Erica Scott: Life, Love and Spanking

Ruminations, opinionated observations, darkly humorous blathering and the occasional rant from an outspoken spanko and unapologetic attention wh–, um, hog.

Archive for the category “Uncategorized”

I love being a woman…

… but sometimes, it fucking sucks.
I found this on Facebook. Make of it what you will. I am quite speechless.

“Be a Lady” They Said

By Unknown Author on Friday, January 12th, 2018

“Be a Lady” They Said…

Remove your body hair. Shave your legs. Shave your armpits. Shave your bikini line. Wax your face. Wax your arms. Wax your eyebrows. Get rid of your mustache. Bleach this. Bleach that. Lighten your skin. Tan your skin. Eradicate your scars. Cover your stretch marks. Tighten your abs. Plump your lips. Botox your wrinkles. Lift your face. Tuck your tummy. Thin your thighs. Tone your calves. Perk up your boobs. Look natural. Be yourself. Be genuine. Be confident. You’re trying too hard. You look overdone. Men don’t like girls who try too hard.

“Be a Lady” They Said…

Wear makeup. Prime your face. Conceal your blemishes. Contour your nose. Highlight your cheekbones. Line your lids. Fill in your brows. Lengthen your lashes. Color your lips. Powder, blush, bronze, highlight. Your hair is too short. Your hair is too long. Your ends are split. Highlight your hair. Your roots are showing. Dye your hair. Not blue, that looks unnatural. You’re going grey. You look so old. Look young. Look youthful. Look ageless. Don’t get old. Women don’t get old. Old is ugly. Men don’t like ugly.

“Be a Lady” They Said…

Save yourself. Be pure. Be virginal. Don’t talk about sex. Don’t flirt. Don’t be a skank. Don’t be a whore. Don’t sleep around. Don’t lose your dignity. Don’t have sex with too many men. Don’t give yourself away. Men don’t like sluts. Don’t be a prude. Don’t be so uptight. Have a little fun. Smile more. Pleasure men. Be experienced. Be sexual. Be innocent. Be dirty. Be virginal. Be sexy. Be the cool girl. Don’t be like the other girls.

“Be a Lady” They Said…

Don’t talk too loud. Don’t talk too much. Don’t take up space. Don’t sit like that. Don’t stand like that. Don’t be intimidating. Why are you so miserable? Don’t be a bitch. Don’t be so bossy. Don’t be assertive. Don’t overact. Don’t be so emotional. Don’t cry. Don’t yell. Don’t swear. Be passive. Be obedient. Endure the pain. Be pleasing. Don’t complain. Let him down easy. Boost his ego. Make him fall for you. Men want what they can’t have. Don’t give yourself away. Make him work for it. Men love the chase. Fold his clothes. Cook his dinner. Keep him happy. That’s a woman’s job. You’ll make a good wife someday. Take his last name. You hyphenated your name? Crazy feminist. Give him children. You don’t want children? You will someday. You’ll change your mind.

“Be a Lady” They Said…

Don’t get raped. Protect yourself. Don’t drink too much. Don’t walk alone. Don’t go out too late. Don’t dress like that. Don’t show too much. Don’t get drunk. Don’t leave your drink. Have a buddy. Walk where it is well lit. Stay in the safe neighborhoods. Tell someone where you’re going. Bring pepper spray. Buy a rape whistle. Hold your keys like a weapon. Take a self-defense course. Check your trunk. Lock your doors. Don’t go out alone. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t bat your eyelashes. Don’t look easy. Don’t attract attention. Don’t work late. Don’t crack dirty jokes. Don’t smile at strangers. Don’t go out at night. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t say yes. Don’t say no.

Just “be a lady” they said.

– Author Unknown

Reality, you continue to suck

So last week was crazed with post-party work plus a cold. I figured after that, this week would be easier, right? Get back to normal, catch up with other things, friends, etc.


Went to bed Monday night feeling fine. Woke up at 2:30 a.m. Tuesday, and knew something was horribly wrong. I felt like I’d been run over by a bus. I sat up, and the room spun. Nausea, cold sweat, everything. Oh, crap. What fresh hell is this now?

