Birthday Blues

It's late December, so that means that my birthday is rolling around again soon. Soon as in a matter of days. I have been having mixed feelings about that. On one hand, I have some fun things planned and it ought to be a fun day. On the other hand, I've been think about Carol, the woman who came into the world five minutes behind me. Even though she's passed on, it's still her birthday, too. When we were kids, birthdays were always special occasions. My mother went to all kinds of fuss to make sure the birthday person (or people in my and Carol's case) had the best day possible. You could have anything you wanted for dinner, watch anything you wanted on TV and of course, have any kind of cake you wanted. Carol and I almost always chose pork roast for supper, since eating pork on New Year's Eve was supposed to guarantee prosperity in the coming year. When my grandmother still lived in Peoria, she would sometimes make beef rouladon, a German specialty and German chocolate cake. She was one of the best cooks I've ever known. Sometimes, we would ask her and Grandpa to take us out for dinner, which they always did, followed by a shopping trip for new clothes. Like many people whose birthday falls close to Christmas, we often felt ripped off. I can only really remember one birthday party. My mother worked full time, unlike a lot of mothers in that era, and she didn't have a lot of time for things like planning a kids' birthday party. Not to mention, money was always rather tight when we were kids. One tradition that we held to in our family was the birthday spanking. You couldn't have your presents until you'd taken your spanking. It was usually given by my father or grandfather. The spanking was done OTK but was never done hard. A spanking on ones' birthday was symbolic, unlike the ones we normally got as punishments. There was just some momentary embarrassment and then it was forgotten in the mad dash for gifts and cake. When we were younger, the cakes were homemade and usually from scratch. Cake mixes were available, but they weren't widely trusted by experienced bakers back then. Later, when we were older, the cake would be ordered from a bakery, like the chocolate one with the blue flowers in the above photo. It never seemed like a proper birthday without a cake. As we got older, the spanking tradition went by the wayside, although I did try to get a couple of boyfriends to spank me on my birthday.

Being in the  scene has opened up new possibilities for birthday spankings. Back in the days when Crimson Moon held parties in January, Carol and I could always count on some good-hearted top to remember to give us our birthday spankings . But once they stopped doing them in January, it became a case of us having to try to arrange something privately. This almost never worked out. I have all ready blogged about the 1985 birthday spanking I received from a guy I used to bowl with. That was my 25th birthday. When I turned 50 in 2010 I had a very memorable birthday spanking from an old spanko friend of mine.

He gave me a very nice strapping, took me out to dinner and then to see "True Grit" at the theater. It was my first birthday without Carol and I think he wanted to make it as nice for me as he could. It was one of the best birthdays I ever had, thanks to him. No one else did anything for me or even said "Happy Birthday" to me. At that time, I was still unemployed and had no computer.

Two years later, I had another memorable birthday spanking from a scene friend. This time, my old buddy Charles came down. He always came to Peoria on New Year's Eve as he had friends who threw a party every year. Because I live with my sister and her family, I couldn't host him. We had to get a hotel room. But it was still fun, despite the fact that I had been having abdominal pain since the previous day. I knew I should get checked out but I didn't want to be in the hospital on my birthday.

Forty-eight hours after this photo of me happily smiling was taken, I had my appendix out. I managed to put the pain out of my head and enjoy it.

So, what will this year bring? I have no idea. Mike has already told me that he won't be able to come down for my birthday. So I'm counting on other toppy types to deliver the spanking I've come to expect on my birthday.

Feelings About Feelings

You know, usually I'm pretty easy to get along with. I don't make a lot of demands. But something has been happening behind the scenes that is making me very frustrated and angry. This will be kind of a long, drawn out thing so bear with me.

I have one man that I list on my Fetlife account as my top. I have several play partners and a plethora of "sisters" but he's the only one I list as my top. For varying reasons, we're special to each other. I'm talking about Mike D. Mike is kind, generous and spanks hard. That's a perfect combination for me. I met him years ago at one of Valorie's OND parties. My sister was still alive back then and I think she may have met him as well. Anyway, about six months after Carol died, I was vending for my friend MrZia at the November OND party and I saw him again. This was in 2010. He bought a lovely blood wood paddle (one of only two that I had) from me and I let him give me a few smacks with it. It was pretty normal for that to happen and I thought nothing of it. I didn't see Mike again for three more years. In the spring of 2012, he contacted me, reminding me of how we met, and offering me a ride if I was going to be attending Valorie's party. I was, but I was going with my friend, Sherri. For some reason, he didn't attend. Then in November, he offered again. I couldn't go to the party so I declined. He asked if I had a free day for him to come down and play. I'm always looking for new people to play with. But to  say that Mike and I "clicked" that day is probably an understatement. I had searched for years looking for someone I could play with who was different from anyone else I have ever played with. Mike admitted that he had looked for a long time for the same thing. He told me he has been playing at the SINs Center, with little actual play. I got the impression that very few people gave him a chance. No, he's not an Adonis. Neither of us is young or beautiful. However, something just happens when we're together. But Mike is a busy guy. He's married, so his wife comes first. That's something I have to accept and I have no problem doing that. He also owns a business and that keeps him busy, especially at tax time. Everything is on his terms. I don't have a problem with that either. I enjoy his company and he's opening up a  different world for me.

We got together several times in 2013. He came down to see me about nine days after I had my appendix out. I had to cut our play short because of pain, but we still had fun. He treated me to a wonderful dinner and some nice spanking and a little pantie shopping. Then I saw him for a few hours that same month at the January Smack 'n' Snack (meetings arranged by Valorie at the LRA in Chicago). Again, I couldn't play very hard but we still had fun. I didn't see him again until May, when we travelled to Indianapolis for a house party. In June, about a month before the CCM summer party, he got the idea for me to come and spend some time with him at his condo. It was during this time that I became aware of the existence of another person in Mike's life. She was a sub he'd played with a few times and now she felt she owned him. She texted him no less than 75 times that weekend. "You're with that CherylKay!" she would text him. Her constant interruptions began to make me uncomfortable. Even while we ate at Carson's, a great barbecue place, she kept blowing up his phone with text messages. I told him he ought to turn his phone off, but he told me that she had threatened to kill herself before when he'd done that. I was horrified. How could he let this unstable woman into his life? I guess it just shows you the things that can happen when someone is desperate for someone to play with.

Things came to a head when we got back from CCM in July. Admittedly, I hadn't spent much time with Mike when I was there. But I explained beforehand that there were people I only saw at parties and I wanted to play with them. I think his feelings were hurt and he confided in this woman. She then sent me a taunting message, calling me a user, who only wants men who can spend money on me. I could tell that she really meant everything she said. She wasn't just trying to hurt me. I didn't respond to her because I didn't want to give her a stage to play her drama out on. Obviously, she was jealous of me but felt that some of the information that Mike had given her about our weekend in Chicago gave her some kind of leverage against me. I admit that I'm far from perfect and if there were problems between Mike and I that weekend, I took responsibility for them. I was a tad bit angry at Mike for telling someone I've never met personal things about our time together that weekend. About a month later, I tried to bury the hatchet with her. I actually sent her a friend request, which she rejected. That should have been my first indicator that things were going to come to a head. She sent me more messages after Mike threatened to drop her if  she didn't clean up her act. She accused me of driving a wedge between her and Mike. How on earth could I drive a wedge between them when I rarely got to see him? She sent me messages telling me how wonderful things would be with Mike if only I wasn't in the picture. Her attitude perplexed me. The more I tried to explain the real situation to her, the less sense she made. Everything was my fault.

Today, Mike got tired of her and cut her loose. Mike is a dominant man and was actually seeking a slave/sub. He knew I, as a bottom, could never be that for him. So I encouraged him to get another relationship going. He could only take so much and had a lot to lose in regards to his marriage and business if she decided to get really ugly. She wrote me today and, again, blamed me for the "break up." Now I'm back to reconsidering what part I actually did play in this. I won't lie. I do have feelings for Mike. It's not love. It's more like deep respect and friendship. If he were to call me and tell me he didn't want to see me anymore, I would probably be really sad for a while. But I wouldn't shatter over it. Now I have to wonder if having feelings is even a good thing in this scene. Does it even pay to get close to someone when there's bound to be someone in the shadows sending text messages threatening suicide? I looked for someone like Mike for ten years and it feels terribly unfair to have this going on. 

