Tag Archives: old men

No Cunty for Old Men

Okay, sorry, but OMG! That title just popped into my addled brain! I crack myself up! Now, on to your irregularly scheduled bloggage:

I’ve been trying to become attracted to older men. Trying to envision myself having sex with guys who have grey hair. Or a paunch. Everywhere I go I look around and attempt to imagine a scenario in which I might be successfully seduced by…that guy, over there, with the pleated trousers and receding hairline…or that man, across the way, with the stained tie and frown lines as deep as the Grand Canyon. Or maybe that man in the coffee shop, who looks like his life was over a decade ago. No? No.

I saw a man on the subway who was handsome in a rugged, carpenter sort of way; he had great hands. I could’ve caressed his face, even though most of the youth had been drained from it. And a few days ago a lanky, grey-haired guy walked into the bar and I felt that “zing” you hear tell about. Sadly he wasn’t as moved by me. In fact, I don’t think I even registered on his radar at all. He may have been my age but I’d bet his girlfriend isn’t.

There’s this guy in my extended social circle. Let’s call him Bongo. For some inexplicable reason I hate him. HATE him. He’s about my age, short, somewhat round with lots of white hair. He’s a seriously happy person, always smiling manically. He looks sort of like a garden gnome. I’ve never actually had a conversation with him so I don’t have any rational reason for my hatred. He appears in party photos bare-chested and sweaty and it makes me cringe. I think, “Look at this old man, hanging out with the hot chicks and pretending he’s still in his 20s.” And then I think, “Hmm, I’m sure people say the same thing about me.” Shit.

It didn’t take too much introspection to realize that my hatred of this man — and all saggy older men — is merely self-hatred. I hate that I’m getting old. Older. Er, too old. Or whatever. I hate hate hate it. It doesn’t matter how I look. It doesn’t matter how I feel. When I click 1959 as my year of birth, I’m automatically categorized as a senior citizen. The dating site logarithms match me up with men who look like accounting professors. If I were to actually show up on their doorsteps I’m sure I’d induce coronary arrest!

It was bad enough back in the 80s when the media said a woman over 30 had as much chance of getting married as being struck by lightning. Now my chances of finding romance are somewhere around being struck by lightning, like, a dozen fucking times. I’m sure I’ve said it before but any guy over 50 who has all his hair and can see his cock without the use of a full-length mirror believes he deserves a younger woman. Way younger. Which leaves me at — yes — no cunty for old men. And no cock for cunty. Boo fucking hoo.

Not-So-Old Men

On my myriad dating sites, I’ve been encountering men who are my age but…old. Yeah, yeah, I suppose I’m old too. But as the many young men who flirt with me say, “Age is just a number.” In other words, I may be 52 but I’m not exactly ancient. I’m fit and sexy (or so I’ve been told) and I don’t dress in caftans or mom jeans or other stereotypical “old lady” clothing. I’m culturally aware and live in a cosmopolitan city — THE city, thankyouverymuch! I don’t need a walker or daily meds or orthopedic shoes or any other senior citizen-associated clap-trap. I work out, I go to clubs and parties, participate in events and, well, generally don’t conduct myself like an older person.

Therefore, I expect the men I date to be equally old-but-not-old. Ya know? It’s a difficult thing to quantify. And certainly not something that can be spelled out in an online dating profile. Not that the men who contact me even read my profile. I find that by saying what I don’t want, I come off sounding negative. So I decided to provide examples, here, of not-so-old men, men who are somewhere around my age but don’t look or dress or act like it. Perhaps this will provide some guidance to guys who are at or nearing the 50-year mark. I can’t say exactly what it is about these men that could be effectively used as “advice” but whatever they’re doing, it’s keeping them young.

I spotted my friend Adrian at an erotic event years ago, intrigued by his outfit: a button down shirt, linen skirt and corset. What can I say? The man has style. He lives an interesting life and is never boring. As you can see, grey hair isn’t a problem. His baldness is merely another attractive accoutrement. I would add that love always makes an attractive accessory.

Spyral will be 50 in July, which means he’s a few years younger than me. But I’m including him because he doesn’t look anywhere near 50. And he embodies the vibe I’m talking about: a youthfulness that belies age.

My friend Decibel is also older than I am but manages to wear his age with grace and a certain sense of humor. He has boundless energy and an electric smile.

I don’t know Fred as well as I know the other men. He’s a new friend — and a really happy guy — I met on OKCupid. I was drawn to his profile pic because it’s so smiley! In person he radiates as much optimism as he does in his photo. And he’s three years older than me! Hmm, perhaps it’s happiness that keeps these men looking so young. It’s certainly working for Fred!

What’s depressing about this topic is that these men — and most men like them — usually wind up dating much younger women. I suppose it makes sense; if you can bag a young babe, why not? Which then leaves those of us over 50 with all the sad sack Santas and other scary old guys. My friend Sandra was recently seeing a guy who she thought was awesome…until they were in bed, where it became a case of him “rubbing the magic lantern” and his cock “flopping in her palm like a guppy.” First of all, wouldn’t you think that a 60-year-old man would know something about pleasuring a woman? At least a little more than merely “rubbing her down there?” And, of course, there’s the obvious topic of older men, their (perhaps occasional) inability to get it up and the resulting reliance on Viagra. As funny as it is to visualize this guy’s flaccid “flopping guppy,” there’s also the grim reality. Sigh. It sure isn’t pretty when having sex becomes…work. Which, for Sandra, it wasn’t. And she said so. I’m sure Señor Flopping Guppy didn’t need to be told his cock was basically useless.

I can empathize with the guy…I guess. All our lives, we women have had to work at what goes on between our legs: you get your period, you deal with it — tampons or pads, stained panties and jeans, missed gym classes or sitting out swimming. Wet enough or need lube? To shave or not to shave? Trim? How much? And don’t even get me started on the whole douching/feminine odor bullshit. Even we low maintenance types are required to pay attention to our bodies. But men? Their dicks have been perpetually at the ready. Until the one day it…isn’t. So when they initially encounter a malfunction, I’m sure it can be pretty damn devastating. Ack. I don’t even want to think about it! Is a flopping guppy better than no guppy at all? At least a guy with a limp guppy can kiss. Can’t he? Oy vey.

I recently heard a story about an 80-year-old woman falling in love and getting married. Maybe I just need to wait until I’m old enough to be cool with dating old dudes… But I ain’t there yet! However, I am patiently awaiting Mr. Not-So-Old.

Day 6: January 16
1. 0 minutes of meditating. Got up late and was out the door too quickly.
2. 90 minutes of working out.
3. Blogging/writing. Of the above!
4. I think I wound up watching evening TV. Oh well…
5. Still picking up after the last few boxes I brought up.
6. Socializing: 2 hours of lunch with a friend. Hm, was that all?