Monday, December 19, 2011

Old Kinksters Never Die, They Just...

I was feeling a bit depressed this holiday season, and then I went to my husband's work Christmas party.  Now I'm not sure exactly what I'm feeling.

I'll start with the initial depression first.  This is the first time in my life that I've really felt my age.  My toes hurt, my left knee is stiff every time I stand, my right elbow won't straighten all the way, exercise is more and more worthless as a means toward losing weight, and getting a good night's sleep is kind of a hit-or-miss thing.  Oh, and I can't forget to mention that every hormone in my body is part of a vast conspiracy I will never understand.

Now for the Christmas party.  I tried to strike up a conversation with one of the senior managers, who looked over my shoulder the entire time I talked to him.  Another manager flat-out ignored me.  Yet another blurted out by the coffee and dessert table that his ex-wife "was a good wife until she turned into a whore."  The salesmen shook hands with each other too long and too hard, they patted each other on the backs a little too roughly, they exaggerated their southern accents, and threw in as many self-congratulatory atta' boys in their sentences as they could.  The party was so testosterone-filled that I half expected the salesmen to start peeing all over the house to mark their territory.

I really think I could have introduced myself to most of them by saying, "Hi! I'm Saundra.  I write BDSM erotica, and enjoy having my female characters bound and fucked against their will!"  And I think most of the salesmen would have nodded and asked if I'd heard about their 2011 sales record.

Let's just say that the rest of us had plenty of time to just sit back, have a drink and watch the show.

As I looked around at everyone, I realized I'll never again be one of the youngest women at parties.  My clothes will probably never be sleek or form-fitting like they used to be.  My hair will never again be long and thick, since so much of it ends up in the shower drain.  My hormones will probably never be in proper balance again.  I have to now admit that I'm your basic middle-aged, stay-at-home wife, and the mother of eleven dogs and cats.  I read a lot, I work in the garden and I write erotica.  I'm trying to be a better housekeeper.  I could stand to lose a few pounds.  That's my life now; it's the path I'm on.  It doesn't exactly make me the life of the party, nor do I need to be.

And the party made me wonder about a few things down the road.  What happens to our kink as we age?  Do our thinning skin, failing memory and frail bones ever require us to say, "ENOUGH!"?

So I spent some time at the party trying to recall stupid things I've heard over the years like, "Old fishermen never die, their rods just go limp."  And, "Old dentists never die, they just lose their patients."  But I can't for the life of me finish this one:

Old kinksters never die, they just...

Just what?


  1. "their ropes fray"? Not great but I suppose it also depends on the kink.

  2. I imagine that to a lot of twenty somethings, I'm an old kinkster. But the thing about being with the same person for fourteen plus years is that you have to keep upping the ante to keep things fresh and new. So we may be old kinksters in some people's eyes, but I don't think we play like old kinksters. Well, except when my arms fall asleep when they are bound over my head, or when my leg won't bend the way I want it to. But we work around those things pretty well.

    Old Kinksters never die, they just get even more twisted?