One of the things dying does for you is give you clarity on the value of time.
I have done my level best to be a good, decent person here.
But I stand by my statements.
So I will not apologize or back away from them.
But I will not continue to put my valuable resources of time and energy here anymore.
I am in a moral catch-22:
Decry what I see as either cruel and bigoted as well as merely ineffective and get dragged into this onslaught OR betray my own value system.
Neither is an acceptable cost to pay in my mind at this time in my life.
When I’ve agreed that I’m wrong, I publicly own it and publicly apologize.
But I refuse to do so when I vehemently disagree and see something as harmful to the public at large.
I judge it my moral responsibility to stand against stigmas and shaming of medication needs.
I judge it my moral responsibility to name things that are wrong and or harmful to our community as a whole.
I have offered up my reasoning and evidence.
I have nothing else to offer.
So, I am left with little choice given my circumstances.
So I choose peace and to disengage from here in to use my energies elsewhere.
Love one another well.
i’m so sorry to see you go, but wish you nothing but peace.
*hugs*
One of the best of the best has stopped blogging. Best not just because she gave the best D/S advice, which she gave generously, but because in every element of living and, now, dying, she’s a hero and a role model and a genuinely admirable human being.
As human beings… mere mortals every one of us… there are lines and limits. Even for the very best. So much gratitude for her. I don’t send blessings often, but blessings on her and all those who love her. And not scorn or damnation but pity for those who failed to recognize and appreciate genuine good in the world when they saw it.
During World War II, 600,000 African-American women entered the wartime
workforce. Previously, black women’s work in the United States was
largely limited to domestic service and agricultural work, and wartime
industries meant new and better-paying opportunities – if they made it
through the hiring process, that is. White women were the targets of the
U.S. government’s propaganda efforts, as embodied in the lasting and
lauded image of Rosie the Riveter.Though largely ignored in America’s
popular history of World War II, black women’s important contributions
in World War II factories, which weren’t always so welcoming, are
stunningly captured in these comparably rare snapshots of black Rosie
the Riveters.
Reblogging because I’ve never seen these before, and I bet a lot of people haven’t.
One in ten women in the workforce during WWII were African American.
Gillian Anderson is just an amazing human being. She at a real bug in the X-Files “Humbug” episode. She didn’t have to but she did. What makes her amazing is she takes her profession so seriously she’ll eat a bug to finish a scene rather than take a cut to swap it for a candy prop.
Recently someone ask me if sex at
55 was the same as sex at 20. The
question itself made me smile as if I was some wise old shaman who the unenlightened
scaled sheer cliffs to question and, in turn, gain the wisdom of the ages. You
know… I felt like @instructor144 . *winks*
But back to the question. In essence, what the OP wanted to know was “does
sex get better or worse with age.” Such
a simple question on the surface. Kind
of like what it means to be submissive.
Yeah. There are no simple answers
to either of those questions. Trust me.
The act of sex itself has not changed
since I was 20 years old. At least I am not aware of any changes and I do
attempt to stay up-to-date. (My work
ethic in play.) However, what I am both
able to participate in within the physical acts and, more importantly, what I
find most enjoyable have changed quite a bit in three and a half decades. My limbs no longer appreciate being held in
awkward poses (with or without the assistance of bondage aids) for long periods
of time and will now repay my erotic enthusiasm with pulled muscles and
stabbing pains. On the other hand, I’ve learned to do things with my tongue
that 20-year-old Ginger would never have attempted, much less enjoyed.
And let us not forget that sex is
only partly about the physical act in the first place. Age, and thus experience, help us understand
the true role of emotional connections without which truly amazing sex cannot
occur. At 20, I was more about running
my hands and mouth over a firm body. At 55, I am more interested in knowing
what makes the mind of my man tick. And that knowledge when used properly gives
me the ability to offer him more fulfilling erotic experiences than a mere hot
tongue can ever achieve on its own.
By the way, this idea is the same
in every facet of your life as you age.
With time and experience, you change. This is not meant to mean that you
are withering away and just can’t do the stuff you did as a kid. Trust me. If I WANT to slip my butt onto a
piece of cardboard and slide down a hill screaming and laughing, I’m going to
do it. If I WANT to pick up a 20-ish
body builder at a beach bar kissing contest and take him to the hotel for a one-night
stand, I will. The difference is that
now I realize it’s my choice. All of it. And with choices come consequences –
some awesome enough to write stories about and some you’d love to wipe from
your memories forever. Knowing enough to match consequences to actions BEFORE I
do them is the beauty of age and experience. Not caring about them because you have
a lifetime to get over it is the beauty of youth.
Be who you are. Revel in the glory
of your experience – vast or shallow still. Live for the day whether you are 20
or 80. As long as it’s SSC (and your muscles
allow it), the world is yours for the exploring.
In the end, we only live once. But
if we do it right, once is enough. *winks*
Be who you are. Revel in the glory of your experience – vast or shallow still. Live for the day whether you are 20 or 80. As long as it’s SSC (and your muscles allow it), the world is yours for the exploring.
In the end, we only live once. But if we do it right, once is enough. *winks*– @thegingerpowers
This is so well said! It’s the same for me!
One thing that’s changed? I remember a chart from quite a few years ago on gender differences in preferences for sex vs. intimacy over time. Younger women expressed much stronger preferences for intimacy, younger men for sex. The lines trended together and intersected a little after age 40 (42 I think.)
This has certainly been true for me. I still love sex very much. But while I was always affectionate and attracted to the person and not just her pussy, it now really, really matters who I’m with. And not just what we’re doing.
I’m also so much less solemn about sex now.
I don’t come as easily as I once did so when I do it’s amazingly intimate and vulnerable and sweet and… sounds almost silly saying it… and now coming with someone is just so, so hot!
Decades later my entire body is sore as hell after a weekend in bed interrupted only for trips out for meals and walks or drives to see the local sights. But… decades previously I was… just as sore in all the same places.
Finally? When I was a teenager I liked to talk. I still do (how long is this post getting?!?!) But now although I’m sure there will always, always be room for improvement, I also love to listen. In and out of bed.
TheGingerPowers’ lovers are very, very fortunate. She sounds wise as well as wonderful, in and out of bed.
