Sometimes I think I'm sick.
Really.
Not just kinky.
Not just perverted.
But besieged by a merciless neurosis.
You should find someone else, he says periodically. Someone who can take care of you. I wish I could take care of you. I won't be able to take care of you. And he's right. Absolutely right. I do need someone to take care of me. I'm utterly broke, my physical health isn't so hot, my mental health is laden with diagnoses, and my job is worth doing if only for the insurance plan which gives me for free almost all of my pharmacopoeia of unusual size.
I should find someone I'd love in the ordinary sort of way. I love him. I do love him. But it's not the usual romantic sort of love. When I gaze into his eyes - and he insists that we hold each other's eyes, I get swatted if I close my eyes, he demands that constant connection - it's not the usual romantic connection. Not a swoony sort of thing. I don't have that swoony sort of lovey-dove feeling for him. He approaches the world in a strange sort of way, his friendliness comes with a helping of aggression, I wouldn't introduce him to my friends. He wouldn't fit with my gang.
I'd rather be with him.
This intense, possessive, tormented man.
He makes me feel safe.
Weird, no?
Says a whole lot about my upbringing.
It left me desperate for true intimacy.
And for acceptance.
Acceptance for what I actually am.
Encouragement to embrace my own reality.
Embraced for my own reality.
Admiration for my talent and beauty.
No one else ever talked about my being beautiful.
If I were smart, if my head could trump my... it's not even my heart, it's... it's my essence. If my head could trump my own essential truth, I'd be out looking for some rich guy to marry me and tell me I didn't have to work and he'd take me down to permanent sunshine from November through February and bring in someone to keep the house clean and neat because I'm clearly utterly incapable of doing that myself and I wouldn't have to worry about the prescription food for the cats or about spending my old age in a tent in the backyard with those cats while I rent out all 4 bedrooms in the house to pay the vet bills.
I turn 65 in February.
I stayed in my last marriage out of economic insecurity. I'd rather help the fiend embroider his fantasies of whoring me out to his friends than actually prostitute myself to another marriage as an albeit badly needed supplement to Social Security checks.
And no matter what happens in the future, I'll always have extraordinary memories of the hottest sex any almost-65 year old could possibly imagine.
The hottest sex most anyone could imagine, for that matter.
So there.
Take that, practicality.
Showing posts with label age. Show all posts
Showing posts with label age. Show all posts
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Monday, October 22, 2012
She's so tight
"Where have you been?" they wonder.
Here.
There.
Around.
Living my life.
It's funny. I think of my relationship, which is still and always quite thoroughly a D/s relationships, and realize that it is also simultaneously more and more a relationship - unconventional as it may be. A committed relationship, without vows or rings and certainly without monogamy. But close and committed and intimate - not just physically intimate, either.
He has this fear that if he shows weakness, softness, vulnerability, I'll lose respect for him. It's not a totally stupid fear, as it was a way I have responded in the past to people who wanted me. A fear based on my own lack of respect for myself. "There must be something really wrong with him if he wants me that much."
A sudden realization... perhaps that's not a problem now because he has finally managed to make me believe in myself enough, to feel strong enough, that I don't feel threatened by someone who does want me that much.
In any case, it's not a problem now.
Not with him.
When he reveals his vulnerability, it makes me love him more.
Not that I didn't know it was there.
But when it's offered to me,
naked on a wooden plank,
knife by its side to use as I wish...
All I want to do is protect him.
So we've been living our lives.
Living our life.
With all our outside stresses inevitably impinging on our time together.
But we manage.
I am his refuge.
And he is my strength.
Both of my aged parents aren't well. My mom had the stroke I wrote of last spring, and 2 bouts of pneumonia, and what they're calling a silent heart attack. My dad was very ill with what may have been just a virus, but the high fever and just being in the hospital rendered him confused and sometimes downright hallucinatory. I was up visiting him a week ago and he kept trying to eat my hand. Very curious... He's coming out of it now, slowly, but when he finally leaves the hospital it's unlikely he'll go back to their apartment. Rather, he'll join my mom in the nursing wing of their continuing care place, leaving me and my sister to empty out the apartment and dispose of the stuff.
At least we are both very relaxed about all that and don't foresee any battles over who gets what. What a relief!
Of course, the fiend and I have our problems.
Old issues and new ones.
A brand new issue came to light the morning after he offered me that song that says what he will never say out of his own mouth. And he knows I'll laugh in his face (well, not really) if he denies the meaning of telling me to listen and then telling me to listen once more before trotting off to bed. There is no way he can claim he doesn't mean what he had to be meaning.
I'm happy.
Problems and all,
I'm happy.
We are so different in so many ways, we are probably protected by not being able to have a standard relationship because it would surely crash and split apart on the rocks of our differences. But now... what we are... what we are for each other... what we give each other...
[Excuse me while I go all moony for a bit.]
OK, that's enough. I have things to do before people come for tonight's debate party.
Oh?
You were wondering about the title of this post?
Ah yes.
Something he wanted you to know.
Tell them, he said.
Tell them you are very tight.
And not,
he said,
merely tight for someone your age.
So there.
PS - I lost 12 pounds in 6 weeks.
Here.
There.
Around.
Living my life.
It's funny. I think of my relationship, which is still and always quite thoroughly a D/s relationships, and realize that it is also simultaneously more and more a relationship - unconventional as it may be. A committed relationship, without vows or rings and certainly without monogamy. But close and committed and intimate - not just physically intimate, either.
