More Medical Wonders

We spent the day Thursday at the local hospital.  This time, the issue was irregular heart rhythms that were interfering with the efficiency of the heart.

The problem was one that had been being tracked for a number of years, and it finally became pronounced enough to warrant medical intervention.  The procedure is called "cardiac ablation," and it involves targeted electrical cautery to nodes in the heart muscle that cause the heart to beat irregularly.

There were difficult moments through the course of the very long, 12-hour day, but in the end, everyone came home to a night in our own beds.  We are two days into the prescribed 72-hour recuperative period during which activity is pretty limited.  Some pretty impressive bruising at the point where the catheters were inserted, and some achy soreness.  And tiredness.  But the news is generally good, and we are glad.

C string?

I am way, way past my bikini wearing days.  Truth is, I haven't had a "bikini body" since I was 15.  So, there is no chance that this newest "thing" is ever going to be anything more than a passing bit of amazement in my world, but still...

This "c-string"...  Is just pretty amazing:

Constructed / Organic

We began, a very long time ago, to construct a relationship; founded on friendship and shared desires.  Like others before us, and around us, we piled up expectations and agreements and rules and routines.   For a time, we added metaphorical rooms and hallways and stairs going up and down -- all built with stuff pulled from within our own selves, and the edifice was a shining wonder.  We thought.  The ground shifted and the ensuing quake shook the walls to rubble.

It turns out that constructed reality is susceptible to the forces which may tend to deconstruct.

We have chosen, in these later days, to adapt to our assorted defects, learning to offer one another goodwill and gentleness.  We are forming the habit of taking pleasure in one another; in being together.  What grows from that; a more organic sort of being alive, we hope will be firmly rooted in the ground on which we stand.

Old Relationship Energy

“Never regret thy fall, 
O Icarus of the fearless flight 
For the greatest tragedy of them all  
Is never to feel the burning light.”

~~ Oscar Wilde

Tom has taken to saying that we are experiencing a season of Old Relationship Energy -- ORE.  It seems to be an emotional habitat comprised of feelings of warmth, security, comfort, gratitude, and long-lasting love.  We are living in a space where we feel just amazed at our great good luck to have one another; to still be here in this place and this time, and still together.  We snuggle a lot these days.  We sit together and hold hands while we watch TV.  We play and spank, back and forth in our currently nebulous and highly variable power dynamic.  We chat online whenever we can during my work day.  We smile at each other like giddy kids in the first blush of love.  We share kisses, sometimes stolen as if they were forbidden.  We walk and talk … and talk and talk and talk.  We have finally healed from the hurts of our struggles and come to a shared awareness of and empathy for one another’s various and evocative scars.  It really is like waking up after a bad, bad dream, and finding the one you love above everything standing there smiling at you.  It is an enormous comfort.  

The truth is that we have aged.  We are older and, perhaps, wiser.  We know how absolutely mortal we are, and how close we, like Icarus, flew to the sun.  We got our wings singed.  Seriously.  And, we are still here, still in love, still able to live the story and tell about it.  It is a joy and a wonderment and an absolute amazement.  Perhaps, along with our heron, we will need to add a phoenix to our cast of bird totems.

swan

Seven Year Itch

In a dream you are never eighty.  ~Anne Sexton

One of the conversational threads from my therapy session on Saturday afternoon revolved around the notion of the seven year itch.  "What you and Tom are experiencing, is a sort of seven year itch,"  she told me.  I just looked at her.  We are well past the seven year point, after all.  We are approaching the 10 year mark for the 24/7, living together, not long-distance relationship.  That milestone will happen next summer.


So, she explained that, for us, the point where we might have begun to experience the "decline" that is characteristic of the "seven year itch" was fraught with incipient crisis:  the bariatric surgeries, the attendant health struggles and lifestyle changes, and ... the severe ratcheting up of the impacts of drinking as a result of that passage.  There was the shock and adjustment in our lives with the loss of His career.  Too, we were dropped precipitously into the deaths of His parents, and then T's mother's stroke and long illness and death...  And so... our "itchy" phase seems to have been delayed.  


I'll admit I was a little mystified by the whole conversation, but then she went on to explain that the latest thinking is that with people our ages, the "seven year itch" is really about deciding whether you really want to grow old together.  It involves the question of spending the time that is left with this person...

When I got home and told Master about that part of the session, He looked at me and said, "Well the truth is that we don't want to grow old."  And that, is really so.  There is no choice.  The continued aging is inevitable and unavoidable, but it isn't something that we are anticipating with eagerness.  We are too entirely aware that the likely trajectory from here on out is through a series of never ending diminishments.  Bummer, that.


I would dearly wish to stop the progression of the years; to stay as we are; perhaps even turn the clock back and regain some bit of those more youthful, stronger years that are forever behind us.  It cannot be.  And given that we all understand that I'd choose not to have to go through the indignities and inevitable losses of growing older -- there is still no one that I'd rather walk that path with than Master and T.  If we have to go, then I fervently hope that we will get to go all together, hand in hand in hand.


swan  

I Wanted to be a Diva, Too!

The word “diva” refers to a celebrated female singer, but Wikipedia tells us that the term is used to describe a woman of outstanding talent, and is closely related in meaning to  "prima donna".  The word is derived from an Italian word that names a female deity. The basic sense of the term is "goddess".

Again, according to Wikipedia, an extravagant admiration for divas is a common element of camp culture.  In camp, something is appealing because of its bad taste and ironic value. Its key elements are artifice, frivolity, naïve middle-class pretentiousness, and shocking excess. 

I will submit to you that we, in this cybersubculture of BDSM bloggers and Fetlife denizens, are engaged in a sort of “camp” culture subculture, and do have the tendency to produce our own particular variety of divas.  For us, the divas are the ones that make us go, “Wow!”  They are the ones that we admire and emulate – or perhaps we merely acknowledge that we’ll never be able to equal their skill, talent, and level of achievement.  Our divas are, by our mutual agreement, the ones who are the best of the best at this thing we do.  They risk more, endure more, serve better, and live closer to the edge.  They write blog posts that get the most hits day after day, and they routinely pull comments from 10 or 20 or 30 or more admirers.

