Thursday, November 30, 2017

Vanilla Life

For most of the past year or so, I've been living a nearly totally vanilla life, something I had sworn in the past I would never do again. That's not to say that I haven't missed my scene friends and that don't miss all those wonderful spankings I've gotten over the years.'s been easier to do than I thought it would be. There are a number of reasons for this.

First off, and most importantly, I moved out of the home of my brother-in-law. My sister finally got tired of his crap and left him. She said she found condoms in his pants pocket when she was doing his laundry. I've known for years that he was being unfaithful. But the situation got physical and we had to get out of there quickly. We live in a pretty nice two-bedroom apartment. My sister and my niece share the master bedroom and I have the smaller room to myself. We're a bit cramped, but it's worth it to be in a more peaceful environment. The irony, of course, is that now that I essentially have my own place and can host guests, there are no play dates in my future. At least, not the foreseeable future unless things change. Having some walls and a bed and furniture I can call my own is really important to me. I haven't had my own place since Carol and I lived in our apartment and that's been almost ten years ago now. I have essentially lived with people since then. My sister, niece and I live quietly, comfortably and happily here. I don't have to worry about petty people messing with me. I have my own router now so no one can turn it off and deny me Internet access. My brother-in-law did this all the time. The router was in his room and he would often turn it off and then lock his door while he was at work. He used to do the same thing with the phone (this was before I had my cell phone). He would turn off both at the same time if he really wanted to mess with me. He did this in 2013 while I was recuperating from having my appendix out. He knew I was home every day and he also knew I would get lonely and feel isolated. He did this because that's how he got his kicks. I'm sure he went about his work with a smile on his face knowing how miserable I was. Once I moved back from Chicago, his behavior toward me improved for a while. But later, once I had a job and couldn't do the things I had done before (such as doing the dishes and other cleaning), he went back to treating me bad. Oh, he wasn't messing withp one anymore or the router (at least, he did it only occasionally), but he made it known that he didn't like me being there. The move was a nightmare. We were only allowed in the house when he was there and that was only on the weekends. My sister and I don't get many days off together, so what should have taken a few days, turned into months. Neither her husband or her son helped us move anything. We had to do everything ourselves. My good friend sold me some furniture she had for $150.00. It consisted of a couch (the kind that recline on the ends), a chair with a matching ottoman and two tables. I knew I wouldn't be able to carry the furniture up three flights of steps, so I asked a guy I worked with who does odd jobs if he'd move the furniture for me. He agreed and told me he and his helper would do it for $100, or $50 each. That seemed like a good deal. We set a date and he went over in his truck to my friend's house and picked up the furniture. The couch came apart in three sections, which made it a lot easier to carry. So for $250 I now had furniture. Once we got furniture, I set about getting cable and Internet set up. Yeah, we lived there for two months without living room furniture or television or Internet. It's  been a slow and arduous process, but we now have everything we need. Now, I'm not allowed in the house at all, under any circumstances, which I can't figure out because I never did anything to him. Despite the fact that my sister's name is still on the mortgage to their house, he changed the locks. Suffice to say, he's a miserable jerk and I'm happy I don't have to deal with him anymore. I'm happy that my sister gets to enjoy her days off, without him asking her if she sat on her "fat ass" all day. Of course, because of his conditioning, she still feels guilty about not doing anything on her days off. I told her she could do whatever she wanted to. She's slowly learning how to enjoy herself.

