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He died in the hospital last night during treatment. I had signed a DNR, so at least he’s not suffering any more.

Many (8!) years ago, I posted a story titled "93" in the old forums. Here it is again... I turned 40 this Summer. It wasn’t something I’d planned to do, like turn 93. It just happened. I don

Though this is Dillon's forum thread, I know she won't brag about her feed thread... d That's 10,000 posts, a mix of conversation and shared music, spanning nearly seven years. This is

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1 minute ago, Callum Meriman said:

I am trying to decide if I want to see the Freddie Mercury movie.

Half of me says YES! half says hollywood will botch it.

I look forward to it. Even though I’m gay, I always saw Freddie as a “gay clone” stereotype. I’m hoping this makes him more real for me.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Saw a thread in 'Make Friends' today that bothered me a little. Rather than derail the thread (it was a bit necro-ish anyway) I thought I'd post here. This is what the OP said:

Hi everyone,

I am a 45 year old male looking to navigate this new found world with some friends. I'm not looking for anyone exclusive. I'm not looking for anything in particular. I am open to anything that finds me. I guess I'm looking for a woman between the age of 35-50 that would like to go places together. Feedback on my avatar would be great too.

It's my second day here so I thought this might be easier than forcing conversation in game.

Thanks for reading

I don't like it much when I see posts from young newbies saying they are looking to meet people their own age. I can understand it a little—I mean, old people are so....you know—but I still don't like it. I feel they're cheating themselves. One of the greatest blessings of Second Life (for me, at least) is that it allows me to be immersed in a wildly non-homogeneous population. It's true that my explorations and conversations are mostly among people who speak English so that limits the mix for me a bit, but there are a hell of a lot of people on this Earth who speak English as second (or eighth) language. I get to converse and do things with a huge variety of people. Young people who come here planning on associating only with people their age are going to miss all that. As I said, it bothers me.

Now here's a man 45 years old, doing the same thing! He's lived long enough to know that a person's age has little to do with anything much more important than knowing how many candles to put on the cake. Yet he still wants someone his age. His post reads like something you'd see in a real life personals column. And that gives me pause. I know that a lot of SL advertising promotes the 'find someone' idea, and it's a valid thing to promote. There's a whole lot of romancing going on here. I just worry that it's being way, way, overstated. 

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1 hour ago, Dillon Levenque said:

Saw a thread in 'Make Friends' today that bothered me a little. Rather than derail the thread (it was a bit necro-ish anyway) I thought I'd post here. This is what the OP said:

[...] I am open to anything that finds me. [...] It's my second day here so I thought this might be easier than forcing conversation in game.

He's open to anything but doesn't want to talk to anyone inworld.  Plus he can't stand the thought of talking to ooooolllllldddd people. Well, poo to him.

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30 minutes ago, Garnet Psaltery said:

Well, poo to him.

Agreed. One of the cool things about being anonymous in a world where almost everyone looks about the same generic age is that you can meet people without having to deal with a lot of the RL cultural baggage that makes it easy to stay trapped in a cocoon.  Who cares how old you are, or what gender, or color, or size, or whether you are in a wheelchair?  Yeah, poo to him.

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4 hours ago, Dillon Levenque said:

Now here's a man 45 years old, doing the same thing! He's lived long enough to know that a person's age has little to do with anything much more important than knowing how many candles to put on the cake. Yet he still wants someone his age. His post reads like something you'd see in a real life personals column. And that gives me pause. I know that a lot of SL advertising promotes the 'find someone' idea, and it's a valid thing to promote. There's a whole lot of romancing going on here. I just worry that it's being way, way, overstated.

(bolding mine)  That is exactly it.  Since he gave his age and specifically asked for a "woman" in a similar age range, he is really looking to find some sort of romantic and/or sexual partner - not just friends to hang out with and do things with - despite what he says about 'not looking for anything in particular'.

Years ago, I spent quite a bit of time with a gentleman that was a few decades older than me.  We had the absolute BEST conversations ever.

Edited by LittleMe Jewell
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5 hours ago, LittleMe Jewell said:

Years ago, I spent quite a bit of time with a gentleman that was a few decades older than me.  We had the absolute BEST conversations ever.

Many (8!) years ago, I posted a story titled "93" in the old forums. Here it is again...

I turned 40 this Summer.

It wasn’t something I’d planned to do, like turn 93. It just happened. I don’t think much about getting old. Like arguing in the forum, it’s a waste of precious time. But lately I’ve chatted with some lovely people who’ve said to me, “I’m just an old so-and-so”.

In the winter of 1998, as I was approaching my seventh wedding anniversary, I got the itch to join a chat group populated by lovers of lingerie. This was to be my first foray into chat about sensual things. I was curious about topics I learned were best not discussed in my own bedroom.

I lurked at first, using the presumptuous, automatically supplied name “Guest”. This did not last long, I wanted anything witty I might say to accrue to my own name and reputation. Maddy was born.