He has this fear that if he shows weakness, softness, vulnerability, I'll lose respect for him. It's not a totally stupid fear, as it was a way I have responded in the past to people who wanted me. A fear based on my own lack of respect for myself. "There must be something really wrong with him if he wants me that much."
A sudden realization... perhaps that's not a problem now because he has finally managed to make me believe in myself enough, to feel strong enough, that I don't feel threatened by someone who does want me that much.
In any case, it's not a problem now.
Not with him.
When he reveals his vulnerability, it makes me love him more.
Not that I didn't know it was there.
But when it's offered to me,
naked on a wooden plank,
knife by its side to use as I wish...
All I want to do is protect him.
So we've been living our lives.
Living our life.
With all our outside stresses inevitably impinging on our time together.
But we manage.
I am his refuge.
And he is my strength.
Both of my aged parents aren't well. My mom had the stroke I wrote of last spring, and 2 bouts of pneumonia, and what they're calling a silent heart attack. My dad was very ill with what may have been just a virus, but the high fever and just being in the hospital rendered him confused and sometimes downright hallucinatory. I was up visiting him a week ago and he kept trying to eat my hand. Very curious... He's coming out of it now, slowly, but when he finally leaves the hospital it's unlikely he'll go back to their apartment. Rather, he'll join my mom in the nursing wing of their continuing care place, leaving me and my sister to empty out the apartment and dispose of the stuff.
At least we are both very relaxed about all that and don't foresee any battles over who gets what. What a relief!
Of course, the fiend and I have our problems.
Old issues and new ones.
A brand new issue came to light the morning after he offered me that song that says what he will never say out of his own mouth. And he knows I'll laugh in his face (well, not really) if he denies the meaning of telling me to listen and then telling me to listen once more before trotting off to bed. There is no way he can claim he doesn't mean what he had to be meaning.
I'm happy.
Problems and all,
I'm happy.
We are so different in so many ways, we are probably protected by not being able to have a standard relationship because it would surely crash and split apart on the rocks of our differences. But now... what we are... what we are for each other... what we give each other...
[Excuse me while I go all moony for a bit.]
OK, that's enough. I have things to do before people come for tonight's debate party.
Oh?
You were wondering about the title of this post?
Ah yes.
Something he wanted you to know.
Tell them, he said.
Tell them you are very tight.
And not,
he said,
merely tight for someone your age.
So there.
PS - I lost 12 pounds in 6 weeks.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
He worries about my future
Not every man can support his mistress.
Not every man worries about what will become of her as she ages. Especially as they are both already aging. I may catch some glances now, I admit I look considerably younger than other women my age. But I'm sliding towards 64 and the question of who will feed me is not an idle one.
So it comes up every so often.
At least he's stopped urging me to find someone else.
At least he's stopped trying to fix me up with other men.
But it hasn't stopped worrying him.
It slipped out last night.
Cryptically.
Its passage eased by wine.
A text.
Very late at night.
Offered between snippets of romantic lyrics.
"I'm sorry."
With no hint of an explanation till today.
It upsets me.
It always upsets me when he brings it up.
Maybe because I know he's right in a way.
But there are many forms of poverty.
I stayed with ex-hubby #2 for years for financial security, and it nearly destroyed me. The fiend has worked long and hard to build my self-esteem. I'll be damned if I'll risk destroying that by pursuing a relationship in a search for support in my old age. And how could I build a connection with someone else when every moment I'd be making comparisons to the person I wish I were with?
So we go on.
It is what it is.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Tender.
Fierce.
And,
for better or worse,
all I want.
Not every man worries about what will become of her as she ages. Especially as they are both already aging. I may catch some glances now, I admit I look considerably younger than other women my age. But I'm sliding towards 64 and the question of who will feed me is not an idle one.
So it comes up every so often.
At least he's stopped urging me to find someone else.
At least he's stopped trying to fix me up with other men.
But it hasn't stopped worrying him.
It slipped out last night.
Cryptically.
Its passage eased by wine.
A text.
Very late at night.
Offered between snippets of romantic lyrics.
"I'm sorry."
With no hint of an explanation till today.
It upsets me.
It always upsets me when he brings it up.
Maybe because I know he's right in a way.
But there are many forms of poverty.
I stayed with ex-hubby #2 for years for financial security, and it nearly destroyed me. The fiend has worked long and hard to build my self-esteem. I'll be damned if I'll risk destroying that by pursuing a relationship in a search for support in my old age. And how could I build a connection with someone else when every moment I'd be making comparisons to the person I wish I were with?
So we go on.
It is what it is.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Tender.
Fierce.
And,
for better or worse,
all I want.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Sweet, sexy, and submissive: they still like me!
I admit it.
I've been waiting.
Watching.
Wondering.
Do they still like me?
[a suspenseful pause]
Yup.
It seems they do.
I'm back on the list of Top 100 Sex Bloggers.
And I was moved up to #15.
Of course, the title is a misnomer. I'm not claiming to be the 15th best sex blogger out there. Or any sort of "Best" sex blogger. The most I'll say is that I'm a good blogger, somewhat outside the usual variety of sex bloggers, with fans who nominated me and members of the judging panel who liked me. Which I'm not sneering at.
Hell, I'm real happy about it.
You know what submissives are like.
We crave approval.
