Sunday, March 21, 2010

Go Fuck Yourself

Anyone who reads my blog knows I'm just about as straight-up about what I think and feel as you can get. I'm not saying I'm doing any heroic, I'm just saying I'm willing to put it out there to be honest. Whether it's explaining in detail a scene or my opinion about something in the lifestyle, I call it pretty much as I see it. My most recent post, about Erica Scott's decision to stop going to the dungeon where we play, thus eliminating my ability to experience this special relationship, was probably my most open blog entry in the nine months since I started it.

Most people just read my blog. Some comment. Almost never do I get an email. Until a few days after my last post. Here's an excerpt:

Boo hoo hoo oh, my spanking model is gone! Oh wo is me. Listen to you whine! What a pussy! you need to grow a set of balls, wake up and move on and never EVER write shit like that again. You are a TOP not some kind of chick. You write like a chick act like a chick and sound like a chick. She's hot but not to cry over in public. noone wants to hear it particularly the ladies. They wont play with you if you act like a complet pussy!

Nice.

First of all, NOT original. I said in my own blog post I was self-aware that I might be doing all those things: whining, being a pussy, acting in a manner unbecoming to a top, perhaps even alienating you ladies interested in playing with me.

SO...

I have two things to say: 1.) To the anonymous author of that email I excerpted above--see the title of this particular post. 2.) What do you regular readers think? I noticed a significant lack of comments after that blog post. Your silence was curious to me. Should I shutthefuckup?

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

All Good Things Must Come To An End

I often half-joke: "I can't have nice things." Fucked-up, yes, but occasionally I feel this way. Don't know what that says about me and don't want to know.

Yesterday, Erica made the decision she can no longer go to the local dungeon where we play. She's not a BDSMer, she's a spanko. She's never been comfortable there and as she's blogged numerous times, she gets weirded out easily. Even our first scene together there, a year ago, started poorly because she was so skittish about being there. I understand where she's coming from. There can be a lot of weirdness at the Lair, from naked men with saline-filled scrotums the size of grapefruit to howling to weird lurkers. It's just the way it is. It certainly can be disconcerting to the best of us.

This is a bad thing for both of us. It sucks we can't play together any longer. It sucks that Cindy and John won't play. We have developed a simpatico over time, a true connection. I'm sure you regular readers have absorbed my accounts of our scenes and how appreciative I've been of our near-psychic connection. You'll also know from reading those blogs how important and meaningful those experiences have been to me.

To think about that being gone and done with is painful. To think that piece of our relationship is over is very hard indeed.

Does that make me sound like a pussy? I don't care. Our scenes were extraordinary. Our bond unique and the trust she put into my hands meant a great deal to me. When I was still discovering who I was as a player and a member of the community, those scenes helped me realize who I am in the lifestyle, what is important to me, what my values are.

Further, Erica came into my universe at a pivotal moment for my life. I haven't talked about it much, but I'd just finished a four-plus year health and weight loss plan, resulting in almost a 100 pound weight loss, a suit size reduction from 54 to 42 and a pant size reduction from 40W to 32W. I was "blossoming" as a new person, discovering myself in some ways for the first time, gaining new confidence I perhaps never had.

It was at the Shadow Lane party in Vegas, the first party my wife and I ever attended, and I was in a private suite party, meeting Erica's boyfriend and chatting with him. I had yet to see Erica, meet her, and, because I'm not a spanko, had no idea who she was or that she was a spanking model. Standing there talking, she walked right up to me, grabbed my hand and said, "Oh, I've been looking for you since I saw you in the ballroom." She dragged me into the bedroom, practically pushed me down onto the bed and was quickly tossing herself lightly across my lap for a bit of the ole' OTK. Little did I know but my non-spanking experience made me a very good spanker. I did things differently. I played interesting mind games. She liked it.

That grabbing-of-my-hand was huge. I wasn't feeling too sure of myself at that party full of strangers, wondering how to fit in. This beautiful woman--who I later learned was revered in many circles as a spanking video star and renown for her tolerance and "bionic butt"--had come to me, had grabbed my hand and had wanted me to spank her. It was a game-changer, as they say. She instilled in me, in that moment, a galvanizing conviction that I was worthy. Physically, I had transformed. Mentally, I was still that fat guy who often felt invisible for many decades.

