A Thin Volume

Gosh, where does time go? Its about time I brought everyone up to date with what's been happening. Mind you, I don't know if there's many of my long-standing blog friends who've followed my adventures over the year who are still around, here in blogland. I hope you are all well.

Briefly: after a rather long marraige and several affairs, one of which was incredbly adventurous, I decided enough was enough and that I should be true to myself and be single again.

After over a year on the market we finally managed to sell the house, having had to drop the price by nearly 20%. I have now moved into a eally nice village where I look forward to putting down roots.

My affair with Mrs D briefly revived when I returned from my long walk, but has now finally ended. We made great lovers, but she remained married while I was becoming single - the dynamic of the relationsip had changed. In the last 12 months I met one or two other people via the PlentyofFish dating website, and got too deeply involved with a woman there - she's really lovely but it's far too soon for me to have a proper, serious relationship, whilst she has been on her own for 8 years and is looking for someone permanent in her life. She's 10 year my junior and has very high libido and I am a bit worried that I can't keep up with her in bed ... I can outpace her walking ok! She's been very keen to try all the things that I've previously tried, and was already a bit of an exhibitionist. She was very keen to go to a swinging club ... I'll write separately about that adventure! Things got too deep and somewhat fraught for a while but have settled down a bit now. I hope we can maintain the "right" level of relationship until I am ready to ... whatever.

I've had a couple of holiday / weekends with people I met on the Camino de Santiago: Karin from Germany and Miriam in Paris, and both were really enjoyable. Karin and I hope to have regular holidays together, but she's now seeing a new guy and romance is definately in the air, so our friendship might be impacted.

Meanwhile in the next couple of weeks I've due to have visits from Eva from Germany and Susi from Italy - both of whom are old friends. Nothing other than chat will happen with Ruth but who knows about Susi?

Why is it, I wonder, that my friends are virtually all women? I know the answer to that as well, but I'll leave if for another time!

However not all is rosy. This has been a painful time for me, my two younger kids are just about speaking to me now, if they have to, but the eldest hasn't spoken to me since I came back from my long walk and told their mother I wanted to separate.

Parting from Mrs D has been hard. She has now decided to divorce her husband, but we both accept that although we (have) love(d) each other, we don't have a future together. I really can't see myself living with her nor she with me. Furthermore I've shown that I can too easily get too deeply involved with other women - going beyond the acceptable adventures with other people that we've had in the past.

I have actually started having councelling: I want to make sure that some of the issues that have dictated my sexual behaviour don't cause a problem in a future relationship, but I'm a bit worried that if I "cure" these things I might lose my mojo entirely!

So then, here I am, at the right old age of quite a lot, poised on the threshold of a new life. I hope I don't trip!

And if you can't have a naughty one, have a good one. And if you don't feel like being good, and have limited chance to be naughty, have a pleasantly pissed one. And if you are a Moslem and don't do either drink or Christmas, well ... just enjoy the break. Same applies to athiests like me.

I shall be stuffing the turkey on Xmas morning - frankly I'd rather be stuffing either Curvee or Mrs D but that isn't going to happen.

Have a great time.

Many thanks to all blog friends who have lightened my load and enlightened my life.

Peace.

K

This little rant is about Moslem fundametalists. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the west's ways of protecting its oil interests in the middle east, there is absolutely no call for these ignorant shits to put on trial someobody who is only interested in helping children achieve their potential.

Not only did these turds put her on trial they found her guilty. And their president didn't issue a pardon because the court was wrong, merely (it is reported) because of the lobbying efforts of two British Muslim peers. He didn't have the guts to stand up to the ignorant bigots in his own country.

Take the fun out of fundamentalist and you are left with mentalists. Says it all.

I was raised on the side of a hill.
No, not like a sheep, silly
I was just a normal kid, feeling different
As kids do
The hill dominated my life

As a small child I would hold my mothers hand
Plodding wearily, pulling and whining as we walked home
uphill from the village
But I’d soon find energy enough to play with my friend
Running further uphill away from the houses
Up higher, beyond the top of the glen
Under a hot sun on dry grass
To the hill proper where we’d slither and slide uncontrollably
terrified
on cardboard or linoleum
Or just on the knees of our jeans
Which we’d pay for Later
Polished glass, polished lino, polished cardboard
Polished jeans

Bigger now, in winter, we’d sledge down the uncleared road
Polishing the snow into reflective hard jet ice
Our own Cresta Run until we hit
The Grit
As far as the lorry had been able to reach
Half a mile or more from the top
We’d stop quickly, a relief from the terror of the
Uncontrollable Descent
Holding tightly so that we’d stop at the same time as
The sledge did
Holes in the toes of our wellies-for-brakes

The wintertime dash home from school for dinner
It was dinner, not lunch, then
Enough time only for the luxury of one’s own toilet
Not bathroom or loo, then
With a paraffin heater opposite
which I’d spit into to hear it hiss
No central heating then
because my parents were children of Victorian labourers
and didn’t need
central heating
Or couldn’t afford it then
They did later and what luxury it was, not sleeping covered by the clothes and coats
I would wear in the morning
Getting dressed under the bedclothes
Thick ice on the inside of the windows where you could see it growing
And then the dash back, downhill to school, a baked potato warming my hand