Submissive bloggers are probably even worse.
This award is like a giant GOOD GIRL plastered all over the Internet.
Which reminds me of a thought I had earlier today:
Why is it always my gay male friends who are telling me they love me?
They make me feel good and all, but...
well, you know...
Nope.
Put that away.
Not gonna happen.
Back to business.
Which means giving a huge thanks to Rori
and the rest of the judges
and those of you who nominated me.
And to the sadist
who makes my life
extraordinary.
I love you, Daddy.
~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>
Here is the whole list.
The Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2011.
Please take some time to visit a few bloggers who are new to you.
I especially point you to Joan Price, who at #14 is just above me. She, too, is over 60, and is dealing directly with issues of sex and aging. She does what I don't. Maybe we're a good pairing. I mostly act as if age is irrelevant. I feel young, I look (relatively young), the sadist makes me feel young, even in my non-kinky life I try to push that confusing number out of my mind.
62.
I'm 62.
That does not compute.
Joan, though, faces it head on.
She says yes, we've aged.
But don't let that stop you.
Be aware of how your body has changed.
Be good to it.
But still enjoy it.
Enjoy sex.
Enjoy relationships.
And learn what you need to so you can enjoy them more.
In light of that, check out this post: Things You'll Never Hear Him Say When He Sees You Naked. It applies to anyone who doesn't look like a model. Not to mention those of you who look amazing but can't see or accept that. And make sure to read all the comments. Including the one from me.
And now, for The List.
I've been waiting.
Watching.
Wondering.
Do they still like me?
[a suspenseful pause]
Yup.
It seems they do.
I'm back on the list of Top 100 Sex Bloggers.
And I was moved up to #15.
Of course, the title is a misnomer. I'm not claiming to be the 15th best sex blogger out there. Or any sort of "Best" sex blogger. The most I'll say is that I'm a good blogger, somewhat outside the usual variety of sex bloggers, with fans who nominated me and members of the judging panel who liked me. Which I'm not sneering at.
Hell, I'm real happy about it.
You know what submissives are like.
We crave approval.
Submissive bloggers are probably even worse.
This award is like a giant GOOD GIRL plastered all over the Internet.
Which reminds me of a thought I had earlier today:
Why is it always my gay male friends who are telling me they love me?
They make me feel good and all, but...
well, you know...
Nope.
Put that away.
Not gonna happen.
Back to business.
Which means giving a huge thanks to Rori
and the rest of the judges
and those of you who nominated me.
And to the sadist
who makes my life
extraordinary.
I love you, Daddy.
~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>
Here is the whole list.
The Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2011.
Please take some time to visit a few bloggers who are new to you.
I especially point you to Joan Price, who at #14 is just above me. She, too, is over 60, and is dealing directly with issues of sex and aging. She does what I don't. Maybe we're a good pairing. I mostly act as if age is irrelevant. I feel young, I look (relatively young), the sadist makes me feel young, even in my non-kinky life I try to push that confusing number out of my mind.
62.
I'm 62.
That does not compute.
Joan, though, faces it head on.
She says yes, we've aged.
But don't let that stop you.
Be aware of how your body has changed.
Be good to it.
But still enjoy it.
Enjoy sex.
Enjoy relationships.
And learn what you need to so you can enjoy them more.
In light of that, check out this post: Things You'll Never Hear Him Say When He Sees You Naked. It applies to anyone who doesn't look like a model. Not to mention those of you who look amazing but can't see or accept that. And make sure to read all the comments. Including the one from me.
And now, for The List.
- Guy New York (@quickiesnewyork) and The Dirty Gentleman from Quickies in New York
- Charlotte Times (@charlotte_times) from The Life and Charlotte Times
- Kendra Holliday (@TBK365 and @beautifulkind) from The Beautiful Kind
- Amie Wee (@crevicecanyon) from Crevice Canyon
- Riff Dog from Ashley and Me
- Catherine Toyooka (@Catcoaches) from Sex Spoken Here: Secrets of a Sexuality Educator
- Vineyard Road (@vineyardroad) from Vineyard Road
- David (@DavidinVegas) from A View from the Top
- Quizzical Pussy (@quizzicalpussy) from Quizzical Pussy
- Athol Kay from Married Man Sex Life
- Dick and Jane from Dick-n-Jane
- EA (@easilyaroused) from Easily Aroused
- Axe (@unspeakableaxe) from Unspeakable Axe
- Joan Price (@JoanPrice) from Naked at Our Age – Better Than I Ever Expect
- Oatmeal Girl (@oatmeal_girl) from Submission & Metaphor
- Dark Gracie (@darkgracie) from Dark Gracie
- Mistress Lilyana (@MistressLilyana) from Mistress Lilyana
- Kyle Jones (@butchtastickyle) from Butchtastic