When  I first started in the spanking scene back in 2003, my sister and I had a few rules in place for ourselves in order to keep messy entanglements in check. First of all, we always played together so that the men we played with didn't see more of one of us than the other. Second, there was no sex involved. This is a rule I've since broken a number of times. We also didn't allow tops to get into our heads and mess with our emotions. Those were kept completely separate. At first, it was easy. But as I go along in the scene (especially in the years since Carol died) it gets harder and harder not to feel something for these guys. Carol kept me grounded and also fulfilled a lot of the emotional needs I had. But now that she's gone, someone else has to fill that emotional void. Mike does that for me. He's kind and funny and generous with both his time and money. Granted, a lot of women would say he isn't much to look at. But then again, I'm not either. Looks is very low on my list of things that are important in a play partner. Other things, like being a good listener and having a sense of humor, are much more important. If I had to define our relationship in a more scene oriented way, I would say that it borders on the Daddy/babygirl variety. He loves to spoil me and sometimes show me off. I feel safe when he's around. He feels like I gave him the chance no one else would. So many people are hung up on looks. All you have to do on Fetlife is look at what makes K&P on a daily basis. Almost all of the women are beautiful and the men are all handsome and commanding. Mike and I both feel that we don't fit that. But we found each other and that means the world to us. Mike is faithful to his wife and works hard at building his business. It's hard not to admire someone like that. We've always been honest about our feelings and honest about what we mean to each other. Maybe this episode with the needy slave will make both of us appreciate each other better. But I'm also on the look out for a possible romantic relationship and so I kind of have to put myself out there and risk getting hurt. It's a risk I', willing to take at this point, but that could change.

Inked Again

After getting my first tattoo in February, 2012, I had been chomping at the bit to get another one. But I had no idea where I wanted to go this time. It's not that I didn't like the first one or that I had a bad experience there. It's just that I wanted to see what else was out there. Well, thank goodness that I work in retail and have to work with the public. Over the course of a five-day work week, I had three customers whose ink I admired and they all got them at the same place-- Freedom Ink in Peoria.

Two of the customers actually gave me business cards from this establishment. I was impressed with the work that I saw on my customers and made plans to have a friend take me over there for a look. We weren't disappointed. The place was spotless and there were several comfortable couches for sitting and browsing the books filled with the work of the gentlemen who work there. Even though it was Monday and they were closed, they still allowed us to come in and have a look around. While they do accept walk ins, I would recommend making an appointment. They charge a $50 deposit (which is deducted from your tattoo at the time of your appointment) but that seems fair to me. I made an appointment and we left. When I got home, I had a look at their website and, again, was impressed. The owner, Tim Beck, has had his work featured in many tattoo magazines, both nationally and abroad. My appointment was with Jeremy as I assumed that Tim was booked for months and I didn't want to wait for my tattoo. I saw Jeremy's portfolio on the website and I liked what I saw of his work.

He's a young guy, but he's a great artist. I was really looking forward to working with him. Twice, I had to change my appointment due to my work schedule but the people there were awesome about it. When I arrived for my appointment, Jeremy was finishing his dinner. So we sat down to wait. Again, the place was immaculate. I was nervous at first but soon calmed down. I treated it like I was getting ready to play with someone I'd never played with before. I was disappointed that the design I'd shown him was not "doable" and that I would have to do something different. But I appreciated his honesty. After I described what I wanted, I settled in to wait to see what he would come up with. The design I wanted was a dragonfly and the one he drew up looked really amazing. I hate bugs, but I do love dragonflies, both in jewelry and in drawings. In real life, not so much because they look rather fearsome to me. He asked me about how big I wanted it and where I wanted to put it. He was neither shocked nor surprised when I told him. I was a little dismayed to learn that they had no private room for work of this kind, but he dragged a portable massage table out. OK, I've played in public before. Strangers have seen my ass. I wasn't going to stress over it. I'll just say it's a good thing I didn't want my hew haw tattooed. The first time he put the transfer on, I didn't like the location. It wasn't far down enough, So he did it over. The second time was dead on and so it was time to get down to business. He taped the bottom of my shirt out of the way and got me comfortable on the table. I was still a bit nervous about being out in the open like that. Believe me, no one is more aware than I am of how big I am than I am. But this was what I wanted and this was part of the price.

The line work hurt...a lot. Doing the outline requires that the line be continuous at times and that's what hurts. Anyone who's had a tattoo knows what I'm talking about. He asked me to lie as flat as possible and breathe as normally as I could. With my pain tolerance, that wouldn't be difficult.

OK, I wish my fat gut wasn't showing here. But there was nothing I could do about it. I love to document my experiences with photos. If you would have asked me fifteen years ago if I would be willing to do this, I would have said you were crazy. One thing being in the spanking scene has done is make me less inhibited and less hung up on my body. It's also forced me to accept myself as I am. I told one of the guys there that I was in the BDSM scene and that a lot of people would be seeing Jeremy's work. These people who do tattoo artistry depend on word-of-mouth for a lot of their advertising. From now on, whenever I drop my panties or get naked to play with someone they will see Jeremy's incredible talent.

I love the colors in this. And I love the definition. It really does look like it's flying up. He made sure to use plenty of green as it's my favorite color. I didn't want a creepy-looking bug on my ass and while it's whimsical, it's realistic enough to be cool. In every way, I'm pleased with this tattoo. I'm over 50 so I won't be wearing it for 50 more years. I'll probably live another 20 years or so and I can live with this tattoo. It's really beautiful and I can't wait for it to heal. Now it's time to think of the next one.

Chicago Crimson Moon Party Review-- Part I

Since August is now half over, it's time for me to get it in gear and let all my readers know about my experiences at the big CM summer spanking party. It was held at our usual hotel on July 25-27. There were a lot of people there, many I had never met before.

Because I had to work on Wednesday, it was a hectic day for me. I had to work until 5 o'clock so the plan was for my buddy, Sherri, to drive to Morton from Kansas City and then my top, Mike, would drive down from Chicago and pick us up. Then we were going to spend the night at his condo in the city. Sherri told me she would try to get to Morton between seven and eight o'clock and Mike had planned to get there between eight and nine. I had to walk home from work and was planning on stopping on the way home to get my nails done. The place I go to is fast and they do amazing work. But they're all Chinese and so I have a hard time understanding them. The man who usually does my nails is nice enough, but he doesn't talk much. He prefers to use hand gestures when he wants me to do something. This time, I opted for pink tips since it was a special occasion. While I was sitting with my hands under the drier, I heard "Hey, Cheryl!". I looked up and saw Sherri. How one earth did she find me? It turns out that, when we were coming back from Atlantic City, I had pointed to the building and told her that was where I got my nails done. I guess it dawned on me at that moment that the town I lived in really was small. When I was dry and I paid my bill, I asked Sherri how she wanted to fill up some time since she was early and she said she wanted to go get some food. All she'd had all day was "road food" and she really wanted a hot meal. There was a Monacle's pizza next door so we went in and got some pizza.

We discussed several issues we'd both been facing. She was fully aware of my problems at home and she asked me if anything had changed. It hadn't. In fact, my sister had told me a few days earlier that my brother-in-law (her husband) didn't want me going to Chicago. In fact, he pretty much didn't like it that I had a social life. He thinks I should just go to work and come home everyday like he does. Neither he or my sister has a friend outside of work. Their evening hours are spent working another job. Neither needs the money, they just don't give themselves permission to do anything fun. They both hate it that I get my nails done, wear jewelry and make up and like pretty clothes. I'm an unabashed "girly girl" and I love all the things that go along with being feminine-- perfume, shoes and nice clothes. Both of them have had dentures since they were in their 30's because they never bothered to take care of their teeth. My sister hates it that I pay attention to my health. I'm determined to keep my real teeth for the rest of my life. Anyway, my brother-in-law grew up a Jehova's Witness and even though he doesn't practice his religion anymore, he still believes that women should lead quiet and plain lives. I should mention that I pay a very generous rent to live in the spare room (surrounded by junk my sister refuses to throw away). I don't think that what I do is any of his business. I don't tell him how to spend his spare time. I was pretty sure when I came back from Chicago it was going to hit the fan.

