I’ll be 40 in July of this year. Like a humming hyper chant boiling through my brain, it’s distracting me from my zen quest, dammit! I look at myself in the mirror for signs of age, I wonder how old I look (39), knowing how old I feel sometimes (80).
In other words, I’m engulfed in vanity. I feel 15 again, but without the wolf whistles and bad eyeliner.
And there’s this other thing. I feel quite comfortable fessing up, since he admitted his secret dreams. I am, after all, a red blooded American woman. Woe. Man. I’m completely lusting after men in their 20s. Or men who appear to have bodies like men in their 20s.
I have occasion to be in a particular place every day now. And there is a changing cast of characters and an ever-changing vantage point from which to appreciate the incredible beauty of men, particularly young men. And while I usually succeed in keeping my eyes focussed inward and on the spiritual principles I’m trying to learn, sometimes I completely and utterly fail.
I blame turning 40.
I blame dwindling beauty and youth.
I completely deny culpability. Some things never change.
But it is lovely, watching these men with their fucked up minds, and gorgeous bodies. I’m watching only, after all (ok. once in awhile I fantasize). But they are beautiful. In their youth and vitality and mindless healthy strutting. And don’t even get me started about the jeans.
Is this aging? Lusting after youth and beauty?Have I achieved some measure of serenity only to be sidetracked by Generation Z? It seems so.
Not to worry. I won’t do anything but dream. And dreams are fun. At least I’m not the only person getting older around here.
More on Strollerderby…
In other news, I had my first sober New Year’s and here is my partner in crime, the lovely V:
I’m nearing 40 too…just blogged about it today actually. I’m getting so old that I misread “serenity” and thought it said, “senility”.
I’m 43 and I just have to say that it’s really disturbing when the bodies you admire belong to your son’s friends. I said admire, not lust after!
You look fantastic!
And as for your confession? I call this age the second adolescence and from my talks with other women (aka my own confessions)? You are a member of a large and well-stocked club of fabulous women.
In fact only yesterday I was joking about the Astronaut Top Gun run near my house (yes it is a lovely sightseeing spot) and of the group? Five girls hovering around 30 maybe thought I was a perv and one women *knew exactly what I meant, not to mention exactly where I meant.* Oh she of the glorious around 40.
You do look great. I may not be a typical man, but I’m finding the opposite happening. After a lifetime of lusting after young and beautiful, I’m finally losing interest in those who don’t have as much real life experience as me.
There is something to be said for the beauty of youth.
Especially a cute blonde with a tight arse. Um, male arse that is.
I don’t think anyone is going to feel any need to downgrade you hotness wise.
I can only hope I look that gorgeous at 40! (a mere two years from now…)
We’ll walk into our next decades gracefully. I was a mess at 40. Now, I realize it’s so young. I wish I had the last ten years to do over. Not on the big decisions, but for the little day-to-day moments. Embrace it. You’ll be glad you did!
I have underwear that’s forty….shit.
And though I don’t fancy young dudes….for you, I say, have at it!
You know what I found out? There is actually a boy toy aisle in Target. Curious, I headed for it and the husband said “Um, no, I don’t think so. Get back here.”
True story.
You cougar you….
(You look so healthy, so happy in that shot. I was Ms. Sober, 2008, this year too because of some health problems. And you know what, I had a great time, just the same.)
Boy toy aisle?
You don’t look old at all especially since you are a redhead and they usually age badly. Ha ha, yeah, I started lusting after the younger men earlier than you. But you know what happened to me….look but don’t touch!!! They don’t have that much muscular development between the old ears.
I hear every word you’re saying, sister.
Every, single, tightly woven, rippling word.