My boyfriend and I were sitting in the sunshine. We were drinking coffee and watching an old couple cross the road. She had a bandaged leg and was walking with two sticks but the two of them were a couple who, like us, had just been sitting in the café drinking coffee.
My boyfriend turned to me. “Do you think we’ll still be perverts when we’re ninety?” he asked.
I replied that I did, after all why should our relationship change because we’re older.
“You realise no one else will find it sexy?” he pointed out. I did and I do. That doesn’t mean we should stop feeling or being sexy though.
There may of course be fewer pictures on the blog and perhaps the tales of our adventures will be blander. After all, getting naked may take us longer, we may no longer be agile enough to do things we now take for granted but I cannot imagine not holding my Boy’s head in my lap and reminding him that he is mine.
Actually the one thing that frightens me about that thought of us being ninety and being kinky is that biology itself may steal it from me.
I’ve been kinky since childhood and my sex drive and my kink drive are effectively the same thing. They have only been separated once when I was made to feel so ashamed of my submission that I couldn’t face it anymore. That shame still occasionally haunts me, a shame which my Domme side is thankfully free of.
My sex drive is something therefore which is part of me, an important part of who I am. Important enough that this blog is a part of my self-expression. That drive was lost though when I was on the pill. The scary thing was how little I realised what was wrong. The sheer delight, the buzzing, vertiginous feeling of pleasure was gone and I couldn’t remember how it felt. I couldn’t feel desire, I was not myself. By choice I will never let go of that part of myself again but nature may have other ideas.
To get from here to ninety the menopause hangs like an ominous bridge between us. Another hormonal shift and this one I cannot avoid. It is, I hope, still a very long way away but I cannot know what it will bring. Perhaps nothing, Puberty didn’t change me so why should its inverse?
In the meantime however I intend to go on being a perverted, dirty little girl and loving every second of it for as long as I can. Hopefully until I’m ninety.
Once upon a time people used to write letters on pieces of paper. Missives describing their lives to people who were far away. Historians can go through such manuscripts gleaning information as to how we used to live. Certainly people write far fewer letters nowadays, so what will future historians use to research our lifetimes?
One way I suspect will be reading blogs. A vast number of people are writing on a huge range of topics (not just kinky ones) and that information will certainly provide reference material for the future.
Given that huge wealth of reading material, I have every expectation that this blog will one day end up on the cutting room floor. I have no illusions as to the quality of my writing; the purpose of this blog is to give me an outlet for my kinky side and random musings such as this and hopefully to help me to communicate with similar people. Undying prose it is not.
Given that these words will quickly be forgotten what will I leave to mark my presence upon the earth? I truly cannot think of anything significant I have ever done. I have won no prizes, created nothing of value, added nothing to the sum of human knowledge. My name is inscribed in no tablets of stone. While I may undertake any number of things to fill the years remaining to me, I will never be famed for any of them.
Any obituary I have will be short indeed, describing me purely in terms of my relationships: daughter, wife, lover. That is all I am. A very long time ago someone ‘gave’ me this poem. I wonder now just how much they saw me here.
When You Are Old and Grey
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
by W. B. Yeats
Everybody is getting older. We are all in fact travelling through time at a rate of one second per second, in an inescapable journey into the future. In general I don’t worry about this particularly, most of the time my internal age is somewhere between twenty and twenty-five, and I’m happy like that.
My external age though, continues to increase, as does that of everyone I know. Still, that’s usually a fact of very little consequence to me. Until this week when I encountered a newspaper report which said ‘the porn industry treats sex over forty as a fetish’!
I stopped to think when I read that. Really? Is having sex over forty actually unusual?
I’m well aware that most people I’ve discussed it with believe that their parents don’t have sex, despite the clear evidence to the contrary. Unless of course, you know you were conceived entirely by medical science or a virgin birth. Feel free to let me know if you can prove the latter. Is this the same problem in another form? Do twenty-somethings really believe that when they get to forty that they won’t want to ‘do it’ any more?
Certainly porn does indeed often present sex as something for young attractive people only. I’ve also been disappointed by the way fantasy writings portray sex and ageing as well. The Gor novels (and there’s a whole load of controversy there I know), present the scenario of young desirable women being captured to be sex slaves and then promptly vaccinated to prevent them ageing. Heinlein started off in a better vein presenting sex as a continuing and enjoyable part of life, but rather spoiled it for me by rescuing his ageing heroine (Mama Maureen) and promptly rejuvenating her, so she need never be old again.
None of this ‘sex is for the young’ reflects reality as I see it. Certainly ageing brings about changes, and the sort of sex people have does tend to change in some ways as they get older. But wouldn’t it be nice just to say older people love having sex too.
Certainly when I’m forty, and fifty, and sixty, and…well you get the idea. I intend to carry on enjoying my sex life to the full, and I hope you all do too.