Older. Let out alone at night and now coming home
I’d round the corner at the bottom of the hill with
Trepidation my companion and her consort
Fear, hemming me in on either side
The light on the corner, then another, then just two more
Distant
Until the safety of the house

Each wooden lamppost bearing just one naked bulb
Reflectors simply made of mosaic mirrored glass
Casting a too-small pool
An Illuminated Illusion of safety
Too big to run, to cowardly to walk I emulated
Those walking racers, all hips and heels
Breathless and sweating even in the dark cold of a Scottish winter
I’d arrive in the kitchen and surprise my mother
Baking

She were a great baker, was our mam
Not a very good cook, though

Then the bicycle.
Was the saved five minutes downhill to school worth the push back up?
Probably
Until, late for school I fell off at the bottom of the hill
Dramatically, noisily, painfully
Bringing caring mothers to their doors to put patches over my excavated flesh
Scars borne to this day

Later.
With friends I’d walk home
Singing. Our teenage angst tempered by pleasurable bonds of music and
Companionship. My mother’s baking waiting for us
Home cooking appreciated by the boarder-prisoners
An old lady coming to the door to listen as we passed
Words of appreciation and pleasure
(We had to break the door down when we couldn’t rouse her one Christmas Day
She was dead in the hallway; but with the consideration to be fully clothed)

Later still I could sail up the road in my car.

One day I looked down from the window and saw my mother
trudging slowly up the road
two shopping bags holding her hands.
Plodding

I didn’t go to help & remember that picture to this day.
Would I remember so clearly if guilt didn’t remind me?

For the potatoes, the jeans, your friends who looked after me, who flattered and admired me, for the baking, the trudging, for being you …
Thanks mum.

When is a youth a man? it seems to me that according to the news coverage, a 17 year old male, if a victim, is termed a youth, whereas if accused of a crime he becomes a man. Anyone else noticed this?

And when does a male infant become a boy and then make the transition to youth?

Boy, youth, man are not - in my opinion - definitions that are relevant only to legal matters, but they also carry an emotive element, related - I think - to the way society believes it has a duty of care to the vulnerable; the younger the person, or the way that person is defined, then the greater our duty of care - because they are not capable of taking on that care for themselves.

There are many ways in which we are subtly influenced by such word-related perceptions of maturity. There was a considerable debate on another blog about the age of (sexual) consent: my take on that is that individuals mature emotionally and physically at different chronological times - and on that basis some could be "ready" to have an "adult" sexual relationship from any time from say 15 years onwards, but because of those individual variations then society must make all efforts to limit the explotation of "young" people and set the legal bar a bit high for safety's sake. Also, society's differ, what mey be appropriate in the UK in 2007 is not necessarily what is appropriate in other cultures.

But let me get back to the original questions - have you noticed how the news media reports age differently, according to the context, and where should we draw the lines between boy, youth and man - and of course the female equivalent - and indeed, should they be the same age divisions for male and female?

Well, it was all a bit of an anti-climax really. Mrs D's party was fine, Sir A and slave didn't turn up, but she had invited her first extra-marital lover and his wife ... so I suppose she'd got the first and last (me) there, as it were. I sat with Mrs K all the time, keeping her company, she's definately NOT a party animal, and sitting with her keeps me in check.

One of my other ex female colleagues was there and we always have a great laugh - see the same funny side in most things - and we did this time as well. Her hubby doesn't dance so she and I did, and she is a very, very sexy looking woman - so that gave me a bit of a buzz. And another much younger woman I lust after came and sat with us and we both seem quite content not to move our legs when they touched - I'm sure I read much more into it than was there ... she probably just didn't notice.

Mrs D and I kissed on arrival and parting and there was nothing there other than the kiss of friends. There was just one moment where I had a frisson of how things used to be - I walked past her on the way to the toilet and felt just a fleeting wish that she'd notice and would follow for a stolen private moment, but that feeling passed in a second and everthing was back on an even, bland, keel.

Sparked by Sidejump's recent blog, and also Sienna's ...

For many of us sex / lovemaking is something we learn from another amateur - usually a juvenile; we have little direct experience to judge anything by, and so we probably spend a lot of time wondering if other people do it better - and for most of us that is in the background for the rest of our sexually active lives - although habit and the familiarity of a long-time partner can make it recede.

Wouldn't it make sense if you couild learn from another well-experienced lover before the bad habits and uncertainties set in?

Shouldn't we therefore encourage generational-gap sex? Rather than looking askance at lovers who have a big age difference, shouldn't we be encouraging a young person to seek coaching from an older one. Of course it would take a few years for the right patterns to evolve - you don't want 35 year old virgins being partnered by 18 year old ones.

We pass on other skills from older to younger - why not the most important one of lovemaking?

