Hardwood Cabin, Redux
Sep. 19th, 2008 12:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsA couple of months ago, I blogged about the Hardwood Cabin, a local swingers club nearly in my back yard that the city chose to shut down, claiming that it was a "business" rather than the very large and frequent "private parties" affair that the hosts claimed it was.
In the time since then, I've been thinking on and off about the Hardwood Cabin, and what it means. Most of my "thinking" has been informed, sadly, by the negative reaction to the club that I've seen, mostly coming off the right-wing websites like Drudge and Free Republic. If you want to see reactionary, "freedom for me but not for thee, because you're fat and/or kinky," go read a couple of the entries on those links. Phrases like, "They're not normal, they're sick individuals, like dogs in heat," and "These people are narcissists who insist on the freedom to do as they choose without having to take responsibility for their choices or even make responsible choices," and finally, " They tend to be overweight, middle ages unattractive types."
Oh, I dunno. I thought they were kinda cute. (Last night I met a beautiful and very big redheaded girl at the party, and Omaha asked me if I was "getting into fat women." Uh, dear, it's been clear for years that my tastes run to extremes.)
A friend of mine thought that my interest might be annoyance that I wasn't invited. There may be some truth there. Then again, I had no idea it was going on and obviously didn't have any interest in hunting down new spaces; there are plenty out there already. Goddess knows I'm booked to the hilt already.
When I was 25 years old and pretty much a blithering idiot, I went to a few swingers' club events, usually as an AIDS educator, gave my safer sex presentation and then watched it be blissfully ignored by people who thought that STDs didn't happen to them. I looked down upon those people as desperate, aging, out to prove they can still "do it," and not thinking much beyond my own peer group.
I'm 42 now. I'm the same age as most of the people who went to Hardwood, the age of a lot of the people I once dismissed. While I'm not quite into the random exchange of bodily fluids that is a swinger's event, I enjoy having a life full of wonderful people who are willing to get naked and do dirty things with me. I'm grateful for all the opportunities, from the kinkiest to the most sweet and innocenct. As I've documented before, the passage of time has made me painfully aware of the slow wearing on the equipment, from the knees to the eyes, just like most people my age, and with it two illuminating realizations: my age cohort did not get to sling mud, drop acid, and fuck like crazy at Woodstock, and we have only so many more years to get in all the pleasures of life we can before we have to start thinking seriously about hip replacements and Metamucil.
I have compassion now for the older people I saw seventeen years ago. I understand why the Elf of 25 thought that way. And part of me can't wait until all those snot-nose Freepers reach this age and wonder why they spent so many damn nights in front of the keyboard, whining about libruls.
In the time since then, I've been thinking on and off about the Hardwood Cabin, and what it means. Most of my "thinking" has been informed, sadly, by the negative reaction to the club that I've seen, mostly coming off the right-wing websites like Drudge and Free Republic. If you want to see reactionary, "freedom for me but not for thee, because you're fat and/or kinky," go read a couple of the entries on those links. Phrases like, "They're not normal, they're sick individuals, like dogs in heat," and "These people are narcissists who insist on the freedom to do as they choose without having to take responsibility for their choices or even make responsible choices," and finally, " They tend to be overweight, middle ages unattractive types."
Oh, I dunno. I thought they were kinda cute. (Last night I met a beautiful and very big redheaded girl at the party, and Omaha asked me if I was "getting into fat women." Uh, dear, it's been clear for years that my tastes run to extremes.)
A friend of mine thought that my interest might be annoyance that I wasn't invited. There may be some truth there. Then again, I had no idea it was going on and obviously didn't have any interest in hunting down new spaces; there are plenty out there already. Goddess knows I'm booked to the hilt already.
When I was 25 years old and pretty much a blithering idiot, I went to a few swingers' club events, usually as an AIDS educator, gave my safer sex presentation and then watched it be blissfully ignored by people who thought that STDs didn't happen to them. I looked down upon those people as desperate, aging, out to prove they can still "do it," and not thinking much beyond my own peer group.
I'm 42 now. I'm the same age as most of the people who went to Hardwood, the age of a lot of the people I once dismissed. While I'm not quite into the random exchange of bodily fluids that is a swinger's event, I enjoy having a life full of wonderful people who are willing to get naked and do dirty things with me. I'm grateful for all the opportunities, from the kinkiest to the most sweet and innocenct. As I've documented before, the passage of time has made me painfully aware of the slow wearing on the equipment, from the knees to the eyes, just like most people my age, and with it two illuminating realizations: my age cohort did not get to sling mud, drop acid, and fuck like crazy at Woodstock, and we have only so many more years to get in all the pleasures of life we can before we have to start thinking seriously about hip replacements and Metamucil.
I have compassion now for the older people I saw seventeen years ago. I understand why the Elf of 25 thought that way. And part of me can't wait until all those snot-nose Freepers reach this age and wonder why they spent so many damn nights in front of the keyboard, whining about libruls.