When I first started writing this blog, back in 2004, I had no idea about the "neighborhood" I was moving into.  He told me to write, and so I did.  Reluctantly.  In time, though, I learned about others writing out here about this very intense and personal lifestyle choice, and I began to get caught up in the "celebrity" frenzy of it all.  In those early days, the divas were Patty and Anissa.  They were the stars of the BDSM blog universe, and the things they wrote were in the "must read" category for just about everyone I could see.   I knew, even then, that I was out of their league, but I was new to it all, and I sometimes dared to imagine myself as one of their number -- writing the sort of blog that would be on the "must read" list for the whole circle.  In that fantasy realm, it was possible to convince myself that every positive comment pointed to how wonderful I was, how brilliantly I wrote to make clear the convolutions of this lifestyle, how indispensable my wisdom was for those who would seek to live their lives in ways that were similar to my own.

I wanted to be a diva, too!  I did.

Well, time has passed, and I look around the "neighborhood" and know for an absolute certainty that I am not now and never will be -- a diva. 

There are lots of reasons for that:

• I've aged.  Fifty-six is way different than forty-five (the age I was when I finally started off on the path I'd been eyeing my whole adult life).
• With surgeries and the various diminishments of the years, I've lost the stuff that is part and parcel of being young and hot and hungry.
• After seven years of blogging, I've seen too much -- seen too many come and go, and I know that no one is "it" in our world for very long.  This thing that we do takes its toll on bodies and hearts and minds.  People mellow or they break under the strain of trying to keep on being "the same as they were back when..."
• I've gotten wiser.  Or maybe, I've just quit pretending that none of the things I've been into had any long term effects or consequences.  I know better.  Everything has a long term consequence.  I now understand (and agree with) the person who once told me that I was probably writing checks my butt could not cash.  Human bodies are not meant to endure much of the physical trauma that we inflict because it gives us a thrill.  Now and then?  Perhaps.  Day after day after day?  No way.
• Ultimately, I've been humbled by life.  I've been greying and wrinkling right here in public for a very long time.  Sags and bulges and flabby places are evident for all to see nowadays, and anyone who wants to prove that I've gotten older can find the "slide show" of butt pictures to prove the point.  The younger, hotter, more adventurous ones have come along to fill the space that once I coveted, and they are the reining divas of this lifestyle.  My time, if there was ever going to be a time for me, has passed me by.  No one is ever going to read about my life and my thoughts about all of this and exclaim, "Wow!"

I wanted to be a diva, too.  Wanted it with a sort of unjustified pride and arrogance that I've never admitted to.  Now that part of life is behind me, and I am amazed and a bit ashamed of my own ego.  Seeing it now, I know why I can feel so judgmental of those who do occupy the center of the stage.  Even more, I know what it is that drives the voice in my head that continually reminds me to just wait because, "they won't be young forever either."  What a crabby old woman I have gotten to be!

swan

Mating Dance

He and I have seen our BDSM relationship change over the years.  We've both noted that the heat that was so characteristic of our early years together has cooled as we've passed from crisis to crisis and challenge to challenge.  Surely, there were major changes following my hysterectomy, but just as surely, the various health hurdles He's had to face have taken their toll.  Over time, I have been less and less willing -- less and less able (I'm not really sure which it is to tell the truth) to engage in the same level of high end sadomasochistic play as we once enjoyed as a regular thing.  More and more, as I felt hurt and abused rather than turned on and thrilled by our play, He responded, lovingly, by scaling back, going easy, acting more in the role of service top.  The fires of His sadistic urges were banked and burned lower and lower.

Then we put ourselves through the role reversal of disciplinary switching, and things seemed to skid to a complete and total halt.  His interest levels fell to nothing.  Through these last weeks, He's been glad to snuggle, He's been very verbally affirming and loving.  He's been happy to make love, and I suspect that we engage with one another sexually on a much more regular basis than many people who are nowhere near our ages.  He just has not felt particularly Dominant, and has been relatively disinterested in spanking. 

The really ironic thing about that circumstance has been that I have just begun to experience a sexual renaissance.  My libido has risen, phoenix-like, from the ashes, and while I have no explanation for that, I am thrilled.  The new incarnation of my sexual self seems (to me) to be almost entirely wrapped up in sadomasochism, and I find that regular vanilla sex, while pleasant enough, holds very little potential to excite me.  For me, in these days, sex and SM play are equivalents -- one and the same. NOW I've got longings.  NOW I've got imaginings.  NOW I've got fantasies galore.  Figures. 

And that is where things have stood.  I've felt sad about it.  I've figured it was my doing.  I have heard my mother's mean and nasty voice in my mind -- "You made your bed, now lie in it!"  I've told myself that aging is an unavoidable reality, and there is nothing to be done about it. 

Then, today, things shifted suddenly.  Today, He's been after me, in hot pursuit, wanting to take me where we haven't gone together in years and years.  Not service toppy, but full on sadistic Dominance.  He's suddenly come roaring up out of whatever slough of despond had Him mired down, and the whole world seems different.  NOW my longings, my fantasies, and my imaginings are matched by His wants, fantasies, and desires.  We are locked in a mating dance.

I am nervous.
He thinks that is cute.
I am filled with doubts and performance anxiety.
He finds that exciting.
I want with a breathlessness that seems more like 15 than 55 years.
He wants with an intensity that belies His years. 


We are locked in a mating dance.

We need time.  We need opportunity.  We need hours to be with one another.  That will come.  We are locked in a mating dance.

swan

Collaborative Evolving Power Exchange

Some readers may have noticed a verbal shift in that long and convoluted conversation between He and I the other day -- our long custom of exchanging affirmations of our power exchange relationship was modified by Him:

Raheretic: I love you

Swan: Yours always and all ways

Swan: bye for now

Raheretic: Mine Always and All Ways

Raheretic: Too..............Yours Always and All Ways

Raheretic: I/we need both

Swan: well then ... Mine always and all ways

Swan: bye, Love

 

That was intentional on His part, meant to point to what He perceives to be our new and evolving reality.  As He has come to feel more switchy, His sense of our relationship has shifted.  He has increasingly indicated that what we are about is more collaborative and less definitively tilted toward anything that might reasonably be called M/s or maybe even D/s. 