- Cheeky Minx (@LoveHateSexCake) from Love Hate Sex Cake
- Adam from The Mind of a Married Man
- Dr. Marty Klein (@drmartyklein) from Sexual Intelligence
- Lady Pandorah (@ladypandorah) from Lady Pandorah’s Sanctuary
- Holly (@pervocracy) from The Pervocracy
- Brooke from Puppy Tales
- Lady Dragonfly (@miladydragonfly) from Lady Dragonfly
- nilla (@swirlednilla) from Vanillamom’s Blog
- Wilhelmina Wang (@wilhelminawang) from Heartbreak Nymphomania
- Holden (@packingvocals) from Packing Vocals
- 25 Things from 25 Things About My Sexuality
- Thumper (@thumperMN) from Denying Thumber
- Kake (@poeticerotica) from Poetic Erotica
- Lucas (@top2bottom) from Top to Bottom
- Ms. Diane D from Bi and Large – Cuckolding with a Twist
- Betty Dodson and Carlin Ross (@dodsonandross) from Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross – Sex Information Online
- Kat (@shackledkat) from Prowling with Kat
- The Gentle Nibbles Writing Team (@gentlenibbles) from Gentle Nibbles
- Pandora (@pandorablake) from Spanked, Not Silenced
- Molly (@mollysdailykiss) from Molly’s Daily Kiss
- Vixen from Secrets of a Blue-Eyed Vixen
- DDD from Dick Dyke Dick
- Jade (@piecesofjade) from Pieces of Jade
- Jiz Lee (@jizlee) from Jiz Lee
- Sin from Finding My Submission
- Kris from The Phone Courtesan
- SapioSlut from SapioSlut
- Rockin’ (@RockinwithaCock) from Light Switch
- Rachael (@rabbitwhite) from Rachel Rabbit White
- Neo Dom Tom from A Bedroom Dom
- Daisy Danger (@daisydanger) from The True Life Sex Adventures of Daisy Danger
- Violet & Rye (@UCAppetites) from Uncommon Appetites
- Kaya from Under His Hand
- Lilith (@lilith9465) from Lilith Land
- Lady Grinning Soul (@LadyGrinSoul) from Lady Grinning Soul
- Septimus from Dirty Art by Septimus
- Roxy (@sroxy) from Uncommon Curiosity
- Anakin (@AnakinDarth) and Padme (@padmeamidala) from Journey to the Darkside
- Dr. Charlie Glickman (@charlieglickman) from Adult Sexuality Education
- Lily from theblackleatherbelt
- Arabella (@askarabella) from Bombshells & Rockstars
- SN from Peel It Off!
- Bre from Owned, Collared, Loved
- Adriana Ravenlust from Of Sex and Love
- Delilah (@definingdelilah) from Defining Delilah
- Arthur and Annabelle (@lustandconfused) from Lust and Confused
- Lorelei (@suggestive) from Suggestive Tongue
- Kitty Stryker from PurrVersatility
- Mollena (@Mollena) from The Perverted Negress
- Naughty Lexi from Exploits of Lexi
- Karen Blue (@kissinbluekaren) from Kissing Blue Karen
- Arti (@ArtiAbsinthium) from Absinthe Cocktail
- Figleaf (@talkingfigleaf) from Real Adult Sex
- Miranda and Aarron from The Swingers Attic
- Blacksilk (@BlacksilkBlog) from Blacksilk’s Boudoir
- Violet (@violetscreaming) from Screaming Violet
- Ferns (@Ferns__) from Domme Chronicles
- SlipperyWhnWhet (@SlipperyWhnWhet) from A Slut’s Memoir
- Fruit Taster (@fruittaster) from Fruits of Libido
- Mrs. Discontented (@DiscontentedMrs) from Mrs. Discontented
- Aisha from Being Aisha
- Ruby Ryder from Pegging Paradise
- Chrystal Bougon from Better Sex Radio
- Lipstick Lori (@lipsticklori) from Rarely Wears Lipstick
- CarrieAnn (@CarrieAnn_) from A View from the Floor
- Dangerous Lilly (@dangerouslilly) from This Could Be Dangerous
- Electronic Doll (@electronic_doll) from Post Modern Sleaze
- Jerome from Let’s Talk About Sex
- Dusk (@dusk_in_chains) from Dusk (in chains)
- Innocent Loverboy (@innocentlb) from Innocent Loverboy
- RHS from The Redheaded Slut
- Violet Blue (@violetblue) from Tiny Nibbles
- Amy (@AnalAmy) from Anal Amy
- Curvaceous Dee (@curvaceousdee) from Curvaceous Dee
- Jason Stotts (@Jstotts) from Erosophia
- Mistress Kay (@mistress_kay) from Kinky World
- Viemoira from Cavern of the Beast
- Lucid (@lucidobsession) from Lucid Obsession
- ♀ & sss (@sweatshopsissy) from Sweat Shop Sissy
- Kat from She Makes the Rules
- Yummy from Sexual Adventures of a Married Woman
- YOU! – As always, I want to leave a place on this list for ALL the awesome sex bloggers out there! So please leave a comment on Between My Sheetswith your name/URL to tell us about your sexy blog.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Masturbation mania (10) -Testing the Silky G
E-mail from me to Kayla, my contact at EdenFanatsys and steady supplier of sex toys:
I know you're at a conference and may not see it for a while, but just wanted to let you know that I tried the Silky G last night. It's so damn adorable that I couldn't wait. And I love it! A couple of things could be improved, and it wouldn't work for someone who needs things really strong or fat. But for me? Oh my...
And yes. It's VERY quiet.
Finally.
Thanks so much!
Flashback:
Having finally finished my rabbit review, it was time to select the next product to subject to my rigorous series of consumer tests. But the clitoral vibrator I had in mind wasn't available for review last month, and the hoped-for replacement for the much beloved but now deceased Fun Factory vibrator the philosopher gave me has been discontinued. (You can see it pictured in the photo at the bottom of the right-hand column.)