Secondly, my health is slowly becoming problematic. It was one of the major factors for me quitting the scene. My RA is advancing and it makes everyday tasks difficult, even on my so-called good days. I work full time, but I'm no longer able to walk like I used to. Since the move, I haven't been able to walk to work anymore because it's just too far. My knees and hips hurt almost all the time now. The flare up I had of my RA last fall was triggered by a fall I took at work in the summer. I still haven't fully recovered. Also, my eyesight is getting worse. I just don't think I'm attractive to potential partners anymore. My face is aging and quickly. I look at pictures of me from just a few years ago and I'm stunned by how much I've changed since then. I hate to say it, but I'm beginning to look like an old lady. And make up doesn't help. I still wear it occasionally, but I've gotten out of the habit of wearing it. Having to have a tooth pulled also drove the point home to me of how much I've aged. I had always wanted to keep my own teeth. The thought of dentures was out of the question. So when I lost a filling, I thought nothing of it. I thought I would just go to the dentist and get a new one put in. But the tooth had become infected, a sure sign that there was more than likely a fracture involved. My dentist and I decided that the easiest and least expensive route would be to pull the tooth. It was a molar so no one would see the bare spot. To me, it felt like the first step to hagdom. I was turning into a gap-toothed hag and there was nothing I could do about it. I'd always been careful about how I looked. Call it pride if you have to, but I always insisted on looking my best whenever I was at an event. Oh, I still get my nails done but only because of how bad my hands would look if I didn't. Plus, I refuse to give up my nails. I work hard and if I want to get my nails done, I will. My bother-in-law always hated it that I got my nails done. He also hated it that I got my hair done or bought pretty clothes for myself. I never heard a word when my nephew's wife (who lived in the basement with him) did the same thing. She went to the tanning salon and those things are expensive. But he never said a word to her. Now, it could be that he hated as much when she did it as when I did, but I rather doubt it. My nephew's wife had an elevated status in that house that precluded even my sister. When he was redecorating the kitchen and living room, he never once asked for my sister's (or anyone else's input) but my nephew's wife. It seems she was consulted on every decision, including what color the new siding should be. My sister was never asked what she wanted. This was where, I believe, the seeds of her real unhappiness came from. She had been uniformly unhappy throughout most of her marriage, but this, coupled with finding the hidden condoms, was the straw that broke the camel's back. It showed her, once and for all, how little he actually valued her as anything but a drudge; someone who was handy for cooking and cleaning and doing his laundry, but not for consulting with on important issues. The only thing I ever got from him was his constant disapproval. I gave my sister $60 a week ($240 a month) to use in any way she wanted. It mostly went towards groceries to feed the other people in the house, but not me. I was deemed unworthy of being fed and so I had to buy my own food, despite the fact that the meals I wasn't allowed to eat were mostly paid for by me. Of course, there was a time when I wasn't allowed to use the stove or the oven. Anything I brought home to eat had to be microwaved. Also, I wasn't allowed to keep anything in the refrigerator and, at one point, I also wasn't allowed to use the microwave. So eating became a real challenge. I would bring something home from work (I work in a supermarket) and put it in the microwave while my brother-in-law slept. Then I would wash my dishes right away so he wouldn't know I'd eaten. Of course, I wasn't starving. He had to know I was eating. My nephew's wife routinely threw away food I had stored in the fridge, saying it was spoiling or that it took up too much room. I was working in the accounting office of a supermarket. I didn't have unlimited funds to buy food every time she decided to pitch my stuff out. So, eventually, things came to a head and I knew it was time to leave.

So I work, I come home. I get on Facebook and see what my cousins are doing. I even sometimes look at Fetlife, but I really don't have the stomach for it anymore. I read and do other things that interest me. I do miss the fun of the spanking scene, but I just don't see myself ever being a part of it again. At least, not the way I was before. Maybe, at some point and with some luck, a man with an aim towards marriage will enter the picture. I said in my youth I would never get married. But when you're young and most of your life is ahead of you, you can afford to be brave. Once you hit my age, the thought of spending your final years alone is too awful to think about. But whatever happens, God will have his way in my life.

This is an update for those who might be wondering what I'm up to these days.

Tuesday, May 30, 2017


Author's Note: This post has been sitting in my drafts folder for probably close to a year. I have no idea why I never published this. The views expressed may be controversial, but they're mine. If any of these views offend you, then feel free to stop reading.

