The Spinster's Exploits

Sex, sensuality and possibly spanking after seventy…

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The Spinster is a 70-year-old South Walian who doesn’t believe sex, sensuality and fun stop at seventy. There is more to growing old disgracefully than wearing purple 💜- although she does love purple! She considers herself to have dual sexuality as she loves vanilla but something gets unleashed when she is spanked by the right person… She is excited to have reached this significant milestone and thrilled to discover erotic possibilities can be there for the taking. Oh! And she can be a touch up herself and talk about herself in the third person – but nothing a good spanking won’t cure!😉🤭

  • Relationship quickie – What’s yours called?

    Ok – so my gorgeous lover and I are “polyamorous friends with benefits who are sort of dating” and we’re very happy with that. And we both like being honest, but both like our privacy. In the past I have patiently explained to a Social Worker that the lovely man in my life at the time was not my partner but my FwB. But somehow despite the nods he was labelled as my partner anyway.  And in the past I have caused a frisson in my social circles by declaring my lovely companions as FwBs rather than partners or [cringe] boyfriends. And – let’s face it – lover sounds fabulous, but somewhat dramatic – especially at 70!

    So today in my Welsh chat group my fabulous polyamorous friend…(etc) was off partying elsewhere and “explained” to a newcomer to the group by the group leader as “fy mhartner/my partner” I was all ready to put them right – although pretty sure I can’t do that in Welsh(!) – when I thought – is this how I want to present myself to a new person who’s only here to improve her Welsh skills? Honesty, openness, labels, privacy and boundaries are complex…

  • Further vibe thoughts – a  personal pre-vibe historie…

    Thinking of the amazing Miriam and her enthusiasm for dildoes, sent me on a personal vibe history, so here it is!

    Unlike many, I am not a “natural” wanker.

    I suspect that simply because of the obviousness of the male genitals – and the apparent nature and socialisation of little boys along with solo exploration and info swapping – most boys discover the interestingness of their willies and wanking probably follows as naturally as night following day. And of course there will be the low-sexed, the G/god-respecting, the G/god-fearing, the other-focussed and those who have their own reasons to ignore the call or twitch in their pants!

    It seems that the so-called fairer sex are a bit more complex. Being more tucked away we are less obvious. While touching and self-soothing happen very early in both sexes, I suspect due to our anatomy, females may do it less. I personally have no memories of touching myself and I would not have been socialised to focus on my genitals. I do remember being growingly aware of the taboos around masturbation, however.

    As said previously, the sixties may have swung for some, but in South Wales it was presided over by parents and professionals from war-time experiences and religious heritages that made it a very clamped down society. The sins of Adultery and not coveting our neighbour’s wife seemed to have encompassed premarital sex and masturbation was not even discussed. I did however find references to self-pollution(!) and the dangers of such behaviour – everything from blindness to general weakness and mental illness.

    In those pre-Internet days of the sixties and seventies there was the TV and radio and magazines discussing the metaphorical swinging and as attitudes changed, I became aware that masturbation was “normal” and did no harm. I was still horrified at 17 to learn that it was known that a boy in my class had allegedly had a wank over a 70s soft porn mag. Soon I realised practically all boys were at it! I wasn’t sure about girls but I knew I didn’t!

    I was a product of my village, Catholicism, etc as said, and frankly – a bit of a prig. I wanted to know all about sex but – like drugs – had no intention of trying it for myself. And I wasn’t tempted to touch myself, so the idea that others were having sex and/or wanking just made me smug!

    And after much tortuous struggling with my conscience I fell in love and at 17, I had my first sexual relationship, The very excitement of the fact I was not only having sex but was also (in my own eyes!) very sexually sophisticated seemed satisfying enough. My reading however, made me aware that there was more to it. The odd orgasm I’d had before intercourse – when he was trying to persuade me to “go all the way” – also made me aware of possibilities but somehow most of the time I measured my ‘sexiness’ in terms of hisexcitement and my daring. I may have thought myself a feminist, but my consciousness was anything but raised!