Things have changed.  Things do change.  We are, clearly, not the same people we were 2 years ago, or 5  years ago, or 10 years ago.  Not as young and not as intensely dedicated to the sort of BDSM interactions we once enjoyed.  We've experienced real changes in our health status -- mostly for the better, although there is no denying the fact of ongoing aging.  We've seen significant changes in our career paths and our incomes.  We've withdrawn completely from the public scene -- finding it simultaneously dull and almost incomprehensible; not to mention ridiculously expensive.  We never imagined the road we'd travel in this last decade.  If we had, we might have chickened out before we ever started.

We've shifted the control back and forth between us, over the years, depending on what the circumstances dictated.  Most often, that has been driven by health issues, and I have sometimes been the controlling, and guiding partner as He has needed to focus on surgeries and illness and recovery.  There is no doubt that I am capable of assuming control when the situation warrants it.  

Now, it seems that He does not feel any need to be THE ONE IN CONTROL.  It seems that He is comfortable with our sharing that; switching not just in terms of erotic spanking, but in the much broader context of our day to day power dynamic.  I am made uneasy by that baldly stated truth -- even as I must acknowledge the fact.

I don't know what it means.  Perhaps it really doesn't signify any big change.  Perhaps it is simply the statement of the reality that has evolved between us.  Perhaps it is the natural landing point of the trajectory that we've been following from the moment when, out walking together, we accepted (with a sense of trepidation and wonderment) the desciptor of Master/slave for our relationship.  In that moment, we adopted language that we'd resisted previously, and made it "ours."  We've lived that in the years since, and found it made some sense for the two of us.  Now, there is a new understanding -- a new reality and awareness.  

We still play with the power dynamic in our relationship.  We are aware of it and deliberate in our manipulation of the power flows and energies.  Those who do not understand the use of power inside of intimate relationships are unable to use those energies to their mutual benefit.  That is not us.  Now, though, we seem to meet more as collaborators and partners in that balancing.  Truthfully, maybe we've always collaborated in that, but been more content to have the balance be more radically tilted.  Perhaps it is the fact that I've moved more toward the fulcrum point of the balance, and He has allowed and accommodated that -- until now we stand, face to face across from one another, and right in the center.  

There is no exotic descriptor for what we are engaged in -- no fancy uppercase/lowercase delineators.  We will likely, eventually, stop using the Master/slave lexicon altogether.  The provocative scintilla that came with all of that business will just slip off and away and we will gradually become more apparently "normal" and "mainstream" than we have appeared previously.

It makes me a little sad.  It scares me a little.  There is something easy and sure about being able to sum up the nature of your intimate life in such simple terms.  This new collaborative, evolving, power exchange dynamic seems much less defined and way more nebulous.  I don't know what it is and I have no clear sense of who or how I am inside of this.  It is disconcerting and unsettling.  I have no good experience or working model to draw upon for plain, old, garden variety relatedness based on some sort of equality.  The only time I ever tried that, it turned out to be a total disaster.  Sigh.  

I am full of questions.  What is expected?  What will this mean for us sexually?  Will we still play?  What about the collar I wear?  Should I -- or should I not?  Still?  Will He still be "Sir?"  "Master?"  Will I still be "swan?"  "His?"  What are the lines, the limits, the agreements?  I feel like I am living in a new and uncharted place where I do not know the rules.  And then, I tell myself that it is all silliness -- we are doing this already.  There is no tidal wave of change happening here.  The changes have come incrementally over the years and months leading to this point.  All I need to do is just go on doing it day to day and it will be whatever it is going to be.  There is no going back, even if I would wish it.  

I just don't know.  I just do not know.

swan

Raising Adults

Raising Adults.

That was my stated mission as a parent.  From the moment my eldest was laid in my arms only moments after his birth, I determined that I would not "raise children," but adults.  Even as my babies turned to toddlers and toddlers grew to be children and then adolescents... I continued to work to ensure that they would travel a trajectory toward the adult life that would, one day, be theirs.  I avoided baby talk.  I read to them -- good books of all sorts.  I taught them to cook and do laundry and travel and balance a budget.  I worked hard to convey my values and beliefs -- not just in words, but by my daily actions.  I supported them and cheered for them and advocated for them, but I also insisted that they fix their own mistakes, take their own consequences, and learn to navigate their world on their own. 

And so they grew.  Today they are 34 and almost 33.  Their lives are lived out across the continent, some 1200 miles away from me -- or maybe it is that my life is lived out across the continent, some 1200 miles away from them.  That is likely the more accurate statement.  I moved.  They didn't. 

They have their adult lives.  I don't know what I ever envisioned for them, but the lives they live are probably different than I might have imagined.  That is, I believe, just to be expected.  What they choose, and how they live is not my business.  Their lives truly are theirs. 


Morningstar wrote today about the personal and emotional pain that comes with seeing your adult children living lives that do not really include "their mother."  It is a pain that I recognize.  It is a pain that I never saw coming, and I suspect she didn't see it either.  It surprises us -- this painful relinquishing of attachments to the children that we bore and nurtured. 

For myself, there are two distinct BIG places that ache.  The way I feel about these places isn't "nice."  I know that.  If you do not want to listen to me whine and moan and say snarky and nasty things, then it would be good to just quit reading now.  If however, you are interested in the way it feels to be moving into the latter part of one's life, and dealing with ambivalence regarding the lives of your grown children, then read on...

The one difficult emotional place has to do with my grandson; my son's little one.  He is now sixteen months old, growing well and happy.  I see him a couple of times a year.  The grandmother that he knows is my daughter-in-law's mother.  She babysits.  A lot.  She makes Halloween costumes.  She has significant financial wherewithal to gift them with all sorts of "stuff."  I think she is as nutty as a fruitcake.  The birth of this little boy put my own life choice into stark relief.  Although I'd moved away from my kids with full knowledge, they were adults and our relationship was already formed.  I knew, intellectually, that the fact of distance would change our relationship in big and small ways, but I also knew our shared history -- so I was confident that "we" would go on.  How did I miss the possibility that, one day, there would be grandchildren?  Duh!  Whatever, I have come to some sort of uneasy terms with the reality and fact that Xander will grow up knowing his maternal grandmother, and that I will be the one who sends presents and cards and makes phone calls from some faraway place that he's never seen. 