I'm not a huge fan of hashtags. But I began to see #sorrynotsorry on the two social media sites I belong to, namely Fetlife and Twitter. I guess the best definition I can give for #sorrynotsorry would be this: there are things I believe in and views I hold that I won't apologize for. I absolutely, categorically refuse to apologize for my views on certain subjects. They have been formed over years of living (usually on both sides of whatever the issue is), not just bowing to political correctness. I fully realize that there are people out there, perhaps the vast majority, who allow their thoughts and feelings on certain subjects to be dictated to by whatever "the crowd" is doing. That's all well and good...for them. I guess it keeps them from having to think about things too deeply. 

For the benefit of those who don't know me very well, or who have just found this blog, let me list some of the things I strongly believe in and for which I do not apologize:

1) First and most importantly, I believe in the power, omnipotence, and sovereignty of the Lord, whether in the Person of God, Jesus Christ or the Holy Spirit. I have taken many, many hard hits for this. But nothing will shake my faith. Not being called ugly names, not being told I believe in an "imaginary friend", not being called brainwashed and not being called a "hateful, intolerant bigot". Nothing. In Matthew 5:11, Jesus is giving what's called The Sermon On The Mount and he says "Blessed are you, when people hate you, and persecute you and say all manner of evil against you for my sake." Now I know how that sounds. Be glad when people make fun of you for being a Christian? Yes, because Jesus goes on to say that we who persevere will have a great reward. This man Jesus, who loved me before I was ever born, who died a criminal's death so I could have my sins forgiven, deserves my praise and obedience. I don't go around forcing the Gospel message on people. I don't tell them about how they're going to hell because they don't believe the way I do. I simply let my personal faith show in my life. Am I perfect? Far from it. I simply acknowledge that I cannot save myself. A lot of my friends don't believe in God and I don't let that keep me from being friends with them. This is what's commonly called tolerance. 

2) I'm a conservative. I believe in my Constitutionally protected rights--the right to free speech, the right to NOT have the government tell me how to worship (the TRUE meaning of the separation of Church and State that gets misunderstood by so many), the right to keep and bear arms to protect myself and my loved ones and the right to peacefully assemble. I believe in a small government that stays out of the way of people living their lives, running their businesses in accordance with their beliefs and stops giving cradle to grave hand outs to those who aren't even American citizens or those who don't really need the help, but just are lazy and are gaming the system. Yes, there are people who need help and we have the means to help them. But three generations in one family who have never worked? There's something wrong with that. Hard work used to be one of the hallmarks of American life--work hard and you can get ahead. No guarantee, of course, but the opportunity is there. I also believe that America is exceptional. If we weren't exceptional, why would millions of people risk their lives to come here and be part of that? Every year, thousands and thousands of people from all over the world become American citizens. Are we perfect? Far from it. Societies will never be perfect until people are perfect and unfortunately, this side of Heaven, none of us will ever be perfect. 

3) I do my kink my way and I'm not sorry for that. I don't force others to do it the way I do it. Quite frankly, I would hate to have that done to me. I once had a guy message me, after I had mentioned something in one of the Fetlife discussion groups about not being interested in bondage, saying that I was "judging" people who do partake in it. People who want to engage in bondage or play with needles or knives or urine should do so freely. Why are they so worried about someone like me, who isn't interested? Really? You don't feel free to practice your kink unless everyone totally agrees with and embraces it? I'm pretty sure there are a lot of kinky people out there who aren't into spanking or pain at all. Do I let that hinder my enjoyment of spanking and pain? No way. I can totally tolerate people who are disinterested or who even hate my kink the way I practice it. That's the beauty of living in a free country (well, still free for now at least). Everyone is free to do what makes them happy as long as it doesn't hurt another person (at least against their will). I've been taken to task for practicing my kink my way almost as often as the preceding two things on my list. It amazes me the kinds of emotional reactions I've gotten to something that is virtually no one's business but mine.