    My moment of silent rebellion followed his excitement at an article by Germaine Greer on ‘women on top’. I was quickly fucked and then thought, “Is that it?” I squashed the thought and went for a pee. After all I loved him, didn’t I?

    At 18 and at college the relationship continued and I measured it in quantity rather than quality, proud of the fact we sometimes did it five times! All this reading however had filtered through, and I entered my next phase of sexual development.

    I was now au fait with the idea of female masturbation and occasionally performed for his pleasure, but my inner smug git was secretly proud of the fact that I never did so on my own. My discontent, however, eventually filtered through. My sex life was exciting but wouldn’t it be fun to see if I could give myself an orgasm? For some reason this thought came to me as I queued to take out books from the College library and my long squashed, vague youthful fantasies about getting spanked bubbled to the surface. There and then, in the library queue I decided I was going back to my room to play with myself. And I did. And it was fabulous. And it was secret.

  • Miriam and Molly – Wonderful women, fabulous females and irresistible icons

    I was very excited to hear Women’s Hour discussing older women and sex. And their amazing guest was the fabulous Miriam Stoppard. I have admired her for common sense approach to life and sex but not heard from her for a while. And here she was encouraging older women to have sex and do it for themselves! Interestingly she seems a great advocate for dildoes. I have nothing against them, and my early vibes were definitely penile, although usually smooth and matt or shiny rather than a full-on phallus. Anyone remember the Non Doctor? Just me…?

    As Miriam made the point that most of us are clitoral, I was surprised at the emphasis on the dildo for solo and shared pleasure. I have nothing against dildoes – and perhaps I should be more open-minded… That said – I wonder if I was the only woman to feel intimidated back in the day when I actually bought one of the fabled rabbits – other well-endowed scary vibrators are available…

    As loyal readers will know – I am very fond of bullet vibes. They are designed for clitoral stimulation and are very neat and work for me. I would advise single or two-speed only though. There are a lot of ten-speed ones out there. Sound quite good – but they’re a bit like those multi-display fairy lights – you have to go through every bloody setting until you come to the one you want – and then continue through the cycle to switch the thing off! I discovered this when I bought my lover his own vibe as he liked me using mine on him.

    And later today I learnt that the amazing Molly Parkin had died – I think of her as the campest woman I have ever seen – a fashion icon, early queer ally, brilliant writer, painter and icon of female sexual positivity! She wrote the most amazingly funny and sexy short novels with names like “Fast and Loose” and “Up and Coming”. I remember getting the giggles on the bus and in a solicitor’s office as I passed my time with her amazing heroines in the eighties. I was also shocked to learn one of my friend’s Mum’s also read her! A reminder of my earlier ageism!

    And when I was trying to navigate life as an ex-virgin/good girl wanting love and sex and not a reputation, but wanting to widen my horizons – her outrageous adventures with her “young husband” in Forum magazine fascinated me. And her later autobiographical fiction on the struggles of such a relationship touched me – as did her later honesty about the reality of her life and alcoholism in her autobiographies and in person. I was lucky to see her perform in “An Evening With…” many years ago.  

    And I was delighted to learn in later years that she did not choose the male-pleasing, sexist covers of those wonderful novels. And loved the fact she ended up very happily in a council flat and having another phase as a painter. I think of her every time I drive through Pontycymmer. R.I.P. Moll!

  • Whose orgasm is it anyway? – A quickie…

    As my lover and I are quite nice people and – I believe – very considerate in the bedroom -we do enjoy each other’s orgasms. And when he’s driven me wild with various attentions, he does like to watch me cum. And there’s something very sexy about asking his permission to use my trusty bullet when I’m in a subby place.

    And I love knowing when he’s about to cum when he’s inside me. And I also really enjoyed him cumming over me recently. I loved knowing and encouraging the orgasm and the feel of him spurting over me.

    So there we were in bed, where he’d got me very excited – it’s become a joke that he can totally control me through my breasts – but that doesn’t make it less true! And as so often, I had an amazing orgasm, and he had a very eager erection that we both played with casually. And somehow the hottest idea was for me to watch him wank himself to orgasm and to cum all over himself while we both concentrated on his cock and I encouraged him to the point of no return,

    It was hot and also played with my mind, as it was his pleasure but felt at my command, although no idea where it started or by whom. The joys of switchy spicy vanilla!