Then, there is my daughter -- my beautiful, bright, mentally ill daughter...  She has just entered court-ordered rehab, and will be effectively out of touch for the next month.  When she completes that, I imagine she will begin again to try and construct some sort of life out of the mess of drug and alcohol addictions that continually plague her.  I love her, dearly, and my heart aches for her struggles.  I've known for years that there was very little I could do for her -- that she would have to find her own way.  I've worried for her for more years than I can count.  One of the great joys of the cyber age, is that it is so much easier to stay in touch, and, like so many others, she and I follow one another on Facebook.  Sometimes, though, Facebook shows me things I'd rather not know.  She is "friends" with the new wife of my former husband -- her father.  It is completely reasonable.  I don't miss him, and I don't mind that he's remarried.  Good for him -- go and be happy.  What I never anticipated, however, is that the "new wife" would, by default, fall into a "mother" role with MY children.  The "new wife" gushes on and on about how much she LOVES my daughter, how she is pulling for her, how she wants to HELP her.  And it just makes me crazy!  Crazy!  Arrrrrghhhhh! 

So.  There.  The things that sneak up on a person and create unexpected feelings.  Raising adults!  Blech!

swan

Age = Useless?

I've been contemplating a discussion that started a couple of days ago on Fetlife.  Here's the shortened version of the original post --

How old is too old for a gal to go look for an M/s relationship? ... what do masters do with the old slaves when they aren't useful and attractive to you anymore ... in the end isn't the older slave just going to be dumped for a younger, "better" gal within time? ... there are soooo many hotties ... and they are ... so much more useful and slavey than the older gals?

It is my belief that this was, at least in part, posed in these terms with a deliberately sardonic twist.  I'm convinced that the original poster intended to point out the silliness of assuming that, as we age, we become unsuited for the practice of consensual slavery.  However, even as I acknolwedge all of that, I am feeling a bit driven to stick my chin out and say, "Hey!  Wait just one minute...  Old doesn't equal useless -- far from it!"

There surely are would be dominants and wannabe masters who believe that the purpose of a slave is to provide what my old friend Gabriel Montana (yes, I still miss Him and kaylem) referred to as "blow jobs and butt sex."  Under that line of reasoning, the slave usefulness quotient isn't a whole lot different than that obtained from a minimally functional whore.  In fact, it seems to me that there is a whole lot less risk and effort entailed in hiring yourself a blow job than trying to take on a full time power exchange relationship in order to get that taken care of. 

The fact of the matter is that women who identify as slaves, and live in that reality, are "useful" to their Masters in a whole bevy of ways -- only some of them related to sex (although there are plenty of erotically and sexually useful things that slaves provide too):

1. they often earn an income and contribute to the financial viability of their households
2. they clean and maintain the house -- creating an hospitable and comfortable living environment
3. they provide nutritious and healthy meals, and they do the things that support the healty and well-being of the Dominant
4. they tend to details like laundry and yard maintenance and the upkeep of cars and appliances
5. they raise children; attending to their education and social development
6. they entertain friends, family, colleagues -- acting as the social liason for the household
7. they support, encourage, cheer, and in other ways empower the Dominant partner to act with energy and conviction in the outside world
8. they offer focus and attentiveness -- responding to dozens of unspoken and often unrecognized needs and desires day after day
9. they listen carefully and converse intelligently
10. they demonstrate a gracefulness and wisdom and integrity that enhances the life of the one they serve

 Personally, I think that the ability to be useful in a whole host of ways grows with age and maturity.  Women with some years on them (like me) may not have the same tight, perky bodies of our 20-something sisters (although there are those who are remarkably attractive well into their older years), but many of us manage to look pretty decent, and we've got plenty to offer outside of the "looks" department.

So.  I'm not sure how old is too old.  Maybe, someday, when I'm using a wheelchair for mobility, keeping my teeth in a glass in the bathroom, unable to hear or see Him, I'll be less useful.  Probably that's the inevitable end of this whole story.  Probably then, we'll both need the help and assistance of some sweet young thing -- she or he will turn us over in bed, and change our diapers and spoon our pureed dinners into our senile old mouths.   Eventually, if we live long enough, I imagine the fires that currently drive our sexual relating will die down.  I hope we'll never lose the urge and ability to reach out to one another and cuddle.  Maybe what qualifies as "useful" depends on what it is that one has use for?  However it turns out, I believe that I've gotten hold of the sort of Man who would never dump me for a younger, "better" gal.  He tells me that I am His -- always and all ways.  This I believe.

swan

Say Good Morning?

Years ago, when I had my "emergency" appendectomy, the young (very young) surgeon who was called in for that early morning surgery reminded all of us of Doogie Howser.  For those of you who may not remember, Doogie was the title character in a television sitcom about a 16-year-old, boy-genius turned physician.  My sugeon might have been just that young from my perspective. 

By the time they had me ready to go into surgery, I was pretty well doped out on morphine, and would have consented to just about anything if someone would make the pain stop.  I remember very little immediately prior to the surgery but I do remember the old, grizzled, bearded anesthesiologist dragging Doogie by the hand to my bedside; admonishing him, "It is impolite to go into surgery without at least saying hello and introducing yourself!"  And so I met my surgeon...  It was reminiscent of the lyrics from the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland:

How d'ye do and shake hands
Shake hands, shake hands
How d'ye do and shake hands
State your name and business!

We had occasion to have the "say how do you do and shake hands" conversation recently.  Being together as long as we have been means that there are things that become habit -- patterns that get established.  Patterns and habits can be a very good thing in a relationship.  They make it easier to go through the days and nights without having to contemplate every single move that we make.  On the other hand, some habits can creep along creating their own sets of challenges.  I think that one of the tasks facing people in long-term relationships is to notice when that has occured and find positive and affirming ways to fix the problem.

