NaBloPoMo 2017 Post 2: Gentling Horses
My writing warmup for tonight was standing up against a stuffy male Dom on FetLife and ripping him to ribbons. Engaging in an online fight like that is something I rarely indulge in, but it was very relaxing. I won't play much longer, things'll get ugly soon.
One of the icons of the Old West was the cowboy in the round ring, squaring off with a mustang who'd had a saddle tied onto him but was otherwise as wild as he'd been the day before, galloping free over desert and prairie. What came next was hard on both: the cowboy had to stay on while the mustang bucked and kicked and spun wildly. Eventually the fight would leave them both, and the broken-spirited mustang would plod around his tiny corral with these strange new weights on his back.
Far preferred these days is the gentling method, where a trainer gets a wild mustang slowly used to the presence of humans, then tack, then riders. But at each step, the moment fear comes into the animal's eyes, the moment he tenses, the new stimuli is eased off and the session is over for the day.
It's the best analogy I can see for how I'm approaching dating, at this particular moment of my life. I loved someone hard for three and a half years, he went away, we bungled our halfhearted attempts to salvage the friendship, and I was aching and lonely for half a year. Now, a fresh mustang has entered the corral. We're eyeing each other, circling slowly. There are things that match nicely, grooves that look like they'll slide together well. The slight bend of his back, the curve of my ass. No riding yet, oh no, but an inquisitive muzzle has twitched its velvet against my hand, his head has bent as if trying out what it might feel like to bend towards a bridle.
Maybe when I was much younger, I might've asked questions like, "Will you hurt me?" as I circle slowly. Now I don't bother- love hurts. Love sucks and love rocks. You can't get the euphoria without the agony, they come in side by side. I completely understand why some people my age have already closed the door, chosen to stay sole inhabitants of their personal castles and focus on the other things in life that challenge and pleasure them.
I won't. My heart is covered in scars and footprints, but I continue the process of scraping down the toughest parts and keep myself open and vulnerable to new pain, new hope. I guess it's easier, being polyamorous and still partnered. I don't have to wonder if I'll ultimately be alone, or if I'll ever be willing to live with a lover, or if I can get along with someone over decades. I can. I do. What I do wonder is if there will ever be a second one willing to walk at my other side in the long run. Three and a half years is longer than many have stayed, but not long enough. I want a double forever.
Though this new mustang has a lot of potential, he also does not have a lot of time- a similar failing to the last year or so of Tiger and I. I may need a second new one, to get all my needs met. But like the trainer, I have patience. This mustang gets the bulk of my attention until he's comfortable under saddle, and sometime after that I may start casting glances around for another.
The beautiful thing about the world of kink is that my size and body hair choices don't much matter. I have highly desired skills, and lovely young men are either seeking me out or delighted that I've caught their eye. I've even seen a fascinated glimmer in the eye of a few pretty women- but that's a story for another post.
One of the icons of the Old West was the cowboy in the round ring, squaring off with a mustang who'd had a saddle tied onto him but was otherwise as wild as he'd been the day before, galloping free over desert and prairie. What came next was hard on both: the cowboy had to stay on while the mustang bucked and kicked and spun wildly. Eventually the fight would leave them both, and the broken-spirited mustang would plod around his tiny corral with these strange new weights on his back.
Far preferred these days is the gentling method, where a trainer gets a wild mustang slowly used to the presence of humans, then tack, then riders. But at each step, the moment fear comes into the animal's eyes, the moment he tenses, the new stimuli is eased off and the session is over for the day.
It's the best analogy I can see for how I'm approaching dating, at this particular moment of my life. I loved someone hard for three and a half years, he went away, we bungled our halfhearted attempts to salvage the friendship, and I was aching and lonely for half a year. Now, a fresh mustang has entered the corral. We're eyeing each other, circling slowly. There are things that match nicely, grooves that look like they'll slide together well. The slight bend of his back, the curve of my ass. No riding yet, oh no, but an inquisitive muzzle has twitched its velvet against my hand, his head has bent as if trying out what it might feel like to bend towards a bridle.
Maybe when I was much younger, I might've asked questions like, "Will you hurt me?" as I circle slowly. Now I don't bother- love hurts. Love sucks and love rocks. You can't get the euphoria without the agony, they come in side by side. I completely understand why some people my age have already closed the door, chosen to stay sole inhabitants of their personal castles and focus on the other things in life that challenge and pleasure them.
I won't. My heart is covered in scars and footprints, but I continue the process of scraping down the toughest parts and keep myself open and vulnerable to new pain, new hope. I guess it's easier, being polyamorous and still partnered. I don't have to wonder if I'll ultimately be alone, or if I'll ever be willing to live with a lover, or if I can get along with someone over decades. I can. I do. What I do wonder is if there will ever be a second one willing to walk at my other side in the long run. Three and a half years is longer than many have stayed, but not long enough. I want a double forever.
Though this new mustang has a lot of potential, he also does not have a lot of time- a similar failing to the last year or so of Tiger and I. I may need a second new one, to get all my needs met. But like the trainer, I have patience. This mustang gets the bulk of my attention until he's comfortable under saddle, and sometime after that I may start casting glances around for another.
The beautiful thing about the world of kink is that my size and body hair choices don't much matter. I have highly desired skills, and lovely young men are either seeking me out or delighted that I've caught their eye. I've even seen a fascinated glimmer in the eye of a few pretty women- but that's a story for another post.