When Sherri and I finished our pizza, we headed back to the house. I was a little bit worried because I knew my brother-in-law would be home and I didn't want there to be a scene. But when we got home, he was grilling something on his grill and didn't even acknowledge me when I walked right past him. Whatever. Sherri and I went to my room and she helped me get my packing finished. I was worried because it was getting close to time for Mike to get there. So I called him and learned he was just getting on the road. That meant it would be close to midnight before he would arrive. I love Mike to death, but he has never once picked me up at the time he tells me he will. So now, with another three hours to kill, Sherri and I joined my sister in watching the Cardinal game. She had come home from her evening job and the Cards were playing on the west coast so the start time was nine o'clock. Sometime during the game, they showed a commercial for Dairy Queen. The three of us looked at each other and the light bulbs went off. Off to Dairy Queen we went. The Cardinals had a handy lead by that time and so I was in good spirits, despite the delay in Mike arriving. By the time he did arrive, it was midnight and I had been up since six am. I was getting pretty tired. But he helped Sherri and I get our bags into this car. He didn't seem the worse for wear, considering all the driving he was going to have to do before this was all said and done. Now I should mention one more thing about Mike. He's never going to break any speed records. He does everything well, maybe not slowly, but he's definitely deliberate. Before we got on the interstate, he decided he needed gas, so we stopped at a local station. While his gas tank filled, he decided to clean the bugs off the windshield. Now, because I was tired and feeling giddy, I started to laugh at how he was cleaning the windshield. His response was typically toppy. He went to the back of the car and got a little hairbrush he had bought from my friend, MamaBlue, and brought it over to me. I was totally uncooperative because there were people around. He said "This car doesn't move until you turn over." Seeing  that we weren't going to go anywhere until I did it, I turned over and allowed him to give me a series of smacks with the hairbrush. I hoped no one was around to see it. It was pretty late and the place was deserted. But the attendant inside could see outside. We drove off without anyone saying anything. We were already so late that I would have done anything to get us moving. Actually, we made pretty good time due to the lack of traffic and the fact that it was a Wednesday night and not a Friday. When we pulled up to the parking garage of Mike's condo, Sherri and I decided to only bring the things we would need for the night: pajamas, tooth brushes, etc. I decided to take a bath and get all shaved the next day. I was so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open. In fact, when Mike took Sherri up to the observation deck, I fell asleep. We hit the sack pretty quickly as it had been a long day for each of us.

The next day, we discovered we'd slept late. It was almost eleven o'clock when we woke up. And we all got moving around a bit slowly. Mike wanted to take us out to eat and so we let him. He decided to take us to Le Grande Lux, a quite nice restaurant with a great view. It was a great place to people watch, if that's what you like to do. We got a pretty nice seat, despite the fact that it was the lunch rush. I had it narrowed down to two things when the perogies caught my eye. I ordered them because I hadn't had them in a long time. They were just about the best things I'd ever eaten. They braise them with short ribs and then top the whole thing with sour cream and green onions. It was heaven. I was excited about getting to the party because it had been nine months since the last one and there were people I hadn't seen since the last one.

Tomorrow, Day One of the party :)

Crimson Moon, Here I Come!

In less than one week, the big summer party held by Chicago Crimson Moon will be under way. Now that CM only does two parties a year, they mean a lot more. I have been trying to get packed, work full time and keep my mounting insecurities at bay this week, all the while battling the heat. I guess what I'm trying to say here is I need a party. It's been three months since Boardwalk Badness Weekend and my play has been sporadic at best. As the tension mounts, I desperately need some away time. About three weeks away, Mike (my wonderful top) whisked me away to Chicago for 24 hours of great fun. We hit Carson's Ribs (said by many to be the best ribs in all of Chicago) for some barbecue:

Words can't describe how silly I felt wearing that bib, but it saved my clothes. I'm an absolute pig when it comes to eating and most of my friends know it. I ate every bite of that half chicken and the au gratin potatoes. Plus, Mike and I split a taramizu. I practically had to be wheelbarrowed out the door. Before we went to get food, Mike gave me the cook's tour of his condo, which is in a high rise on Michigan Avenue. I'm petrified of heights and hate elevators, so it was an adventure. We did manage to get a photo, thanks to a very nice couple that were on the observation deck. I think we were interrupting something, but oh well.

As much as I love the city, and enjoyed looking around, I wanted to play. A spanking girl always wants to get spanked. I don't think he was prepared for how much I hate elevators. He teased me mercilessly, but it was all in good fun. When we got back from eating, it was time to play again. This time, we decided to shoot a couple of caning videos, which I uploaded on Fetlife as soon as I  got home (after first trimming them down).

Don't let the "ouchie face" fool you. I'm having the best time here. Caning is my favorite thing and Mike did a great job accommodating me. The only bad thing was that I had a stomach full of food here. We had a great time in the city. The next day, he took me to Navy Pier for a fun afternoon  before we had to hit the road. We took a water taxi to Navy Pier, something I'd never done before. I hadn't been on a boat in over 30 years; not since we used to spend vacations at my grandparents' place on Table Rock Lake back in the 70's.

The trip only took a few minutes, but the weather was absolutely perfect. There was a nice breeze on the lake that day. However, I deeply regretted forgetting my sunglasses and my sunscreen. You can see in this photo that ours wasn't the only taxi on the lake that day. There were all kinds of boats on the lake. I was awed by all the tall buildings and quaint cafes we saw. I think half the people took it for granted. As I stated in one of  my blog posts concerning the party in Atlantic City, I haven't travelled much and it shows. I was practically stretching my neck looking up at the skyscrapers. Mike got a kick out of my excitement. He told me that Navy Pier is his favorite place to "people watch". I've never been much of a people watcher myself. I'm much more curious about hearing what people have to say. I love listening to conversations and there was a lot of that going on as we ate. We hit a little cafe in the park called (I think) Rivan's. They serve crab cake sandwiches that are to die for. Anyway, it was soon time to get going and hit the road. Mike assured me to time until the Crimson Moon party would go fast. It hasn't. It has been dragging, all the while I work and pack, then unpack and re-pack. This is something that I've always done.

I have the usual summer assortment of cropped pants, peasant tops, dresses and sandals. In fact, I have a separate suitcase just for my shoes. I'm probably over packed, but that happens all the time. I would rather have too many things than not enough. You just never know what you might need at a spanking party. This will be Crimson Moon's 20th Anniversary party and so it's going to be a little special. I bought the two dresses because I felt the need to dress up a bit more. Mike likes to go to nice places to eat and I feel self-conscious in jeans when we're in a nice place. One of the dresses necessitated the need to purchase my first strapless bra in many, many years. I was a bit chagrined to discover that the bra cost more than the dress.

As I think back on my years of attending Crimson Moon parties, I have a ton of memories of the good times I've had. I still remember my first party like it was yesterday. However, I don't have any photos of that first party because I was absolutely against being photographed at a party. That changed with my third party though. It was July, 2003.

This is me and Ian, the London Tanner. He had just caned me and I asked him to sit for a photo with me. He was very obliging for the camera, I must say. I should never be photographed from the side. But Ian was so nice and I enjoyed his company so much. I really do miss him since he moved back to England and doesn't come to parties anymore. He was a party all by himself. The stories he told were worth the price of admission alone. That was my first time being caned by a real Englishman. It was amazing. I still remember it completely.

One of the traditions that has held from hotel to hotel is the communal breakfast. Because most hotels offer a free breakfast to guests, breakfast at CM parties is always an event. Of course, because of vanillas lurking around, we can't play or even talk about spanking. But it's always interesting to see everyone drag themselves down to the lobby. The main topic of conversation is usually how much (or how little) sleep everyone got the night before. Most of us show up looking like something the cat drug in and I'm no exception:

This photo was taken in January, 2004, back when CM still had a January party. I think that's scrambled eggs and maybe a chocolate muffin on my plate. I'm pretty sure I'm drinking cranberry juice here because I always do at parties. This was taken on Sunday morning right before we had to get on the road to go home. Nowadays, I take a lot more photos at parties, but back then, I was still a little bit hesitant to be photographed at a party. Of course, I kick myself now because I don't have much of a record of those early parties.

