Alive vs. dead
I’ve been investing in myself with more solitary, even solipsistic, forms of sex and sexuality. Maybe this is a little bit about my growing older… All I know is that there’s a distinct shift and ebbing.
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I’ve been investing in myself with more solitary, even solipsistic, forms of sex and sexuality. Maybe this is a little bit about my growing older… All I know is that there’s a distinct shift and ebbing.
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Fourteen years since climbing out of the wreckage, and I’ve never felt more alive—despite the limp, the pain, the aging. Death is a constant companion, sure, but so is desire, vitality, absurd good fortune, and the bittersweet weight of knowing I’m right at the peak.
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I grapple with pervasive sadness about aging, beauty, and desire.
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After years of D/s relationships, my presumptuous and demanding habits are causing missteps as I start dating older, more experienced women.
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I never used to cry, but now, I dry at the drop of the hat. Here’s what’s made me cry the last couple of days.
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