Update

Another month already. I figured for the six or so of you who still look at this, I should probably post something. My days have been very busy, very stressful, but progress is being made.

I finally got the official executorship papers. And then lots of work began — calling about his bills, trying to chase down his bank accounts, cancelling this and that. And becoming responsible for a lot of back payments on things. Fortunately, I was able to close out his checking account and got money to pay for all this. I think the most reprehensible bill I got, 2 1/2 months after his passing, was a bill from the paramedics who picked him up and took him to the hospital. For $2414. Yeah, I know they have to get paid too, but really?

The house is sold. Done. After discovering how much work needed to be done on it, my realtor and I decided to sell it “as is” and market it more toward investors. We found one very quickly, had inspections, went back and forth with the price — turns out my realtor is a whiz at negotiations and she got them to split most of the costs of renovations with me. And then it happened. We closed escrow last Wednesday. Talk about feels. Relief, but also great sadness. John loved that house so much. And I grew to hate it. It broke my heart.

The condo is in the midst of renovations. Because everything there was cosmetic, we decided to put some $$ into it, really spiff it up, and then we can ask a higher selling price. Should be ready to put on the market in a couple of weeks or so. I hope so, anyway. I’m so tired of getting texts and emails every day about what else needs to be paid for. As I write this, I got a text from the handyman, who needs another $2500 for electrical work. (sigh)

I had a birthday. Friends did their very best to give me some joy. I got gifts, sweets, flowers, texts, emails. But it was still my first birthday in 27 years without John. I really can’t say it was happy. But I was grateful for everyone’s kindness.

I went to a local munch two weeks ago. This particular one is five minutes from my apartment, so there was no excuse. A couple of my friends showed up and I sat with them for a few hours, didn’t really mingle. But still, it got me out. And I put makeup on for the first time in three months.

My friend Mr. Woodland says I have an open invitation for a play date whenever I am ready. He says he owes me both my birthday spanking and his, since his birthday was a week after mine. I have been so distracted and overwhelmed with things to do that I don’t feel like I’d be able to fully relax and let go, but I am hoping that will change soon. I miss playing.

Oh, and I’m still working. Because I need to. Because it gives me some sense of being normal and not having my life thrown in a blender and switched to puree. I also got a flu shot and have an appointment for the latest Covid shot. I am practicing self-care to the best of my ability.

Onward. Hope everyone is hanging in there. ♥

Still here…

And it will be three weeks tomorrow. One of my personal goals is to keep up with friends, and not let myself fall too far down into the abyss.

The first week was a blur of horror. I could barely sleep or eat. (I got calories from milk, juice, smoothies and Boost.) John’s brother and SIL were here, and they took care of the immediate horrible stuff… the mortuary, the death certificate, picking up all of John’s effects from the hospital and his work, calling and freezing his bank accounts. Nothing went smoothly at John’s house. The water was turned off (he used to do that every week when he left to go stay at his condo for work), and we couldn’t figure out how to turn it back on; had to call a plumber. He had a million keys everywhere, but not a single one fit his mailbox; had to call a locksmith. His automatic garage door opener didn’t work. (sigh)

I met with them a few times. And then they had to go back home to Oregon. Christy left me with a binder filled with notes and information and assured me that they wanted to be in the loop for this all the way.

The second week, I was able to eat again, and sleep a bit better. I started exercising again. I took my car in for much needed and much put off repairs and maintenance ($3569, thankyouverymuch). I retained a probate/estate lawyer and met with him. John’s affairs are… a mess. There are Herculean feats to accomplish — sorting out his finances, getting his bills paid, dealing with his two properties (both with mortgages), dealing with mass quantities of stuff. His vehicle is parked at his Orange County condo and I can’t find the pink slip for it. We did find his property deeds and his taxes. John never threw anything away. His home, at first glance, is very tidy and minimalist. But behind every cabinet, in every drawer and closet, everything you can open is crammed with file boxes and papers and you-name-it. It’s too much for me to go through… it would take weeks and months, maybe years. I don’t live there, and I’m 35 miles away. So I will be working with an estate planner to clear everything out, donate stuff, auction off things of value (like John’s massive wine/port collection).