One of our patterns has come to revolve around what we jokingly refer to as the "alarm cock."  It is our continuing delight that, as we've gotten older, we are still awakened on most mornings by His definitive and insistent morning hard on.  Hooray!  Trust me, this is NOT a thing to be taken for granted.  And so, it has become our habit to wake up, cuddle and mumble sleepy good mornings, and then praise the arrival of a new day with a good old fashioned fuck.  All good.  It is a great and life affirming way to start the day. 

Somewhere along the way, though, in the last bit of time, He began to skip the cuddle and mumble part of the whole business.  It isn't a HUGE issue.  Masters do not have to observe the niceties of these things.  Still, without that drowsy inquiry as to the state of my existence, I found I was "missing" Him.  Just that silly little "Hi, how are you?" felt important in my morning -- way more important than I would have imagined. 

And so I reminded Him, gently, of our friend Doogie Howser, and the social importance of at least saying "hello."  We giggled together at the comparison; wondered where Doogie might be these days; and adjusted our pattern just a bit.  So, now, once again, I am awakened by the insistent poking of the alarm cock, AND a sleepy Master voice saying, "Hi.  Wanna fuck?"

swan

Hormone Replacement Therapy

If the subject of hormone replacement therapy (HRT) comes up in conversation these days, most of us will assume that we are talking about women going through "the change."  It has become commonplace to talk about supplementing the naturally decreasing levels of hormones in mature women -- attempting to mitigate the effects of aging and the onset of menopause.  I undertook a course of intensive hormone replacement therapy following my hysterectomy.  It was intended to address the issues that I encountered with libido and sexual functioning, included supplemental estrogen and testosterone, and was carefully monitored by my physician.  Ultimately, I had to discontinue the treatments because they caused a serious and debilitating upswing in the frequency of my migraine headaches. 

Less frequently talked about, is male hormone replacement therapy.  As men age, it is common for their hormone levels to decrease, and so beginning around the age of 35, many men experience hypogonadism.  As long as I have known Him, Master has used HRT to bolster His testosterone levels.  It was as much a part of His daily routine as brushing His teeth, or taking His pills.  He used a gel product, rubbing it on His backside after His morning shower. 

Then, He lost 160 pounds over a period of about eight months.  Life got busy and pretty intense, and the usual monitoring that would normally be done by His physician fell by the wayside.  We recently made a change in our primary care doctor, and this new fellow is careful and thorough.  He ran a panel for free and total testosterone, and discovered that the levels of that hormone in Master's blood stream were way elevated -- above the level where the test even measures!  Suddenly, we had an explanation for His volatile moods, His unexplainable anger, His fits of depression.  The doctor had Him discontinue the supplement, and over a period of about three weeks, the levels of testosterone in His bloodstream dropped off -- until they once again fell into the seriously "too low" range.  He experienced all of the symptoms that might be expected with a lack of the primary male sex hormone.  It has played havoc with our sadomasochistic play -- He has almost no interest in spanking, and not much more in plain old vanilla sex. 

In the last few weeks, He has started back onto the HRT, applying it in a carefully controlled fashion. In just the last few days, He has been feeling back on His game again.  He is once again waking up with the morning hardon that we'd become accustomed to before.  His interest in spanking is reviving.  His interest in GETTING SPANKED is (unexplainably) returning as well.  Yesterday, He had blood work done to determine whether the hormone levels are in the acceptable range.  We're keeping our fingers crossed. 

In the meantime, here's a bit of testosterone poetry...

swan 

To You, Testosterone!

Testosterone! I am a Man,

I raise a gilded chalice to Your Name

Oh Driver of My Destiny!

Inflator of My Ego!

For you I will rape and pillage,

In your name will I subjugate my enemies

Be it on the battlefield or in the boardroom,

On the playing field or in a lover’s bed.

I will be supreme!

You raised me from a suckling babe

And taught me how to rant and rave

For other kiddies’ toys.

And in your name I do it still,

Yeh, even though I be old and grey,

I do it still.

Yet be not fooled

By my acquiescence to your will.

It is out of weakness that I obey you.

For I know within my heart of hearts

That you care not for me.

“Survival of the Fittest”

That is the motto inscribed upon your crest.

And in my most private soul,

Within the tender petals that me enfold

Still dwells that little boy,

So vulnerable, so shy,

Who would caress with gentle touch

And be caressed in turn.

But You, oh mighty mover of my biochemistry,

Have strengthened the fortress walls of my being.

Only the obstinate few can pass over the drawbridge

To the inner keep.

And I too am locked within,

Unable to communicate to those who sit and wait outside

And oft must turn away.

And when you are done with me

Will you cast me aside like a used condom?

Will I with soft regret and tearful eye

Review my subservience to your will?

When I am old and toothless will I serve you still

Even though I have no bite?

Will my pride still be fed by you?

Or will your hold on me thin

As surely as the thinning hairs on my balding head?

Will the words “I’m sorry, I was wrong” break through?

Even now, they almost do …

X3

I've said it before, so long-time readers will remember that when Master and I first fell in love, and when we all began to think about creating a life together, He told me that He was unable to engage in "normal" sexual activity that involved vaginal penetration. He assumed, and I believed Him, that it was a result of His diabetes, and so we made up our minds that we'd find ways to be intimate with one another -- without that element.

In those early days, He was usually only able to achieve orgasm by humping away for hours on end on an old down blanket that we came to refer to, affectionately, as "the fluffy. Eventually, He and I found our way to something resembling regular penis-in-vagina sex, but it still was a marathon endeavor. Most often He and I would finish one of those Herculean fucking sessions drenched in sweat and gasping for breath -- with every muscle screaming from shear exertion.

That was our reality, and it is important to understand that history so that today's story can be really appreciated.

Because. This morning. Awakening at about 7:15. Feeling horny. He and I made love, not once, but twice. Then. We got up. Had breakfast. Spanked. And then made love again. He, aged 61 -- and me, aged 55.

This man, who once was bereft of normal sexual responses, would likely put most 16 year olds to shame. It surprises and delights us both, especially when it becomes so undeniably remarkable -- like today.

swan

Wimpy

We played together on Thursday evening.  It wasn't a terribly intense session.  He used His hand a good bit, and stroked with the tip of a knife.  At the height of things, He shifted up to a lexan paddle and a fairly light leather strap --

And...

I whined and sobbed and suffered from the very beginning until the very end. 