  • Dodgy duvet daysof the sedate kind…

    Officially a duvet day is “an unscheduled day’s leave from work taken to alleviate stress or pressure and sanctioned by one’s employer”. I’m not an employee, but a retiree who believes days of doing little and nesting; lolling; watching rubbish TV; or whatever floats your boat but doesn’t sap your energy are brilliant!

    When I was a worker, my workplace didn’t do duvet days, so when I struggled, my body gave me a blinding headache or diarrhoea to make me stay home. And being quite morally bound – I found it hard to lie. When my body didn’t give way and desperation forced me to lie, I would actually become ill, so I couldn’t get any pleasure out of my misery – no wonder I am fascinated by the amazing links between the brain and health!

    Now – I’ve done my research on the science of happiness and how to feel fulfilled and mentally well – I read magazine articles and have radio, TV and the internet – and know that retirement has to be more than hedonism, so I do have commitments. I am learning Welsh, am a member of several social and interest groups, I volunteer, do tai chi qi gong and attend some exercise classes. I am very aware that I choose to do these things, and when I don’t have a commitment to a task or to people I actually remind myself that “there is nothing I have to do, today” and it feels wonderfully liberating. So, each day I am deciding whether to have my planned day, or wallow under my real or metaphoric duvet.

    And when I have things I feel I ought to do, or feel time pressure or a commitment to do something, I can get a real pleasure out of a minor illness or inclement weather that keeps me at home with a legitimate reason. At 70, I am lucky to be quite strong and fit but I have never broken a bone, and don’t fancy starting now! So, I have decided to avoid going out in icy weather unless I feel I have to do so.

    So having celebrated Christmas with friends, myself, my sister and my lover I had five days to myself with absolutely no external commitments, But of course, everyday stuff and various tasks that have accumulated had to be considered alongside the hedonism. And I settled into enjoying this time as outlined in my Old and New Year activities.

    And then my Friday evening was disrupted wonderfully by my sister and plans to star gaze down the coast with a bunch of astronomers! It was great, though cold enough to make me worry about ice, although chips in the car before watching “Traitors” together was fabulous.

    I had a restless night and awoke on Saturday with a “scratchy” throat and little energy and decided while not ill enough for a real day off if I was working, it was duvet day territory. And snow and ice prevented even a trip to the shop. So after a lemsip I settled down on the sofa and under my heated blanket for some serous telly-binging. It was great.

    To my surprise I got a return of energy and my Christmas tat started calling me and reminding me of the approach to 12th Night – officially the 5th – the Eve of The Epiphany. So I de-Christmased my living room and did some sorting and boxing and felt very virtuous. So – a duvet day where I got a bit of stuff done – all very good as I wondered if scratchy throat was just a passing thing.

    Nope! Sunday started with alternating blocked and runny nose plus violent sneezing fits! So once again – although no plans – an excuse to do nothing – not even get my Sunday paper as it was icy again. And – very groundhog day – despite the violence of my symptoms, they stopped quite quicky as I settled for another day of indulgence. And when I was in danger of sofasores, I did some more de-Christmasing and sorting!

    I had decided it was definitely a strange blip but over, until I got the return of the scratchy throat at bedtime – Oh, well…

  • Further knickerish thoughts

    As a spankee the thoughts around knickers and the very word caused me many a happy shiver – especially when I was in the closet and didn’t dare discuss my weird thoughts and fantasies.

    For someone who is so often commando I see a certain irony. When I first met a lovely ex – my first proper spanking relationship – I actually put some on when we first met, although we both behaved impeccably. And I later learnt I’d given him an unintended flash, rearranging myself on the beach!

    When I finally found the so-called “spanking community” on-line I was amazed at the love of what I consider “gym knickers” – an unattractive garment I wore only to P.E. with a gym skirt. Others wore them under their uniform for modesty/security and I guess helped foster a fetish… Spankos into the whole school uniform thing took it very seriously with “proper” uniform including the dreaded gym/regulation knickers.

