Midlife

Midlife

When I was in my 30's I didn't understand "midlife crisis." I thought it was some joke, some bit on TV sitcoms and in movies.

But now I know.

Now I understand.

I turned 43 just after the new millenia.

My cock is overshadowed completely by my expansive gut.

My hairline is receding.

My eyesight is getting worse.

My joints ache.

I've had two back surgeries and two surgeries to remove pylonidal cysts, which are extraordinarily painful cysts at the top of your ass crack. In the last century, during WWII, there was a name for pylonidal cysts: Jeep Drivers Disease. Jeep Drivers sat a lot. And the hairs at the top of a GI's ass crack would become ingrown and then get infected causing a cyst to form.

Sexy, isn't it?

No. It isn't.

Jeez, when I look at my back in a mirror I look like I was built by Dr. Frankenstein and he did a really bad job on my lower back and ass crack.

I sweat like I'm in a sauna at any temperature above 72 degrees. For active sex, when I have it, the temp needs to below 65 and the humidity should ideally be in the single digits. Thing is, it's never the "right" temp or humidity to avoid soaking the sheets.

They say you're only as old as you feel. Well, "they" need a reality check. I don't know how old I feel but I know I feel like Dan Ackroyd playing "Fred Garvin, Male Prostitute" on the old "Saturday Night Live."

When I have to ask my wife or some future lover to help me remove my hernia truss during foreplay then I need to be led away quietly and put out to pasture.

It's bad enough that I have to take that Christly Viagra. Oh yeah, the maker's of Viagra have really slick advertising. So slick that it makes taking it or NEEDING to take it, look sexy.

You can spin it however you want. Whatever it takes to get you through a day - or a night, man. But...well, enough on this subject.

All of a sudden I realize that size does matter and I ain't got it.

So...when I look at some nubile young woman, reality cruelly imposes itself and I take stock of ALL my imperfections and inabilities lost with age and I look away. I can't even fantasize.

When I see a well conditioned, beautiful woman older than me, same thing. The beautiful older woman has slept with the fat, balding, achy-jointed guy with "erectile dysfunction."

She called him husband once.

No, the well conditioned beautiful older woman is looking for everything that I don't have to offer: a nice firm body and a nice firm cock (preferably LARGE too).

My analysis of my state of being?

Well, God bless the biker who rides a Harley and rides with a gang. The biker - or Harley Davidson - is my only hope of continued sexuality.

Have you seen the biker magazines?

340 pound guys with no front teeth who probably bathed last in the 20th century and they got these intensely hot looking chicks riding on the back of their bikes.

My surface analysis is that the sex appeal MUST lie in the Harley itself. So at age 43 I spend more time surfing Harley web sites than porn sites; pining away for that 1200 pound assembly of metal and rubber that will attract babes and insure wild, passionate monkey sex with leather clad but half naked beautiful girls for the rest of my days. Sex worth writing to Penthouse Forum about.

Of course, if it's not just the Harley then I'm screwed.

But there's always self delusion, right?

Well, thank God for wives, I say.

My wife is someone who doesn't care that I'm going bald, have achy-joints, sweat or can't get it up on demand all the time, every time. She only minds my snoring.

She doesn't mind that I'm not hung like porn king John Holmes. Hell, she doesn't even know who John Holmes was. Even after four kids, she says I still fit inside her perfectly.

Til death do us part. It's not such a bad thing. Trade her in for a Harley or a flashy sport car? Trade her for the first woman who professes an interest in me despite my obvious physical faults?

Not on your life.

No sir.

She still carries the beauty of our first date, our first kiss, our first time we made love. Like fine wine, she ages well. Very well. 98 percent of all women do.

The leaness, the anorexia of youth fades and the body blossoms into something sensual and comfortable and highly erotic.

So screw you if you don't like the cliches. Chances are you're still "young."

Enjoy it while you got it, brother. When you lose it, pray that you are either riding with a biker gang or have a woman who loves you as much the first day you met as the morning she wakes in your bed, 25 years later.

I've got that woman.

Now...if I could just afford the Harley...