Monthly Archives: September 2014

More musings on being older: TNG edition

I just read a rant on fetlife about older people attending events which are specifically created for younger people. Frankly, I’m fine with niche groups. I belong to a few of them myself. Nothing wrong with it.

Despite being invited (by people who didn’t know my age) and having had several partners who would qualify my to attend the TNG events, I haven’t gone. I would not like it if a male switch in “Dom mode” showed up at my femdom group. I’m out of the age range. And unless a younger partner dragged me along for moral support (or something similar), I don’t see myself attending a group meant specifically for younger people. There are plenty of other places I can go. I don’t need to go to a group not meant for my age range. I say all of the above to say this…

Not all old people are creepers. And, in fact, some young people are creepers. Not all old people are going to hit on every hot young thing around. Some of us are so incredibly picky that it would be a minor miracle if we hit on anyone of any age. Not all old people have years of experience in kink. Sometimes, people don’t find kink until later in life. I appreciate that the TNG groups are set up to keep out the creepy old people who hit on the new, inexperienced people, scaring them away from the kink scene forever. I know there are creeper old farts who WILL hit on all the naive newbies and scare them away from kink. Yes, they are out there. But when one fails to make the distinction that creepers come in all flavors, it’s akin to calling me a creeper. Because I’m one of those older people.

And really, can we please stop with the blatant ageism? Both ways. When one assumes all old people are creepers, it’s an assumption based purely on age. That’s ageist. When one assumes all young people are naive and can’t fend for themselves, it’s also an assumption based on age. Also wrong. Let’s give the old fogies enough credit to think that we (at least most of us) can manage to keep it in our proverbial pants. Let’s give the younger kinky people enough credit to think they are perfectly capable of fending for themselves. Because doing otherwise is pretty offensive.

Caveat: I have certainly seen other reasons for TNG groups, and recognize that not all people hold the above attitudes.


Musings: the Simple Life

I am generally good at following my dreams and being happy. In my humble opinion, those are some very good things to be good at. It’s led me to where I am now, which is a pretty good life! I have (a few) people who care a lot about me. And that’s always been plenty. I have a roof over my head and food on my plate. I have always done things that I enjoy, so I love my work. But…

Lately I have had these unexpected and unusual feelings. I find that I want a larger (by a few people, not a crowd) circle of close friends. I want people in my life I can be myself around. Talk to about minutiae and the weather and deep philosophical theories. Complain to about the minutiae and the weather and my deep philosophical theories. People who can accept me with all my flaws and shortcomings. Flawed people I can accept and want to spend my time with. For the first time in my life, I feel lonely. My circle of friends has slowly shrunk. So I’ve been trying to fix that issue by reaching out. You never know what person will turn out to be a fantastic friend.

I have all the things I need. I don’t have to sleep on the ground outside in the rain. I don’t have to worry about my food or water making me ill. Or if there will even be any. I live a very comfortable life. For now. But I am finally feeling my age. I am finally starting to consider a time when I won’t be able to provide for myself any more. It’s a bit frightening. I certainly have no faith that the government will be able to help with that. I also don’t have any children who might help support me. I can see a time in the future where I might not be able to work. Or even just a time when I’m tired and don’t want to work any more no matter how much I might enjoy what I’m doing. So I’m trying to learn about retirement planning. It’s slow going. But if I don’t start now, I might end up never starting. Then when I want (or need) to retire, I won’t be able to.

I’m already feeling that the physicality of my work taking a toll. Yet it is daunting to think of starting a fourth career. Especially at this age.

Partially, I think that surrounding myself with younger people is now affecting me differently than it usually has. Usually I find it energizing and fun and I don’t feel any different than them. But recently that has changed. I feel… different. I feel that I am in a very different stage of life even though I am looking at going back to school. I may read the same books, listen to the same music, wear the same clothes… but I’m not the same.

I see their passion and I think I’ve lost mine. It’s been a while since I felt the excitement and passion I see in people just starting out on their life path. I remember it. But I don’t have it in my life right now. I haven’t for several years. I used to be where they are. I have been there three times. I suppose it adds up. Now when I have an interest in things, I look at them with an eye to the future. I realize that something I might find all-consuming now, I might be disinterested in 10 years down the line. It isn’t that I envy their passion. I just miss it.