    Before I understood about paedophilia, I saw the whole schoolgirl look as a fun and easy fancy dress option. I did however, aspire to the older St. Trinian look of short skirt and flashing stocking tops, naturally teamed with the pretty and somewhat scanty scraps of nylon my friends and I favoured in the seventies.

    I have fond memories of shopping trips at the beginning of the college term when I was a student. If we couldn’t find anything else to buy, we would add to our collection of “scanties”. I seem to remember BHS or CA doing an amazing line in such wispy pieces of nonsense – very saucy, but surprisingly robust with a proper cotton gusset, despite the sometimes sheer nylon and daring side-ties.

    I hate the word “panties” which just sounds American and mealy-mouthed – especially when used to describe all such garments including the most sturdy and triple-gusseted! I can just about cope with it being used to describe the cute wispy things of my youth but still hesitate to accept it.

    I love knickers, drawers and even pants when such items are under discussion in a sexual or spanking scenario. And I love describing clothing when writing erotica. I have great fun with historic scenarios where bloomers, French knickers or directoire ones can add to the fun.

    And although so-many of Ms Austen’s characters could have featured in a spanking scenario, my understanding is that they too went commando!

  • The Dap – A short story extract

    I was enjoying some Doctor Who specials last night and was very amused at the regenerated Mr Tennant’s delight at his footwear, which he described as “daps”. This is a dialect word I know to be common in South Wales and the West Country – and the word I know for plimsolls. I thought it a nice nod to the fact he was filming in South Wales and reminded me of one of my short stories that featured said footwear.

    It’s a situation arising from a dodgy human sale for charity – in my defence – these used to be quite common, and this one features very posh politically incorrect non-woke toffs!

    The dap – An extract

    “Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?”

    Silence.

    “I admit I’ve behaved badly. I’d like to make it up to you and I’d like you to pay the agreed sum to the charity.”

    And still silence

    “Spike! What else can I do?”

    And of course she knew. And Spike knew that she did.

    “What do you think, Isobel?”

    “Tell me what I can do to make amends that will ensure that you pay the charity the agreed amount.”

    And so Spike told her.

    “As you so rightly deduced I have a favoured method of dealing with bad behaviour. You, Isobel, were late, unapologetic, sneering and surly. I agree there was some provocation for the slap, but I simply told you the unpalatable truth about yourself and my decision. It was inexcusable but I believe in appropriate punishment and pardon. If you agree to make amends I’ll pay up and say no more about your behaviour.”

    Isobel realised that despite her rage against him and her darkest suspicions he had not made a move she could honestly challenge. Against her desire to see him as a scoundrel her instincts told her he was a man of his word – and a smug, self-righteous bastard!

    Hands on hips and breathing deeply, a defiant black-clad and booted Isobel faced her nemesis. “What is my punishment?”

    The handsome young man faced the impossibly vibrant and sexy maid of his dreams and imagined the delights of lifting her skirts and lowering her knickers.

    “I shall take a dap to you for your lateness, beat you for your lack of apology and for your surliness and spank you further for the slap.”

    Isobel trembled in horror but how could she be surprised? What else could she have expected? She knew she had foolishly put herself into his power. The thought of Spike doing those things to her filled her with dread. Somewhere, though, she knew he wanted her and was too proud to admit it. The power was not all his. In her humiliation she could still deny him. She wondered about his intentions towards her skirts and silk knickers. She knew instinctively that she would be denied the protection of her skirt and layered petticoats. She wondered if he’d dared take down her knickers… She was tempted to negotiate for their continued protection but that would mean discussing them with him…

    Isobel realised the absurdity of risking having her knickers lowered rather than discussing them with Spike but her illogical pride denied her the possibility of such plea-bargaining. And what fiendish device was a ‘dap’? And how would he beat her? Or spank her? What had she let herself in for? She knew she could walk out.

    She was unwilling to risk his negative report on her ‘services’, she told herself as despite her anger and contempt she again felt instinctively that the smug, smiling toad was actually a man of his word. And that smug, speculative smile of his! Of course it wasn’t sexy! She found younger men crude and uncouth. It was a challenge! How dare the whippersnapper! He thought she was afraid of him and his silly bargain? She’d show him! Breeding would out!

