time flies, and so shall i

The new – now newish – love affair has (as they are wont to do) driven all before it, drowned much in its briny rush, and generally spread chaos and glory all around. I’m now amid a couple of weeks’ respite before being reunited with the Troublemaker Himself in his home country for a few weeks. The man known herein as Knowledge (for the sake of his online modesty) is from Surrey, more precisely the village of Ewell – now (I gather) pretty much swallowed up by Greater London. I’ll be joining him there before we take various trips into the English countryside and through the Channel tunnel to France, Spain and Germany. I’ll be away six weeks altogether, from September 2 to October 20. If you’re in Europe, plan to see me. If you’re in Australia, catch up before and/or after. More details soon.

necessarily cryptic

Woh… this ride is wild

Talk about Knowledge: I did it – I got it. I was there. In my body, in the room – I could feel myself. I could see myself…

:) Hallelu Jaqi

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ancient conversation

“When I look on you a moment, then I can speak no more, but my tongue falls silent, and at once a delicate flame courses beneath my skin, and with my eyes I see nothing, and my ears hum, and a wet sweat bathes me, and a trembling seizes me all over…”
(Sappho)

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there.”
(Jalal ad-Din Rumi)

the public acknowledgement of reality

Oh. My. God.

I can’t believe I’m doing it again.

I keep asking myself why I do it, and I keep coming back with the same gleeful answer: because I can.

It appears there is a virtually unlimited number of handsome, bold, intelligent, engaging young men out there keen for some fun – and often something more, some warm/hot/cool experience – with an older woman. And when I say young I mean they’re in their twenties. I look 30-something but am 46. Now darlings I know I’m bragging, but while my life isn’t really all that unusual, it’s just not the sort of thing you often see mentioned in print. And as a result, this not-so-unusual reality doesn’t get much public acknowledgement.

And I’m all for the public acknowledgement of reality. So here’s mine.

In the 12 or so years since my divorce, there have been something less than 20 lovers in my life, one of whom has been older than me. (He, incidentally, was quite botanically batty, but then so were several of the others.) They range in age from 21 (when I was 41) and 22 (just recently) up to a year or two younger than me. Length of relationships varied from a night or a few weeks (3 months is a nice affair, I find), up to several deep friendships of overlapping years and varying intensities. The longest lasted over 10 years as a primary partnership, travelling together, living together, living not far apart. He was 10 years younger than I; the next longest, still going at six years… he’s 16 years younger.

Is there something unseemly in this lifestyle? Or perhaps particularly in the public confession of it..? If my sexual history had been like my mother’s (may her god rest her soul) and her mother’s, and as mine was intended to be – I met my husband when I was a virgin a year or so out of school, we have two children -  would it then have been perfectly fine to tell you? Guess it would’ve caused no blushes. Unless you’re the kind of person that blushes at the mention of virginity. In truth, I barely recognise that as a sexual history; it comes from a time when you weren’t supposed to have one. But I was a kid during the revolution.

Are these musings prompted by the cover of this week’s Drum Media, where Tim Rogers and Charlie Thorpe do a John and Yoko love-in for Homebake? (Note Tim’s ironically turned wrist… mm, Tim Rogers, tops the list of people I’d like to meet in Sydney.) Homebake’s slogan this year: Peace. Love …or something like that, deadpanned Bernard Zuel. All more arch than the Bridge. Peace, Love? What decade are we in? What do these words mean post-’80s, between the ecstasy and the drug dogs, post-Tiananmen, in the ugly scramble for the planet, post-Bush/9/11/Guantanamo? Peace, Love and my sweet purple furry hotpants. Homebake, reduced to stylistic nostalgia; how are the mighty fallen? Sure, I doubt any of the amped-up rentacrowd thugs that turn up to this mass gathering on the chance of a bit of biffo so much as paused for thought.

Yeah, anyway, so some brave ideals were upheld in that decade of love: most proved absurdly untenable. But I have this one that seems to work for me. Does this make me wicked, or a freak? I wonder who thinks so, and why? Does it make me some kind of female Don Juan? Casanovella? My friends would snort at the idea; I’m more often seduced than seducer.

No, seriously. I rarely go looking for it, but with so much on offer, what’s a girl to do? I laugh up my sleeve about the supposed man drought – I wondered for a moment whether I should write to the Herald and explain that the lads must all be at my place, but it’s marriageable (or at least breeding-ready) men in their thirties that are apparently in short supply, and while I count three of them among my dearest friends I’m hardly holding them from the market.

But these men in their twenties… ladies, do not miss out. They are fit and skilled and ripe for adventure, open-minded and curious and insanely good fun – and they mostly move on before you get sick of them. Though at least one of mine has become a lifelong friend.

Vive la difference. Vive la tribu.

:)

spring cycle

Oh dear.

Who the blazing hell are you and where did you spring from? And don’t get pert and give me Pakistan via Saudi Arabia you know that isn’t what I mean. Oh I’m scared. I’m right scared and it’s got very little to do with where you’re from, boy.

Man.

It’s ‘cos of who you are, and who I am.

God help me (it sucks being an atheist) I can’t do this. Please let me not do this.

(*sigh* …As it happens that’s the very prayer that began my journey to atheism)

[whispers] …but I close mine on his hands his eyes his hips his smile

- the heat in him

Oh dear

…

What do you want from me? Pretty sure I’m in trouble either way. Big trouble.

Your family will hate me, so this can’t be serious, right?

As if!

when you’re so goddamn young (why do I do this? why do they want me to?)

And, grand boutade, you don’t fall in love anyway, right? Never have, anyway…

and will surely marry a nice girl fairly soon, maybe a friend of a cousin…

I am staring down the barrel of heaven and/or disaster and I do not like these odds.

But you’re not half intense, are you?

And me, I’m cool as a fucking cucumber, yeah?

[shivers]

[LOL]

Oh dear… :)

what the fuck :)

I drive to his house in the middle of the night, and park out the front. He is waiting in the garden and makes me jump. We spend all night and all morning in his dark, beautiful room, and by afternoon I’m dashing to work feeling somewhat tousled – tousled, hell, I’m ravished. We spent hours touching, tasting, arguing, debating, making love, fucking like beasts, laughing, whispering and playing, and there is clearly more to come.

But GHM, he is less than half my age. Fortunately, his girlfriend arrives from Europe next month. Perfect. Truly, today my resolute freedom reaps great dividends.

spiritual tedia

I dreamed that someone sent me a gift, something very useful and powerful, strangely beautiful but also dangerous. It was in a small cheap jewellery box, plastic with a clear lid; inside were five tiny spiders and two minute scorpions, perhaps a centimetre long. They were very precious; I had to transfer them into other containers, and I opened the box and then somehow I was juggling lids and cases and people were talking to me and I couldn’t remember what I was trying to do, and two of the delicate-legged spiders got crushed and the scorpions went I don’t know where and I knew I could look forward to getting stung.

And I woke knowing exactly who and what the dream was about.

business manager clinched

Despite first daring me to go public about him, my latest inamorato has had a change of heart and begs me not to publish the blog entry introducing him to you, my dear readers. I know that’s infuriatingly tantalising, particularly to those who had been alerted to an imminent major disclosure, but of course I have to respect his wishes in this, particularly since he is to mean a great deal more to me as – as he puts it – a member of my team.

The entry is up, however, as a private post. So you just have to get together with me and a net-connected computer to become privy to a few intimate details of my latest and most precipitous revolution of the heart…