For some reason, on Thursday evening, every sensation seemed to be magnified -- and not in a good way.  The hand spanking caused me to gasp and whimper.  The knife blade traced my skin with searing sharpness.  I hung on and stayed put through the paddling, but it was agony and I was furious that "no one even cared" how I was suffering.  I ended up feeling like a total wimp.

It was such a markedly different session than the one that preceded it just a few days earlier.  On that occasion, I was "in the flow," and came through to the end feeling strong and empowered and thrilled with the connection between us.  What, I wonder, is the difference?  Why is my pain tolerance so wildly variable?  What is it that causes the same sensation to be pleasurable and erotic on one occasion and just miserable on another? 

Is it mindset?  I know from experience that when I go into a session feeling angry or frustrated or frightened, it is far more likely that I'll struggle. 

Maybe it is just a question of general well-being.  Starting into a spanking with a host of physical aches and pains makes it more difficult for me to get my head wrapped around the pain of a spanking on top of all the rest of it.

Maybe it is hormonal.  I know that, when I was still having menstrual periods, my ability to process and accommodate pain varied with my cycles.  Now, well past my surgically induced menopause, I wonder if there is yet some hormonal component to my variable responses to painful stimuli.  Researchers have found that estrogen can act as a natural painkiller. Higher estrogen levels result in a higher pain tolerance, and lower estrogen levels cause effectively lower pain tolerance.

I don't know.  I do wonder.  In the meantime, I get spanked when and how He decides -- and He seems as happy with my misery as He ever is with my more accomplished session responses.  

swan

Transitions in Slavery

For me, the comment stream on my last post drew the outlines of the way our kind of relationships can evolve over time.  I'm not sure that my thinking is entirely clear on this one, and I'm really only looking at my own life and my own experiences, so take what makes sense and know that none of it is about anyone but me...

My friend, morningstar, talked about the entry point into the lifestyle that sexual submission was for her: 
...way back when..... i labeled myself sexually submissive...i was too shy...i couldn't just "do it" without being asked/told..."good girls" don't do IT.  It didn't take long...to move from submissive in the bedroom to submissive in my life.

And then, ~~A (who I think I probably recognize) offered the view from the other end of the relational curve -- that long-term, "been there and done that," established relationship.  She said ...
We tried to make the D/s stuff work outside the bedroom...and we had a great deal of enjoyment and fun with it but it just stopped working...became exhausting and not fun...we just got tired of it...slowly dropped it by mutual agreement...

I've rolled those two comments around and around in my mind, trying to tease out the kernel of wisdom that feels wrapped up in that for me.  Somehow, it feels like a whole lot of swirling thoughts have been caught up with those two comments and woven into something that makes a sort of sense. 

Each of us, who identify at some level with this lifestyle, start somewhere.  Each of us was new at this once.  Each of us, like morningstar, had a starting point.  For me, that starting point was domestic discipline.  That whole arcane and tortured construct allowed me to finally ask for the control and spanking that I'd craved for a really long time.  It didn't work for very long, and it never really was a very good fit, but it was the beginning.  I moved from that beginning place into a deeper and more deliberate and conscious exploration of BDSM and my own sexual orientation.  I learned to understand the nature of my masochism, and I learned to embrace the part of myself that is submissive.  I traveled along a route I'd never imagined, and I changed, and changed, and changed again. 

Change is a constant.  If we live, we change.  We learn and we age and we confront the challeges of living day to day.  In the context of intimate relating, we do that in tandem with those that we love.  In the context of power-based relating, we do all of that inside a defined dynamic that has its own existence.  As we change, the relational dynamic must change as well if it is to remain a vibrant and vital expression of our lives and loves.

Master and I first came together as friends and occasional play partners.  We progressed into a D/s relationship -- and we grew to be lovers.  Over time, we saw ourselves as life partners and understood that we were in fact Master and slave.  While that describes, in a very simplified fashion, the trajectory that we followed, it shouldn't be taken to mean that those various permutations were merely points along a continuum.  There was a major shift in intent and connection when we moved from relating as Top and bottom to engaging in something that was more formally Dominant and submissive.   Similarly, our shift from D/s partners to Master and slave was a paradigm shift, not just a step up the "kinky ladder." 
At the Teramis website, I found a very articulate discussion of the characteristics of submissives and slaves.  It counters the common assumption that a BDSM slave is just a higher level BDSM submissive.  I found the delineation of slavery to be very helpful, and was grateful for an exposition of the differences that is largely devoid of all that sensational, lurid, porn fiction nonsense: 
 ...slavery in an M/s sense of the word has specific connotations... A slave makes a one-time choice to submit, up front, and thereafter ...slavery hinges upon a commitment to obedience...in consensual slavery a person gives themselves over to the control of another as completely as is humanly possible...there is actually a chattel property context to the relationship...the slave becomes literally (by mutual agreement) the property of the Owner......a slave cannot say "No" without completely abrogating the very basis of the Master/slave agreement...

With that delineation clearly in mind, I think I understand the sort of shift that ~~A points to.  Where there is a negotiated power-agreement in place; where it is shaped like D/s or DD and so open to a good bit of adjusting and re-definition on a regular basis; where the power dynamic does not encompass the essence of the sexual/erotic connection between partners; where it is taken on as one might assume a role in a theatrical production; it is possible that the game will lose its appeal, that partners will feel as if they've "moved beyond" it, or outgrown it, of simply become tired of the whole business.  Understandable and entirely reasonable -- especially as partners confront the inevitable and unavoidable changes and challenges that come to us all with time and age and simple familiarity.

M/s, though presents the possibility that that path will be different over time.  The slave is irrevocably committed to obedience and service.  There is no "no."  There is no bargaining; no negotiation; no "do-overs."  In my case, that means that as life has thrown us a variety of curve balls, our relationship has taken on a different cast -- and I remain His property.  My aged body doesn't respond as it once did, and He is quick to point out that I don't spank the way I used to.  I can find myself wrapped up in an internal monologue that revolves around what I want and what I need and what seems unfair and what I think I ought to be entitled to.  I hear myself talking that talk, and it makes the aware and reasonable part of my mind laugh.  Honestly!  I am pretty sure that someone who has lived as "slave" as long as I have ought to have it figured out by now -- there is no "unfair," and there is no "entitlement" in the context of my relationship.  I am plagued by almost irrestistable urges to "bargain" with Him about the way life is.  It won't take me anywhere and I know it, but those pesky, devilish urges remain.  Sometimes, when I am particularly frustrated, I wish that I could pack it in and run away.  Except that I can't.  I can't because He'd never allow it, but I can't because I just can't. 