    “Very well, then, ‘Spike’,” – drawled and delivered hands on hips, fully aware of her long booted, nylon-clad legs, the rise and fall of her provocative breasts and the second skin of her bodice. Only Isobel could put such a sneer and question into a man’s name. Her attitude might get her beaten harder but she’d be damned if she’d let him intimidate her! – “How do you want me?”

    And they both knew that he longed to spank her and fuck her and had done so from the moment he first set eyes on her. In his own way, Spike was as cool as Isobel. He knew he’d earned the right to spank this impossible, provocative woman but only with her agreement and that would be enough. Like Isobel he wasn’t into begging. If she chose to walk out – fine – a pity and a waste – but fine.

    “Id like you to stand in front of the workbench, quietly and politely while I fetch the dap. Thank you”

    Again, Isobel performed her long-legged laid-back swagger to the bench; now clear of Spike’s neatly sorted pictures and paraphernalia. She leaned nonchalantly against the sturdy table, smiled and raised her eyebrows as Spike grinned back; then equally casually sauntered out of the room…

    Oh, hell! What was a fucking dap when it was at home? Now that Spike was out of the room Isobel’s smile felt like a death rictus as she fearfully contemplated her unknown in detail, but otherwise sealed fate. She was glad of the table behind her as her legs went weak and she leaned her bottom against the comfort of the wood, safe in its protection at least until Spike’s return.

    His casual but suspiciously speedy return was greeted by an apparently relaxed and slightly bored Isobel nonchalantly leaning against the workbench where he’d left her. He was not fooled. The slight tremble to her lip and the flush of her gorgeously restricted but displayed breasts denoted excitement or fear. He was happy to take either or both. He was amused by her double take at the old-fashioned black plimsoll in his hand.

    “What were you expecting?” he asked unable and unwilling to hide his amusement. Didn’t you know I had a Welsh upbringing? This, sweet Isobel, is a dap. I thought you lived in Wales…Obviously impervious to the local culture up at the Grange…. It was used on naughty children in Welsh schools when you were a girl. This is your chance to test its efficacy, sweetheart.”

    How dare he! The nerve of the man! Isobel’s fury at his familiarity mingled with relief as she viewed the ‘dap’. After years of horse riding, she wasn’t scared of that thing! As her smile bid him to do his worst her relief was short-lived as she realised that he would be getting a very undignified view of her while ‘doing his worst’. The reality sunk in at his words.

  • …and in with the new…

    Happy New year – officially!

    I like to have a positive start and have had a lovely day which may just sound a tad boring, but worked for me!

    Had a leisurely start and a bath once the house had heated up and read P&P from the tub – very un-Austen behaviour I suspect! I forgot what a page-turner she could be – especially when a woman’s reputation hangs in the balance…

    I made myself a “proper” dinner – a mix of fresh and leftover ingredients but still a proper roast with lashings of gravy…

    I planned a walk, but was put off by the weather, although I did have a little stroll in the early evening.

    I’ve watched TV and listened to the radio and even did some laundry – the towels that we took to the naturist resort – happy memories! They’ve been slipping down the priority list because not needed and bulky. And also, not awfully dirty, but what we sat on to protect the furniture at the site! So now they’re all ready for our next naturist adventure in the Spring…

    I’m a bit ache-y, so some solo tai-chi qi gong to follow I think, but otherwise a very indulgent evening.

    I have been musing on my past and thoughts and ideas. I have a vivid memory of being “single”, reading until 2 in the morning and enjoying a garlic sausage roll and cuppa. I remember thinking how lucky I was to enjoy being single or coupled-up as the two states had different pleasures and I enjoyed both. I tended to have spent most nights with lovers when in a relationship up to that point.

    I would never have imagined being polyamorous in my seventies or having a life where I get to enjoy the single and coupled-up pleasures simultaneously!

  • Out with the old…

    I hate saying happy New year before it actually happens, but WhatsApp is full of effusive greetings. I like to start the new year as positively as possible, and this year have also ended 2025 positively and delightfully as well – and very spinsterish!

