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Thursday night, 10:15 PM. I’m eating cereal for dinner again because I opened the fridge, saw something that might have been leftover pasta, and decided Lucky Charms were the safer choice.

This is apparently my life now.

My name is Elder Donovan—well, that’s my pen name because my real name is attached to thirty years of transportation safety engineering reports and I’d prefer my colleagues not google me and find discussions about spanking benches. Yes, that’s a real thing. Yes, I own one. Used, from Craigslist, because apparently I’m practical even when buying sex furniture.

I’m sixty-one, widowed three years ago, and currently attempting to figure out this thing called BDSM with a woman named Rose who finds my confusion both endearing and hilarious. We were both what people call “vanilla” before we met—meaning our previous sex lives were predictable, gentle, missionary-position-with-the-lights-off territory. Comfortable. Safe. Nothing wrong with vanilla, except we both apparently had secret desires we’d never voiced.

I discovered this through what Rose calls my “spreadsheet approach to kink”—because yes, I made actual spreadsheets. Multiple versions. Color-coded. With formulas. Is it metaphorical? Sometimes, but I am a nerd.

She discovered it by hitting her foot on a fucking machine I hadn’t put away properly. That’s also a real thing. German engineering, surprisingly quiet motor, currently lives in what used to be her kids bedroom now.

Three years ago I was a recently widowed engineer who traveled four days a week and thought my sex life was over. Now I’m… well, still a recently widowed engineer who travels four days a week, but one who apparently owns equipment I can’t pronounce and makes Excel charts about things I never imagined spreadsheets could track.

Rose says our journey might be worth documenting. Not as experts—last week I googled “how to untie a knot” during what was supposed to be a scene—but as two people figuring it out in real time. Messily. With frequent pauses for research and the occasional equipment malfunction.

These Thursday check-ins are where I’ll share the fumbling process. The spreadsheets that make Rose laugh until she cries. The protocols that fail spectacularly. The moments when my engineering brain collides with activities that can’t be optimized but somehow work anyway.

Fair warning: I have no idea what I’m doing most of the time. I’m learning that some things can’t be calculated, but they can be lived authentically, one confused Thursday at a time.

How’s your Thursday?