So, I am working my way along the emotional high wire strung up between the various scary changes that I cannot avoid, and cannot control.  I once believed that if I were simply determined enough, just resigned enough, able to be obedient enough, I could reconstruct the SM relationship that He and I had in those beginning years.  I once believed that there was a direct correlation between His love for me and His willingness to do whatever it takes to make me happy.  I once believed that if I was just "good enough," I'd never have to come face to face with His absolute need to spank a whole host of other people.  I don't believe any of that anymore. 

I understand, I think, that I need to embrace the changes that have happened, and those that will happen.  I think I understand that my committment to obedience has not been altered by any of the rest of it.  I think that I understand that whatever our relationship comes to encompass in terms of SM play and sexual pleasure and pure, simple, straightforward companionship, nothing will change the fact of His ownership.

I've been feeling sad.  A lot.  I haven't, however, been feeling desperate or despairing.  I am coming to terms.  It feels a little like I've worked my way through some of the early stages of grieving -- shock, anger, denial.  All of that has been a nasty emotional stew for most of the last few years.  I have raged and fought and wished with all my heart that I might go back to the way that things were before.  No matter how I reasoned with myself, the emotions would not be quieted.  Now, mostly, I feel resigned.  I'm not exactly at peace, but I feel calmer most of the time.  I don't have any fight left.  What will come will come no matter what I think I want or how I "feel" about any of it.  I slave.  I will slave.  I'll take care of what I need to take care of, and I'll school my heart and mind to give up that insistence on being able to have what I think I might want.  I imagine that life for this slave will consist of paring everything down to the essentials, to those things that serve Him.  I am, perhaps on the brink of really learning what it is that I've taken on in this life.  In spite of everything -- all the diminishments -- I'll remain obedient.  I will be His.

I hope that resignation will, in time, give way to acceptance, and maybe even some sort of quiet joy.

swan

Something Is Changing

It has been four years since my hysterectomy.  In December of 2005, my uterus, cervix, and ovaries were surgically removed.  I experienced an almost total cessation of my ability to be sexually responsive in the aftermath of that surgery.  I pursued fairly aggressive medical interventions to try and overcome the impacts of the surgery, and I fell into an intense depression when those efforts brought no improvement.  In the intervening years, I've passed through seasons of fear, hope, anger, despair, and resignation.

I've been lucky to avoid the vagional dryness and thinning of the membranes that many menopausal women experience.  We've continued to make love regularly through all these months, and while I don't often achieve orgasm, intercourse is not generally difficult or painful.  He and I have enjoyed the closeness it brings us, even as we've experienced disappointment with my lack of response.

Lately though, things seem to be changing.

It is as if something in me has awakened again -- or regenerated.  My desires, which have never disappeared, seem stronger.  Sometimes, in the last few weeks, making love with Him, I've been able to follow the rhythms along a dim, faint trail, and find hidden there -- my own release.

It always surprises me, and leaves me breathless and wondering.

I find myself lying awake in the night, grinning like a silly fool -- and hoping that whatever magic spell has been cast over me in these days holds.

It has often been said that "youth is wasted on the young."  Probably that is true.  I never knew, in those flush, lush days of my womanhood, that there would be years when I'd thirst for just a hint of the lustiness I knew once.  Now, wiser, I am inclined to treasure the precious glories of my own sex.  I don't scale the heights of pleasure very often or very reliably these days, but when I do get there, oh -- it is an amazing thing.

swan

Another Crisis

In my childhood, my father, who often worked very long hours, would often come home from work only to have my mother report on the latest disaster occuring in her world -- one of the boys had broken a door/window/arm, or some appliance had gone caput (usually issuing forth a stream of water or other nasty stuff), or a car had a flat tire, or a check had bounced or a bill was overdue or...

I remember, as clearly as if it was yesterday, that he would sigh with exhaustion and proclaim, "It is always a crisis around here!"

Well, I feel like we are echoing my Dad these days.  It really does feel like it is "always a crisis" around our family.

Early last evening, as Master and I were having an early dinner because I had to be back at school for an evening meeting, His phone rang.  It was His 91 year old father calling with the news that his physical therapist was concerned with how his heart was acting during their session, and so he was being transported to the local emergency room.

Knowing how these things work, we finished our meal, and then Master headed off to the hospital and I went on to my meeting.  We, of course, called T and gave her the story so she was in the loop as well. 

It turned out that Master's father has gone back into atrial fib, and that he also has a small bowel obstruction.  They admitted him to the hospital with an N-G tube in place to take the pressure off his stomach and bowel.  Master made sure that the cardiologist, nephrologist, and "best surgeon in the whole world" were all called in to consult, and then He came home at about 12:15 in the morning.  I fed Him some leftovers, and He had a small glass of wine, and we went to try and get a few hours of sleep. 

This morning, He is at the hospital with His dad (after going to His own previously scheduled appointment for some lab work), T had an early doctor's appointment and is hopefully with Master by now, and I am at school -- just trying to keep it together and make it through the day. 

I don't think any of us know what to expect of this one.  It is pretty darn scary.  We'll likely be away and quiet for a bit as this latest crisis works itself out (whatever that turns out to mean).

Thanks in advance for all your kind thoughts and energies.
swan

Starting Over -- Both of Us

In His comment to the Aftercare post, Master wrote:

...I am finding myself feeling even more spanking obsessed than usual after our recent relationship crisis, and you absolutely can anticipate spankings of increased frequency and intensity, especially in light of our lengthy spanking hiatus after my surgery. The Surgeon gave me a release to return to normal activity when I saw him the day before yesterday. If only he knew what that entails:)

I think that in recent months, perhaps even years, as I have become concerned about not exceeding your limits and hoping to find a way for you to feel fulfilled by your spankings, you and I have both become confused about our Dominance/submission.