Kayla, however, had been paying attention to my comments over the last few months, and offered some suggestions based on my preference for silicone and my sensitivity to vibrator noise. My noise issue is not so much that my housemate will hear; rather the buzzing is distracting and ugly and offends my artistic sensibilities.
I studied the small list very scientifically, as my other concern is the surprising tightness of my 62-year old pussy. And I never did like fat cocks. Not only are they uncomfortable, but they are graceless.
Eventually, I selected a G-spot vibrator from Evolved Novelties called the Fleur de Lis Silky G. Like last month's rabbit from the same manufacturer, the Silky G comes in a really cool and creative package. In fact, in 2009 Evolved Novelties won an award for Best Packaging. My only complaint about the package is that it's a little fussy. You can't just pop the vibrator out of the container when your pussy starts screaming for attention. There's a little plastic ring you have to unscrew first. But its great for storage and isn't inordinately larger than the vibrator herself.
This one I do call "she" because she's so damn cute.
Perky.
Slender.
A bit saucy.
With a jaunty little curved tip that reminds me of
a soft-serve ice cream cone dipped in hardened chocolate.
Except it's not brown.
It's purple.
A lovely purple.
And silicone.
I definitely prefer silicone.
Feels soft.
[Writing interrupted at this point when my Master responded to my plaintive cries of painful arousal by granting me permission to masturbate with the stipulation that I write him before, during, and after. Which I did, affording my pulsing pussy much-needed relief, my Master a flood of entertaining and decidedly pornographic messages, and the Silky G another chance to show her stuff. Which she did. I'm smitten.]
And here, I think, I'll stop for now.
Check back for more on the Silky G, either tomorrow or as power outages allow.
Meanwhile, I'll sigh wistfully, wondering when my Master will let me play with my new friend again. Something about this storm is making me unbearably horny...
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Senior sex? Who you calling a senior?
Every so often, I call attention to how old I am.
Sometimes because it puzzles me.
The number.
It puzzles me.
I can't relate to it.
And sometimes because it's good to let people know that "older" people can still have - and do have - sex. Hot sex. Satisfying sex. Kinky sex. Moon-about-it-for days-afterwards sex.
More than sex.
A life-changing,
unacceptable,
transgressive,
admittedly risky,
and thoroughly preoccupying
relationship.
It doesn't end with your first grey hair.
Of course, I don't have that many grey hairs. Which is part of my confusion. When I look in the mirror I see beauty. Not just because the sadist taught me to see it. It's because somehow my looks improved as I got older. Odd, no?
And then there's this mane of red hair.
A head of bouncing and thoroughly natural red waves and curls.
Unless I look at my hands, it's hard to connect with the number.
Ever not sure how old someone is?
Look at the hands.
We lose that lovely, plumpifying collagen as we age.
The skin thins.
Sags.
Wrinkles.
But most people don't know to look at the hands.
So they think I'm still 40 or 45 or so.
Oh yeah.
You new readers.
Waiting for the number?
62.
Red mane,
perky nipples,
slurpy pussy,
raging libido,
the works.
I'd probably still be masturbating daily if the sadist hadn't staked a claim to my orgasms, to be doled out one by one for his pleasure - and sometimes as a reward for good service.
I'm 62.
Those 40-year olds do keep flirting with me.
(Today's guy was very tempting...)
I haunt the dreams of the man who owns me.
I'm 62.
I ooze sex.
I'm 62.
I am pussy.
Every inch of me is pussy.
In and out, every inch of me is pussy.
Just ask my Master.
I am female.
I am alive.
I am sexual.
That about covers it.
No?
Sometimes because it puzzles me.
The number.
It puzzles me.
I can't relate to it.
And sometimes because it's good to let people know that "older" people can still have - and do have - sex. Hot sex. Satisfying sex. Kinky sex. Moon-about-it-for days-afterwards sex.
More than sex.
A life-changing,
unacceptable,
transgressive,
admittedly risky,
and thoroughly preoccupying
relationship.
It doesn't end with your first grey hair.
Of course, I don't have that many grey hairs. Which is part of my confusion. When I look in the mirror I see beauty. Not just because the sadist taught me to see it. It's because somehow my looks improved as I got older. Odd, no?
And then there's this mane of red hair.
A head of bouncing and thoroughly natural red waves and curls.
Unless I look at my hands, it's hard to connect with the number.
Ever not sure how old someone is?
Look at the hands.
We lose that lovely, plumpifying collagen as we age.
The skin thins.
Sags.
Wrinkles.
But most people don't know to look at the hands.
So they think I'm still 40 or 45 or so.
Oh yeah.
You new readers.
Waiting for the number?
62.
Red mane,
perky nipples,
slurpy pussy,
raging libido,
the works.
I'd probably still be masturbating daily if the sadist hadn't staked a claim to my orgasms, to be doled out one by one for his pleasure - and sometimes as a reward for good service.
I'm 62.
Those 40-year olds do keep flirting with me.
(Today's guy was very tempting...)
I haunt the dreams of the man who owns me.
I'm 62.
I ooze sex.
I'm 62.
I am pussy.
Every inch of me is pussy.
In and out, every inch of me is pussy.
Just ask my Master.
I am female.
I am alive.
I am sexual.
That about covers it.
No?
Thursday, May 19, 2011
It's not all sex and spankings
A little present I received from my Master, who is torturing himself by reading Goethe's The Sorrows of Young Werther. We all have our own notions of pleasure.
