AGE APPROPRIATE KINK

 Recently, someone in a Discord group I’m part of posted an interesting question: "What Would Your Black Kink Dissertation Topic Be?" It struck a chord. There are so many things worth digging into, and the responses were solid—some were funny, others serious, but all of them sparked some good conversation.

It got me thinking about something that’s been on my mind for the past 20 years. And now that I’m in my 70s—officially part of the septuagenarian club—it feels more relevant than ever. Seventy-one is a unique place to be. I always said I wouldn’t still be doing all *this* after 60.

But age, as they say, comes with markers—those milestones we anticipate, maybe even invite. When I was 18, I couldn’t wait to leave my mother’s house. Actually, I left at 17 when I headed off to college. That’s also when I found my first disciplinarian and got my first spanking from someone who wasn’t family.

Then came 21, and I discovered that my spanking skills were *appreciated* by the girls I was with. By the time I hit 30, I was knee-deep in building a Female-Led Relationship (FLR) with my girlfriend—who soon became my wife. My love of spanking? Insatiable. Always had been, really, ever since I was 15. But by 30, I’d learned some things: the art, the sensuality, the sexuality of it all.

Forty. Fifty. Sixty. Each milestone brought more exploration. I gained a reputation for being able to go the distance. At parties, it wasn’t uncommon for me to play two, even three times in one night. Privately, I had a rule—if it didn’t last at least an hour, it wasn’t a proper session. *And* everything was on the table.

I could play for hours with no problems. But somewhere in my 50s, I started wondering about “age-appropriate” kink. As I ventured into dungeons more and more, the question crept in: Was I becoming the *old man at the club*? Most of my partners were in their 20s, same as outside of kink, and though I’d long left the regular club scene, dungeons felt different.

No one seemed to mind the gray in my beard, but I still found myself wondering. The older I got, the more I wanted to explore. And yet, in the back of my mind, there was that nagging voice: “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

That said, I’ve always been described as the ultimate Peter Pan. My daughter once introduced me to one of her friends as, “My other little brother.” I was 50 at the time, and yeah, it hit different. But she wasn’t wrong. So I leaned into Satchel Paige’s famous quote: “Age is mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” That became my mantra, and for a while, it worked.

Still, those little seeds of doubt crept in. What was once second nature in my 20s, 30s, and 40s, started to make me question things. As a switch, I started wondering: Was it weird that I still craved discipline? Was it okay that a large part of me still enjoyed age regression under the right circumstances?

One session in particular stands out. I was over a woman’s lap, getting a much-needed attitude adjustment. It had me on the edge of tears and, without thinking, I said, “I’ll behave...” We locked eyes, and I couldn’t help but ask, “Did that sound weird to you?” We both laughed, and she said, “Well, I guess the attitude adjustment isn’t finished yet,” and went right back to work.

But it made me wonder—at my age, is it *appropriate* to still have issues “behaving”? To still *need* someone to remind me?

Age in the 21st century is a tricky thing. When I was a kid, I thought my 50-year-old grandfather was ancient. He was a man who went from pimp to preacher, and he had a style that was idolized in church, with his guitar and his suits. He was the first guy in town to rock bell bottoms and Beatles-style jackets. His motto was simple: “Style knows no age.” I’ve always agreed with that.

But back to the kink scene. I’m known for my “bionic hands”—they never tire. No matter how long or hard I played, my hands were always ready for more. My style is active: I move, I bend, I stand, I dance. But now? I’ve had to make some tweaks. Those deep knee bends to get on eye level with a bottom’s thighs are fewer, and I might be sneaking a little help standing back up. Hopefully, my partners haven’t noticed.

I noticed a shift in my confidence before COVID. I stopped feeling as sure walking into dungeons. During classes, I’d catch looks—like people were wondering why someone my age was still trying to learn. I asked myself: *Should* I still be doing this? When I walk into a space, who should I approach? There aren’t many women my age around, and it feels strange sometimes to ask someone half my age to take me over her knee. Am I supposed to accept being the wise old Oracle now, holding court for the younger crowd?

Sure, I can’t bounce back from a night of hard play like I used to. Bengay and Icy Hot aren’t just in the toy bag for laughs anymore—they’re necessities.

But seriously—what’s “age-appropriate” anymore? I’ve always been an inquisitive person, always trying something new. Should kink be any different? Who cares if my range of motion isn’t what it used to be? If I show up, play once, and leave a little earlier—what’s wrong with that?

At the end of the day, a good time doesn’t care about age. It just cares that it’s had.

So, what do you think? This old guy would love to know.