Friday, 2 December 2016

A woman should wobble

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 **