Right now, I am in a semi-holding pattern. I can’t really move forward with anything until I officially get executorship, and my attorney is working on that — you have to petition the courts for it and it’s a process that can take months. I am hoping we can access some of John’s finances sooner than that, because I am going to need to pay his bills. But everything is a million forms and permissions and notaries and red tape. If he’d had a detailed living trust, none of this would be happening. He meant to do it… but it didn’t happen.

People have been amazingly kind. I have gotten cards, flowers, a fruit/chocolate basket, a DoorDash gift card, a grief book, messages, emails, calls. A group of friends pooled together and collected a money order for me. I’m hearing from people I haven’t heard from in years. Friends who knew and loved John are sharing John memories. Scene people talk of how supportive and friendly he was. I received this just today, and it made me cry (of course, everything makes me cry right now).

I know he loved you beyond imagining. When he talked about you or looked across the room to see you thoroughly enjoying yourself, his face just held love and admiration. I cannot imagine the sense of loss you feel. I know there isn’t much I can do to help but know that I hold you both in my thoughts. I will always remember him as a good friend who helped me navigate an entry into the most important community of my life.

Oh, shit. There I go again. Goddammit. I’m going to dry up and blow away if I keep this up.

I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. I know there are people out there who don’t like me. But my god, to be loved like this… I must have done something right in my life.

As I wrote on FetLife yesterday when I updated my profile, I can’t imagine ever going to a party again. My hope is that somewhere down the line, when things have stabilized, perhaps some one-on-one play with trusted friends. I don’t think my need for spanking will ever go away; it’s too much a part of me. But it’s definitely on hold for now.

So. Each day, I have goals. Basics. Get up and get dressed. Eat. Hydrate. Keep up with work, chores, errands. Breathe deep when the panic hits. Exercise. Keep up with correspondence, because I need it — and that includes staying on top of what my friends are up to and dealing with. Because no matter how much my own life has stopped, life overall goes on, and I don’t want to lose track of people I care about. Try to laugh at least one thing. And then, sleep. Start over again the next day.

Thanks for reading. ♥

Sad news

Friends/readers:

This past Thursday, the worst thing, the possibility I have been dreading for so long, happened. My beloved John had a massive cardiac event and passed away. I was informed by his brother and sister-in-law, who live in Oregon, but they were contacted first.

I am beyond devastated, still in shock, heartbroken. At the moment, I am home. John’s brother and SIL are driving here and will be here by tomorrow night. John is being autopsied at the coroner and will be released Monday or Tuesday.

Christy (SIL) is a rock. She is a social worker, and she has gone into full on social worker mode, taking care of things. She is calm and kind and told me I don’t have to do a thing right now. When they get here, we will start the process of all that needs to be done. His brother is retired and she works remotely, so they can stay as long as needed. I did not know this, but I found out yesterday when Christy told me: John came to them years ago and said, “If anything ever happens to me, please take care of Erica. This will be very hard on her.” They promised… and Christy swore they will be with me through all of this. John had a very basic will, leaving everything to me, but because we weren’t married, it could get very complicated.

John did everything he could to be healthy. He ate well, never smoked, rarely drank, and exercised all his life. He had open heart surgery in 2015 to repair a malfunctioning valve, but he still had a-fib and a lot of other complications and was on multiple medications. To look at him, you would think he was the picture of good health; he looked strong and robust and he had a physique that a lot of men half his age don’t have. But I was close. I saw what others didn’t see. The constant exhaustion, no matter how much sleep he got. We would sit and watch TV, and we wouldn’t get through an hour without him nodding off. The intermittent swelling in his lower legs, indicating poor circulation. The infections he seemed to get at the drop of a hat.

I was fearful every day. I worried all the time. But he kept assuring me that he was okay. And he looked great, so I couldn’t argue too much. He went to all his doctors and kept up with everything. But he simply had too many congenital factors working against him.

We would have been together 27 years this August. He was the love of my life, in every sense of the word. No one knew me like he did. He used to joke that he knew me better than I knew myself. He knew every fault, flaw, neurosis, fear, and quirk, and he still loved and accepted me, fully and unconditionally. I think we got each other because we were both, well, oddballs. Square pegs in a round world. He had his share of quirks, he was on the spectrum, had social awkwardness and struggled a lot, and often overcompensated by talking too much. A lot of people didn’t get him, including most of his family. (His brother, SIL, and one niece are excepted from that.) But I did, and I supported him as he supported me.