And did I mention I was still swamped with work?

Tuesday is a blur. Somehow, I dragged myself back and forth from my bed to the computer, and managed to get some work done before I’d get too lightheaded and have to lie down again. My consumption for the day was a bottle of Boost, a cup of tea and a few crackers. After sleeping on and off all day, I went to bed at 8:30 and slept for thirteen hours.

And so on through the week. Had to cancel appointments and plans — all I could do was sleep and work. And keep myself hydrated. Yesterday, I added some solid food to my diet of Boost and apple juice. Managed to do laundry. Took a brief walk. Still no appetite whatsoever. I even tried to tempt myself with chocolate, but I managed four malt balls and said “Forget it.” I could keep things down; that wasn’t the problem. But every bite or sip I consumed sat in my gut like a lead ball.

This morning — ah, what is this? What could this foreign sensation in my stomach be? A strange gnawing feeling… Ah! I remember! It’s hunger. So far, the cereal I ate is sitting comfortably, no bloating, no pain, no feeling like I swallowed a cannonball. I am cautiously hoping I’m on the mend. Enough already.

John keeps teasing about “birthday month” (it’s coming up, the 22nd), but what with work and illness, I’ve barely given it a thought. My stepmom emailed me and asked if I’d like to go to lunch next week, but I had to put her off. I need to get a sense of control back over my schedule, my life. Dare I hope for a birthday spanking at some point?

BLECCCHHHH! I feel like Shadow Lane was ages ago already. I feel like I’ve earned some fun. For now, just need to take it easy, finish up work and head over to John’s for the weekend. It will be nice to get out of here for a bit. There will be next week for getting back to the gym, etc. I’m just glad I was able to get work done and bills paid. Oh, and I even remembered to send off my quarterly estimated taxes. Yay me. It’s the little things. When you feel like you’re half past dead, the slightest accomplishments are akin to milestones.

So I’ll end this amazingly dull entry with one of the search phrases I found for my blog.

all natural spanking

Okay… as opposed to what? Spanking with polyester? I suspect this person might have meant au naturel (as in naked), but you know, stupid. 😀

Have a great weekend, y’all. Stay well. And if you’re anywhere near Hurricane Florence, please stay safe.


…and probably will be for a while. Dealing with Stuff.

But the Shadow Lane party is at the end of the month. I am hoping to get back on track with that.

In the meantime, have a good weekend, y’all.

Things that make me see red, in a bad way

This jackass.


Who might this jackass be, you ask? He is Dwayne A. Stamper, Sr., of Muncie, Indiana. And according to this article (please read; it will infuriate you), he offers up his “services” to parents of misbehaving children. But, he’s quick to add, none over the age of 13, because “they might whoop him.”

I see a Band-Aid on his forehead. I’m fantasizing that one of those older kids snatched that paddle away from him and clobbered him.

I don’t know what horrifies me more: that this is absolutely real, that this cretin is the father of five, or that a lot of people find this funny. It’s bad enough that people spank children. But this guy seems to gleefully revel in it, publicly admitting he does it and actually offering to do it to other people’s kids as well. Who the hell does he think he is??

Seriously, fuck this guy sideways with a 2 x 4.

Apparently, Mr. Stamper believes that “kids should fear their parents a little.” Oh, sure. That’s the way to parent successfully — don’t manage your kids reasonably, just terrorize them with the fear of pain. They’ll be good little children, they’ll toe the line… until they grow up, leave your house of horrors, and act out with all the suppressed rage they’ve accumulated over the years.

Adults engage in spanking consensually. If one grown person hits and hurts another grown person without consent, it’s called assault. And yet a grown person can hit a little person and it’s called “discipline” and “parenting.” Screw that. Stop. Hitting. Children. End of subject. There are ways to avoid raising spoiled monsters without resorting to physical pain.

Yeah, I hear the parents out there. “You don’t have kids! You don’t know!” True, I do not. But I was a child. I know the fear and rage and utter helplessness a child feels when an adult hits them. I know the feelings of betrayal.