Another tradition at CM parties is that you can always count on someone stopping you in the hallway and wanting to get a photograph with you. Cigi had always worn her hair short but my pixie cut was a new one. I can't get over how heavy I looked here, but Cigi looks beautiful, as always. She had had her right breast removed only six months earlier and she carried her prosthetic in a beautiful box that resembled a hat box. Someone once asked her "Hey, what's in the box?" and she replied "My boob!". That's how she was. I really do miss attending parties with her. This was taken in July, 2007.

You also never know when a chance for public play will happen. I adore playing publicly because I'm a ham and I love to show off. The following photo was taken in October, 2007 in the public room of our hotel. Since it was the Halloween party, I'm dressed as the Black Dahlia (well, before the psycho got hold of her anyway). Everything I had on was black.

I'm getting the London Tanner prison strap from Richard Warmlion here. He was dressed as a gangster and it was my idea for him to carry his toys in a violin case (the way the old-timers used to carry their gats).

It's fun to look back at past parties as this one approaches. One thing is for sure: there will be a ton of photos.

Spanking Is Fun? Why Yes It Is!

At least once a week without fail I receive a message in my Fetlife inbox offering to help me with my "disciplinary needs". Most of the gentlemen doing the offering don't live close enough to me to make even meeting a reality and yet they insist that I should be accountable to them. People who see spanking in a purely punitive light have always annoyed and, at times, enraged me. I'm not slamming people who see spanking that way. Many people are in the scene simply to meet a dominant or Daddy to fill this very role. And if that's what someone seeks, who am I to look askance at them? However, when such behavior is directed at me, I feel I then have the right to protest. I'm usually polite to such people, unless he's a multiple offender. I tell them I'm sorry but I have no disciplinary needs that need met. With rare exceptions, I get a response, sometimes carefully worded, sometimes not. The responses generally fall into one of three categories:

1) "All women are bad little girls who need a man to spank them and put them back in their place (wherever that is)."
2) "You're in denial, sweetheart."
3) "All people who get spanked are submissive and also harbor a deep guilt over enjoying spanking. Spanking helps purge that guilt, along with other naughty feelings."


Responding to these messages is always a painstaking process for me. I don't want to step on any one's toes or come across as argumentative. All three attitudes have their adherents on both sides of the lap. But I have found that getting into philosophical discussions with any of the holders of these three prevailing attitudes is a total waste of time. The first one, where the man groups all women into the "bad little girl" category, is pretty easily identified as men who read too much spanking fiction or have seen one too many spanking videos where the "men are in charge" attitude is prevalent. The second one, the accusation of being in denial about needing to be disciplined, says a lot about the man who holds that attitude. Most of the uber-doms I know have this  attitude. They have a sense of entitlement and always have to be "right". The third one mostly comprises men who have read a lot of books on BDSM and the D/s dynamic. They tend to generalize about what spankees (whom they always refer to as "subs") might actually be after. Their attitude is "I've read all of this so I must be right. Never mind the fact that I've never actually played."

When I write the gentlemen back and tell them that, for me, spanking is fun, they almost always seem stunned. "Spanking is NOT supposed to be fun, young lady. You're supposed to be learning a lesson!" This ties in with other messages I've received concerning my habit of smiling while being spanked. Shockingly, I also get messages on occasion from submissives who ask "Can spanking really be fun? I asked my Sir and he says that's rubbish." What usually follows is several messages back and forth, with me trying to convince the poor girl that her Sir is wrong. But I sincerely doubt I've ever changed any one's mind.

I first encountered this punitive attitude towards spanking when I joined spanking Yahoo groups in my early days in the scene. There was no Fetlife back then. Many of the men spoke about "punishing bad little girls who go to spanking parties". It was a dichotomy--the men enjoyed the company of the women who attended and were glad they came, but still felt the need to "punish" them for this bit of naughtiness. As a relative newbie who was still dealing with her own feelings about spanking, I found all this talk about discipline and punishment confusing. It was on the Crimson Moon Yahoo group that I first heard the term "good girl spanking". Apparently, a good girl spanking is much more desirable than the nasty, painful bad girl spanking. I was a VERY hard player in those days and a hard spanking would have been a good girl spanking to me. When I would voice this, the men would come out of the woodwork to correct me on my wrongful thinking. "You're not really supposed to like that kind of stuff" one long-time scene denizen wrote me. "Most of the ladies like bunny fur and other sensual toys." My favorite toys have always included canes and prison straps. Bunny fur just doesn't cut it.

Now even though I'm making a face indicating that I'm in some discomfort, this doesn't mean that this isn't fun for me or that I didn't enjoy it. The tawse my top is holding here happens to be from The London Tanner, one of my favorite implement makers and my favorite when it comes to leather. I was feeling this tawse for the first time. I posted this photo to my Fetlife profile to appease the people who don't like the ones of me smiling; the ones who enjoy tears and pleading. I'm not saying there isn't room for both attitudes in the spanking scene. I understand that a lot of tops and many doms are turned on by facial expressions that somehow indicate that the spanking is punishment or at the very least non-consensual. I can play act this particular facial expression very well. But what's on the outside is rarely what counts. Inside, I was in heaven. This strap is divine. It's worth every penny I paid for it.

This is how I'm much more likely to look after being spanked. Admittedly, the spanking here wasn't that hard. But it was hard enough that I think the average person would have had a hard time smiling. In fact, I've been told that, since spanking is my only real kink, I'm practically vanilla. I hate to break it to be people who feel this way, but vanilla people don't do this. I admit that I'm a bit of a masochist, but I really do enjoy being spanked. I enjoy the feelings of closeness with the person spanking me. I enjoy the little shows of affection that invariably happen during a scene. So whether other people like it or don't like it, this is what I love about spanking. You don't have to "get" it. Just respect the fact that I do things a bit differently than some (most probably). For me, spanking is a wonderful experience that gives me great joy. The men who top me and the women who sometimes share the spanking with me are people I count among my best and closest friends. I understand myself better than I ever could have had I chosen to stay in the closet about my kink.

Yes, spanking is fun! And it can be amazing with the right person. If you're a newbie, don't let anyone tell you categorically how it is. Spanking can mean anything you want it to mean. Yes, it can be for punishment if that's what you need. But don't let anyone tell you it HAS to be that way in order for you to be doing it right. Within SSC, there is no right or wrong way to do it. Just enjoy it in whatever way makes you happy and forget the ones who try to tell you you're doing it wrong.

A Little Reality Check

Author's Note: Today's entry doesn't deal with spanking on any level. It's a post about my health scare and the things that I'm going to do in the future to keep this from happening again. If you don't like this "reality check" then go find some fantasy stuff to read.


I remember the summer of 1988 distinctly. There are several reasons why I remember it so well (even better than summers that have happened more recently). One of the reasons was because I was 27 years old and I became distinctly aware of the fact that I was "pushing 30" as we used to say, and I wasn't married yet. I remember as a 14-year-old telling my mother that I had no plans to marry ever or have children. My mother and other female relatives would smile knowingly and say "Wait until you fall in love." It was one thing to say I never wanted to get married as a teenager and quite another to be passing marriageable age and say it. Believe it or not, even in the 80's 27 was considered old to get married. I also remember the summer of 1988 as one of the hottest on record. We had 90 straight days of 90+ degree weather. I was working as a hostess in a restaurant at that time and the uniform consisted of a wrap skirt and a blouse with a stand up collar. There was also a vest in the ensemble. I remember clearly having to powder my legs to get my hose on. I couldn't wait for the weather to break so I could get some relief. Last summer reminded me a lot of the Summer of 1988.