There is symbiosis in our relationship and it is best effectuated when I unequivocably exert control based on my volition and not (primarily) your gratification. There is nothing more distressing than a confused slave, as we have both just experienced over the holidays. I will clarify things between us.

I started out to respond to this in the comments section, but I have enough to say about it that it seems it is worth its own post. 

My internal response, ever since I read this in the middle of the afternoon today, is simply "yes -- yes, Sir."  While I believe that there may have been some intent to cause me to feel nervous and fearful at the prospect of an intensification of the dynamic between us, I find that mostly, I feel relieved. 

It isn't that I think that what lies ahead will be simple or easy or comfortable for me -- far from it.  I am quite sure that I will suffer and cry as He implements a much more intense power dynamic and includes significantly more SM play within that context. Still, I look forward with a quiet joy to the prospect of slipping back into my place with Him.

It has been a very, very difficult year for Him:  two major abdominal surgeries, a total and complete shift in lifestyle with regard to food and drink and exercise, regularly recurring health issues and scares about His elderly father, and some major worries and concerns about the economy and the ultimate survival of His agency...  Along with all of that, both of us are aging and that brings its own challenges.   He is not one to complain, and He most often celebrates what it good and positive with fairly lavish abandon, but it becomes tedious when the battles seem to never end, and He gets tired.  Of course He does.

With all of that, it is no surprise that a very great deal of our "normal" M/s dynamic has slipped away, or at least been put on the back burner.  We've not changed the definitions of what or who we are with one another, but more and more and more of our interactions have become vanilla-cized.  We've remained devoted lovers, but we've put aside much that embodied our intimate power exchange. 

Each of us have dealt with that shift in our own way.  Sadly, we haven't necessarily moved closer to one another as we've coped.  The distancing has been subtle, for the most part, but I think we've both noticed it.

I've always insisted that those of us who claim to be submissive, and especially those of us who are called slave, ought to self-maintain; ought to self-soothe; ought to hold up our end of the bargain without the requirement that someone impose the discipline from outside.  I don't think that Dominants should have to "make" us do what it is we've promised to do -- I especially don't think that MY Dominant Partner ought to have to do any of that.  That's been my belief and my theory, and I'll not back off from that at this point. 

Theory, however, is not always congruent with what happens in "real life."  Knowing that I'm capable of being self-sustaining, and knowing that I expect myself to do that, doesn't make it any easier to do it day after day.  I've assumed so much control in the last year, and maybe even for longer than that as He has struggled with an ever widening array of health issues, that it has become less and less clear to me where my submission begins -- where is the point where I can and should relinquish the control back into His hands?

We've just stumbled along together; doing what we could; letting go of what it seemed we had to -- neither of us feeling satisfied or content, and yet caught in a swirl of change and challenge that has kept us both stymied.  In some ways, I'm surprised that we managed to hang on as long as we did without some major blowup.  Looking back at the road we've been traveling, the fact that we finally reached a crisis point is not particularly surprising, and the good news is that it worked as a major "reset" for us both.  We are feeling our way along a bit, but it is a good sort of fumbling forward -- a huge improvement over the "drift on course" that has become the norm for us in recent years. 

Now, He is clear that He will re-establish the boundaries and re-exert His Dominance.  That gives me pause -- I am not naive about what that will mean.  Mostly though, I feel jubilant and almost giddy -- quietly of course, because I feel like I may finally be able to come "home" and rest.  I am looking forward to this year.  I am looking forward to learning anew, what He wants, what He expects, what the demands and rewards might be for this "new" life.

swan

Looong Time

In her comment on the last post, doubleknot wrote --

"One of the most complicated things about sharing my drives and desires with Him, is that once I do that, I lose control of them. They only really "belong" to me as long as they stay in my head. The minute He gets hold of them, they become His"

I shared this with my M and he said, "Right! I like that!"

It rings as true as if I wrote it myself, Swan.

He asked who wrote that, and I told him about your blog. He said, "She's got it figured out."

I said, "She's been doing it a looong time"

He said, "It shows. It gives me hope"

lol!

Master and I had a good laugh over that looong time bit. We know we're positively ancient. Sometimes it feels like the "lifestyle community" has moved on into some sort of realm that we just don't recognize -- leaving our poor old, creaky bones in their dust...

That "ancient" status brings with it a lot of experience though. It means that we've got years under us and between us. It means that our lifestyle choices are grounded in years and years of LIFE experience. I don't know if years equate to wisdom, but there are times when I look around and see drama and angst and know that there is something to be said for the slightly calmer waters of these elder years.

Too, in some ways, this part of life is less complex just in general. We are not actively parenting anyone anymore. We are shepherding older parents, and that isn't a piece of cake, but we are not caught between parents and children these days. No need for us to wait until the kids go to sleep, go stay at a friend's, or head off to camp. We can play in the living room if we like and there's not a problem.

So... I know there are some "little old ladies" who might have taken exception to the implications of doubleknot's comment. I don't have an issue with it. I think she meant it to be positive and admiring and respectful, and I'm flattered and gratified. I am increasingly aware of the inevitable aging of my body, but my heart and mind and spirit feel younger than they did when I was slogging through my 30's. I am most happy to be a kinky old lady.

swan

Not Gonna!

Hot flashes...

Night sweats...Nightmares...

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

That has been my story for the last couple of nights. I haven't slept well as a result of my seemingly unpredictable bouts of "old lady" hormonal issues.

Now for those of you who just delight in jumping in to let me know that I'm not for real; a poser; or just a flat out BAD slave, this is your chance. Because, this morning at 6:30, when we woke up to a steady downpour, and He declared that He was going to walk on the treadmill (instead of our usual trek through the neighborhood), I was more than happy to wave without even opening my eyes. I think He might have said, "I'm going to go use the treadmill, you just sleep," but who knows?

I did get up and fix His breakfast when He was done. I did do all the usual things that I do to get Him sent on His way to work. Later, when the rain stopped for a short interval, I even got myself out and did my own walk time.

But no, I did not even feel guilty about rolling over and trying to catch a few more Zzzzzz's at 6:30 AM.

swan