(Planet Me)
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Girls, Girls, Girls

Am I becoming a dirty old man? I suspect not. On Friday, the train is full of drunk girls. Short skirts and attitude. I swear the way she’s sitting if it wasn’t for the shadow I could see actual minge.

And I’m wondering… have girls got ruder, or am I becoming pruder?

I don’t remember girls being like this when I was 22. 22 was not the most amazing year for my sex life. There I was, in my prime, and yet I was… invisible.

Looking at 22 year olds and thinking… mmm, I wouldn’t refuse that offer you’ll never make. Were I a single man.

Were I a single man is a cruel phrase. I’m not. I don’t want to be. And yet for these eyes every woman in the world is almost invisible. And my glory years of desirability are receding quietly into middle aged spread and grey hairs of dignified experience. I’m looking at teenagers and thinking that yes, to some extent at least, they are sexually attractive.

And I’m hoping to myself. That my taste in women ages gracefully. I don’t want to be Old Red Eyes. The Oldest Swinger In Town.

Every town has one. The man who never settled down. At 47, he’s still in Raffles talking to women old enough to be his children – or even old enough to be his grandchildren. I don’t want to be like that. I want to grow old gracefully and see the beauty of older women as as attractive as a younger model.

It’s not about age, after all. Young girls can be horrendously immature and unbearably draining to be around. But right now, I don’t look at 50 year old women and think they’d be dynamite to be around. Unless they’re Kim Cattrall. I remember her in that Star Trek movie. I’ve never seen an episode of Sex & The City.

I hope in a few years I do think that. That I can look at someone with the years on them, and think of them as being as beautiful, and possibly more, than a twenty one year old. I’ve slept with a twenty year old. It was, to be honest, some of the most fantastic sex in my life. But I’m not ready yet to not challenge that statement by retreating into a monkish celibacy. Not yet.

Maybe by the time I think that sex could kill me with a heart attack I might consider it, though.

My glory years are long gone, and I AM a single woman! Oh, to go back to the heady days of my twenties...
I was in Liverpool in my early 20s so I thought all women wore short skirts and got drunk. ;-)
Post a Comment

<< Home

Powered by Blogger

website stats