Let’s talk a bit about becoming invisible, shall we?
I don’t know about you way back then but there was a time, probably when the first stages of puberty start kicking in, I found myself wishing, dreaming about things that would make my life wonderful. Two things; 1) finding a pair of glasses that would let me see through everything. You know, like Mary Lou’s Angora sweater. And 2) being able to become invisible. What better way could there be to be able to walk unobtrusively into the girls locker room at the gym and see everything I had questions about? Now remember, this was long before the internet. It was, I hate to admit it, even before Playboy and Penthouse. Yes, there was once a time before all that.
It dawned on me the other day that I had finally reached one of these two goals and I don’t like it. It might have happened when I was getting new glasses but it didn’t. Actually I hadn’t realized it but I have been invisible for some time now. It happens to nearly every man when he reaches a certain age.
It doesn’t seem to happen to men like Paul Newman or Michael Douglas and it probably won’t happen to Tiger Woods either. But to the rest of us, somewhere along about our sixtieth or sixty-fifth birthday we somehow became transparent. Think about it men, except for the cute young woman who cuts our hair or the lovely lass trying to sell us insurance, how long has it been since any female under the age of old has really looked at you and actually seen you? Not just a customer with an open wallet but a man who might be able to fulfill her dreams?
Somehow I have the feeling even the middle aged matron who plays better tennis than I do doesn’t really seen me as a man when we’re across the net from each other. Face it, when a man reaches this age, if a woman is not trying to get into your pocket you don’t exist.
I suppose we can blame Mother Nature for this happening. Oh, not the fact that we male people get to that stage when whatever money we got is more important than anything else we have to offer. No, I’m blaming Ma Nature for making us become ghost-like. It’s one of her great inventions; menopause. Yes, menopause. That time in most womens aging process when they reach that certain age and don’t need or want the favors they teased us men with the previous five decades, more or less. From that event on most, not all I’ll admit, but most find the non-sexual company of their female friends more invigorating than anything thing a man might stand for. So there’s this old man, after all those years of sharing the physical, emotional, mental and, well, physical, aspects of true love all of a sudden shut out.
It's too messy. I’m too hot. Is that all you think about? I doubt there isn’t a man out there in my age group who hasn’t heard those complaints more than a few times.
Well, that is what the good Mother has left us; becoming redundant, unnecessary and almost useless. I know why it happens and men, there isn’t anything that can be done about it. Proof? You want proof? It’s a scientific fact. Scientists have long demonstrated that a species, any species, has one main reason for being; to reproduce. Okay. So our main goal in life is to make sure there will be a few sons, daughters and such to come after us. That’s nice. But what happens after the breeding season/years are over? Isn’t there time then for us? It seems to me that that is when we should be able to have the time and opportunity for us oldies to enjoy what’s left of our years in carnal bliss. But it doesn’t happen that way, does it? A time without one of the little darlings waking up and crying for a glass of water at just the wrong moment or having one of the kids busting in the bedroom door just as the earth is about to move. All during the child rearing years, isn’t that what we dreamed of? To have a time just for us.
Well, it doesn’t seem to happen that way. The kids are gone, the house is quiet and there’s just the two of you. Open that bottle of red, put on the soft music, something by Tom Jones or Frankie, say. And whisper those loving words; “lover, come sit on the couch next to me.” Hah! The timing is perfect; she has started the first stage of the ‘I’m too hot’ period. Don’t tell me Mother Nature didn’t plan it that way.
‘Too messy.’ A good excuse and, considerate me, I can understand it. Well, not really, but ...
‘I have a headache.’ Yeah, but you said that last night and again this morning.
At that point we men are sure to ask ourselves, is that all there is? No more lick and tickle? No more tease and ... well, whatever your idea of fun is? Is that all? It’s over?
Dear friends, that is when we men become invisible. The females walk on by; they pay no attention to us. We are no longer eligible as mates. We no longer have a value. If they do happen to see us it’s only because they need something, a refill of their drink or to fix the funny sound the car is making. No longer as someone to spend a few hours of “slap and tickle” with.
Here I am, slightly past the big 7-0 in numerical age. Do you think I can interest any female in my age group in sharing a long dreamed of experience? Nope. What, you don’t believe me? Go ahead; try to open an account at one of the many internet dating sites. Put in your correct birth year and see how many women respond. 65? Maybe one or two ... and they are not looking for sex, just “companionship” ... whatever that means. 70? You’ll not get one response.
At my advanced years I still like sex ... or at least I think I do. I still have desires ...unfulfilled desires. There are things I’d like to experience that I couldn’t in the earlier years. Okay, so where are the women with the same searching needs? Mother Nature has taken all that away from them. There ain’t gonna be no more kids, not from these kinds of bedroom fun and games so there is no need for any of that kind of messy stuff.
Thank you, Mother Nature, I really, really appreciate it. Really I do.