If I were to expound on the necessities of life on earth, sex would certainly be right up there with food, water and oxygen.
As a boy, I looked forward to becoming a teenager. The changes in my body and general interests took a giant leap after I turned 13. Prior to that, I’d had crushes on girls, aware only of the basics of sex but not the full picture. After that, shifts in focus went from fishing and wandering in the woods to girls, girls, girls. Even at the time, I figured that 13 had to be the greatest age ever.
I grew up to be the guy who could fuck all night. I can remember having eight orgasms on several occasions before we both quit from exhaustion. The guy who never tired out. Never said ‘no’. Always ready, always willing. Ready to please. And to be pleased.
Now, not so much. Though I am certainly moved by sexual concepts and by Momma X (or those Latina twin sisters wearing identical stretch tights who I saw last week in Whole Foods rocking identical pear-shaped asses that looked like either one could yank a dick out by the roots) it’s all in the mind. The idea of acting on those stimuli are virtually nil for good reason:
Realistically, I’m too old to be attractive to someone sexually. Sure, some women may think I’m ‘cute’. They may even say I present a ‘sophisticated’ or ‘witty’ demeanor. But wanna fuck me? Nah.
I have to admit it’s not going to happen.
Not only because I couldn’t attract a woman; that’s been the case for quite a while. But there was a time when I could still fantasize. I could always imagine some addled tart losing her sense of judgment (or eyesight) while negotiating a warp of sanity and coming on to me.
Now, even that silly fantasy is beyond my reach. Even if something like that happened, my equipment wouldn’t respond. I can’t even get hard these days for more than a minute at a time. Of course, I know that a boner isn’t the be-all-end-all to sex. I understand that tongues, fingers, palms, arms, legs, tits, asses, noses and shoulders coupled with an extensive imagination can be effective aids to sexual pleasure. But even then I’d have to talk somebody into it. Hah!
So now that my libido isn’t what it used to be as far as capability goes, it stands to reason that I should still be able to write on the subject strictly through experience and speculation.
Not so. Seems that much of my motivation to write occurred while exploiting that testosterone-driven acceleration of hormones that I loved (and depended on) so much. Now that my libido has taken a back seat to the consequences of age, it seems ideas don’t pop into my brain as vividly. The agility of my vocabulary is failing. Where once words flowed easily, almost on their own, concepts now need constant prodding, wrestling nearly every sentence into something coherent and effective.
I’m lucky to have sublimation activities to satisfy my yearnings. As I mentioned last fortnight, I have once again increased involvement in my art and antiques business. That, and the reasons stated above have brought me to this swan song for OGG.
Although you’ll see my comments here from time to time, this will be my final post as a regular contributor to this blog.
Thank you Lisabet, for including me in this endeavor. Double thanks for holding my hand while prodding me into a published status in the world of erotica writing. (I love prodding.)
And it’s been lots of fun learning from you all.