This room, like any other... like the forum, had its regular characters. I quickly learned the map of this little world, who’s who, who’s with whom... and who’s alone. In one corner was a wise owl, a quiet gentleman named Grey. Every time he spoke, it was clear he was a gentleman, and alive... and alone.

Now and then he’d drop a reference to something familiar to me, something that reminded me of my Father. I dropped references from my Father’s life and drifted closer.

There were stories to be told, and I wanted to hear them. I was alone too.

This room had something new called “Private Chat”. It took all of a minute after my first appearance as “Guest” for a little tab to blink at the bottom of the window, indicating someone had already found me attractive. I did not respond. But, as Maddy, I felt compelled to at least say hello and, after learning what “ASL?” meant, to graciously decline invitations.

One day that little tab flashed “Grey”. I clicked it. There was this message:

“Hello Dear Maddy, how are you?”.

I was thrilled.

“I’m fine, ty! You?”

So began a friendship that, for the next few months, would see us exchange the stories of our lives. I hadn’t yet had much of a life, so I borrowed heavily from Dad’s. Grey remembered the Blitzkrieg. Dad endured Pearl Harbor. Grey jumped into a four-poster hotel bed with his new bride on their honeymoon night, collapsing it on top of them and requiring the staff to set them free. Dad watched his uniform and best undies turn to soup in a windmill powered washing machine in which he’d placed them just before a typhoon ravaged Guam.

I learned that Grey was a Dom and had outlived three wives. One of them had been abused by a previous husband and never fully recovered. He loved her gently and kept her safe for the few short years until she passed away. Dad sent money every year to the girlfriend he’d left behind in Hawaii in 1947, and who later sent him letters describing the abuse she suffered at the hands of her husband.

But it was not all Dad and Grey. I had my story of a date with my ex when, late one chilly spring night, I coaxed him into removing my panties on a bluff in a public park overlooking Lake Michigan. We didn’t see the leafless tree in front of us, with its branches reaching out eagerly to accept the gift he gleefully tossed. When the police officer turned into the parking lot with his searchlight (once used to spot German bombers, I’m sure) my panties waved like a surrender flag.

“Yes officer, we’re enjoying the view as much as you are.”

And so it went, exchanging stories with a lovely, lively gentleman who wore a tweed jacket, cardigan and bow-tie for text chat. He was always gracious, and oh so curious. We discussed our careers, our marriages, our sexualities and our places in the world. He had sage advice when I needed it and his gentle flirtation was the perfect thing to brighten a girl's day. Somewhere along the way, he declared me Domme. I chalked it up to the late hour and the glass of wine he’d been nursing all evening, like Jacob Bronowski in BBC’s “Ascent of Man”.

That rainy Spring day when he did not arrive at his usual hour, I occupied myself with the others discussing the day’s pressing matters. Are silk stockings more slippery than nylons? How many body piercings are enough? Which is better, cricket or baseball?

The next day, we discussed other weighty issues and wondered if Grey had eloped with a hottie.

On the third day came the news... Grey had died peacefully in his sleep, at the age of 93.

So, if you think you’re just an “old so-and-so”, I ask you to reconsider. If a 93 year old gentleman can hold the attention of a 28 year old woman, I think there’s hope for all of you...and for me, who plans to someday be...

93.

Edited by Madelaine McMasters
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Another Cohen Poem

Quote

I Pray for Courage

I pray for courage
Now I’m old
To greet the sickness
And the cold

I pray for courage
In the night
To bear the burden
Make it light

I pray for courage
In the time
When suffering comes and
Starts to climb

I pray for courage
At the end
To see death coming
As a friend

 

 

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13 hours ago, LittleMe Jewell said:

I never actually liked his rendition of his own song as well as many other versions of it.  

I'm not a Cohen fan overall. I suppose it says a lot about my personal disposition, but I can't imagine liking any version of Hallelujah, except possibly a parody of it. Part of my dislike for the song may stem from my lifelong inability to spell the title. The majority of my dislike really is personal disposition. I'm not touchy-feely. I approach pain from any humorous angle I can find. And I can always find one... so far.

Edited by Madelaine McMasters
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On 9/24/2018 at 8:04 PM, Madelaine McMasters said:

Many (8!) years ago, I posted a story titled "93" in the old forums. Here it is again...

I turned 40 this Summer.

It wasn’t something I’d planned to do, like turn 93. It just happened. I don’t think much about getting old. Like arguing in the forum, it’s a waste of precious time. But lately I’ve chatted with some lovely people who’ve said to me, “I’m just an old so-and-so”.

In the winter of 1998, as I was approaching my seventh wedding anniversary, I got the itch to join a chat group populated by lovers of lingerie. This was to be my first foray into chat about sensual things. I was curious about topics I learned were best not discussed in my own bedroom.

I lurked at first, using the presumptuous, automatically supplied name “Guest”. This did not last long, I wanted anything witty I might say to accrue to my own name and reputation. Maddy was born.

