The Little Indignities of Aging

                        What SAVANNAH Has To Say About The Little Indignities Of Aging.

Aging, and its not so subtle little indignities, is something everyone who lives long enough must contend with.  And one of the most difficult aspects of this is that although the years will show either kindly or otherwise, you may not actually feel any differently than when you were younger.  The spirit is eternal even as the body and mind ripen and begin to spoil.  So even if you are able to avoid a mirror or a camera for any length of time, someone will be certain to offer you a reality check, whether you want it or not.

Consider women.  A woman such as myself for instance, a vital woman of a certain age.  Still young at heart, still looks good, feels wonderful, is bright, engaging, sassy, juicy, energetic, independent, emotionally grounded, a woman who continues to desire and enjoy sex.  What’s the problem?  There is no real problem, not at the moment.  There are simply the little indignities to address each and every day.


“You look great...for your age.”

“Wow!  I’m surprised. You have no problem keeping up!”

“You sure don’t act your age.”

“Do you need some help with that?”

“I’ve always been curious about having sex

with an older experienced woman.”

These comments are merely the most benign sampling of what I’ve been subjected to in recent years.  All were well meaning, none were malicious, each was simply an aspect of the little indignities one must endure as one creeps toward advanced maturity.  The little indignities require a healthy sense of humor on duty at all times.

Consider men.  From my vantage point, men are not nearly as mysterious as I once thought them to be.  Still, a viable, engaging, interesting man will always play an important role in my life, fundamentally, if not entirely, due to his necessity as a sexual playmate.  Otherwise, what could be his purpose at this point?  Certainly not procreation.  Men can’t really be friends.  They resent it if you need them and more if you don’t.  If they are younger, they can stay with you sexually, but they generally haven’t the experience or maturity to meet you emotionally, so you wind up as their mentor.  If they are older, sex, if they are still interested, requires so many adjustments or a pill that most of the pleasure evaporates.  And if they are still lively, they are on point and prowl for the younger woman.  Otherwise, they are likely lazy, uninspired, retired in every way and looking for a woman to take care of them, preferably someone who can and will pay her own way and if they’re lucky, theirs as well.

Being awake, alive and sexual myself, I inherently understand and certainly empathize with the men who are interested in lusty adventures with a younger lover.  The ravishing sex, the seductive sensuality of youth, is definitely all its cracked up to be.  There is, however, a little indignity that comes with all that delectable desire in the right here, right now, heat of the moment with an ardent young lover.  And that is, since I don’t feel any older than they are, I forget completely, that my skin sags, my face is lined and unevenly colored and I have bulges in places I never dreamed possible.


Still, that little indignity is blessedly offset by the bonus of my passionate response which is longer, deeper, and more fulfilling than when I was younger.  I would never wish to return to those times in my youth when so many other things were more pressing, mattered more than fully expressing and enjoying my life, my sexuality.  No longer exhaustedly task and goal oriented, I am simply always oriented, receptive to whatever pleasure presents to me.

But though I possess a certain maturity, a lusty desire and driving passion, and it continues to be attracting, there is one little indignity that will just not be dismissed or overcome.  That is, the number once revealed, which is my actual age, is more of a psychological deterrent than my aging body.  The early courtesans only survived into their twenties.  My charm has survived many more decades than that, but how long will it last?

This is the tragic relentless ticking of the biological clock that younger women understand only as the time bomb of fertility.  But unless one succumbs to losing ones mind, the truly tragic ticking of that clock is the loss of passion and desire for sex, which in my view is the greatest indignity and the point of no return for the aging body.

Making love often, having great sex, by the way, alleviates many of the little indignities.  The pleasure of writing about it alleviates the rest.
Foreword from Pleasure As A Higher Calling ~ Waking Up book #1 in Savannah's Pleasure Series


The Desperate Desire Of Fruit Flies

I fruit-fly-on-a-bowlI'm a fiction writer but I'm fond of science.  And theories.  Especially my own.  When I think I've landed on an amusing idea, I don't research Google to discover if someone else has beat me to the concept.  But if I did, most likely I'd find some data and a pile of opinions.  Since I'm a day dreamer and imagine theories and stories all the time, it makes me happy to believe them so consequently I ignore the likely possibility that my idea is colliding with some others.  In my mind there is always room for colliding ideas, stories, opinions and even research.

I have no official letters after my name that designate me a researcher.  I'm content with that.  I never wanted to sit that long.  I'm not obliged to follow an approved protocol, nor am I ashamed to admit that anecdotal evidence is fine with me.  My interest lies mostly with the behaviors of people anyway.  People are amazing and complex and at times unpredictable.  I'm not at all against things or animals or even insects.  It's just that I soon tire of their stories unless they intersect with people.  This brings me to the intersection of tonight's theory about fruit flies.

Those tiny (and who wouldn't say; annoying) critters have been so sexual and prolific in my
kitchen lately that it made me wonder about them all day. I am aware those tiny sweetness mongers have been the focus of many studies.  I vaguely remember having to learn about them in zoology as a student.  Luckily, all those facts have been lost in my memory archives for decades and I am now free to imagine a theory worth thinking about.  Put into context, I'll need to back up to describe why fruit flies have captured my interest for
more than a moment which is normally all they deserve and is also about the length of their life cycle.

This week I was scrolling down the graffiti on FaceBook, which I think can be a disseminator of cool information when its not too mundanely personal.  There was a post about preventing black flies from populating your home.  It caught my attention because it had an enlarged graphic of a house fly and I'd already seen the suggestion put into action at my favorite frozen yogurt place.  Since, I've proven to myself that it works over the past three very warm days.

