I’ve been thinking a lot about
sex and lust. (What man doesn’t; even the 58-year-old variety). And over the
last few years I’ve realised that my inclinations towards the female form are
changing. I find I’m less and less activated by the exposed flesh of young
women, while my proclivity towards the older form seems to grow stronger with
each passing year.
Of course, this transition may be
an adaptive one, a part of man’s evolution. It would be crushing for a bloke to
yearn after something he can no longer attain – someone like me, on the cusp of
drawing his state pension and lacking both millionaire status and an enormous
phallus, is never going to attract beautiful ladies who are half his age.
I should emphasise at this point
that I never have, and never will, seek sexual liaisons with anyone other than
Mrs Jones. But, to repeat an old adage, there’s no harm in looking. And now,
when I look – in the street, pub, or on Naughty America TV – my taste is
evolving in the direction of a mature spruce with more concentric rings around
the trunk.
A real woman should not own a
sculpted, porcelain-like, body. And boob jobs are a definite no-no; when on the
move, and unsupported, breasts should not remain firm and static in their
silicon straitjacket but should swing, independently of each other, like two
pendulous orbs frantically striving to get as far away from each other as
possible. A lipid cushion around the girth and buttocks never fails to please a
heterosexual, middle-aged male, being more rewarding to touch and warmer to
snuggle against in the cold of night.
Is there a finer sight than a
mature, voluptuous lady – naked as the day she was born – wobbling in your
direction? (Sweet baby Jesus, I’m going all unnecessary at the thought).
So if you are an 80 year-old
mother of a daughter, and see me approaching, I suggest you lock her away for
her own safety. Indeed, you might wish to take cover yourself as, when I think
about it, isn’t there something weirdly alluring about dentures, wrinkles and arthritic
limbs.
** Alas, Mrs Jones refused to pose for the photograph - women, eh; I'll never understand them - so I had to import one courtesy of stockimages at FreeDigitalPhotos.net. **