But the reason I remember it most is because that was the summer that my mother's cancer was diagnosed, opening the door for all of the miseries and sadness that followed. My mother had been losing weight for a few months and it was becoming noticeable. I asked her what was going on, but she just told me she didn't want to talk about it with me. This was back in the days when parents didn't discuss intimate topics with their kids. As upset as I was that she didn't want to talk about it, I had to respect that. Unfortunately, the onset of my mother's cancer symptoms coincided with the first appearance of dementia symptoms as well. She was only 53-years-old. The hospital where she worked sent her home, telling her to find out what was going on. I can't even imagine how scared she must have been. When she finally did go to the doctor, there wasn't a lot of options back then. They didn't have CTs and MRIs back then. I'm not even sure what tests she had because she was so secretive about it. I'm pretty sure she had a sygmoidoscopy (the precursor to the colonoscopy), which could only look at one side of the colon due to the fact that the scope was rigid. She probably also had blood work of some kind. But I remember when my father told us that she would be going in for "exploratory surgery" to see what the problem was. He never told us what the sygmoidoscopy showed but I suspect that a rather large tumor was blocking the way so the doctors couldn't see anything. I assumed that whatever they found would be removed and that would be that. That's how ignorant I was of cancer. I had no idea at that time what an evil, insidious disease it was. But I was about to find out. When the surgeon opened her up, he found a cancerous tumor the size of a grapefruit, necessitating an immediate colostomy (the removal of most of her large intestine and rectum). During the surgery, the remaining part of her colon was rerouted to a place in her abdomen, where waste would be collected in a bag attached to the abdomen. I assume (knowing what I know now about cancer) that all of the lymph nodes were also removed and checked for cancer cells. As soon as she healed from surgery, the horrible rounds of chemo and radiation started, her dementia getting worse as time went on. She was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's about the same time. My life was a nightmare at this time. There were nights where none of us got any sleep. Mom would be up crying and Dad would be trying to change her colostomy bag. This went on for four years, until she finally had a stroke and had to be put in a nursing home. We had to have her declared a ward of the court in order for her to be put on Medicaid (that's how it worked back then). It just angered me to think of my mother, a hard working married woman with a husband and a home having to be declared a ward of anything. Seven months later, the day after Valentine's Day, 1993, the hospital called to say that Mom had died, alone, in the pediatric ward of the hospital where she had once worked. I was the one who answered the phone and the news that my mother, a proud and beautiful woman, had died alone. I had to go wake up my father and tell him his wife of 38 years was gone. She was only 58 but she looked 30 years older. In an odd twist of fate, the same doctor who signed my mother's death certificate also signed Carol's when she died in 2010.

Flash forward 20 years. I'm now in my 50's and working full time and trying to have a life. An appendectomy at the first of the year put the wheels in motion for me to finally be under the care of a regular physician. The first time I met her, I liked her. She wasn't judgmental or scolding. She was just happy that I was finally going to get serious about my health. When she learned of my mother's colon cancer history and the fact that I'd never had a colonoscopy (people with a first degree relative with colon cancer are advised to have their first colonoscopy done a dozen years before they reach the age that their relative was at diagnosis) she said "Cheryl, you're going to give me a heart attack!" She put it on my To Do list and I dutifully scheduled it, knowing that it was months in the future. As the time approached, though I started to worry. What if they find something? Will I have to wear a bag like my mother had? I didn't let this fear stop me from going through with it. I went to the pharmacy and picked up the colon cleanse that had been prescribed for me. The PA that I saw in the doctor's office had told me that I could add Crystal Light to it to make it taste better (as long as it wasn't red or purple, those food dyes can stain the colon lining and look like blood to a doctor). I would have to drink an 8 ounce glass of this stuff every half hour until the 4-liter bottle was empty. I was told to start drinking the liquid at noon, but to start a liquid diet that day. All I could have was Jello, Popsicles, broth and Gatorade. There's no way to get around the fact that the doctor doing the colonoscopy needs a clean colon to work with. The colon cleanse contains salts that are not absorbed by the body, but go straight through, cleaning every nook and cranny. It also contains electrolytes to keep you from falling low on those essential salts the body needs. The laxative part of the cleanse hits like a ton of bricks and you're advised to be close to a toilet at all times throughout the day. The process of drinking my glass of liquid started off pretty well until I had to start going to the bathroom. Pretty soon, I would have only ten minutes to rest between drinking my next glass and then spending 20 minutes on the toilet. After awhile, I got pretty sore, too. I was told to use a little petroleum jelly to make me more comfortable. At 8 o'clock that night, I took my last glass of that stuff. While it wasn't pleasant tasting, it was far from as bad I'd heard it was. It tasted a lot like Alka Seltzer. Actually, I had a three-fold fear of this procedure. The first one was stomaching the colon cleanse. So, that hurdle cleared, I started to focus on the second part of my fear--that it would hurt and I would lie on the table screaming in agony, as I had heard others tell me had happened to them. I had a nightmare that night that the doctor did the procedure without any painkillers and I did indeed lie on the table and scream. That morning, my friend, Kathy, picked me up and drove me to the GI Lab where my procedure was being done. It was actually in the older part of a large hospital. I went in and got registered, where I showed them ID and my insurance card. The lady put a couple of bracelets on my wrist and sent me back to the waiting room to wait for them to call me. All of the people there having the procedure were women that day. When they called me, I went to the back where they would get me ready for surgery (yes, it's considered an outpatient surgical procedure). The first thing the nurse did was lead me to a bathroom, where she handed me a bag with two gowns and a pair of booties in it. I was to take off everything but my bra and put both gowns on, one open in the back and the top one open in the front. Then I was to slide the booties onto my feet and walk back to where the nurse was waiting. She had me sit down in a chair and she started an IV. She explained that the IV would keep my vein open (I assumed I would be getting saline or Ringer's or something of that nature since I hadn't had solid food in a day and a half) and also that the pain drugs would be administered through it. I wasn't a novice by any means and I kind of resented her treating me like this was my first trip to the surgery rodeo. She asked me if I had any last minute questions and I asked her what drugs I would be getting. She told me Demoral and Versed. I asked her if I would be awake during the colonoscopy and she said "Technically, yes, but a lot of people dose off in the middle. We'll keep you sleepy and comfortable. We don't allow patients to lie there in pain." That was a small consolation to me. After that, I spoke to one of the nurses who would be assisting in my procedure. She pretty much gave me the doctor's pedigree-- how long he'd been doing this procedure, etc. She also had the unenviable task of telling me all the things that could go wrong. She told me the most common complication is bleeding, which she assured me, could be easily controlled. Perforation of the colon was another possible complication. But the nurse made light of these possibilities. "These complications are uncommon. We've done thousands of these procedures and complications occur in about 1% of cases. It's very safe." I told her "I don't mean any disrespect. But the last time someone told me how 'safe' something was, I ended up in the ICU with an internal bleed. So I think my worries are valid." Both nurses spent a long time talking with me about how safe it was compared to conventional surgery. They also told me that, if anything was found, it would  be removed on the spot. Then they walked me into the procedure room. The doctor was already there. He extended his hand to me and shook it. He was a rather good looking Russian doctor. He explained the sensations I would experience and told me not to worry about any beeping or ringing sounds I heard. Those were no cause for concern and were normal. Then the nurse put me on a table and another one put a blood pressure cuff on my arm. One of them also put three telemetry stickers on me to monitor my heart and breathing. A pulseoximetry device was put on my index finger. One of the nurses put a nasal cannula under my nose. It smelled faintly chemical. Then they helped me roll on my left side. I started to feel sleepy so I could tell that the Demoral had already been started. I guess they all felt that I was either asleep or so out of it that explaining things to me at this point would be pointless. While I was sleepy and feeling pretty trippy, I was aware that the doctor had pulled my gown open and had inserted a finger into my rectum. I was told that a rectal exam was part of the procedure, in order to test the muscle tone of my sphincter. As someone who has participated in quite a bit of anal play over the years, this wasn't exactly shocking. I could see behind me a little and I could see the TV screen. It had my name on the screen and the beginning of my colon could be seen. But I was afraid and didn't want to look. With that, the third part of my tri-fold fear came into play-- the fear that they might find something. The scope didn't hurt a bit. I could feel it snaking its way through, but it didn't hurt. What DID hurt was the gas they were filling my colon with. The colon is full of wrinkles and creases and these folds can hide potential problems so the colon is filled with air to smooth it out so that it can be more easily viewed. I can remember wincing a bit as the gas filled me up. It felt like vaguely sharp pains. I don't remember very much else. Unlike the rectum, which is full of nerve endings, the inside of the colon has no nerve endings so you don't feel anything. I discovered later that the doctor had removed four polyps during my colonoscopy. All of them were large. One was 4 cm (called "giant" in medical terms).I was worried that the really big one was cancerous. Having been through my own cancer scare in 1993, when I was diagnosed with complex endometrial hyperplasia with atypia, which resulted in me having a hysterectomy at age 32. I also had been through my sister's breast cancer. So I certainly knew more about cancer than I had known in 1988 when my mother's had been diagnosed. I was taken back to recovery and given something to drink. Then the doctor came back and talked to me about what he had found. He didn't seem particularly worried. At the time, I didn't know this, but I later learned that doctors can tell a lot about the malignancy of a polyp just by looking at them. I was still a little out of it so a lot of what he said didn't register. But he didn't seem particularly concerned. My friend, Kathy, came back and sat with me for a little while while I shook off the cobwebs. The drugs wore off quickly, one of the main reasons that "conscious sedation" is favored over general anaesthesia. I was soon getting dressed. Unfortunately, I either wasn't given my discharge papers or I forgot them when I went to get dressed. At any rate, I now had the rough week of waiting for the results of my biopsies. I tried to be positive and not live in fear. That weekend was rough. I had to work both Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday night, I spent the night with my friend from work, Lisa. She had recently had her own cancer scare and I figured she would be much more comforting and understanding than my sister or her husband. I'm pretty sure that my sister thinks I'm a hypochondriac. She thinks that if you ignore something it either won't happen or it will go away by itself. Weird but true. She hadn't wanted me to go to the hospital when I'd had my appendix out. So she wasn't going to feel very sorry for me while I waited. I started to get online and look at colonoscopy procedures and saw that many large polyps are removed by cutting them with a wire and then cauterizing the area to keep it from bleeding. I was shocked to learn that this procedure is painless. I prayed a lot. I knew that, whatever the outcome, everything would be OK. On Monday morning, I called the GI lab and told the nurse that I had either forgotten or lost my discharge papers and that I needed to know who I call for my results. She  said "Oh we call you." She volunteered to pull up my chart, which she did. She said "Well, all of your polyps were pretty big. One was in the rectum. But everything looks fine, The doctor didn't put anything in his notes that any of your polyps were cancerous. But the pathology report is due sometime midweek. Just try and relax and take it easy." While this was reassuring, it didn't alleviate all of my fear. I prayed a lot during the next few days. I tried not to let this uncertainty make me any more scared than I already was. I went to work everyday and didn't let my co-workers know what I was going through. I was off work Thursday and I somehow knew that that was the day the report was going to come. I had been having frightening thoughts and had just about convinced myself that I had cancer. All of the literature I was looking at online said that roughly 30 to 50% of polyps larger than 3 cm turn cancerous. I was pretty resigned to it. On Thursday morning at about 10 o'clock, the phone rang. I was alone in the house so if the news was bad, I would have no one to console me. I checked the caller ID and, sure enough, it was someone from the pathology lab. I said a quick prayer and answered it. The lady was very nice. She said "Everything came back benign so the doctor doesn't want to see you for three years." It was the best news I could have hoped for. I was shocked because now I had to entertain the thought that I had gotten really lucky. I had watched a video of Dr. Oz's colonoscopy and on it, his doctor had found a pre-cancerous polyp. Dr. Oz had decided to have this colonoscopy and film it to show people that it's not as bad as they think and he knew that that polyp was found by accident. Here's a doctor who supposedly lives a healthy lifestyle, who is constantly talking to overweight people on his show about the dangers of eating a certain kind of diet and about getting their weight down, etc. and he gets a bad report. I've been overweight, smoked, exercised little, eaten red meat and had a family history and I got the best report possible, despite having four large polyps removed.