This room, like any other... like the forum, had its regular characters. I quickly learned the map of this little world, who’s who, who’s with whom... and who’s alone. In one corner was a wise owl, a quiet gentleman named Grey. Every time he spoke, it was clear he was a gentleman, and alive... and alone.

Now and then he’d drop a reference to something familiar to me, something that reminded me of my Father. I dropped references from my Father’s life and drifted closer.

There were stories to be told, and I wanted to hear them. I was alone too.

This room had something new called “Private Chat”. It took all of a minute after my first appearance as “Guest” for a little tab to blink at the bottom of the window, indicating someone had already found me attractive. I did not respond. But, as Maddy, I felt compelled to at least say hello and, after learning what “ASL?” meant, to graciously decline invitations.

One day that little tab flashed “Grey”. I clicked it. There was this message:

“Hello Dear Maddy, how are you?”.

I was thrilled.

“I’m fine, ty! You?”

So began a friendship that, for the next few months, would see us exchange the stories of our lives. I hadn’t yet had much of a life, so I borrowed heavily from Dad’s. Grey remembered the Blitzkrieg. Dad endured Pearl Harbor. Grey jumped into a four-poster hotel bed with his new bride on their honeymoon night, collapsing it on top of them and requiring the staff to set them free. Dad watched his uniform and best undies turn to soup in a windmill powered washing machine in which he’d placed them just before a typhoon ravaged Guam.

I learned that Grey was a Dom and had outlived three wives. One of them had been abused by a previous husband and never fully recovered. He loved her gently and kept her safe for the few short years until she passed away. Dad sent money every year to the girlfriend he’d left behind in Hawaii in 1947, and who later sent him letters describing the abuse she suffered at the hands of her husband.

But it was not all Dad and Grey. I had my story of a date with my ex when, late one chilly spring night, I coaxed him into removing my panties on a bluff in a public park overlooking Lake Michigan. We didn’t see the leafless tree in front of us, with its branches reaching out eagerly to accept the gift he gleefully tossed. When the police officer turned into the parking lot with his searchlight (once used to spot German bombers, I’m sure) my panties waved like a surrender flag.

“Yes officer, we’re enjoying the view as much as you are.”

And so it went, exchanging stories with a lovely, lively gentleman who wore a tweed jacket, cardigan and bow-tie for text chat. He was always gracious, and oh so curious. We discussed our careers, our marriages, our sexualities and our places in the world. He had sage advice when I needed it and his gentle flirtation was the perfect thing to brighten a girl's day. Somewhere along the way, he declared me Domme. I chalked it up to the late hour and the glass of wine he’d been nursing all evening, like Jacob Bronowski in BBC’s “Ascent of Man”.

That rainy Spring day when he did not arrive at his usual hour, I occupied myself with the others discussing the day’s pressing matters. Are silk stockings more slippery than nylons? How many body piercings are enough? Which is better, cricket or baseball?

The next day, we discussed other weighty issues and wondered if Grey had eloped with a hottie.

On the third day came the news... Grey had died peacefully in his sleep, at the age of 93.

So, if you think you’re just an “old so-and-so”, I ask you to reconsider. If a 93 year old gentleman can hold the attention of a 28 year old woman, I think there’s hope for all of you...and for me, who plans to someday be...

93.

   Late though my reply may be, I loved this more than you can see.

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An apology to Maddy, as I couldn't do it in the other thread, it was Jagix-Locked before I could write this in there.

I am sorry I misunderstood the intent of the kitten/dog picture. Looking at it closer I see it was a puppy being playful. Sorry for thinking the worst of it and grabbing that in the wrong way completely.

You are awesome... even if you carry a huge flamethrower.

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Thanks Callum.

I hoped you'd enjoy the picture of a bog dog "eating" his little buddy. It's the sort of teasing I do, and it was the sort of play our family dog did with our kitten, until the little monster grew to the point he could (and did) eat a (neighbor's) dog. Years after both animals were gone, Mom told me that their relationship reminded her of mine with Dad.

I just now occurs to me that Mom might be waiting for me to eat a neighbor's dog. I have been tempted.

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On 9/25/2018 at 4:04 AM, Madelaine McMasters said:

So, if you think you’re just an “old so-and-so”, I ask you to reconsider. If a 93 year old gentleman can hold the attention of a 28 year old woman, I think there’s hope for all of you...and for me, who plans to someday be...

93.

I don't think that 'holding the attention of' quite cuts it. In fact, although that's a very nice story, the ending that I quoted comes across as being just the opposite - quite arrogant - whether intended or not. What it should say is, 'if a 28 year old woman can hold the attention of a 93 year man ....' The woman only had a fraction of life's experiences that the man had, so would likely be far less interesting than him, and would do well to hold his attention for any length of time. Suggesting it the other way round comes across as arrogance. It's like saying, "He held MY attention. Didn't he do well".

Edited by Phil Deakins
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