A Vision Of Love

Kellie stepped out of the shower. I examined her naked body, smiled, and was about to pay her compliment when she cut me off.

"You want some of this, don't you?" she said as she slid her hands along the sides of her torso and wiggled her hips. "But you're not getting any today because it's my birthday, not yours." 

I'm wasn't disappointed, Father's Day is almost here, we leave for a two month vacation in France in less than three weeks, and I have a  birthday on the twenty-first. June looks like a good month for me anyway.

Kellie is 50 years-old today, and she still looks better many women half her age. She should be flattered that I still find her sexy. That desire can't last forever, can it?

When I was younger, in my twenties, there probably wasn't a woman over 30 who I thought was hot. But as I got older, mature women got sexier. Not that younger women lost their physical appeal, I even dated a few between marriages, but my intellectual connection with them vanished. And even though I know better now, I'm still trapped by the mindset I had when I was twenty: I can't imagine ever being physically attracted to an 80 year-old. 

I'm not the only one who feels this way; the thought of octogenarian sex gives Kellie the heebie-jeebies too. Her situation may be worse than mine because she started from a different reference point. Prior to meeting me, Kellie only dated younger men – much younger men. So even though I'm only four years senior to her, she thought I was an old man the day we met. In a few more years she won't be able to sustain the fantasy that I'm Johnny Depp.

Fortunately, evolution has been kind. We are programmed to see beauty in those we love, and when love is no longer  sufficient to keep the passion alive, there's always Librido and Viagra.
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