I was really lucky. Doctors say it takes ten to fifteen years for a little polyp to develop into cancer. If my doctor hadn't insisted that I have this done, I don't know how long I would have put it off before I finally got around to doing it. The main thing is that I had it done, got the problem spots dealt with and now it's up to me to make the necessary changes to make sure that in three years when I go back to have this done again, the news is good again. I'm cutting back on eating red meat (one of the things they tell you helps grow them), drinking more water and exercising more and getting my weight down further. The other factors-- being over 50, female, and my family history-- are things I can't do anything about. But my weight and diet I certainly can change and I intend to. This was a wake up call for me. I'm asking all of my friends who are over 50 or who have a family history or who are having rectal bleeding that they are shrugging off as hemorrhoids, to please get a colonoscopy. It takes less than an hour for a doctor to look at the entire colon. It's an hour that could save your life.

Boardwalk Badness Weekend Party Review-- Part VI

We all slept way too late on Saturday morning. I awoke to the cold realization that this was the last day of the party. It would soon  be over. There was an event scheduled that morning and we almost slept too late to attend. Lisa and I got dressed and did our hair and make up, all the while trying to convince Sherri to come with us. I don't think she understood how the event worked. It was called the Uniformed Top Event (when I first saw this as a thread on the BBW group, I thought it said Uninformed Top Event) and the way it worked was simple. All of the tops were required to be male (no female tops at this event...they already had an event for female tops) and attired in some kind of uniform or costume. It was like a Sadie Hawkins dance--- the girls did the asking and the men weren't allowed to say "no", no matter how unappealing the woman was. OK, going up and grabbing a guy doesn't really count as "asking". The thing was a total meat market and you didn't hear one person complaining. Sherri refused to go because she was afraid of being ignored. Lisa and I both tried to explain to her that the woman does the asking and the man couldn't say "no", but she refused to believe that's how it would go. So Lisa and I went off without her. I'm a bit ashamed of this, but I had looked forward to this event all weekend and I had no intention of missing it. When we got to the ballroom (where the event was being held) we were delighted to see that we were among the first to arrive. We picked chairs strategically placed near the stage and waited for the men to arrive. There was excited chattering among us female bottoms as the men were brought to the entrance and lined up. There were all kinds of uniforms and costumes--- firemen, cops, military, cowboys, businessmen, judges, doctors, even Zorro put in an appearance. All of the men looked dapper and excited about the prospects of some great spanking fun ahead. I knew who I was going to pick first. His name was Josh and he was wearing a Yankee jersey. Even though I'm a die hard Cardinal fan, I knew realistically that if I didn't grab Josh and play with him at this event (where I had zero chance of getting blown off) I would probably not get to play with him. When they announced that it was time for us to make our selections, I went up to the stage and said "Come on, Josh". I took him by the wrist and he came down off the stage. There were little privacy booths that looked like voting booths that had been set up for private play, but they were all filled so Josh asked if just sitting on a chair would be OK. What was I going to say? No? I let him lead me to a chair where I lost no time in getting over his lap. I had admired a photo he had posted of his spanking hand in honor of "Palm Sunday" and I couldn't wait to feel it. He had a very firm spanking hand and his style was very nice. I had expected a limp wristed spanking from a guy who I felt wasn't that interested in spanking me. But I was pleasantly surprised with the spanking he gave me. It was short, but nice. When he was finished, I thanked him and he went back to the stage. The men were supposed to return to the stage when they were done in order to await their selection by the next bottom. I saw many there, Josh among them, who rarely, if ever, made it back to the stage before another woman grabbed them. It was Josh's first party and I wondered if he was a bit overwhelmed. I wanted to play with him for real, but as I said, I didn't think he was that interested in spanking an old woman like me. Anyway, I didn't see him around that much. This event was a good chance for bottoms who felt they had no chance to play with someone to at least get some play in with a guy who couldn't refuse them. I saw all the Pretty Young Things there and to be honest, I felt somewhat out of place at this event. Sherri had at least one thing right--- the men would probably much rather play with a PYT than with someone like me. I'm sure more than one of the men I selected felt that I cramped their style. One top that I found extremely attractive (and knew from CM parties of past years) tried to engage me in a bit of role play. He was dressed as what I presumed was a motorcycle cop, right down to leather gloves. Our bit involved a jaywalker with no regard for public safety. It was really fun and he spanked me with enthusiasm. I remember Carol telling me excitedly about playing with him at one of the last CM parties she attended. I also got to see Joe in his fireman's uniform. The insignia were removed, but you could tell this was a real uniform and not a costume. As he was making his way back to the stage, I took his hand and said "Oh no you don't, Joe!"  He spanked me with a fire hose and scolded me for pulling a false alarm (not realizing I had done just that when I was a kid). It was a lot of fun. Another one I played with was dressed like a cowboy. I have a major thing for cowboys and he obliged me to the hilt, tipping his Stetson and calling me "ma'am". He was fairly tall with a nice hard hand and a great lap. He was another one I'd wanted to play with but felt way too shy because he was so good-looking. Why would he play with an old woman when he had a roomful of PYT'S to play with? This was just me being insecure. No one actually said anything of the sort to me. But I could tell the guys who weren't into me. All in all, I got spanked nine times, all of them were nice. Yes, there were a few I didn't get to. One was a guy from Switzerland called Oak. He was extremely attractive and young (early to mid 20's I would guess). When I had first seen him, I had him pegged as a bottom because of how young he looked. I was surprised when I got home and checked his profile and found out he was 31. He was tall and blond and very handsome. And he was always surrounded by women. I had watched him spank a lady at a suite party the night before and had been impressed with what a good technique he had for someone so young. Being a realist, I was pretty sure I wasn't pretty enough or sophisticated enough for him. He was a foreigner, after all. I doubt he will ever come to Chicago so that opportunity has more than likely been lost for good unless we both attend another BBW.

