Back when I was still trying to figure out which end of my body my head was on, if anyone had suggested that someday I’d be sleeping with a grandmother I would have told them they were as mad as a hatter. The world certainly rotates in a different direction at twenty then it does at sixty-something. Here I am in the ‘something’ category, merging wrinkles under the covers with a lady of grandmotherly persuasion and loving every minute of it. Somehow, she just doesn’t fit my lifelong image of a cotton-haired little old lady shuffling around the kitchen with a bowl of Farina in one hand and a rubber spatula in the other.
It’s amazing how ageless age can be … and therein lies the rub! When it comes to femmes fatale, with soft curves and jiggly things, let’s establish right up front that guys never stop looking. As long as they are still drawing breath, their last drop of testosterone is routed to their eye sockets even before their hearts and lungs. I know women look too, but I won’t pretend to know very much about it. If I had any real understanding in that area, my premarital youth might have been squandered more effectively … and I would most certainly be a headliner in Guinness’ Book of Records.
Now don’t confuse looking with shopping, those are two different things. Looking is just what it says, although the criteria can vary widely as you’ll soon see. Shopping means that you probably intend to take something home, and unless you shop carefully, you might end up paying a considerable price! It wasn’t until I was around forty when I realized why they call the years from that particular mile post to infinity ‘middle age.’ Only a portion of the term involves longevity. The rest has to do with who and what a guy is comfortable ogling. Not only is the suitability of the oglee age-related but as the mileage on the ogler’s odometer changes, so does his view of the road.
Men-in-waiting, such as high school and college boys, most often limit their lusts to young ladies near their own age. An ‘older’ woman of twenty-five or thirty nudges them toward ‘Mrs. Robinson’ territory (Coo coo ca-choo), and whether or not they know it they are beginning to shop, squeezing fruit to see what the stand has to offer.
As manhood overtakes him a guy becomes more careful about the shopping experience; he is beginning to realize he might want to buy something. While locking the keys outside the car may be an endearing quality during dating, he may not want to explain the purpose of a door handle to his wife for the rest of his natural life. He is now looking at the whole package … seeking the perfect blend of brains, beauty and body parts!
Once firmly anchored by the bonds of matrimony and with a few temporal miles on their tires, something strange happens. Guys may begin to observe the female form in a way that now disassembles the ‘package’. They have arrived at a point in life where they can appreciate parts … some like casabas while others prefer different diversions like ‘wheels’ and buns. I’m a leg man myself, although I’m a sucker for a slight overbite or a certain glide in a lady’s stride that we of the male chromosome just aren’t hinged to perform. The age range for the recipient of this ocular attention broadens as well.
When I crossed over that proverbial middle age marker, I discovered a world of wonder that ranged from nubile twenty-somethings to feminine preserves of sixty. If you’re not going to buy anything, the world is a Wal-Mart! As my own years continue their forward march so does my age range of suitable subjects, although quality parts are getting harder to find and entire packages are fewer and farther between.
Looking has nothing to do with connubial bliss or with loving one’s spouse. It’s just what guys do. These days, I find myself enjoying a fuller appreciation of womanhood than ever before, all the while maintaining the creative detachment of a sculptor chiseling a statue or a painter capturing the beauty of nature … especially if he jiggles his canvas a little!
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