I’m walking through a room full of things I’ve collected, or made, or found, or been given, all things I love to look at, and here it comes--that twinge, a freshly minted reminder that I’m mortal.
That was a fun ride! Never know where I might end up when reading one of your explorations. From a twinge of mortality, and pending demise to a tug back into the present and the past. And yes, we are all connoisseurs of one kind or another. Love this, Abigail!
“All things penis!” Oh, yes. Let the stories begin. Your reflections on the fate of everything you’ve gathered reminds me of Hardy’s poem about a family’s possessions on the lawn after everyone has died. It concludes “Down their carved names the raindrop ploughs.”
Abigail, I’m so refreshed by your open curiosity and sexual desires. Too many of my friends just don’t talk about their desires …if they exist at all. The ones that speak of lust are all my older friends who are single and still have desires. So, here I am with lust and no place to go with it. Either I don’t think it’s worth pursuing for the most obvious reasons …I love my single life and getting involved has too much baggage.
Agreed. The idea of even a very nice man coming into the room where I am patiently waiting for the back of my mind to make its way to the front, to ask me if I want a sandwich and if so do I want butter or mayonnaise fills me with horror. I love living alone.
It hasn’t gotten that bad for me yet, but I’m growing a Teflon shield to male superiority. If he wants to be in the kitchen serving up a good meal, come on over, and please leave soon after.
Lovely, as usual, Abigail! Old men are horrid lechers when we have such thoughts (I am one, have learned to adapt). Refreshing to hear a woman come out with it. We're not dead until we are.
Thanks, Randy. As I wrote in another piece, desire is now the goal, not the culmination. (Culmination? I better look that up.) Forget the rest. Nothing makes you feel so alive as desire.
Absolutely delicious. If I can share a story of my now passed great grandparents: in her 80s grandma was at a doc check up and complaining that her vulva was hurting. The doc asked her just how often her and my great grandfather were having sex, and to her daughter-in-law's shock (my grandmother) and probably the doctor's, she answered every. single. day.
That story spread around the gossip mill, not exactly with any kind of malice or shame, just light humor, it was unexpected; but my late teens self just thought: life. goals. :D Of course, though, with the proper lubricants and care as necessary. Desire really does make us more alive. (Whatever it is we desire.)
Abigail, so delighted to have found you! I loved every bit of this especially your rumination on penises😀with your writing, we don’t quite know what comes next and that’s wonderful!
Thank you very much. I didnt know where I was headed either, until I saw the boy stuffing hs shirt down inside his jeans and the rest was inevitable. So glad you enjoyed it
Oh yes, that's very much like what I meant -- the stimulated feeling that doesn't need to do anything but percolate. Younger people might call this sour grapes ("Oh, you 'don't need' satisfaction because you can't have it provided by another person") but the sensation is much different from what they're imagining. I was just saying I had many occasions as a 30-plus person that were similar.
That was a fun ride! Never know where I might end up when reading one of your explorations. From a twinge of mortality, and pending demise to a tug back into the present and the past. And yes, we are all connoisseurs of one kind or another. Love this, Abigail!
Neither do I, Nan. Thank you. Part of the fun of writing, you never know where you'll wind up!
It is, isn't it? Love you.
“All things penis!” Oh, yes. Let the stories begin. Your reflections on the fate of everything you’ve gathered reminds me of Hardy’s poem about a family’s possessions on the lawn after everyone has died. It concludes “Down their carved names the raindrop ploughs.”
Wow. And thank you.
This makes me think of the poem " The Little Old Lady in Lavender Silk" by Dorothy Parker.
Excerpt below:
So I'll say, though reflection unnerves me
And pronouncements I dodge as I can,
That I think (if my memory serves me)
There was nothing more fun than a man!
Oh, I loved that!
Dottie is one of my very favorite writers.
Of course, I include you in that list.
That's a compliment I will treasure.
Abigail, I’m so refreshed by your open curiosity and sexual desires. Too many of my friends just don’t talk about their desires …if they exist at all. The ones that speak of lust are all my older friends who are single and still have desires. So, here I am with lust and no place to go with it. Either I don’t think it’s worth pursuing for the most obvious reasons …I love my single life and getting involved has too much baggage.
Agreed. The idea of even a very nice man coming into the room where I am patiently waiting for the back of my mind to make its way to the front, to ask me if I want a sandwich and if so do I want butter or mayonnaise fills me with horror. I love living alone.
Thank you.
It hasn’t gotten that bad for me yet, but I’m growing a Teflon shield to male superiority. If he wants to be in the kitchen serving up a good meal, come on over, and please leave soon after.
Good luck. and thank you!
Lovely, as usual, Abigail! Old men are horrid lechers when we have such thoughts (I am one, have learned to adapt). Refreshing to hear a woman come out with it. We're not dead until we are.
Thanks, Randy. As I wrote in another piece, desire is now the goal, not the culmination. (Culmination? I better look that up.) Forget the rest. Nothing makes you feel so alive as desire.
And thank you.
Absolutely delicious. If I can share a story of my now passed great grandparents: in her 80s grandma was at a doc check up and complaining that her vulva was hurting. The doc asked her just how often her and my great grandfather were having sex, and to her daughter-in-law's shock (my grandmother) and probably the doctor's, she answered every. single. day.
That story spread around the gossip mill, not exactly with any kind of malice or shame, just light humor, it was unexpected; but my late teens self just thought: life. goals. :D Of course, though, with the proper lubricants and care as necessary. Desire really does make us more alive. (Whatever it is we desire.)
Wow. Good for them!
Agreed! :)
This makes me want to knit a penis cozy.
hahahahahahaa
Damn those twinges :)
Right. Fuck twinges.
I needed that laugh. Thank you!
Thank you, I'm so glad you liked it.
How delightful! I often go down that same thought process as well.
Oh, good. Thank you!
Well that was great. I'll be thinking of that all day!
Don't forget to eat lunch. And thank you very much.
ha!
Yes, good old desire! Love this so much.
Thank you!
even at 59. maybe not as frequently but occasionally these thoughts ring true
Just wait until you're 82. And thank you.
Yes and yes. When the adventure ends, it’s all our stuff left, my memories, my connections but it’s over…
So enjoy yourself now, which I’m sure you do.
🥳
Abigail, so delighted to have found you! I loved every bit of this especially your rumination on penises😀with your writing, we don’t quite know what comes next and that’s wonderful!
Thank you very much. I didnt know where I was headed either, until I saw the boy stuffing hs shirt down inside his jeans and the rest was inevitable. So glad you enjoyed it
Oh yes, that's very much like what I meant -- the stimulated feeling that doesn't need to do anything but percolate. Younger people might call this sour grapes ("Oh, you 'don't need' satisfaction because you can't have it provided by another person") but the sensation is much different from what they're imagining. I was just saying I had many occasions as a 30-plus person that were similar.