4) I'm not sorry that I'm a woman. There are so many women out there (and not just kinky ones on Fetlife) who think that woman=victim. According to many modern feminists, we're supposed to hate men; to hate their historic authority over us, to hate that they "oppressed" us, which is why men get the lion's share of credit for inventions which have benefited us as much as it has men. If only we'd been allowed to succeed the way men have without compromising our femininity. There are factions out there who hate women like me---women who are happy to be women, who have no desire to be a man. That's because this attitude somehow isn't validating to transgendered people. If a woman wants to have surgery or get hormones because she would rather be a man, she should be free to do that. But she should do that with the knowledge that none of that will make her a man. She may look like one on the outside, but minus that Y chromosome, she's still a woman. Conversely, a man can have all the surgeries and hormones he can afford in order to make him more like a woman, but he will never be genetically female because of that Y chromosome. Unfortunately, I don't have the answer for what to do about people who feel trapped in a body that they don't feel is the right one. 

5) I'm not sorry that I'm straight. I'm extraordinarily happy that I'm sexually attracted to men. Of course, I can look at a beautiful woman and admire her beauty, but that doesn't mean that I want to have sex with her. Now, if people want to be a practicing gay or lesbian, that's a personal choice. If they want to be celibate, then that also is a personal choice. My opinion shouldn't have anything to do with someone else's personal decisions regarding their own sexuality. 

6) I'm not sorry I'm an American. Oh, I know that according the Social Justice Warriors out there, I'm supposed to hang my head in shame because I'm a citizen of the greatest country on earth. I'm supposed to constantly apologize for my "white Christian American" privilege. But I don't. Not even for a second. Every morning when I wake up, I thank the God I believe in that he placed me in this country, with all of its freedoms and all of its wonderful promise. Contrary to what people may think, I didn't have a "little princess" upbringing. I wasn't given everything my little heart desired. Both of my parents were hard working and level headed and I also thank God that they instilled that in me. We didn't have a lot growing up, but I don't remember a time when I didn't have a roof over my head, clothes on my back or food to eat. Nowadays, I see kids with every gadget imaginable. And I get told how these poor waifs, with their iPhones and X Boxes and whatever the next big thing is need food stamps and free housing because they're so poor. Poor? They have more than I had growing up. But we never got food stamps or any other kind of public assistance. My parents simply broke their backs to provide for us, which was something that used to be admired in this great country. Hard work was always part of the package deal that came with being an American, whether you were native born or an immigrant. Now we teach people that hard work is a bad thing and that everyone should just have things handed to them. And even though I see bad things in America, I'm still thankful that I'm American. #sorrynotsorry

On Why I Left

"Well it's alright
even when you're old and gray.
Well, it's alright
you still got something to say."

From "The End Of The Line" by The Traveling Wilburys

A few months ago, I made an announcement on Fetlife that I was leaving the organized spanking scene. This was something I never saw happening, but there it is. My decision wasn't made rashly, in a moment of anger because I can't seem to find play partners. The decision actually took months to make. I started thinking about it in summer time. I was thinking to myself "Why continue wasting your time? It's pretty obvious that no one is interested in playing with you and it looks like parties aren't going to be happening anymore either. So just stop it." And so I finalized my decision and put a short note on Fetlife letting the people who weren't interested in playing with me that I had decided to leave the scene. A few people wrote that they respected my decision, while disappointed that I was leaving. 

I will state right here that I really am not leaving with any bitterness. Disappointment? You bet. But I'm not bitter. I met and played with some wonderful people. I had a door to a whole new world opened to me; a door that never would have opened otherwise. I experienced more than I ever thought I would in my thirteen years in the scene. More importantly, I had my sister with me for seven of those years. It was her decision to attend a Chicago Crimson Moon party alone that gave me the courage to follow her. Oh, the fun we had together! I cherish all those memories even more now that she's gone. Going on without her was rough, but I soldiered on with the help of friends and family. Of course, it wasn't really the same. And I'm pretty sure if she were still here, she would lament the change in the spanking scene the same way I have (but probably with a bit more wit and humor). 