Hey, Mr. Stamper? I’d like to stamp on your tiny little man parts. And then take the non-business end of that ginormous paddle you’re wielding and shove it where your Indiana sun don’t shine. Right out there on your street, in front of everyone. See how you like being hurt and humiliated.

Arggggh. Deep breaths. Thank goodness for blogging. I can blow off steam here without finding this POS’s Facebook page and starting World War III with him there, which would change absolutely nothing and just raise my blood pressure to explosive highs.

*rant over* Have a great weekend, y’all.

You’ve heard of PDA…

…which stands for Public Displays of Affection. In that vein, there should be something known as PDS as well. Three guesses what the S stands for??

As open as I am about my spanking fetish, I’ve always felt a little skeevy about public displays of it in vanilla settings. At a spanking party? Bring it. But on the street, in a store, etc.? I get embarrassed, I admit it. Which delights John to no end. I can’t tell you how many times he’s given me a smack or two in a public place, to which I hiss, “Don’t! There are PEOPLE!” He doesn’t seem to care about that. We’ve gotten snickers, whistles, and even “I saw that!” a couple of times.

This past weekend, we went to the grocery store to pick up a few items; three, to be exact. Because of that, John gleefully exclaimed, “Hey, self checkout!” And I groaned. I hate using the self checkout. Not because I’m lazy, but because it’s temperamental and glitchy. If you don’t do everything exactly right, very carefully, it freezes up and you get a “Checker has been notified” message. Well, crap, if you have to notify a checker, why use the damn thing in the first place? I can usually manage okay on my own, but John tends to rush in impatiently.

So we managed to get all three items scanned. I had put our grocery bag on the floor (if you put the bag in the “bagging area” before you scan any items, it screws up the system, because it thinks the bag is a grocery item you haven’t scanned yet), so I bent over to pick it up so I could put our stuff in it. And of course, you guessed it, John let fly with a loud smack to my butt. I jerked up to standing… just in time to hear the checker standing off to the side (watching for people who screw up the system, of course) call out, “Do it again!”

Oh, my freaking God. I sputtered and spluttered at John, while he stood there laughing his fool face off. Finally we got the transaction done and I started to hustle him out of there, but we had to walk by the oh-so-amused checker, who then grinned at us and asked, “Are you two newlyweds?”


“No!” I blurted, making a wry face and walking by… and then John fist-bumped him. He actually fist-bumped the guy.

I swear, I can’t take that man anywhere.

Well, look who’s back


It’s true. I have been toying with the idea of restarting this for a while now. And I’d keep deciding not to, because I felt a little silly after making such a grand exit over a year ago. So why am I back?

Because I still have things to say. I don’t know who will want to read them, but I need to express them. I need a place to call mine. Facebook? Forget it. That’s mostly for playing Scrabble/Words With Friends and a few other vanilla odds and ends. Twitter is fun and I’m very active there, but one can only say so much with 260 characters. FetLife? Meh. FetLife is a mixed bag these days. There are, quite literally, millions of people on there, the attention spans are short, and you never know how your writing is going to be received. Sometimes, it strikes a chord and you get lots of loves and comments. Other times, no one notices. And then there are the times when, if you say something controversial, you swat at a hornet’s nest and bring a fuck-ton of sting down on yourself. FetLife can be a fun, playful place to connect with kinky friends… and it can be a minefield. Here, I have a bit more control. Here, I can fully be myself and know that (hopefully) the people reading like me and want to see what I have to say.

So what’s happened in the past year and two months? Everything and nothing, I suppose. Life. John and I will be together twenty-two years next month. He is still navigating the Nine Circles of Hell with his job, and that’s a long story unto itself, but I’ll shorten it by saying that he’s doing the best he can, and is determined to stick it out there and take their money and his pension. Health-wise, the news is good; he is the strongest he’s been in years. His heart is doing well; it’s been three years since his surgery. He walks a lot and keeps fit. He got a device for his sleep apnea, so he is now getting the rest he needs. I still worry about him all the time, and it’s still stressful hearing about the daily BS he has to endure at work, but overall, I’m breathing a little easier.

