A paragon . . . of vice.

In my failed first marriage, I had to suppress the fact that I was bisexual, non-monogamous, kinky, and pagan.

Well, I don't have to suppress that I'm pagan now.

But I just looked at calendars, and it looks like the last time I ever played with another guy was in either 2014 at Thanksgiving, or around Christmas in 2015.

Kink?

Hard to get someone interested in flogging when their neurodivergent child is constantly hitting them.

Poly? See, again, neurodivergent child, and our inability to trust him with a sitter, or at his grandparents'.

So, here I am, feeling like who I am is dying. Again.

KIMO - Knowing I'm missing out.

The big play party that everyone goes to this weekend is, well, happening this weekend, like it has for decades.

The last time we went was in 2012; after that, we were dropped from the invite list. No explanation. And, technically, no one owes me an explanation. But, if I fucked up, I'd really like it if someone had fucking told me.

A few years ago, before the pandemic, but after I was dropped from the list, a couple we know who attend the party regularly offered to take me and my partner as their plus ones.

They were told no, and with no explanation.

So, even if I had the time, even if I could get the in-laws to take the kid for a night, there's no play party I'm aware of, to which I've been invited.

And I really miss both the exhibitionism, as well as the voyeurism, and the various forms of play.

The only other party we'd been invited to other than the big one that happens this weekend, was it a private home, and those hosts have now moved out of state.

I miss being asked to give a flogging, a beating, a caning.