He was kind, giving, and caring. He was passionate about the planet and the environment. If he cared about someone, he would do anything for them. He was incredibly smart, I would even say a genius, and he knew about so many things I didn’t. But he never talked down to me.

We were both reclusive. I have a large network of friends in virtual space due to my involvement in the scene, but very few that I actually see in person. John hated social media, but he enjoyed the friends I made through it and always wanted to hear the stories. He loved the play parties, even though he wasn’t really a spanko at heart, but more into BDSM. He supported everything I did, from videos to writing to my various play partners. He knew that he was always #1 in my heart and no one could ever replace him.

We both had dysfunctional families, in different ways. He knew the kind of upbringing I had and he was my biggest champion, saying that I was a miracle, that with all the stuff that happened in my childhood plus depression plus all my other difficulties, I made a damn good successful life for myself. He did too… he was driven to do so. He was never respected or taken seriously in his family, bullied by older siblings, and his parents were indifferent. He was taught to stifle his feelings at a very young age; his father believed that private feelings should be kept private, people shouldn’t talk about them, and if you were sick or hurt or grieving, you should suck it up.

I knew John for nearly 27 years. In those years, he lost both his parents, lost his dearest friend, had many bad things happen, as we all do in life. I never. ever. EVER saw him shed a tear. Not one. He told me he had not cried since he was a child. I don’t think he was capable of crying — his mind and body had simply shut it down, because it was shamed out of him. But he certainly saw copious quantities of my tears over the years. And he never, ever belittled me for them.

Despite my reticence to be around people, I am a very physically affectionate person and crave touch. John was the same. We were always holding hands, always walking with our arms around each other, always cuddled up around each other. People looked at us and thought we were brand new mates. John said he was more in love with me with each passing year. Who’s going to touch me, hold me, kiss me, love me now?

I really cannot imagine my life without this man, without his love. Without him making me laugh every single day, no matter how depressed or down I was. But I have to. I just don’t know how. As I mentioned, I have very few local people. I have a cousin who is nearly 101 and a stepmother who is 92 and in very poor health physically. Still has all her marbles, though. We talked on the phone this morning. She does not want to be seen, because of her condition. I get that. I don’t really want to be seen either. But I will have to be.

Still, my life has irrevocably changed. Ageing has been hard on me, natural progressions of life, and I was dealing with multiple insecurities. John was always my bolster. I was already struggling with the whole scene thing, the parties, feeling like I no longer quite fit for various reasons. Now, I certainly can’t imagine ever going to a party again. I actually can’t imagine playing, either. Physically, it’s all I can do to shower and dress. I can’t eat; everything makes me sick. I am drinking milk and Boost. I know it’s only been two days, and this is something I must go through. I have a therapist. I feel alone, but I am not. Somehow, a minute at a time, I have to keep going.

I don’t know if I will keep up with this. But I wanted everyone to know, because I don’t have the strength to contact too many people individually. I announced it on Facebook yesterday, and it was very gratifying, the messages and texts that flowed, so many beautiful words. I’ve already received three floral deliveries. And I would like to share two especially beautiful things that were written to me yesterday.

“John may have had a weak heart, but every inch of it was filled with love for you.”

And

“What we have once enjoyed, we can never lose
What we have loved deeply becomes a part of us
John’s smile and laugh will be in our hearts and memories.”

That is all for now. Thank you, everyone.

Reader Participation — Come Play Along!

Yesterday on Twitter, a fellow spanko posed this question: “How many spankos does it take to change a light bulb?” A handful of people participated, but I wanted to put it out there to the spankosphere. So, with her blessing, I’m asking my readers, and encouraging your feedback. Use your creative muse and give me your funniest answer. And please do post it here in the comments so everyone can see!

Here was mine, in a slightly longer version since I don’t have Twitter character limits.

How many spankos does it take to change a light bulb? Three.

Top: The light burned out. Go change the bulb.
Bottom: No. You do it.
Top: I asked you to do it.
Bottom: You didn’t ask, and no, I don’t feel like it.
Top: Young lady…
Bottom: Change it yourself!
Third spanko: Oh, for fuck’s sake, you two, it’s dark! (changes light bulb)

Your turn! Have a great weekend, y’all. ♥

Off topic, but…

… I have to ask.

Does anyone have a reasonable explanation for this?

Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Remember, I said reasonable.