Fill a gallon size zip-lock plastic bag with water and some pennies.  Nine pennies seemed right
to me, and I have my esoteric reasons for that.  Hang it above your door on the inside if it opens out. (Here is where it doesn't matter how observant one is.) I have no idea which way doors usually open.  I have to manage two in order to exit my kitchen.  The inner opens out and the outer opens in.  It's an old house.  Caveat: my windows are screened but my doors are not.

I was curious enough about this method to read a few comments under the post.  Enough to realize no one knows why it works for sure,  but it does, so why care why. Trust me, there will be NO black flies in your home after this procedure.  Fruit flies, however, are another issue altogether.

Yesterday I was careless about those fruit flies.  A basket of fruit was left on the counter.  Their population exploded into the uninvited hundreds.  I hastily placed the basket in the frig thinking that would solve the breeding frenzy.  Not.  They had sex on my coffee cup, some lemon juice on a knife, the spoon I forgot to rinse, they were everywhere.  My theory now is that they hatch in the afternoon to float around in swarms.  Round about dusk they land on any surface with the faintest memory of food and have sex again, float a bit more, then die.  It doesn't take long.  By dark they're gone without a corpse in site and nowhere to be seen in the morning.

I don't even want to think about any food item they may have visited which I may have ingested nor where they decide to end their lives.  For this story about a theory let's just say they missed landing on anything that went into my mouth and politely deposited themselves into the trash at their last gasp.  I didn't take the trash out last night since it was nearly empty, and my compost container under the sink latches tightly, but somehow a new mega-batch was born late this afternoon.

I thought I'd learned something so all day today I was vigilant, meticulous in wiping down counters and washing everything that food or drink had touched as soon as immediately.
Earlier I'd been to the Farmer's market and picked up some fresh berries.  I washed them and froze some, the rest went into the frig or my mouth.  No food, no attractive anything was left out and for most of the day, no tiny flies.  My back door was open all day. Not a black fly in site.

Tonight fruit flies, albeit a few less than hundreds, are all over my kitchen again. I posit that those mad little lovers don't give a fig about feeding.  It's their desperation for sex and procreation on a sweet surface that is their urgent calling.  Tonight there isn't anything sweet or otherwise left out or under the sink in my kitchen.  I am curious to see if the numbers are down again tomorrow afternoon.

PostScript:     The fruit fly numbers have dwindled to almost zero.  And still not a black fly yet to be seen.

The Power of Love and Eros

With the New Moon in Scorpio...I Just LOVE my horoscope this week! Time to set some new intentions for Celebrating Life.

ARIES (March 21-April 19): In old Christian and Islamic lore, the dove was a symbol of the holy spirit. The bird was considered so pure and sacred that the devil, who was an expert shapeshifter, could not take on its form.

The dove had a different meaning in other traditions, however. Among the ancient Greeks, it had a special relationship with Aphrodite, the goddess of love. In Rome, its eggs were regarded as aphrodisiacs.

Drawing on all these meanings, I'm nominating the dove to be your power animal in the coming week. You will have an excellent chance to intensify your connection with divine truths through the power of love and eros ~ and vice versa.

(perfect for me.  Thanks Rob Brezsny!)

Freud On The Pleasure Of Writing

Our Daddy of modern Psychology certainly knew how to tangle pure Pleasure with guilt and repulsion. Sometimes Pleasure is just what it is...Pleasure. In this snippet of his musings on the craft of creative writing, he equated the fore-Pleasure of it to child's play. What a guy! From foreplay to Pleasure. Hasn't every lover understood that from the beginning of time?

"How the writer accomplishes this is his innermost secret; the essential ars poetica lies in the technique of overcoming the feeling of repulsion in us which is undoubtedly connected with the barriers that rise between each single ego and the others. We can guess two of the methods used by this technique. The writer softens the character of his egoistic day-dreams by altering and disguising it, and he bribes us by the purely formal – that is, aesthetic – yield of pleasure which he offers us in the presentation of his phantasies. We give the name of an incentive bonus, or a fore-pleasure, to a yield of pleasure such as this, which is offered to us so as to make possible the release of still greater pleasure arising from deeper psychical sources. In my opinion, all the aesthetic pleasure which a creative writer affords us has the character of a fore-pleasure of this kind, and our actual enjoyment of an imaginative work proceeds from a liberation of tensions in our minds. It may even be that not a little of this effect is due to the writer's enabling us thenceforward to enjoy our own day-dreams without self-reproach or shame."

Do you write?  Is it a Pleasure?  Is it about Pleasure?  Whose your Daddy?

The Romance Reviews~Sizzling Summer Reads Contest !!!

Play the game and earn a chance to win $100 AND The Book! Click on   and scroll down to question #2:  When Savannah began to think about making love again, who appeared out of nowhere?   Can you answer it?  HINT:  click on the Book Cover Pleasure As A Higher Calling~Waking Up  and the Peek Inside link to the left.  Skim the "First Pages" to find the answer.  Have Some Spicy Fun Today!   Buy the Book!   (*3* 18 years and older, of course  !!!)

We Could Be Friends!

If you're a single woman of a certain age like I am, you've no doubt discovered that a healthy sense of humor and adventure is required to "stay in the game" of Love.  I've decided to live my life with Pleasure As A Higher Calling.  It's my raison d'etre and the pleasure of writing about it is almost as sweet.  My stories are Smart, Funny, Sexy and Real so let me entertain you with the spicy details of my amorous encounters and entice you with my unique philosophy.  You may decide to embrace Pleasure As A Higher Calling too.  Click on the cover of my first book in the series below.  It will take you directly to AMAZON where you can sample a tasty morsel.  Buy The Book and have some fun.