    I am home alone once again – and – again – happily so! I have entertained my sister and dog, and spent a couple of days with my lover so have had a lovely extended Christmas. And today I am back to spinsterish pleasures. I made an amazing roast lamb and roast veg soup, did some necessary washing up and freezer-sorting plus some laundry. I have lolled a lot once more and plans for solo tai chi and/or a walk evaporated…

    I did however watch lots of “Younger” and some Doctor Who specials and am up to date with the news and The Archers… This was tempered by my progress with Pride and Prejudice – just as good as remembered. Was wondering how to follow Ms Austen, and luckily my lover bought me the latest two Richard Osmonds – I do love contrasts…

    I also did an unplanned errand of mercy for a neighbour, but unsuccessfully as the car dealership was unsurprisingly closed at 4.30 on New Year’s Eve… Oh, well – I tried…

    Lots of premature ejaculation of the firework variety going on at the moment. Seems very inappropriate, but I’m sure it makes sense to the celebrants…

  • Spinsterish Christmas thoughts on “Love Actually”, Austen and knickers…

    …though not necessarily in that order…

    I woke happily and early to my turkey crown gently cooking in the slow cooker and prepared for a day of indulgence. I decided to be properly dressed, and as planning on trousers, required knickers. Most of the time I go commando, but not usually with trousers or tights. Although choosing to dress in fresh clothes, I decided sluttishly and wantonly that yesterday’s knickers would do…

    I am happy to get a second day’s wear out of my underwear if I and them are reasonably clean and I’m not socialising. And yes – I do do the sniff test!  This is a totally different mindset from what my friend calls the “stink as I stand” philosophy where I do not wash for several days due to feeling poorly and apathetic – aware that I am definitely not fit for company but wallowing in my weakness and illness. I enjoy the feral nature of metaphorically licking my wounds in my sweaty bed aware of my stinky, poorly self. Luckily this is followed by the pleasure of that first wobbly bath or shower, a clean bed and fresh clothes – definitely a time for fresh knickers if knickers are required.

    And having recently talked with pleasure at my lover’s bodily fluids, it seems the time to make a comparison with the great Marilyn Monroe! I have very little in common with the actress, but I remember discovering that she rarely wore knickers and didn’t like to wash too soon after sex; revelling in the imprint of her lover. Apparently, she had to be tactfully made aware of the need for a wash!

    I can totally empathise. I love the thought and knowledge of carrying traces of my lover after we have been together. I put off washing for as long as decently possible and enjoy feeling the evidence of our time together on my body. So far, nobody has had to have a tactful word!

    My Christmas day was filled with a lot of lolling about and reclining on the sofa, but I did manage an impressive turkey roast dinner for one. I had five sprouts as a nod to tradition but lots of roast veg, new potatoes, stuffing, pigs in blankets and gravy with said turkey. Turkey a tad boring, but rest was impressive and cooked the way I like.

    As well as festive music and “Strictly”, my chosen films were “Love Actually” and “E.T.” Today I read a piece about “Love Actually” saying it was a great film if you overlook the dodginess of the doorstep/placard scene! There seemed to be an assumption that its ‘stalkerishness’ was an accepted fact – well – not by me! For me – he was in love and cared about his friend deeply and was doing his best to be honourable – and – I believe – successfully so. It seems, he wanted her to know how he felt without expecting anything from her, except her knowledge of his feelings. A sympathetic kiss from her seemed an appropriate benevolence and a closing of a chapter.

    Of course if it were Austen, he would have suffered in silence and never declared himself – if he was the Elinor type! If he was Marianna, the whole world would have known! But of course,  we can now correspond with members of the opposite sex or look inside their houses without it assumed we are betrothed or be forever shamed for our forwardness… I love the contrast between the wanton and the controlled she captures so well. I was up half an hour past my planned bedtime to finish “Sense and Sensibility” and thoroughly enjoyed it. “Pride and Prejudice” is next.

    And – as ever – lovely to exchange messages on that new-fangled WhatsApp with my lover!