To me, the spanking scene has become a popularity contest. The popular folks have now set the course of the scene to the point that, if you're not a "Fetlebrity" (someone famous on Fetlife), you're nothing. I hate to say it, but it's true. At one time, I would have probably considered myself a minor Fetlebrity. I had been on the site long enough to have a detailed profile and over 1700 photos posted. I went to parties in Chicago and as far afield as Atlantic City and Detroit. I was shocked when, about five years ago, I went to a hardcore BDSM event in St. Louis and several people told me they had "heard of" me. I was flattered because, believe me, I valued few things in the scene more than I did my reputation. I've stated before how hard I worked to get a good reputation; as someone who was both fun to play with, but also fun. Was I everyone's cup of tea? Certainly not. But then, I don't know of anyone who is. There are certainly people who think they are. We used to say these people "think they're all that and the box it came in." To me, nothing is a bigger turn off than arrogance and, sad to say, there's just too much of it in the scene these days. There are too many people out there whose attitude is that the scene would somehow collapse if they weren't there to prop it up. Here's a shot of truth: the spanking scene will be just fine without you. It will be just  fine without me. It existed before I ever knew about it, much less participated and it will continue to exist now that I've left. I have no illusions that I'm somehow bigger than the scene. I was but a minor player on that stage. 

To be fair, it wasn't just the changes in the scene that factored in my decision to leave. I have also had to adjust to changes in my body that had begun to make playing more and more difficult. I suffered two major flairs of my RA; one last spring and one in the fall (from which I still haven't fully recovered). What man wants to play with a woman who has to kill the moment (and takes her top out of top space) by constantly having to reposition? My hips and back hurt almost constantly from damage done by this progressive disease. I can understand the tops wanting to play with younger, more lithe and flexible women, who can hold those demanding positions. I would think that any top who expects a 56-year-old bottom who weighs over 200 pounds and has RA to bend over and touch her toes is begging to be disappointed. I can't do it; not just physically, but mentally. I have an intense fear of falling down. In 2012 I had a vitreous detachment in my right eye which affected my depth perception. So now, when I go down a flight of stairs, I take great care. Also, because I'm so top heavy, if I'm asked to bend over, once I get my weight going in one direction, it's hard to stop the momentum created by having large breasts and a thick stomach. Yeah, not a sexy thought at all. Fat girl falling down. Last summer, while walking to work, I misjudged how high to lift my foot to step over a bundle of firewood that had fallen off the pallet, my foot caught the edge of it and I took a spectacular tumble over it. Ten people must have seen me fall and only one person stopped to make sure I was OK. I wasn't wearing work clothes so he had no idea I going to work. I'm pretty sure that fall triggered that autumn's RA flair. So can you imagine any top wanting to play with a fat older lady with poor balance and a fear of falling? 

You know, I always said that I would remain active in the scene until my bones were too brittle to risk love taps. It never occurred to me that a time would come when demand would fall for anyone wanting to play with me. I always thought I would be the one who decided when I left. Perhaps that was arrogant of me and I guess I have to own that. I was so busy being excited about parties and pantie shopping that I never realized that tastes would change down the road. I think, like a few other things concerning the scene, I was led down a path or sold a bill of goods or however you want to phrase it. I was assured, each time my insecurities would rear their ugly heads, that fun, approachable bottoms would always be in demand. Well, someone define "fun" and "approachable" because I thought I knew what those words meant. More and more at parties, I would find myself prowling the empty hallways looking for someone who might want to play. Usually, I had no luck. In the beginning, Carol and I were two of the busier bottoms in the group. That's not bragging; it's the truth. In the end, I was reduced to playing with men I would have never given a second glance to in the days when I could afford to be choosy. When that realization hit me, I knew it was time to leave. 

And so now I bid adieu to that world--that world of hotel parties and road trips. Of yellow couches and midnight burger runs. To bruises and cane marks and giggling. I'll miss that world, but I'll never regret for one minute having lived in it.