Scene-wise, we still do our two parties a year. I wish we could do more, but my distaste over traveling hasn’t changed and we are being very careful about spending money, because who knows what the future will bring. I had pretty much retired from doing videos at the end of 2016, but a couple of months ago, Alex Reynolds got a special request from one of her clients for a custom video with me in it. Couldn’t say no to that! It was a joy to shoot again, with her man Paul Kennedy, one of my favorite tops.


This will be released on the Northern Spanking site, but I don’t know when. And speaking of Northern, around the time we shot this, they released a video I’d shot with them in 2016. Paul plays my husband, a filmmaker… and I just happen to be a film critic. Who trashes his latest production. Small wonder the clip is called Critical Erica. 😉 Here is a fun shot of the pullover — note Paul’s grim determination and my “righteous indignation” face.


What else… I still get stupid correspondence. Today on Twitter, some weird guy kept insinuating himself into my conversations with stupid irrelevant comments, and then liking and retweeting his own comments! #BLOCKED  People still ask me scene questions, and I thought perhaps restarting this blog would make me more accessible. And let’s face it, I’m still a grumpy pain in the ass and like to rant about stuff, so this will be my outlet once again.

I didn’t order this coffee cup for no reason.


One thing I am not going to discuss here? Politics. I made that mistake before and I will not do it again. That is what Twitter and Facebook are for. I want to keep this space on point, especially since I’m entering a different stage of life now and writing here will help me process things.

It is not easy being an older female bottom in this scene. I am well past the age where I can pull off being a Little or a Middle. Not that I ever felt comfortable in that head space anyway. When I was in my late 30s, I let friends dress me up as a schoolgirl and I went to a party like that. But instead of feeling cute or sexy, I just felt… foolish. It’s simply not me.

I get the appeal of Littles and Middles, I truly do. What’s not to like? They’re cute. They’re adorable. They’re playful and fun. They wear cute clothes. And they get a lot of attention and care-taking. I am a Responsible Adult. I am fiercely independent and don’t like asking for anything. I have never wanted a Daddy; I’ve always been attracted to younger men, so hardly a Daddy image. (Those of you who have read my book might remember the story of 32-year-old me and my rather torrid infatuation with my 22-year-old coworker.) I am not comfortable with appearing needy.

And yet, I am. Sometimes, dammit, I just want to be taken care of. I want to be spanked, cuddled, kissed, pampered. I want attention. And I don’t want to have to ask for it; I want it to happen organically. But what comes more easily to a Little or a Middle is not so easy for a Very Much Grown But Still Vulnerable Person. (What the hell would be a name for that, anyway?)

When I was gathering my thoughts for what I was going to write, random memories of past scenes and tops were floating through my mind. I remembered a time about ten to twelve years ago, when my then play partner and dear friend and I were talking, for whatever reason, about childhood books, and he was shocked and appalled that I had never read The Little Prince. I don’t know why I didn’t, since I was a voracious reader as a kid and had read everything else that was popular, but I guess it slipped through my awareness. Anyway, the next time he came over, he brought me a copy. I was having a hard time that night, emotionally, as I recall; I don’t remember why. After we played and I had had a tearful release, he stuck around until I’d gotten undressed and he got me settled into bed. And then… he got on the bed with me, and read to me, from The Little Prince. I didn’t ask him to do that. I never would have thought of asking him to do that. But in that moment, it felt so soothing, so loving. I felt like someone else was taking over my cares for a while. I could fall, and he’d catch me. Because he wanted to, not because I asked him to. He just knew. What a sweet moment that was.

Because sometimes, adulting blows. Sometimes, life is fucking hard. And this is my escape. This is how I feel cared for, protected, loved. This is where I get to be that oh so bizarre and twisted and delicious combination of sexy adult woman and vulnerable, childlike person. I’m still kicking ass. I’m still working out. I’m still assing hands. 🙂 I’m tough. But inside is another story.

So… as I carry on, trying to figure out my New Normal and how to get my needs met, how to deal with insecurities and all the bullshit that comes with ageing, I hope you guys will stick around. Relate. Comment if you want. I don’t know how often I’ll post; when the spirit moves me and the muse bites, I guess.

It’s good to be back.

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