Things to say…

…and not to say.

I shouldn’t need to write any of this. But, as I am getting a crash course in grief and loss lately, I am learning a great deal about how very powerless we all are in the face of pain, and how the right words truly don’t exist. However, there are some things to say that are a hell of a lot better than others. No wonder that if you Google “bereavement etiquette,” you’ll get reams of material. However, since everyone is different, I will post my own preferences, from my own experience.

I’ll start with the positive. Things to say:

1. You absolutely cannot go wrong with a simple, heartfelt “I am so sorry.” Variations like “My condolences,” “I’m sorry for your loss (pain, grief, etc.)” are also fine.
2. Encouragement is good. Tell me to hang in there. Remind me to breathe.
3. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Chances are the answer is no, but I appreciate your asking.
4. “Just checking in with you.” Remind me that you’re still there. In a time when I am feeling so alone, I need to know people are there.
5. If you knew John, please share what you thought of him, a favorite memory, a funny story, whatever. Let me know that you saw the wonderful, funny, loving man that I did.
6. If you are a survivor of loss… if you have been through pain like I am experiencing now and came out the other side… please let me know how you did it, what your process was, how you found support. I know that while my experience is uniquely mine, grief is universal and something that everyone can relate to. I need to know things will eventually get more bearable.
7. Share something with me that is completely unrelated, something you think I’ll like. I have had some friends send me funny YouTube clips and so forth that have served as welcome distractions.

And now, the not-so positive.

1. Please, please, please don’t tell me that John is out there, up there, on another plane, etc. watching out for me. I know you believe this. I know this would give you comfort. But I do not believe it. He is not “out there.” He is in my heart and mind and soul, but otherwise, he is gone.
2. Please don’t tell me he’s “in a better place” and I’ll meet up with him again someday. Again… you are welcome to believe this. But saying this to an atheist just makes them feel worse.
3. Please don’t say that I need to be strong because that’s what he would have wanted. No. What he would have wanted was for me not to be suffering like this in the first place. Also, yes, I know I need to be strong, because I don’t have a choice. But that doesn’t mean I don’t fall apart a little on a daily basis.
4. This is a biggie. Yes, I am more than well aware that John did not leave his affairs in good order. I am dealing with an ongoing nightmare that will drag on for a year to 18 months. So you don’t need to tell me what he should have done.
   The other day on Facebook, I was talking about how utterly wretched and daunting a process probate is. And someone commented “This is why we have living wills and trusts.” Really? Wow. Excuse me — I’ll go raise John from the dead and have him get on that post-haste. I had to sit on my hands to keep from typing that as a reply. Fortunately, someone else called it out as being insensitive and the poster deleted it.
5. Likewise, you don’t need to remind me how awful and stressful it’s going to be. Empathizing is one thing (“Yeah, this sucks, but you’ll get through it,” “It’ll be hard, but one step at a time is all you can do”); I don’t mind being realistic, as long as there is some hope offered along with it. But on that same post about probate, someone else commented, “Unfortunately, it WILL drag on for a long time.” In what universe is this supposed to be helpful?
6. I had forgotten about this one, so I came back to edit. I was asked, “How are you getting along?” I figured I’m far beyond giving the rote answer “Fine,” so I replied honestly that I was overwhelmed, sad, anxious, and felt like I was in all the circles of hell. The reply was: “Sounds like things are back to normal, then.” Um… what? To that, I said, “If this is normal, please shoot me.” And their answer to that?
   “Well, at least you don’t have Covid.”
   Yeah. Don’t fucking do that. I would have rather they not contacted me at all. I don’t know if they were trying to be flippant or funny or whatever the hell, but it really sucked. Yeah, okay. I also don’t have cancer. I’m not homeless. I don’t have the heartbreak of psoriasis (yes, I’m dating myself with that reference). I’m not suffering from a whole lot of things. But FFS, don’t do the “be grateful because people are starving in [wherever]” routine with someone who is grieving; it’s invalidating and insensitive.

