Geriatric Lust

‘…and he tells me to take the pill before I go to bed, but I’m going to the bathroom three times a night. If I keep taking it I’m going to piss the bed and my wife will kill me.’

‘Maybe it’s not such a bad thing?’


‘Rita kills you, you don’t have to go to the party.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. And I can see Evelyn again.’

‘Yeah, Evelyn. She had a nice ass.’

This was a real conversation at my bagel place. The two men were splotchy, trembly Shar Peis–one eating oatmeal, naturally, the other poached eggs and hash browns.

I heard once that the cruelest joke of getting old was that attraction didn’t travel the same orbit. Like, a 90yrold woman doesn’t grow to lust for 90yrold penis. She still casts her sex fantasies with 30somethings.

This isn’t to say that 90yrold men aren’t stallions in bed, I’m just talking about fantasy.

What do you think? I like to think that everything changes and that love and attraction are beholder’s eye roomies. I think that my man overlooks my blatant weird stuff: big ass, freckly face, general stumpiness. He seems attracted to me, and he’s a muscly youngin in Boca–the 3D printer of the beautiful-girl prototype. Knockouts that travel the streets in workout gear and tanned, perfect thighs, wreaking havoc on the collective confidence of normal girls like me that gain weight by osmosis–if I walk past someone eating a piece of pizza, my ass gets bigger. It’s true.

I really like boca. It’s great for kids and the people are nice, no matter what anyone says. After working as a hotel front desk agent, where guests have been traveling for hours, been f*cked over at the airport and are locked and loaded with an arsenal of entitlement and itchy trigger fingers, your litmus test for kindness gets soft. So long as somebody doesn’t throw a credit card at me or threaten my life, I’m good. How they treat servers here, however…that’s another story you’ve all heard already.

Anyway, in general it’s a nice place. I love it because at any given moment I am within earshot of literary inspiration. Old people are overlooked and road-raged at, but if you shut up and listen for a second they’re hilarious. Living on this unstable, go-up-in-flames-at-any-moment biosphere for 90yrs is a radical thing. It’s hard enough for me to reconcile my mania of an hour ago with my exhaustion of now–90yrs of emotions and experience and laughter and farting…that’s a recipe for a serious force to be reckoned with.

That’s where I went from wondering if this guy still chokes it to his teenage girlfriend (I imagined Evelyn as a teen. She could’ve been 80, who knows.) It got me thinking about lust and geriatric sex and loyalty and boca girls. There you have it.