Still waiting…

Yeah. That’s what I thought. massive eye roll

Mr. Woodland Returns

And he was well worth waiting for. beaming

It had been, what, two years? Longer? I lost track. But it was so lovely to see him again. He had come straight from a work meeting, so he was in a coat and tie and looked spiffy as ever. We had a lot of catching up to do, so I broke out the cookies and Reese’s and we sat and chatted for an hour or more. Then at an appropriate ending point, he said, “Okay, let’s get you spanked!” Yes, let’s, shall we?

It had been a busy day, work and working out and getting ready. And of course, since I almost never wear makeup these days, and was feeling especially joyous, I wanted a picture. Once again, I’m reminded of just how much spanking takes me to my happiest place. Not just the act of it, but everything about it — the rituals, the anticipation, the camaraderie, the endorphin surges, the stress release, and so on. When I have dark times and depression, I need to remember that sometimes I feel like this.

Where was I? Oh, yeah.

We began on the couch with me OTK. He’d brought a toy bag this time — this was new! On previous visits, he’d just used his hand and his belt (and he’s wonderfully proficient with both). He said he’d bought some new things and wanted to try them out/break them in. (Thanks a lot…)

Even before we got to the implements, Mr. W commented that I was marking already, to which I scoffed. Please! He asked how I felt about being marked, was I okay with it, etc. I said I was — he asked how much marking was acceptable. I wouldn’t say this to just anyone, but I trust him, so… “I’m all yours.” “Okay, remember you said that!” he teased.

He remembered that I’m not fond of wood and prefer leather, so he brought out this very nifty little strap that I liked immediately. There were a few more things, I don’t remember the order, some I enjoyed more than others. “I need to put you over that ottoman,” he mused. “You can do that,” I answered. “Oh? Can I?” Oh, dear. “What — should I have said ‘you may do that’?” He laughed. “Yup, there she is!”

It was fun — I was giggling my head off. He was bantering with me, complimenting me (“I remember this ass! Ah, I could slap this all day long!”). We slipped right back into our comfortable groove. Once again, he mentioned that I was marking, and once again, I pooh-poohed it.

We moved to my ottoman, so he could “get a better swing.” gulp Once I was situated, he used the leather strap again and a few other things, and I was at that point where I was teetering between pain and the beautiful abyss of the sub zone. Then, reluctantly, he stopped.

“You are really marking,” he said. Nooo! Surely he’s exaggerating! I can’t be marking! I don’t mark! Not this soon, anyway! But he took my phone and snapped a picture, and showed it to me. Oh… my. (please forgive the extreme close-up)

But no way did I want to stop, so I told him it was okay and we continued for a little longer. And then… he said, “You know, I think you’re done.” While I didn’t want the scene to end, I fully appreciated how conscientious and caring he was. He didn’t want to cause harm. Every top needs to take a page from this man’s playbook. I asked if he would finish me off with his hand, and he happily did so.

He’d worked up a sweat, and I wanted to do something nice for him, so I sat in my recliner, had him sit on a pillow at my feet and I gave him a head and neck massage. I’ve been told I’m good at those, and I know he enjoys them. Then we relaxed on the couch for a while to talk and wind down. He asked if I was okay, did I need him to stay longer, and I said no, no, I’m fine, I feel great. And I did.

After he left, I wanted to get some more pictures while I still had color. My phone wouldn’t cut it, so I set up my trusty old digital camera with the timer.

It had faded a little, but you can still see the whitish spots in the center. (And for those of you who notice other things, that Beatles tumbler was a gift from my dear friend Jay.)

Of course, we can’t have Erica pictures without the Erica smirk.

Once done with that, I settled down to relax for the evening. I was deliciously sore and blissful.

Okay, so what’s with this marking nonsense? Pshaw… it would all be gone today, right?

Wrong. This is twenty-four hours later.

Well, kids… I hate to say it, but I think we need a moment of silence. The Bionic Bottom is no more. My once impervious flesh that faded immediately and self-healed is merely a memory. sniff Damn. Shocking, I know. I suppose if I went back to regular and constant play, I might toughen back up. But damned if I don’t have newbie butt again. Oh well… if this is my sole casualty from the pandemic, I should just shut up and deal.

Anyway — I received expression permission from Mr. W to post this; if any of you are on FetLife and would like to check him out, you can find him here. My friend, you are a gem and a gentleman. Thank you. Don’t be a stranger. ♥