The three greatest lies in the western world are alleged to be:
- Your cheque is in the post
- Of course I’ll still respect you in the morning … and,
- I’m from HR and I’m here to help you.
Bearing in mind my pal Regina Puckett‘s belief that “…there’s nothing better than the feeling of falling into love…” I’ll use number 2 as a reference point. Fact is, I fall in love quite often. Only one issue really … I’m a man.
What came first? Thinning hair or Creaking knees?
One day, I noticed tiny crow’s-feet. A while later, a wrinkle creased the smoothness of my forehead. Before I knew it my 6 pack was a 12 pack.
Next, OMG, gravity added a slight droop—who said pendulous—to the flesh around my belt-buckle as extra pounds of non-muscle (If you like the word flab, you use it) hugged my torso. Sad to say that was nearly twenty years ago. Things only started to improve recently … at least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Juices and things
I may not be as physically entrancing as Don Juan, Casanova, Byron or any of the magnificent denizens of Hollywood. However, I still feel more than a platonic interest when I meet or see an attractive woman.
A gentle smile, some silken curves, a knowing eye and a hint of fun … magic.
Then there’s a light stroking touch on the back of a hand or forearm, an earthy laugh, a warm hug … wonderful … utterly delightful. Should this lead to a bedroom scene?
I Like Sam’s Tone
Gotta face the facts, I’m not the man I was. Time moves on, and with it the tone of my muscles. Recently, I read Sam Russell’s A Bed of Barley Straw. She engaged me in a great story, sharing the ups and downs (sic), silliness and foul-ups we are all so capable of—what a gift.
I better not leave out Virginia Gray, writer of The Carrot. What an enjoyable take on the world of ambition, business and love.
Schmaltz or Better?
I’ve always enjoy a happy ending if the plot allows. Add to that a passionate night of love, forgiveness, redemption and exhausted satisfaction over a shared glass of Champagne. Okay, maybe I’d need to plea bargain the “night” to a shorter timeframe nowadays, and the “drained exhaustion” might morph into a shared bout of snoring.
I’m in danger of becoming a Romance fan. I’m often caught up in the schmaltz of a movie. Sometimes the sex scenes in a film are, at the very least, er… compelling.
Meeting a lovely person of indeterminate age, feeling a mutual liking, sensing the heart, I wonder … imagine … and don’t feel the worse for it. Nor do I feel an obligation to seduce or be seduced. And, if it ever happens I’ll report it here …
President Jimmy Carter said: “I’ve looked on a lot of women with lust. I’ve committed adultery in my heart many times.” Playboy, 1976. If a thoroughly decent US President can be honest about it … maybe most males should own up.
Vive les Similitudes
I wonder just how different older men are to maturer women? Have we common sensibilities? If so, maybe I could write a Romance? How many romantic authors are men? The women in my novels are assertive, feisty and sensual. You can see me talk about it. As a writer I want female characters who are more than two-dimensional lusty ladies with ginormous boobs. A man wrote me the other day and said he was falling for my female baddie, wow!
Get right down to it
My interest in the opposite sex is as strong as ever. How’s yours?
Imagine coffee or a glass of wine with a friends of both sexes? Bantering, joking and laughing away our time, perhaps even flirting?
Wow, what fun, and no obligation to get involved with anyone … apart from the delightful French widow who wants to show me her etchings …