Things I’m neutral on:

1. “I’m praying for you.” “You’re in my prayers.”
   (sigh) Again, I do not believe in this. But I know you do. If you think enough of me to include me in this, I will choose to take it as a compliment.
2. “I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling.” In the “Bereavement Etiquette” list, this is apparently a no-no. They say it’s cold, rote, and unempathetic. I dunno… I see it as saying that they are acknowledging I’m in terrible pain and they know it’s even worse than they can conceive of. That’s not lack of empathy, that’s simply the fact that they haven’t experienced this level of loss yet, but they still care.

And finally… I would like to end this post on a good note. Along the lines of sharing funny John stories, my friend K (InfamousK is her scene name) reminded me of a party about ten years ago, where she was sitting with us, and she and I were giggling about some party creepers. John was listening intently and then blurted, “You women and your names for men! What do you call me when I’m not around?” K didn’t even take a beat; with a perfectly straight face, she looked at him and answered, “We call you ‘Erica’s bitch.’ “

I damn near fell off my chair laughing. As for John — you know, it took a lot to render him speechless, but that did it! 🙂 Love you, K. Thank you for that memory.

The power of words

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, ever since what happened last Friday, and how an afternoon and potential play partnership was ruined with a single word. I know I’ve talked about this before; I believe words have a lot of power. That whole “sticks and stones” thing is BS. Granted, words can’t physically wound you. But what they can do to your heart, soul and psyche is as painful and lasting as any gun or knife.

We spankos are big on words. We all have our buzz phrases, our trigger words, the words we love, the words we hate. What is a massive button-pushing turn-on for one might be vomit-inducing for another. Since I spent so much time last week focusing on words I hate, I thought this week I’d counteract that with one of my all-time favorite phrases in our realm. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but I’d like to delve into it more in detail today.

It’s a simple phrase. Three words, and sometimes four.

“That’s my girl.”
Or “That’s my good girl.”

Hearing those words makes me melt. I don’t know why. I have said many times that I’m not a submissive, but that I can be submissive when someone taps into my headspace. And when a top says that to me, in the right context, I want to hang the moon for him.

I am not sure when I first realized that this particular phrase was such a turn-on for me, but I can remember an earlier awareness. Those of you who go wayyyyy back with me, back to the days of the MSN board Southern California Spanked Wives and Girlfriends, may recall that I had an ongoing crush on a gym instructor (who I ended up hiring as a personal trainer), P. For those who don’t know this story — essentially, P was a very popular instructor/trainer. His classes were always packed. He was enthusiastic and fun, encouraging, pushed us, but knew what he was doing and was very skilled at it. He made a point of learning everyone’s name, and addressing us in class, calling out praise. And yes, he was very, very toppy… and it was sexy AF. I think, back then, every heterosexual female gym member with a pulse had a thing for P. And probably some of the males too. He was that charismatic.

I remember he’d call out names, sometimes mine, saying, “That’s it! Good! Come on, [name]. That’s my girl.” And I’d feel a jolt. Suddenly, I had more energy. More willingness. I could push harder, do more. Just from those three words and what they did to me.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that P looked like this, but I digress…

Once I became aware of how that phrase affects me, I noticed it more within scenes. It’s not all that common a phrase to hear — not like “Good girl,” for example. Which makes it all the more special when it does happen. One of my favorite Vegas party playmates, Roy, who I’ve discussed here before, uses it, and I adore it. When we’re in scene, in the zone, and the energy and connection are at their peak, he’ll lean down to me and say, “More?” In my blissful stupor, I will murmur, “Yes, please,” and then I can feel him smiling as he says, “That’s my girl.” Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff…

What made me think of this? Something that happened recently; in fact, on the same day as that wretched coffee date.

I have a friend, A. He lives up north. We’ve never met in person, but we’ve been corresponding for about a year. We talk often on kik. We both love word games and do the daily Wordle faithfully. We both love Jeopardy! And of course, we’re both spankos. A has an extra fetish that I don’t happen to share — along with bottoms, he loves women’s feet. I’ve known a lot of foot fetishists over the years (they give damn good foot massages), so this is nothing new to me. After we’d gotten to know each other a bit better, he would ask me to send him pictures of my feet now and then. Sure, why not. He always asks politely, and he’s so appreciative and complimentary when I do. And it’s just feet.

