The Good Old Days

I really miss the old days, when youth made me the object of desire. Men fawned all over me. Men arched their backs, raised their eyebrows, lowered their voices, stood tall competing to be the one to have me. But that was then and this is now.

For a lady of my age I hold my own, but men's eyes roam over the girls in tight running gear, short shorts and crotch hugging leotards. I don't remember us ever dressing in that way, we were more modest, if a man wanted to see our legs or cop a feel of a boob he had to earn it, work at it, get close and personal. Going to the mall to see a woman's 'bulge' under her leotard was not a thing in my day.

Sex. Boy did men have to work for that. Months of chasing, dinners, ball games, theatre, walks in the park. One night stands were reserved for hookers, ladies of the evening, whores. Not us, sex was reserved for the man with intentions, of providing a home, and children. Sex meant business. Not a paltry nothing to throw away.

All that said, I have a visiting 22 year old granddaughter who woke up today with what's his name, she met at a craft brewery last night. He got a fine piece of ass, she got a toad. But that's me, my date from the wine bar is pushing 80 and his V didn't live up to my expectations. But he is a nice man, and we are going to play bridge with our friends this evening. Safe, first base, stuff.