John is invited to his sister’s house for Christmas dinner. He made an excuse for me without even double-checking if there was a ghost of a chance I might want to go. Good man. I am so done with those people. So he and I will exchange our gifts this weekend.

However, even though I haven’t done this for the past couple of years, I felt the need to carry on my past tradition of writing spanking Christmas carol parodies. This year’s offering is to the tune of “Sleigh Ride.”

Just hear those paddles paddling, crack-crack-crackling too
Come on, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with you
You know the hands are falling with miscreants calling “Boo hoo!”
Oh yes, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with you

Pull ‘em down, pull ‘em down, pull ‘em way down, go
Right down to your toes
We’re starting with a bottom white as snow
Smack it up, smack it up, smack it harder, pow!
It’s getting red now
We’re spanking along with a song
Of a bratty girl’s dressing down

Our buns are red and rosy and sore and toasty are we
We’re planning pranks together like brats of a feather we’ll be
They’ll say “Oh, you’re in trouble!” and spank our bubble butts too
Come on, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with you

There’s a Red Room party at the home of Christian Grey,
He’s a poser but oh well we’re going anyway,
We’ll be writhing on laps of tops we love, and hoping they won’t stop
At the gathering while we watch the paddles pop: Pop! Pop! Pop!
There’s a stinging feeling nothing in the world can buy
When they pass around the spoons and straps and belts, oh my!
It’ll nearly be like a photograph in Janus Magazine
These wonderful toys that abound we’ll remember when we sit down!

Just hear those paddles paddling, crack-crack-crackling too
Come on, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with you
You know the hands are falling with miscreants calling “Boo hoo!”
Oh yes, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with you

Pull ‘em down, pull ‘em down, pull ‘em way down, go
Right down to your toes
We’re starting with a bottom white as snow
Smack it up, smack it up, smack it harder, pow!
It’s getting red now
We’re spanking along with a song
Of a bratty girl’s dressing down

Our buns are red and rosy and sore and toasty are we
We’re planning pranks together like brats of a feather we’ll be
They’ll say “Oh, you’re in trouble!” and spank our bubble butts too
Come on, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with youuuu!

I should throw in a disclaimer that never have I ever heard anyone actually say “Boo hoo!” But you know, artistic license. And I made myself laugh when I transformed the line “There’s a birthday party at the home of Farmer Gray.”

In closing, remember, Grumpy Cat sings,

“Deck the halls with clumps of furballs
Fa la la la la, go elf yourself!”

grumpycat8

Have a great weekend, y’all. And all snark aside… I hope your holidays, whatever you celebrate, are happy. We could all use some cheer, I think. ♥

Happy whatever

If you celebrate it, Happy Thanksgiving! If you don’t, then happy Thursday.

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I like the chief’s idea better, myself. 😀

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