Hot afternoon at the beach. Humid. I’m lying on my chaise lounge on the patio. The flowered canopy of the lounge is over my head blocking the hot sun. I’m looking at my rubber tree and palm trees in the garden downstairs, and the eucalyptus trees across the street. Crows are quarreling nearby and I hear the zooop-zooop of hummingbirds jockeying for position in the rubber tree. One’s mind may wander in the heat of the day to, um, inappropriate speculation.
What man, I wonder, would truthfully admit that he’d go to bed with a 91 year-old woman? When I was young, I preferred to keep company with older men. Men my own age held little interest for me. Conversation was halting and the love making clumsy and unsatisfying. Older men were considerate, mostly gentle, and grateful.
My question on this sultry afternoon, however, is where is the man who would tempt the fates for a nonagenarian tumble? And you don’t have to be 90-plus to wander into that fantasy, right ladies? Are you out there boys? All of us are listening.
When I performed my nightclub act, there was a moment halfway through the show when the music vamped behind me and I spoke directly to the audience. One night, I leaned toward an elderly couple at ringside and asked the man, “Tell me, honey, if I could grant you two wishes, what would the other one be?” And so help me, without a moment’s hesitation, the white haired gent chirped loud and clear, “To live through the first one!” It cracked up the house, including me. When I get right down to it, that’s my sentiment too. If I get lucky enough to find a youngish, skillful, and motivated stud, just let me live through it.
mvd