The accompanying note included this: "Is there any point at all in my warning you not to take every word as a message? Yes there are some touch-points (that's why I sent it) but try not to get nuts, OK?"
I'm afraid he was offended when I confessed to laughing at the line about her being a few years older, but I laughed only because this, for sure, applies to us.
His favorite line? The one ending:
The accompanying note included this: "Is there any point at all in my warning you not to take every word as a message? Yes there are some touch-points (that's why I sent it) but try not to get nuts, OK?"
But she has been mine. I possessed that heart, that noble soul, in whose presence I seemed to be more than I really was, because I was all that I could be. Good heavens! Did then a single power of my soul remain inexercised? In her presence did I not display to its full extent, that mysterious feeling with which my heart embraces nature? Was not our intercourse a perpetual web of the finest emotions, of the keenest wit, the varieties of which, even in their very eccentricity bore the stamp of genius? Alas, the few years by which she was my senior brought her to the grave before me. Never can I forget her firm mind or heavenly patience.
I'm afraid he was offended when I confessed to laughing at the line about her being a few years older, but I laughed only because this, for sure, applies to us.
His favorite line? The one ending:
their very eccentricity bore the stamp of genius
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Of love and poetry and chains
I gave him a gift.
A very special gift.
In a way, it was no more than was expected of me. Expect that what is normally expected of me is not that expected any more. Although when it suddenly is, I had better be prepared.
Longtime readers - there may be a few of you left - may remember that what first drew the sadist to me was "my mind", as glimpsed in my FetLife profile. Relative newcomers, or those in need of a refresher course, can read my first mention of the sadist in this post from late August of 2008 for a little introduction, and then go on from there a bit to get a taste for our early days.
Briefly, he thought I'd be his own little Anaïs Nin, his personal porn producer. He did come see me not longer after accepting me into his service. "You're beautiful!" he said, as if surprised - when it was I who was truly was surprised since no one had ever said that to me before.
He took to calling me his complication.
One day he kissed me.
Because he thought it would be pleasurable.
He decided he was correct in his judgment.
Anyway.
Back to My Mind.
He expects me to write for him.
Poems.
Stories.
Bits to make him hot.
And bits to stimulate his mind.
This is a man who reads Shakespeare and James Joyce's Ulysses during free minutes in his work day. And no, he is not by any means an academician. Just a smart man with a love of beauty.
Not only does he expect me to write for him, and suck his cock and make him lunch while trying not to be too crazy-making. I'm also supposed to be prepared to recite for him.
You know.
By heart?
At every visit.
A poem.
One of mine.
I've learned something very interesting along the way. Just because you've written something yourself doesn't mean it will be easy to memorize. Damn, I worked hard trying to brand some of those poems into my brain! Of course, at my advancing age, such projects are supposed to be beneficial, so I shouldn't complain. And as I practiced the poems aloud, I found words and lines that didn't flow as well when spoken as they did in my head. A great editing technique!
Though I've been lazy lately.
Not writing much poetry lately.
Nor stories.
Blame sturm und drang and winter.
Yeah.
Right.
Excuses.
April 23rd is Shakespeare's birthday. I was a theatre major centuries ago, with a passion for Shakespeare. That's what I really wanted to do. Shakespeare.
I got married instead.
Before finishing college.
But I've always remembered that April 23rd was William Shakespeare's birthday.
Except this year I forgot.
Hooray for Prairie Home Companion!
They featured various people
reading various Shakespeare sonnets
with varying degrees of artistry
but always with sincerity.
I e-mailed the sadist, admitting my embarrassment at having forgotten the Bard's birthday, and (after much research) including a carefully chosen sonnet. Beginning:
Those lines that I before have writ do lie,He replied with thanks, deeming it lovely, but claiming to have trumped me with reference to a different sonnet.
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
I had him beat, of course - which is not a comfortable situation to admit to when dealing with one's Master, and a sadistic one at that. But given his respect for My Mind, he took it well. Because of course I knew of the sonnet he cited. And in case I hadn't, PHC had kindly included it in their little sonnet salute. But it seemed rather obvious, so I chose to show off my (newly acquired) in-depth knowledge of the collection.
Still, it's a beautiful and meaningful piece, and more so as I spent considerable time with it. Which I did. I memorized the damn thing, dear readers. In less than 3 days I committed it to memory and practiced different line readings until it was smooth and beautiful and artistic and moving and heartfelt and - he did love it so!
And the chains?
I was wrapped around in his heavy steel chain when I offered him my gift. It was drawn tightly round and round my neck, then up under my beautiful bare tits. And I knelt before him as he sat forward in his chair and he recognized the sonnet right away and his face was a garden of smiles growing more beautiful and happy with each word.
And later
after lunch
he began
our journey
into the pleasure
of pain.
Oh.
You wanted the sonnet?
I suppose there are some of you who haven't already guessed.
It's #57.
Worth knowing.
Worth sharing.
Worth learning.
And all about love.
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Sexy and submissive and yes, I'm 61
Remittance Girl started a recent post with the following excerpt from a Twitter exchange (and no, of course, this isn't RG talking!):
There comes a time when wrinkly women should cut their hair [...]I read on for a few lines and then just couldn't take it any more.
