Life in the old dog yet

Life in the old dog yet

We live in a world where people like to pigeonhole and categorise, to place things and people in compartments in order to understand them, to dismiss them, or simply to judge them. It’s a sad fact that we take the external or the briefest of interactions to make such generalised assumptions.

Recently I was chatting to a guy online; I remember reading his profile but can’t remember if I saw his age. He was older than me but was keen and attentive in his interactions; he was humorous and polite. He was worth a punt, so I let him know which bar I was due to be in with friends that evening. Unfortunately we were late from dinner and I only passed him briefly at the door of the bar – me going in, him coming out. We exchanged a hug, a hello and a quick peck of greeting. The one thing that lingered in my mind as I sipped my drinks was how defined his back had felt and his very open smile. He sent messages that I responded to intermittently between busting a groove across the dance floor.

Emboldened by the whisky sours and my friend’s encouragement I found myself in the back of a cab travelling to his apartment. I was taking a chance on a guy I had chatted to for a couple of days and who I had briefly hugged. Arriving at his apartment, I was greeted once again with his disarming smile and warm welcome. I was a little drunk but sober enough to have made a conscious decision to meet this man at his apartment. Stripping in front of each other I remember thinking what a great body he had, and a nice cock. He was a catch. We had sex before I eventually succumbed to the exhaustion of 5 hours sleep in 36 hours; I was knackered. I remember that each turn in bed was met with an embrace from the guy; he cuddled me all night and it felt natural and welcomed. That morning we had sex again before talking and getting to know one another. He worked in travel, swam semi-professionally, gymed regularly and had a passion for history. He imparted facts I knew and those that intrigued me; he was an intriguing guy. He also revealed that he was in his 60s.

Registering that fact in my head brought back the innumerable drinks of the night before. I couldn’t quite comprehend that this guy was more than 20 years my senior. He was buff all over without a hint of the sagging glutes that can affect people in older age. I was envious of his physique. On reflection he could have taught my last boyfriend a thing or two; at half his age and twice his weight, he had none of the toned torso of this guy. All I could think was that I needed to hit the gym harder.

Despite a month out from lifting weights, my awkwardness, and my need to leave my hotel that morning, he wanted to see me again. As I travelled back to my accommodation doing a walk of pride rather than shame, I received an invitation to join him at a football match. I tried to play it cool and take some time to respond but I was eager to accept. This guy was bloody gorgeous. That day as I explored a foreign city and got familiar with the sights and geography, my mind continuously returned to the guy; his smile and body lingering in my head, the conversations cycling as if on a loop in my mind. Football was great, an opportunity to see him in an environment where he felt comfortable. The match may not have rivalled the excitement of European matches but I was glad to spend the time with him. We grabbed drinks afterwards before I returned with him to his place once again. Like a drug I was becoming addicted to the silver haired fox who had hugged me at the door of a bar. I liked his casual style, he easy ways and his attention.

Sitting thousands of miles away from a fleeting romance with the guy, I can still picture him clearly. I vividly remember the intimacy we shared, the conversations we had and connection that was made. I still hear from him each day and am enjoying taking the time to get to know more about him. Grateful that he shares the same feelings it brought a smile to my face when he disclosed that he was ‘smitten’, good, I am not the only one.

Had I compartmentalised him by the grey hair, had I chosen to impose a rigid age restriction on those I communicate with, I would have never got to know the French Canadian who captured my heart in a weekend. I would have restricted myself from two days of bliss and a body that has made my gym motivation far greater. Shit! There is not only life in the old dog there is a vigour to rival men half his age. By boxing people into convenient categories and assumed understandings we risk restricting ourselves from really appreciating others and living a life that is enriched by others. I know that I’ll never look at the age of a guy again – it’s just numbers.

 

Author: Ralph

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