As an Aussie I can relate very well to Sammi’s post this week, so I’m going to be very cheeky and use it as springboard for my own writing; especially since I just saw the image above on Twitter and was rolling around laughing for some time. In Australia the product is called Felix, just doesn’t have the same ring to it does it?
Back to Sammi’s post: I found it interesting to notice where Australian language allegiances lie. Our British colonial history certainly means that the things which I pull down from my fanny (front not back) are knickers or undies. My ex husband used to call them panties – a trait I suspect he picked up from watching porn… But then I guess a lot of porn is made in America so that resonates…
Anyway, thanks Sammi, for providing me with the opportunity to gather my thoughts… This post is a little scattered because frankly I wasn’t sure I’d post anything today. While I’ve been made very welcome by my fellow bloggers I still feel like I’m a foreigner and I didn’t want to write anything that could either mislead or seem to be dismissive of peoples lifestyles. I’m still trying to work out where my edges are – which is interesting, scarey and more than just a little challenging when you are living a solo life. Still the woman that I am today is vastly different to when my recent journey started, and although she’s different she’s less foreign now.
In a recent post I included some erotic poetry I wrote when I began a love affair with a young man half my age. Back then my boundaries were certainly far broader and indeed more porous than they’ve been for the last twenty years or so.
My first husband pushed my boundaries too, but it didn’t feel comfortable because I was mostly only doing things to please and retain him. My body felt foreign to me at that point and the relationship even more so. After our marriage ended – when I’d pushed the boundaries too far for his comfort in another direction, I began to experience what it was like to choose rather than be chosen. My choices, I might add, were not always wise choices and I have deep regrets about some of them, but I can also look back on others and be glad.
My forty-something body was not only more at ease with my younger lover it was absolutely at ease with itself. He and I drove around the countryside late into the night stopping only to scramble into the backseat, the bushes or the beach dunes to fuck furiously before moving on in the darkness. We played sex games all the time, explored anal sex together, and some light bondage. My body felt so alive… Then menopause hit and my body became a foreigner again. The relationship fell apart, and so did I.
On the rebound again I found a man my own age, played it “safe” – for a very long time, often despite my better judgement. Vanilla sex, intermittent sex, no sex, sex that felt like (and was ultimately shown to be) a lie. When this estranged (and estranging) relationship ended abruptly, I went into social, emotional and physical hibernation for over three years, caring for my slowly dying mother.
After mum’s death a strange new venture began with an unexpected orgasm. It has been carried on by an extended courtship with a variety of sex toys. More recently still it has been extended via several hours of intimacy with a (deservedly) well paid stranger. And now it continues through an exchange of words and images with people on the other side of the world, who, while technically strangers are becoming less foreign every day.