Cut to last Friday, when I was reeling from my unpleasant encounter. I got a kik from A, asking about my day and how I did on the Wordle. I didn’t tell him about what had happened; I didn’t really feel like it. And then he said he felt like he hadn’t seen my soles in forever, and he’d love a new picture.

My first thought was “Oh, crap. I’m not in the mood for this. I’m feeling so unsexy and icky right now.” So I messaged back that I’d been super busy and preoccupied, but I’d send him something soon, I promise. And then he replied:

“That’s my good girl.”

There it was. That jolt. He has no idea how I feel about that phrase; he said it organically, not to be manipulative. And just like that, my mood shifted. My deeply hidden soft center melted like a Lindt truffle. I became willing. I set up my phone’s timer, and took not one but three pictures for him. He was his usual effusively appreciative self, and I enjoyed making him happy with such a simple thing. But what he doesn’t know is that he made me feel good too. And it helped me get past the ugliness.

While we’re on the subject of buzz words, here is another one of mine: Punish. Or punishment. Again, I have no idea why. But damned if hearing that word doesn’t do things to me. Yummy things

Funny story about that word, and as it happens, it has to do with the aforementioned P. One day in class, he had pushed us particularly hard, and when we were lying on our mats and stretching, I felt a twinge in my lower back, which tends to act up anyway. So, as we stretched, I idly reached down with one hand and massaged that spot. P, with his eagle eye, noticed that from across the room and called out, “Erica, is your back hurting?” I said, “Yeah, it’s okay, just a little.” And then he teasingly said… wait for it…

“Aw, I’m sorry, honey! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to punish you a little.”

Oh. My. Freaking. GOD. I felt that blush all the way into my hair follicles. I thought he was going to have to scrape me off that mat. Of course, he had no idea what he’d said and what it had done to me. That was around the time that I became convinced that he was one of us, and I was determined to find out for sure. But that’s another story, a very long one.

Any of you want to share your button pushers? This is always a fun subject. I know that just writing this out has gotten me rather… flustered. And on that note, guess I should re-route my mind and get back to work.

Have a great weekend, y’all. ♥

Oh, those swoon-worthy phrases…

You all know what I mean. Those spanking-related phrases that push our buttons; we’ve talked about them a lot, so that’s not what this post is about. It’s about a particular instance of one that shot my nerve endings into overdrive.

As a proofreader/copyeditor, I don’t choose what I work on. I read what’s given to me and I make it as perfect as I can. In my thirty-five years of doing this, I’ve read quite the spectrum of subject matter. And lucky me, I seem to have found my niche lately: spanking/fetish erotica. I work on a whole lot of that. Therefore, I see a broad range of kink and types of play. Some of it resonates. Some of it doesn’t. We’re all so different.

But every now and then, I read something that slams into my kinky reflexes so hard, I squirm in my desk chair. I don’t want to seem like I’m playing favorites, so I am not going to reveal the author or the book, just quote a snippet.

The hero has just ordered the heroine to lie on the bed for a punishment:

Her: I don’t want to.
Him: I didn’t ask if you want to. I told you to do it. NOW.

I can’t explain why any more than I can explain any of this kink stuff, but that little bit right there got me so hot and bothered, I had to take a work break, if you get my drift. (I know, I know, TMI. But hey, just one more of the joys of working at home.) 😀

Now, from the sublime to the ridiculous, a few search phrases I found for my blog.

how spanking models work

Hard, honey. Really hard.

my parents left and this guy from school spanked me

Well, good for you. And I’m supposed to do exactly what with this information?

spanking sarah bright pics

I am not Sarah Bright. I look nothing like Sarah Bright. Sarah Bright is a top. Why does Google delude this poor hapless searcher by directing them to my blog?

speeding in my house earns you a spanking

You must have one hell of a huge house to be able to drive a car in it.

braces pigtails bows pajamas spanking

OK… aside from the obvious last word, how the @#$% does any of this lead to me?? I haven’t worn pigtails since I was twelve and I got my braces off when I was thirteen. I’ve never worn bows; not that I can recall, anyway. Pajamas? Yes, I wear those. I don’t think I’ve ever been spanked in them, though. So what was this person doing, just throwing out a bunch of Little terms to see what came up? Sure must have been disappointed when he/she saw me!