Now, OK, I admit that I'm not as wrinkly as most women my age (61 tomorrow, February 9th, there's still time for you to buy me a present). And I'll admit that many wrinkly women have grey hair, which some snotty men might think unseemly to display in large quantities. Me, I think of my paternal grandmother with her hair down to her tukhes, still blond at the bottom and white at her scalp, with every shade of her natural aging progression in between. I never thought it was anything but beautiful, and adored combing it, reveling in its smooth oiliness and sheer profusion.
So I have nothing against long grey hair. It can be a crowning glory, no matter what the color. But it so happens that I don't have grey hair. I have red hair. Real live long natural red hair. Sexy as shit and just begging to be seized. It is a dancing halo, and a waiting handle. Wrap it around your fist and drag my head down to your cock or haul me across the room and throw me onto the futon...
Ahem. Sorry about that. Now what was I saying?
Hair.
Long hair.
Long hair on old ladies.
My long hair which is sexy as shit.
I suppose 61 used to count as old. Certainly, 61 used to look old. Even now, 61 can sometimes look old. Not me. I'm beautiful. I'm young and beautiful and sexy, not just because my Master says so and therefore I'd better believe it (which I admit is true). But because he enabled me to see it.
Thank you, my Master.
My long hair I owe to the philosopher, who ordered me to grow out my dyke haircut even before we met. And he was right. Both because long hair suits my face better (which he didn't realize) and because long hair is sexy. Not to mention useful. He wanted to use it for hair bondage. He could have a fine time with it now if he ever wanted another shot at it. But that's not likely. Even a birthday e-mail is unlikely. But he left me many gifts, and this long hair is one of them.
Thank you, John...
So Tuesday I turn 61, in a city still buried in snow and expecting more. I think that's a fine way to celebrate. The clean white snow makes everything look bright and young and beautiful and new. The sun's rays bounce off the sparkling white mounds and leave everything they touch laughing.
I want to go out into my back yard and dance naked in the snow, the sun's rays bouncing off the sparkling white mounds of my sexy-as-hell breasts with their attention-demanding nipples. Beautiful hair, adorable tits, outrageous nipples, and a hot, moist, tight pussy that just begs to be used.
Not bad for a 61 year old woman who wears her hair too long for decency.
Happy birthday to me.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Happy Birthday to Me
60 years.
Doesn't feel like it. Only if I add up all the different lives I have had does it begin to feel persuasive.
I still feel confused every time I look in the mirror.
But I remember being on a Code Pink march against the war in Iraq. Very early on in the war in Iraq. Talk about things being a long time ago... So we're on this march, heading down through Dupont Circle, and this chant goes up:
And how does a 60-year old with wild titian hair and embarrassingly perky nipples spend her birthday? Well, M-- and the rest of the gang are taking me to dinner at our favorite restaurant for family outings. But I may have to sit down very carefully.
Because I usually go home for lunch. And today, my demon muse will be meeting me there.
I don't think I'll be doing much eating.
Doesn't feel like it. Only if I add up all the different lives I have had does it begin to feel persuasive.
I still feel confused every time I look in the mirror.
But I remember being on a Code Pink march against the war in Iraq. Very early on in the war in Iraq. Talk about things being a long time ago... So we're on this march, heading down through Dupont Circle, and this chant goes up:
Tell me what democracy looks like.And I look in the mirror at my thick titian hair and ridiculously perky nipples and think: Yup. This is what 60 looks like.
This is what democracy looks like.
And how does a 60-year old with wild titian hair and embarrassingly perky nipples spend her birthday? Well, M-- and the rest of the gang are taking me to dinner at our favorite restaurant for family outings. But I may have to sit down very carefully.
Because I usually go home for lunch. And today, my demon muse will be meeting me there.
I don't think I'll be doing much eating.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Naked to my self
I stood before the mirror
naked warm and rosy
glowing from my shower.
I looked at hair that waved
pre-Raphaelite and wild,
above those hard-tipped breasts.
I gazed back at my self
and smiled in happy wonder.
I smiled and said
"I love you."
and knew I truly meant it.
Thanks to all who helped me
have strength to truly mean it.
You know who you are.
naked warm and rosy
glowing from my shower.
I looked at hair that waved
pre-Raphaelite and wild,
above those hard-tipped breasts.
I gazed back at my self
and smiled in happy wonder.
I smiled and said
"I love you."
and knew I truly meant it.
Thanks to all who helped me
have strength to truly mean it.
You know who you are.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
A happy birthday after all
I found the magic word.
Monday night I was out with M--, my best female friend and canvassing partner. The main reason I moved to DC. We drove over to the concert together and talked about how things were going. I spoke of my struggles with the upcoming birthday. (My demon muse loves it when I use the word "struggles.")
Now M-- is telepathic, although she seems to have blind spots in certain areas. Luckily... She never seems to have picked up my wild side... She is also a fierce believer in the ultimate success of my relationship with the philosopher. As is my doctor. Can they really know better than either of us?
Anyway, she kept tossing out ideas, reasons why I should feel happy about the upcoming Big Birthday. None of them clicked. In fact, they clicked so little that I can't remember any of them. So I thanked her and said it was just a matter of the right thing coming along, that would make it all click and give me peace about it.
And then poof! It happened. It all connected.
Barack Obama.
Everything comes back to Barack Obama.