After the event (during which no photos were allowed, which explains why I don't have any) Lisa and I went back to the room. The head of the group, Mike Tanner, had kept up an annoying running commentary, keeping public track of the number of spankings certain women had received. It was all group "favorites". I assure you no one was keeping track of how many spankings I was getting. Like everything that weekend, it became a contest and a way to showcase the women who were "favorites". It was the same with the "Greeter Bunnies". On Friday night, a group of women (the most attractive in the group) dressed as Playboy bunnies and were going around greeting and schmoozing with the guests. Not one of them greeted me. Of course, we were greeted and invited up to the pool by Richard Windsor that first day and by Mike Tanner (but probably only because Lisa was carrying a big pan of fudge with her). But no one else on the board went out of their way to make me feel that they were happy to see me or to treat me like I belonged. It was all very, very cliquish. If any board member says "There's no cliques in our group" they're either out-and-out lying or they are in serious denial. The board members all have their favorites, even in Crimson Moon. I'm a ten-year member, but I have yet to make the A-List.

Anyway, we told Sherri all about the event and she expressed some regret about not attending. She asked me if I wanted to go down to the beach and see the ocean for real and I said I did. She had already gone down once, during the Uniformed Top Event, but she knew I wanted to see the ocean. So together, we walked down to the water. It was a pretty short walk, as the hotel was almost right on the beach. The sand was wet and cold, but this was probably going to be my only chance to see the ocean so I put on my big girl panties, and off I went.

The water was indeed freezing, but I didn't care. It was the ocean, with all the power the ocean has. Yes, I've seen big rivers, like the Mississippi and the Delaware. And I've seen Lake Michigan. They are all impressive. But they aren't the ocean. I wanted to savor the moment. Despite how cold it was, there was a family (a man, his wife and their little girl) on the beach, too and he offered to take a photo of Sherri and I together. We posed together for him and he snapped photos like this was a family event.

I was thrilled to not only be seeing the ocean for the first time, but to be seeing it with one of my best friends. I picked up some shells and rocks to take home to my sister and then we had to get back inside before we both caught pneumonia. There were actually some surfers out that day, hoping to catch some big waves. I thanked God for allowing me to see part of His creation. It filled me with awe and wonder. I felt even more like a tourist because people were walking around ignoring it, or at least taking it for granted. To me, seeing the ocean was a very big deal and I don't apologize for the big deal I made of it.

We got back to the room and got changed and cleaned up for that evening's festivities. That night, the theme was "Hooray For Hollywood", a kind of homage to classic movies. Better yet, they were going to feed us. There was a red carpet that led to the ballroom. I was kind of interested in seeing what kind of costumes they had come up with. Some were amazing, some not. The food, which was really good, was served buffet style, while the disc jockey played well-known movie themes and the projector showed famous movie posters (with photos of the group "favorites" PhotoShopped over the stars' faces). A little later, there was a comedy skit involving life on Fetlife, during which there were more f-bombs than I could count. Again, the group "favorites" were involved. No one came to me and asked me if I would be interested in being in a comedy skit. I hadn't even known about it. It soured my mood, hearing all of that swearing and mockery of a social networking site that has done more in five years to help balloon the spanking party scene than all the years of Yahoo groups and e-lists combined. I felt that, in some small way, they were biting the hand that was feeding them. It really put me off this group a bit. It was all too glitzy and trite. I wanted to play, but all five of the men I asked in the ballroom turned me down. I don't mean to brag or toot my own horn, but at Crimson Moon, this is unheard of. I'd never, in ten years of attending parties, ever been shot down on five successive occasions. I wanted to go back to the room and cry, but I didn't want to go in the elevator alone. It was still too early for the suite parties. I asked one of the men whom I list as a play partner on my Fetlife profile and even he turned me down. Of course, a little later, when his plan to play with someone else fell through, he did come to me and ask me if I was still interested. If I hadn't wanted to play so badly, I might have said "You had your chance!" but I didn't. I went off to his room to play. He gave me a great session, despite the fact that he'd been drinking and sometimes rambled. It was my first time playing since the Uniformed Top Event that morning. At CM, I would have considered the day wasted if I went eight hours without playing. But out here, they do things differently. No one really plays until the suite parties open at midnight. When we got upstairs, I mingled a bit. Earlier that afternoon, there had been a "Meet the Brits" event in one of the suites and we went up. It was here that I got my second caning from Richard Windsor. He caned me a bit harder this time, but still not as hard as I like it. I guess he canes hard enough. He certainly enjoys having an audience, as do I.

He gave me some pretty nice cane marks, which didn't last so I was happy we got a photo of them before they faded. Later, at one of the suite parties, I got to play with JC, a top from Indiana who was attending his first party. My ribs were screaming grand opera for some reason, so he placed a pillow on his lap for me.

There are a couple of reasons I'm unhappy with this photo. First of all, it's blurry. It looks like someone took it with their phone, when it was in fact, taken with my Canon PowerShot, which takes great photos usually. Secondly, I look enormous. But to his credit, when I posted it on Fetlife, JC loved it. Unfortunately, because my ribs were so sore, I couldn't stay over his lap for very long. So I was soon over the bed, much more comfortable but loathe to give up my cherished OTK position.

He used his left hand to hold the small of my back, which I love and Latte held my hands. JC had purchased a London Tanner Nanny Paddle at the vendor's fair the day before and was wasting no time getting it broken in. He noted that I had some pretty extensive bruising, but it was on my thighs so he wasn't too concerned about having to avoid places. He gave me a very nice session, which soon had me sore and kicking.

It's a good thing for Josh that he's not standing any closer. I would have hated to take out his ball sac at his first party. I was hoping this would lead him to ask me to play, but he never did. Since he lives on the east coast, I sincerely doubt he'll make it to Crimson Moon anytime soon. So my chance to have a real session with him will probably never materialize. Oh well, as we say in baseball "You win some, you lose some, some get rained out." I finally did get a "real" session with Joe that night. I guess Sherri met him in the elevator and told him about the five guys who had turned me down. I didn't want or need anyone's sympathy, especially not Joe's. But he did tell me he wanted to play. I can't exactly remember how it came about, but I'm sure glad it did.