I also feel very keenly that while they have all the time in the world to study and learn things and perfect their art/craft/profession… if I were to find something I could feel that unbridled passion for, I don’t have that kind of time. I no longer have all the time in the world. For the first time in my life, I feel the passage of time. I feel my own mortality. I feel my body slowly betraying me by slowing down when I want to run. I feel that there are things that I might want to do, places that I would like to see… that I won’t have time for.

I don’t regret the life I have lived so far. I have done things I loved. I’ve loved passionately. I’ve lived happily. But for the first time, I feel like I want… something different. I want to do something different. And I fear I won’t have all the time in the world to explore whatever that turns out to be.

This is my life: Saturday

He was lounging on the table so casually. Naked. Unselfconscious. Relaxed. Humming along to the music I had playing. He looked so incredibly inviting. I could hardly wait to begin. But I wanted to take this moment to admire his casual grace. He saw me notice him and smiled. It only served to increase his charm. I told him how relaxed he looked and he made a joke about lounging on pianos and singing to me. It was sweet and funny and it ended the moment enough for me to want to start tying him up.

I tied him around the waist and down each leg. I needed to tie him to the table, but wanted to have something prettier and more extensive than simply tying his ankles to the legs of the table. He loves when I’m creative with rope. He preened in the rope and looked so happy. I had him lay down on the table so I could tie his arms to the front table legs. I wanted to give him enough play to reach me if he needed to touch my skin for comfort. Or to shift his shoulders. I planned to be very mean to one of them.

I cleaned my hands, I cleaned him. He looked quite relaxed and peaceful. I knew it wouldn’t last. The first needle. It was smaller than the last time I did needles with him, but I knew it would be harder. I slid the needle in. All of it. I buried the whole metallic length under his skin. He might have thought he was prepared for it. I’d told him what I had planned. He wasn’t prepared. He wailed. I smiled. I’d known it would be much more challenging. I also knew he could handle it.

And he did. Needle after needle. Some of them directly on top of each other. Some crisscrossing other needles. Some on their own. I put them in one after the next. He made such beautiful noises. He tensed his muscles. He grabbed my legs for support and comfort. He cried. I love when he cries. Then it was done. They were all in. I looked at him, bound and bleeding on my table. His adorable perky ass cheeks were framed beautifully by the ropes. I started spanking him.

He was caught completely by surprise. Unprepared for this new and different pain. It was magnified by the pain of the needles in his back every time his body tensed. I spanked and cropped and hit his beautiful bottom until he was breathless. Until it was bright red. He was crying again in great heaving gasps. I stopped and rubbed his lower back and arms as he reached for me, craving the touch of my skin as much as he could get. I comforted him with pets and skin while he cried.

Then it was time to pull out the needles. I was kind with a few of them, pulling them straight out singly. But it’s not my nature to be kind during a bloodplay scene. The rest I twisted, turned, pulled them out in pairs and groups. He screamed. It’s probably worse than when they are going in. Just when it seems like the pain will be over, it isn’t. But then they were all out. All gone. And he lay bleeding and sobbing on the table. I untied his hands and climbed up on the table so I could hold him gently. I love to hold him as he cries in my embrace. I love how he suffers so beautifully. I love how he trusts me enough to give his body to my ministrations fearlessly.

A non-titled throw-away post

It seems I have very little to say lately. I suppose I do have things to say, but they are still percolating in my grey matter. I’ve also been fairly busy. One thing I’ve learned thus far about having two submissives is how much time it takes. Even just coordinating everyone’s schedule takes much more time and effort than I had ever anticipated. It’s worth it, but it’s time consuming. Having them around is also making it more difficult to write. I can’t exactly remain anonymous if one of them is looking over my shoulder as I compose a blog post for my anonymous blog! And I have, fortunately, been spending a great deal of time with one or both of them. It’s been grand! So my 3 readers will just have to suffer the absence of substantive material!