Master's Judgement

It has been a time of adjustments -- of coming to terms with what is and is not anymore. For all that I have wanted to battle and rage against the advances of age, there is simply an inevitability to the march of years that I cannot deny for all that I am in remarkably good health. I know that, as I read around the circle, that there are many who are trailing me by some years, who are not yet to the stage of life where they have confronted the menopausal passages, either naturally occuring, or suddenly and surgically imposed as I did, and who are perhaps hoping to avoid the curse by simply not looking too closely. Having passed through the valley, I cannot say that I blame them...

There is loss and loss redoubled to be encountered and, somehow, encompassed in this part of the path of living female. It has not been easy. I have whined, and fussed, and obsessed, and surely I have mourned. I think, finally, I am coming to a place of acceptance. There have been choices made, and sometimes there were no choices at all. Whatever, there is no path back. There is only forward from here with the life that is mine to live. Sorrow and sadness does not seem a viable way to go on. I am alive and well and strong. What was is no more. What is, is.

I have worried that my inability -- incapacity to "play" at the same intensity that I once did seems to have gone along with my sexual prowess. I haven't the same tolerance for pain that I once did -- not the same "thirst," and not the same responsiveness... to anything much. I am not a good actress I am afraid. I can, and do (at least try) to endure whatever He seeks to do with me, but it isn't the same. I know it and so does He.

There is, to further complicate the situation the (seemingly) irreprable damage to the tissue of my butt. It is An Old Story. We "played" so intensely in the early days, and without any respite between the sessions -- no time to allow for recovery or healing. I remember one of those "oh so gleeful and nasty" anonymous commenters who remarked that I was probably writing a "check that my body would probably not be able to cash." I brushed it off at the time, but it has come to be true. Now, with even minor and seemingly inconsequential impact, the scarred area breaks open and GUSHES blood. It isn't that it is terribly painful. In fact, that area is far less sensitive than most of the rest of my ass, and that in itself is alarming...

Master worries that if we do not give that spot adequate rest between sessions; adequate time to heal; that we risk necrosis. So, we often go days -- sometimes a week or more between play. That touches our life together; impacts our relating. Changes how we are with one another.

Another thing that I did not do on purpose; did not choose; did not see coming -- another proof of advancing age that I cannot deny, cannot duck, cannot wish away, cannot cover with a cute little skirt or a flirty smile... The void it leaves in terms of the "need" He has can be filled. There are plenty of "stunt butts..." The rationale for the shift makes perfect sense. It is sensible and sane and reasonable. It is "safe." It denotes care and concern and love and all that is appropriate and wise.

It remains one more of those things on the path that I have followed to here that I cannot -- will not look back at. Choices made that cannot be unmade.

swan