Anyway. Back to work for me, and then off to John’s. I think we’re going to have a more peaceful weekend than the last one was. Last Friday, John’s refrigerator, garage door opener, and one of his crowns all broke. We spent the weekend buying ice and putting buckets of it in the fridge to keep the food cold. He managed to fix the garage door himself. And he was able to get emergency appointments for both the tooth and the fridge on Monday, taking half a day off. Whew. So if this weekend is uneventful, neither one of us will complain.

Have a great weekend, y’all. And to my American friends, please have a safe and happy July 4th. EDIT: Also to my up North pals, happy Canada Day!

The phrases that soothe

Much has been written about spanking “buzz phrases” by many, including myself. We all know about those words and phrases that electrify, that stop us dead in our tracks, set our hearts pounding and our stomachs lurching…the scolding, the threats, the warnings and promises.

I was thinking about this — words before and during the spanking are well covered. But I can’t recall if anyone has written about what we bottoms like to hear afterward.

Anyone who knows me, knows how I feel about aftercare. It is essential; as important a component of a good spanking scene as technique, chemistry, implement selection or anything else. Of course, aftercare means different things to different players. For some, it’s sexual, which is lovely. Because I tend to be a hard player and immerse myself emotionally in a scene, my particular preference in aftercare is tenderness. My hard outer shell has been cracked off and my vulnerability exposed. The treatment I receive, in those minutes right after the spanking concludes, contains tremendous power. It can either put me back together again or crush me.

Being held and caressed, tenderly soothed, doesn’t just feel good physically, it’s reassuring emotionally. It makes us feel loved and forgiven. We took what we were given and we took it well. It’s time for kindness.

What do you like to hear your top say during this time?

Perhaps some prefer silence, and that’s OK too. I like that as well. But I do love to hear my top’s voice. Quiet, kind, his words stilling my turmoil.

It doesn’t have to be much; in fact, my mind is mush for a while and cannot absorb anything detailed. If I’m crying, shaking, breathing rapidly, my fists clenching and unclenching as I ride waves of emotion and pain, then something as simple as a sweetly whispered “shhhhhhhh…” will do it.

“Good girl” is always welcome. “It’s OK.” “It’s over now.” “That’s my girl.” Such simple words, and so invaluable.

When Danny and I were play partners, a favorite thing of his to say to me afterward was, “Is my sweet Erica back now?”

“Yes,” I’d murmur, unable to look at him. I can never look up, at first. I keep my face buried.

“Good, because I love her very much,” he’d reply. I could be wickedly prickly, bitchy, sarcastic and sharp-tongued, but after he took me to task, I was forgiven. And I was always loved.

Craig always called me “baby.” That word, in the wrong context, can be unbearably condescending. But the way he said it, at just the right time, made me feel protected and warm, much like the fur blanket he wrapped around me those cold nights at the Lair.

New Guy’s aftercare? As sweet as he is, which is very, very sweet indeed. 🙂

When I hand myself over to a top, I am giving him my trust. I am, with my actions, saying, “You can inflict pain on me, and I will take it willingly. I am brave for you, because I know I am safe in your hands.” Afterward, when I’m spent, throbbing and feeling laid bare, one of the most touching, loving phrases for me is “I’m so proud of you.”

Yes. Thank you. I like it when I’ve made you proud. Hearing that, and feeling a gentle kiss on my hair, my face, a comforting hand… those are the moments where the world could end and I’d exit blissfully.

Fellow bottoms — does this resonate? What are your beloved aftercare phrases?