As we approached the secular, calendar, goyishe new year, I got into saying that for me, the beginning of the new year would be on January 20th. Inauguration Day. And indeed, it did feel like things changed on that day. The world feels like a better place. A nicer place. Somehow gentler, softer, there are these smiles on people's face here around Washington, DC.
And then it connected. Because yes, this IS a year of wonderful new beginnings. And that - in a leap of amazing illogic - allowed me to feel that turning 60 was a positive milestone. Because I am turning 60 the same year that Barack Obama took office. The year that we took back our country.
Yes, I know, it makes no sense whatsoever. But it works. So I'm not arguing.
And then as a final bit of icing on the top, I went to renew my driver's license today. I was not happy about this. It had been 10 years since the last one, which had a particularly lovely picture. I dreaded seeing this one, with me older and fatter.
Except you know what? This one came out looking younger than the one from 10 years ago! I think it's this unruly mop of rebellious red curls. Or something. Perhaps the restoration of my relationship with my demon muse. I have been floating around subspace (have you seen me fly by?) feeling very young and very small and very very submissive.
So I'll be fine on Monday. As long as I don't freak out from catching sight of my profile on FetLife and realizing that it has clicked over from 59F to 60F.
On the other hand, a 35 year old nice Jewish doctor just approached me from my profile there. Maybe THAT's what the new 60 is...
Yee-ha!
Monday night I was out with M--, my best female friend and canvassing partner. The main reason I moved to DC. We drove over to the concert together and talked about how things were going. I spoke of my struggles with the upcoming birthday. (My demon muse loves it when I use the word "struggles.")
Now M-- is telepathic, although she seems to have blind spots in certain areas. Luckily... She never seems to have picked up my wild side... She is also a fierce believer in the ultimate success of my relationship with the philosopher. As is my doctor. Can they really know better than either of us?
Anyway, she kept tossing out ideas, reasons why I should feel happy about the upcoming Big Birthday. None of them clicked. In fact, they clicked so little that I can't remember any of them. So I thanked her and said it was just a matter of the right thing coming along, that would make it all click and give me peace about it.
And then poof! It happened. It all connected.
Barack Obama.
Everything comes back to Barack Obama.
As we approached the secular, calendar, goyishe new year, I got into saying that for me, the beginning of the new year would be on January 20th. Inauguration Day. And indeed, it did feel like things changed on that day. The world feels like a better place. A nicer place. Somehow gentler, softer, there are these smiles on people's face here around Washington, DC.
And then it connected. Because yes, this IS a year of wonderful new beginnings. And that - in a leap of amazing illogic - allowed me to feel that turning 60 was a positive milestone. Because I am turning 60 the same year that Barack Obama took office. The year that we took back our country.
Yes, I know, it makes no sense whatsoever. But it works. So I'm not arguing.
And then as a final bit of icing on the top, I went to renew my driver's license today. I was not happy about this. It had been 10 years since the last one, which had a particularly lovely picture. I dreaded seeing this one, with me older and fatter.
Except you know what? This one came out looking younger than the one from 10 years ago! I think it's this unruly mop of rebellious red curls. Or something. Perhaps the restoration of my relationship with my demon muse. I have been floating around subspace (have you seen me fly by?) feeling very young and very small and very very submissive.
So I'll be fine on Monday. As long as I don't freak out from catching sight of my profile on FetLife and realizing that it has clicked over from 59F to 60F.
On the other hand, a 35 year old nice Jewish doctor just approached me from my profile there. Maybe THAT's what the new 60 is...
Yee-ha!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
He says i'm beautiful
He says i’m beautiful.
i’m dubious.
He says we’ll work on it.
i look in the mirror.
i seem to have changed
and it’s not just the hair.
can beauty blossom
on the shores of sixty?
perhaps. and it helps
not crying every day.
but if i am beautiful,
and i’m hearing it more,
it isn’t really new.
and as my hair lengthened
over all these months
i grew into my self.
i glowed from being owned.
and even as we are
such friends as we are now
the glow is with me still.
i’m dubious.
He says we’ll work on it.
i look in the mirror.
i seem to have changed
and it’s not just the hair.
can beauty blossom
on the shores of sixty?
perhaps. and it helps
not crying every day.
but if i am beautiful,
and i’m hearing it more,
it isn’t really new.
and as my hair lengthened
over all these months
i grew into my self.
i glowed from being owned.
and even as we are
such friends as we are now
the glow is with me still.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Disobedience
kitten cowers back into a corner of her cage.
as far from the open door as she can go.
the door was flung wide open.
the door is open. the chain is gone.
the chain that bound her collar to the metal bars is gone.
the collar's gone.
the door stands wide and the cat door to the lonely world beyond
beckons her on.
she was set free.
no bars prevent her flight
he said to go.
but a metal band surrounds her
heart, tighter than his hand had ever
pressed against her throat.
she just can't go.
there is no order strong enough
to shatter bondage of the heart
and so she cowers, small and sad,
praying that someday he’ll come back home.
as far from the open door as she can go.
the door was flung wide open.
the door is open. the chain is gone.
the chain that bound her collar to the metal bars is gone.
the collar's gone.
the door stands wide and the cat door to the lonely world beyond
beckons her on.
she was set free.
no bars prevent her flight
he said to go.
but a metal band surrounds her
heart, tighter than his hand had ever
pressed against her throat.
she just can't go.
there is no order strong enough
to shatter bondage of the heart
and so she cowers, small and sad,
praying that someday he’ll come back home.
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