If there’s one thing I hate it’s getting old. I don’t mind picking up some wisdom here and there as the years go by, but dammit the skin around my eyes wrinkles when I laugh.
I’m getting wrinkles.
Perhaps the main reason for clinging to my youth is the way I treated ‘old’ people all my life. Living what I would call the gay lifestyle. I’m very much accustomed to people grabbing my testicles as I pass them. In most cases, the person reaching for my crotch looks like Tutankhamon on a bad day and the idea of him and me having sex is so preposterous I don’t even bother to look my pharaoh in the face.
It’s about as cold rejections come.
I could feel bad about it, but in all honesty I can’t help but wonder what those old men are thinking by having a go at prime-of-my-life me! We waste our youth on old cars, not on old people.
Yet each time I ignore a horny mummy as one would I realize that one day, in the less and less distant future, I too will become old. One day, there will be people who consider the thought of having sex with me too ridiculous to give it a moment’s thought.
I met Guy #171 in a steam room this one time. He was already engaged in sexual activities with about three or four other Guys. Usually I’m not the type to insert myself in someone else’s sexfest. I’m way too shy for that, except this time I noticed Guy #171 was surrounded by men who were way older than I was. We gave each other a quick look in which I saw relief in his eyes, so I went in. To my relief, he let me.
For a few minutes, Guy #171 allowed me to do stuff to his body. We even followed up on it with a kiss, after which Guy #171 suddenly signaled the party was over by getting up and walking off, leaving me with Ramses the First, Second and Third. The idea of them and me even acknowledging each other’s existence seemed too intrusive, so I left them as Guy #171 had seconds earlier.
I ran into Guy #171 a while later. He had kissed me rather amicably before, so I was expecting to get some lip action going on by moving into his personal space and grabbing his testicles. To my surprise, Guy #171 swiftly shoved my hands back and turned his head away. He seemed repulsed. That was new to me. I’d been rejected plenty of times, but never by someone I’d given oral to moments before. Could it really have been that bad, or were there other factors at play?
As I thought back on things that had transpired in the steam room during our first encounter, I noticed how it had happened in almost complete obscurity. Come to think of it, Guy #171 never seemed to eager to do anything, nor was he having any fun. Those three or four men surrounding him didn’t do much either, except for a little caressing here and there, which in a gay sauna is less than a handshake. In retrospect, Guy #171 wasn’t having sex when I first met him. He was letting some people touch him and wasn’t even that comfortable with it. When I joined in, it quickly became too much and he had to leave.
To me old people are the ones who have vivid memories of the seventies, Woodstock and Hitler. Guy #171 made me realize that as time moves on, so should my definition of ‘old’, that one day there will be a day that definition fits me, that one day I’ll be among the last people to know what the world without the internet was like, something me and all the pharaohs have in common.
It’s not the kind of thought you want occupying your head when you find yourself hunting meat that’s younger than yours. On the plus side, I wasn’t laughing the night I got rejected by Guy #171, so my wrinkles at least were kept under wraps.