Mrs D phoned me yesterday. Me and Mrs K have been invited to her wedding anniversary party, and she wanted to tell me (warn me) that she'd invited Sir A and his slave along to the party as well. The last time I'd seen either of them Mrs D was giving the naked and tied slave (female) a noisy orgasm, while being brought to squirting orgasm by Sir A. I was taking the photos.

OK, Mrs D likes parties, she's led a very social life & they are scond nature to her, but I'm more than a little puzzled by this. Mrs D wants to leave behind her adventurous sex life, indeed she has stated that she's perfectly happy with no sex - which is what she has with her husband - and yet she is bringing this couple into her life again. Not just that, but into her family. Her husband has never met these people, so why invite them to the celebration bash?

"Well, I really like them" she says. And its true, they are very nice people and she got on very well from the start, with slave especially. But it just seems incongruous and illogical to me for her to do as she is doing. I don't think she is doing it in any way to make me jealous, but I know she has sometimes done stuff the logic of which escapes me - and this is certainly one of them. Any thoughts? Are women more easily able to partition their mind / world then men, so that this seems the simple thing that Mrs D apparently believes it to be? She said some time ago that she was a lot further along the path of our separation than I am. Is this evidence of that?

After 4 years of incredibly intense and adventurous sex it seems as if I'm destined to be celibate. Almost.

As my friends know, Mrs DoItToMeHard and I had an incredible, fantastic sex life exploring all the pent up fantasies that our (lack of) sex lives with our partners had spawned. It also helped that we were both very sensual people. However a combination of time (most affairs peter out within 4 years), the stresses of our work conflicting with our personal lives, her husband's infidelity and threat of leaving her, and - the final straw - my reluctance to break my relationship with Curvee when Mrs D demanded it (a relationship which she had originally encouraged) meant that Mrs D resigned from "both positions" over a year ago. Although she said that she expected we'd have sex from time to time I wasn't so sure. It seems I was right. We have screwed just three or four times this year, and each time she has made a comment that that she can't have sex with me without feeling anger towards Curvee, who she sees as destroying the relationship. Personally, I believe that a lot of this anger is displaced / misplaced and should be / have been directed at her husband. She doesn't love him, doesn't permit or want him to have a sex life, and won't separate from him - lots of emotiponal issues there, I think. It doesn't help that hubby's affair was with Mrs D's ex best friend, and she has not been able - understandably - to come to terms with this betrayal of trust. She sees Curvee as betraying her by continuing the affair with me when she'd asked us both to stop. One's emotional state is seldom a simple thing to fathom!

We have virtually no reason to see each other socially and therefore the likelihood of the relationship rebuilding is completely unlikely.

However, just before she departed for her summer home she said that she'd like to come to the Big Business Ball with me in November. I can get two free tickets if I wish. She has accompanies me twice in the past and we've used it as a good reason to stay away overnight together and shag. However this time her main reason for wanting to go is to make contacts for her new job - she was quite open about it. But she commented that "I expect I'll feel like sex by then".

Meanwhile I've been so busy that I haven't been able to get away to see Curvee for many weeks - although we happily have a meeting arranged for Friday night. (Yippee - I'm going to get laid! - I hope)

My dilemma is this. Who should I invite to the ball? Mrs D is known as my assistant and has some good reasons to attend. But to my mind is using me primarily to further her business, and having spurned any interest in sex over many months I feel that she is simply using me to suit herself. And judging from our (few) previous performances this year the sex is going to be a long way from being great.

On the other hand if I invite Curvee I will also probably invite comment - she is a very attractive woman & so much younger than me. However we don't need to act "together" during the evening; she could simply be a colleague. Maybe the age difference is such that most people wouldn't think we were anything other than that.

So what do you think? How should I proceed? Who should I invite to the ball? Or should I just bring alog the male colleague who is pestering me for a ticket?

I'm inspired to write this following a childhood reminiscence from Lonemum.

I stood out at my second primary school because of my very different accent, and was teased a lot because of it. Today it would probably be called bullying; its what kids and a lot of adults do: find someone who is different and attack them because of that difference, ideally in the company of your "gang". Their weakness makes you feel stronger, their difference reinforces the bonds of the bully-group and helps them minimise their own inadequacies - fertile ground for insecure children.

I guess I was in one of the lower-middle classes in the school, aged about 7 at the time. My misery was slightly lessened because I wasn't the only one who was being bullied. We had a spastic child in the school, he was in the senior class, tall and gangly, dribbling a lot I think and not really able to express himself in a manner that was easily understood. For some people he represented a great target.

One break time I was relieved that I wasn't the object of the bullying, this other poor kid was getting it instead - he had his back to the wall and was surrounded by chanting taunting kids, including me (I don't think I was taunting, I hope I wasn't, I was merely in the body of the crowd). And then I had a moment's clarity and fully realised just how wrong this was. And once that thought had dawned with no hesitation I went and stood in front of the terrified kid and shouted back at the crowd, putting my fists up to defend him. They didn't need much to deter them, individuals within a mob know it is wrong, they just need to have their consciences pricked a little bit.

I'm still proud of that 7 year old.