Thursday, 6 September 2012

Sexual angst of a 53-year-old man

                                                               

Mrs Jones and I have been a partnership for 31 years. During our 20s we creased the sheets with lusty regularity, fully immersed in the sensual pleasures of our smooth, lithe bodies. Everything happened naturally, without the need for introspection. This carnal abandon persisted throughout our 30s, albeit less often, the introduction of two children into the family unit acting to restrict opportunities for rumpy-pumpy. Despite the reduced frequency, my sexual performance remained top-notch (even though I say so myself - Mrs Jones might have a different view) apart from the occasional booze-related droop.

Then at some point in my mid-40s that sneaky bastard called Age started to wreak its own rancid brand of mischief. One evening, while stepping out of the shower, Age compelled me to inspect myself in the mirror. Horror! I was no longer a handsome young buck. Facial wrinkles, greying locks and an unwanted fold of skin hanging under the jowls like an over-used hammock provided damning evidence of my demise.

I lingered in front of the mirror, frozen by the creeping realisation of age-related decline. I had sprouted hair in all the wrong places, unsightly bristles spewing out of my nostrils and ears. My chest and abdomen were carpeted by wild, uneven tresses, an increasing proportion being grey; when I stared at my torso the pale bits seemed to spell out the message, “has-been.” There was even a triangular patch at the base of my spine, a kind of dorsal pubic hair.

This sobering realisation of bodily decay began to impair my sexual performance. Rather than being fully immersed in the act of making love, much of my mind was located on the bedroom ceiling, imagining how I would appear to a spectator. Where once I had envisaged smooth, iron-girder buttocks pumping athletically like Brad Pitt’s Achilles in the film Troy, the image in my head now more closely resembled Robbie Coltrane’s Hagrid getting to grips with Madame Maxime in Harry Potter.

And to add to my growing self-consciousness I became obsessed with the size of my manhood. In my younger years I had no anxieties in this department. As a teenager at school in the communal showers after a sporting event I was never the victim of the “tiny todger” jibes, unlike some of my more unfortunate class-mates. I had always assumed I scored in the average range for penile length and, when an occasional doubt intruded into my mind, would reassure myself with the mantra that size doesn’t matter. But now I was increasingly inspecting the size of my genitalia in the mirror, from every angle, but always with the same disappointment. Let’s just say my meat was shrivelling northwards while my two vegetables were heading south!

During this period of self-doubt about my sexual prowess, I read a magazine article in a Sunday newspaper describing how male porn stars shave off their pubic hair so as to make their willies appear longer. Cue weekly, hazardous encounters with my electric shaver – I’d defy any man to trim his hedge with the Power-Comb of a Braun Series 5 without drawing blood!

When I reached that sobering 50-year-old milestone, my declining self-image formed a devastating coalition with my internal physiology (something to do with the blood vessels losing their springiness) to produce an escalating number of sexual failures. All seemed lost. The Jones’s sex life seemed to be on a downward trajectory. That was before I encountered what is, without doubt, the pharmaceutical industry’s most useful contribution to the civilised world: Viagra! But I’ll leave my experiences of taking this drug for a future post.          


      
  


16 comments:

  1. You seem to be lacking the one ingredient that makes growing old manageable--a sense of humor. I never had the heroic physique you were obviously blessed with so I've had to laugh my way through life. Believe me, if you make a woman laugh for twenty minutes she'll enjoy it more than a five minute poke.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Wow Stephen, five minutes? What a stayer!

      Delete
  2. You have the ability to make any subject humorous :) my experience has been that men don't get older, they get better :) if only the same could be said for women.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Did I not read somewhere that women reach their sexual peak around 40ish whereas males reach theirs at 18?

      Delete
  3. this is funny! i'm here from bpotw.
    i hope the female peek is around 40! i'm 37 and still waiting for it. oh to feel like a 15 year old boy all the time!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Nature's Trick:
      Women peak in their late 30's/early 40s.
      Men peak in their early 20s/late teens...?
      Crap, crap, and double crap.

      Delete
  4. Thanks for dropping by, Sherilin.

    Your best years may be ahead of you!

    ReplyDelete
  5. I'm here because Sherilin advised me to have a look-see (not at...YOU know). I didn't have time to read, but after a quick glance (not at YOU know), I knew we had similar senses of humor. I just now had time to read the full Monty.
    Nicely done, sir, nicely done.
    I'd say, "My hat's off to you," but I don't want anyone to see my bald spot.
    Now I'll go have a look at (YOU know).
    Just to make sure it's still there.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Do like I do, when it is time to get new glasses...don't!

    ReplyDelete
  7. At 59, I well understand your plight. Alas, there are things that tend to lose priority with age. As energy levels fall and age also affects the efforts and appearance of a long time partner (mine is 33 years, so I'm right there with you) one wonders if the effort is worth the backache and chance of heart attack! lol Checker, anyone? :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for the empathy, Rich. I continue to delude myself that whatever I've lost as far as aesthetics and stamina I make up for with technique! And if it was ultimately to end in heart-attack there are a lot worse ways to go.

      Delete
  8. Hmmm can't wait for THAT post! I love the dorsal hair description. I think I may have seen that on my own hubby :))

    ReplyDelete
  9. Your hubby sounds like me, the missing link!

    Thanks, as always, for you interest.

    ReplyDelete
  10. OMG, this is hilarious!!! I mean, I feel bad (of course, knowing we'll all be there at some point), but you tell it so well and so funny! Love it! The "over-used hammock" cracked me up!

    ReplyDelete
  11. Glad you enjoyed it, Kate - I appreciate your interest.

    ReplyDelete