He used a nice assortment of toys on me. I was pretty sure this was going to be my last session of the party, so I told him to let me have it. Joe isn't what I would term a "bruiser". He can and will kick it up a notch if that's what you want, but I think he's happiest giving the bottom he's playing with a variety of sensations with some humor mixed in. I think he knows that I'm somewhat socially awkward when I'm out of my comfort zone and he told me more than once how proud he was of me coming all the way to Atlantic City. I think he also realized that I had been treated like the retarded cousin at a family reunion and I think he felt like he had to make it up to me somehow. I couldn't understand why I had been turned down so many times. It never happened at CM. I consider myself friendly and fun to play with. I've certainly never heard any complaints, at least not directly. Normally, if a guy turns down my invitation to play, I just consider it his loss and move on. But five in a row is a lot to move on from. I tried to figure out what had caused it. Was it my breath? Was I not dressed right? I know I don't dress fancy for these parties, but I do try to wrap the package as best I can. High heels and tight dresses just aren't me. Anyone would have seen right through that and seen it for what it was---an attempt to "fit in" with the cool kids. I tried not to let the rejections spoil my head space, but I think it did to some degree.

While I enjoyed most of my time in Atlantic City (I had one of the best pizzas I've ever eaten at a Mom and Pop joint near the hotel) I came away from the experience more convinced than ever that I just don't belong at those big, fancy parties. Some of the people at the "Hooray For Hollywood" dinner wore formal attire and here I was in jeans. Maybe that's another reason why I was turned down and why I got treated like the retarded cousin at a family reunion--- maybe people got the impression that I didn't know how these things are done. I always thought our scene celebrated the individual; the person who doesn't cave in to peer pressure to be something they're not. I wonder if I would have still been turned down had I been in a gown. Ugh...the thought of me in a gown is a visual I did not need. One of the men who turned me down was someone I'd known and adored in videos for more than 20 years. I had dreamed countless times of being over his knee. But when he rejected me, the realization hit me that I would probably never get another chance to play with him. I was told how shy this man is, but I saw him talking and laughing with plenty of other women. He didn't look shy to me. Also being rejected by a man who wrote me and asked me to list him as a play partner hurt really bad. Only when his other plans failed to pan out did he come and ask me if I still wanted to play. Another one who turned me down was a guy who messaged me repeatedly to get my assurance that we were going to play. I even purchased and wore a special item of apparel that I knew he liked for the occasion and he still turned me down. I was also turned down by the man I purchased my one-of-a-kind strap from. I guess I was good enough for him to take my money, but not good enough to play with. I saw photos all over Fetlife of this guy playing with other women so I knew he was playing. I understand that people have the right to say "no" and I should accept it gracefully. But don't spend two months telling me what you're going to do to my ass and then turn me down when it gets to zero hour. Man up, for God's sake. Tell the truth. I would much rather hear "I will be happy to meet you but playing is out of the question" than a long message describing the wonderful scene you have planned, but then when you see me in the flesh, you have other plans. I came 1500 miles and went basically flat busted broke on gas and the cost of hotels so I could play with people I would never get another chance to play with. And yes, I know that paying a party fee and showing up doesn't guarantee anything. No one owed me anything just for showing up. However, three of the five men who rejected me had also written me asking to play and telling me how much fun I would have with them. So I don't think that my expectations were too high.

Anyway, before this turns into a rant, I just want to say that I did have a nice time in Atlantic City. Do I want to come back? Only time will tell on that one.

Boardwalk Badness Weekend Party Review-- Part V

I said in one of my entries last week that my party fee was paid for my Joe (DrLectr). If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have been able to attend. The funds just weren't there. It was expensive enough between gas, food and lodging. Joe first discussed attending BBW with me back at the October Crimson Moon party. At first, I declined. It was too far away and there was no way I was flying. But Joe worked on me and also worked on Sherri, who said it wouldn't be that difficult to drive there. It was six months in the future, so I put off making a decision. But soon, I began to see all the fun people who would be attending and I said "I don't want to miss this!" So around Christmas time, I messaged Joe and let him know that I was going to go ahead and take him up on his generous offer. When I saw him, I thanked him profusely. In fact, I think he got a little embarrassed by it.

At any rate, that Friday night, at the midnight suite parties, I literally bumped into him. He lost no time in getting me over his knee (after first placing a pillow on his lap in deference to my broken ribs).

I have said more than once that I love it when a top smiles and shows he's capable of enjoying himself. I know better than anyone that I'm not cute or adorable. I'm also not young or thin. I've seen the kind of women that Joe attracts. I adore Joe and love playing with him. But I'm not his ideal and I know it. But here's the thing about Joe. He's not the kind of top who would play with a girl just because he feels sorry for her or because he thinks no one else will. Joe earned his reputation by being a nice guy. I know a few people who don't care for him, but few of them are bottoms. Joe spanks great, not particularly hard, but hard enough. Now that I've lost some weight, I feel a lot better about being over a normal-sized guy's knee while he's sitting on a chair. I always used to worry that I would crush someone if I did this with anyone but Big Jim. But Joe got me comfortably over his knee and the fun began. Oddly enough, he never took my jeans down, but opted to spank me over them. I'm not sure why, but I wasn't going to complain after he'd been so kind to me.

Joe has an alter-ego called Malibu Joe. I don't know who started this or where it came from, but in the middle of spanking me, Malibu Joe made an appearance.

The white panama hat (or is that a fedora?) is all it takes to change him into Malibu Joe. I guess sometimes it takes a little bit of booze works, too. But the smile is unmistakable. Joe obviously loves spanking women, no matter their age or weight. Of course, like most of us, I'm sure he has his preferences. He's never said "no" when I've asked him to play. Joe is a firefighter and I'm sure he's plenty strong enough to hold me if he had to. This spanking was relatively brief and I thought I knew why. Earlier in the afternoon, Joe's girlfriend, Ten, gave me the news that long-time Crimson Moon member Big Jim had died. The last time I saw Jim, back in October, we'd had a good talk. We both laughed and cried. We said some things that needed to be said. He spanked me and we cuddled a bit. In the middle of that, he said something that shocked me. "Let's go away and get married." I was so taken aback, I thought he was joking. But he was serious. He went on to say that I knew how he felt about me. He'd been in love with me since the first time he'd laid eyes on me back in March, 2003. But I turned him down. His mother, who was suffering from Alzheimer's, needed him. He had long voiced his dissatisfaction with certain aspects of his life. Now it was too late to do anything. When Ten gave me the news of his death, I met the news with uncontrollable tears. I sobbed almost as hard as I had when Carol had died in my arms. I think Ten must have spoken to him about my reaction. I was embarrassed by how much I cried. I think I may have underestimated what Jim meant to me. I had been worried when people were messaging me asking if I'd heard anything from him. His phone had been turned off. This number was the only one I'd ever had for him. I had no idea he had died. The news hit me like a punch. I couldn't have been more shocked if someone had told me they had seen Carol out walking around in Atlantic City. Joe didn't want Jim's death to overshadow the party for me. He wanted me to have fun and so he kept the mood light. I can't say with words how much I appreciated that.

A little later, one of my favorite tops, a man I list as a play partner on my Fetlife profile, found me and wanted to strap me since I was already warmed up. The problem was that there was nowhere to play as both beds were being used. So we had to wait our turn. This particular top has two straps that I really love--one is the London Tanner prison strap and the other is something called the Amish belt. Both of these are awesome straps. The prison strap has more sting while the Amish belt has more thud. He later told me what I'd taken during this session (80+ with the prison strap and over 120 with the Amish belt) and I was shocked. I must have been completely zoned out because I don't remember taking that much. I vaguely remember hearing people gasping. I found out later that we'd had quite a substantial audience. When he was done, he lotioned my sore bottom.

I was pretty close to toast by this time, but the top told me he had a surprise for me. He left the room and came back leading the man that I'd wanted to meet and play with for 20 years to the bed. I was going to play with the great Ralph Marvel. But my mind was so gone that it didn't really register until later. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I ended up over a spanking bench for the cane from him. I wish I could remember how many strokes I took. Apparently, we had an audience for that, too. As I recall, he caned me pretty soundly. I was just thrilled to get to play with him. I don't know how Larry (the top who had strapped me) arranged this meeting, but I was sure glad he did. I just wish I'd had the presence of mind to ask someone to get some pictures. After the strapping and caning, I was pretty much used up for the night. It had been a long day and I wanted nothing more, on that note, than to sink into a warm bed.

Tomorrow, I see the ocean for the first time :)