(Ladies, I hope I'm not crushing your image of me. I'm just a bit raw at the moment and feeling, like always, well...honest.)

I've often told Erica I owe her a life debt over that first play experience at Shadow Lane. And then, over the last year, our near-monthly scenes had been extraordinary. At Shadow Lane's party in Vegas in September we played eight or nine times, if memory serves me correctly, and we had a smashing good time. Some scenes were intense to the point I brought her to tears, others were playful and in front of a "live audience" (the one in which she threw the ruler I had been using across the room and nearly hit my gorgeous wife, OTK with another man, a few yards away).

So, I come to a moment of regret and profound sadness. I know that doesn't sound very toppy. And I know this not the end of my relationship with her. I know we will play again. But something about the Lair offered us unconditional freedom to do what we wanted and make whatever noises needed to be made. The atmosphere (the physical atmosphere of the darkness, the furnishings, etc.) created a mood and a decent psychological ambiance as well that lent itself to our scenes in a positive way.

And that is now over.

But I do not, ABSOLUTELY DO NOT begrudge her in any way. This is not a rant or flame about her decision. This is about how this has left me feeling.

So...no more blogs about my scenes with Erica. You all will have to find your vicarious spanking-cum-borderline BDSM experiences elsewhere. I'll scene with others. I have and I do. But they're different. Better in some ways, not the same in others. (Erica never let me use "poky things" like vampire gloves--my favorites!)

Heavy sigh.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Scene Kill

There are many ways a scene can be ruined, and I've blogged about a few of them in the past. But how about a scene getting killed before it started? Best laid plans... My wife (a switch) and I were scheduled last night to co-top (duel top?) a lady at the dungeon we play at. We had discussed how we would choreograph this to some degree. I've co-topped my wife in the past with another male dom and it was great and a feast for her senses. Fun, rewarding and really a ballet of implements and nonverbal communication between the two tops. So I was looking forward to this.

Then word came in via email to my wife that perhaps the scene might not happen because the lady needed to get permission from her dom. Last she and I had spoken the week before, this was not a condition of play, so I was confused and, to be honest, a bit frustrated that this protocol issue had arisen. (And any regular reader of my blog will know how I feel about protocol.)

Saturday arrived and no word on whether permission had been granted to allow her to play with us. My wife was scheduled to participate in another scene at the Lair. GIven I had no other plans, I decided to stay home and avoid what I hate the most: just sitting around waiting for her to finish her scene. Now, I like the socializing part, but eventually, as the night wears on into early morning, it turns into me sitting around waiting. I don't begrudge my wife at all for this. She's having a great time. But I'd rather not end up sitting there. I can't even whip out my iPhone and watch a show or play a game--no phones allowed in the dungeon for obvious photographic reasons. So I stayed home and watched Zombieland with my kids, which was awesome, because I loved Zombieland when I saw it for the first time in Times Square when it first opened.

Scene kill. Before the scene began. Frustrating.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Boardwalks and Bottoms

A friend of mine can't help but remind me whenever she can how long it is until SSNY's Atlantic City party. Talk about eager. For the record, as I write this, it's 42 days, 6 hours, 32 minutes and 43...42...41 seconds. How do I know? Her Boardwalk Badness Weekend Countdown is active on her blog. I think she started counting down at 177 days. Something like that, anyway.

So with plane tickets in hand, hotel reservations confirmed and in a little under a month and a half away, it's time to start thinking about another fun and exciting upcoming party. Who will be there? What will the vibe be? And how on Earth will I have time to play with that incredibly full itinerary of activities planned by the organizers?

It's great to get back together with friends my wife and I have made in the lifestyle, seeing once again our favorite play partners is like rediscovering a beloved toy hidden in the back of your closet for so long--you can't wait to get your hands on 'em! Of course, making new friends is equally enjoyable.

So for all of you I already know: hope to see you in Atlantic City--and not on the boardwalk. And for those of you I don't know, can't wait to say hi and throw you over my lap for good spanking...the girls, I mean.