Half imagined stories come and go without being written down. The garden is awakening and demands attention. My guitar stands idle and dusty as my finger tips soften. And now when I should be out running to clear my mind to work through Sunday I decide that I want to visit Wicked Wednesday and finally post something again. When I do I will learn of your stories and challenges and however briefly and distantly share something with kindred spirits. There has been a part of my life lived in secret for many years but the warmth and honesty of this community has helped me to not only come to terms with that but share the pleasure it brings.
These last few months have been hard. I know that these things are relative and try to keep a sense of perspective - I have much to be grateful for and the horrors that have happened in this same time period to others make my travails feel insignificant. But still I have a nagging sense that I am not coping as well as I should and that I am making mistakes that only make things worse. Writing this is a displacement activity, of course, because the deadline is approaching to finish something that I took on without any thought to help someone out. If I can finish it I will be paid but I really don't believe in what I am doing. Any yet to not finish it will not only let people down but will damage my sense of self worth so in an hour or two I must try again. I have almost recovered from the fall now but everyday I am reminded that two months without exercise takes a considerable toll on a body this old. I still don't understand how or why I fell and that nags at me too. My wife's illness is debilitating for us both. It may have been developing for years but still came out of a clear blue sky. It isn't life threatening but she can no longer do the things that she enjoys, things that are good for her mental health and help her keep the drinking to a manageable level. She is determined not to be disabled but watching her pain come and go is difficult. We will shortly begin the process of seeking surgical intervention and we know it is the only way to restore some of her mobility but it will be a hard road and impact us both for many months to come. The plans we had been making for a post Covid world are all now on hold and we increasingly live in the present. As I always do I have taken on too much work and some of things I agreed to do have not worked out as I hoped and I spend long hours trying to deal with them. Failure, even, when it is through no fault of my own is not something I accept easily. My libido has been dropping out for days at time but hasn't gone away completely. As always it can be triggered in unexpected ways but in the current circumstances that isn't always the welcome distraction it can be in better times. My wife's illness may well mean that our sex life which has been intermittent as best these last few years is over completely. I have found solace with Julia many times and while our relationship remains one of service provider and client we talk in between meetings and I know that she too has had a very difficult time during Covid. Each time things seem to be looking up she has encountered a fresh obstacle and her grit and determination in the face of adversity are extraordinary. I need the physical solace she offers me and I need it soon. They way she gives her body when we are together helps me mentally ans well as physically. I sometimes feel guilty that I feel no guilt but the title of that book from the 70s - The Joy of Sex - sums up what she gives me. (And to be honest I never got to do some of the things I read about in the book until I met Julia!) This was supposed to be about a Limited Edition something I have one of two examples of and I enjoy that feeling of slight superiority that their ownership offers but right now the Limited Edition I really crave is a day all to myself to relax, enjoy music, food, the trees, the flowers that beginning to emerge and then to have utterly uninhibited sex with Julia. Somehow before this day is over I will finally finish this damned piece of professional writing and then scour the diary to find a few hours when I can escape and let Julia work her magic on me.
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"The Girls in their Summer Dresses" is a short story written by Irwin Shaw in 1939 that addresses a way some men behave and it is as fresh and relevant as when it was written 80 years ago. I wish I could write half as well but it served as the inspiration for this piece which had been half written for ages. Bridget's prompt is "Turns ons" - and it all came together because right now my response is simply "Girls In Their Summer Dresses" For three days the city had grown warmer and that morning he rummaged through the wardrobe to find a linen jacket and a shirt that would have been overly bold for a man of his years most days but was acceptable when the sun shone this brightly. As he made his way to the Underground station, he couldn’t fail to notice the girls too had rummaged through their wardrobes and were wearing flimsy pieces of cotton that revealed long pale legs or last year's tops that were now just a little tight but very revealing.
The train was crowded and he tried hard not to stare at the legs and breasts on display. Some belonged to girls who were young enough to be his granddaughter and it would have been utterly inappropriate for him to give even a hint of appreciation. Others though were below faces of mature beauty, faces that betrayed the fact that they had witnessed some serious living. Here he felt he could allow his gaze linger just a little longer. Once he would have looked for the prettiest young girl and smiled his special smile, the one that always seemed to elicit a smile in return. Sometimes that was all but once in a while it led to something more in the naive way it can when you are young. The older women brought back memories of a different time however. A time when it wasn’t the smile but the Saville Row suits and Rolex watches that made clear what sort of man he was and might lead the right woman to make the signs he was seeking. A shy smile and a slight opening of the legs and as she moved to the exit an accidental touching of hands and a backward glance. And once in a while that glance would ascertain that he was indeed following. Those were the women who understood instinctively how it was going to be and were on their knees as soon as the door closed but others took longer to accept that while he would be gentle and generous to them, first they must submit to him. Now it was only women in their fifties who gave him those small signs indicating their availability and try as he might they simply did not arouse him and so he had learned to avoid eye contact with them. These days he found it better to pay for his deviant pleasures. The women were beautiful and knew exactly what was expected but they were kind too and told him what they both knew were sweet lies about his looks and performance. He did, however, believe that at least they appreciated the effort he made – no wandering nasal hairs or foul breath for him. His reverie was interrupted by a young woman with face of quite extraordinary prettiness who stood up and approached him. “Sir, please take my seat” This was thing he feared most. He knew his looks had faded yet he believed he was still “interesting” but seemingly this morning his appearance had evoked only pity. Nevertheless he was nothing if not a gentleman, or so he liked to believe, and he demurred but she responded by saying that she was getting off soon. “Do please have the seat, Sir, it is so hot this morning my legs are sticking to the seat!" Without thinking he glanced down at those legs which were as pretty as her face. He thanked her and took the seat feeling conflicted in the extreme - both humiliated and turned on. Now he was seated it was hard not to look at the girl and he noticed that her arms were lightly tattooed and it also appeared that there was a hint of a larger one just emerging below the hem of her flowered dress. He had not registered the facial piercing either when she offered him her seat but it did nothing to lessen her attractiveness - indeed it hinted that there might be other, hidden, treats to be explored. He looked up again and was surprised to realise that she was smiling down at him and he couldn’t stop himself smiling back despite feeling so old. The train was now slowing down and she moved towards the exit and he looked away and in doing so missed her backward glance . As the train began to move again, he realised she was standing on the platform looking at him through the train window and as their eyes met, she shrugged and smiled again but this time rather sadly and then turned away. He was puzzled by this and for several moments struggled to make sense of it. Then it came to him and his heart sank and he silently cursed his own stupidity. No one under 50 ever calls someone “Sir” these days unless they are preparing to submit… |
Old MikeAn old man called Mike remembers sex in London before the internet, rants about the hypocrisy of today's society and shares some links to the best companions around today...... Archives
November 2022
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