No disclaimers here, because there's nothing physical in this. And I'm offering it to the Nifty Archive because their site is the only place where I've come across a "no sex" category.
I just marked the beginning of my 60th year on this incredibly shrinking orb called Earth and, more specifically, in the geographic area of Northern Virginia. The major shrinking factor here is he burgeoning influx of ethnic groups and the horrendous reproduction rate of those individuals on top of the frenzied rabbit rut of the overly affluent "shrinking" majority of white people.
My unrest at the issues attendant to such a population belch is heightened by the fact that at 59 (as we are awarded a number to show completion of the year) I am, sadly, no longer the handsome, lithe younger gay man that I used to be.
There's a popular country/western song entitled, "My father in me." In that song a fellow states that he looks in the mirror and sees his father looking back at him. Oh, boy, can I relate. I am a physical (and in more other ways than I care to admit) clone of my dad. How do these things just "happen." That is to say, all I would need to work as a department-store Santa is a red and white suite. At 5' 10", with long white hair and beard, and weighing a very round 290 or so (emphasis on the "so") all I need are some antlered reindeer and some gnomish elves scurrying around me and I'd have the job.
In the early '80s, after calling it quits on my last male-to-male partnering efforts, I quit the sex thing all together. I also attempted to stop drinking (for the second time) at the same time. The drinking part returned for a space and I finally stopped that as well and in 1991 celebrated my first year of sobriety--for the third time. It's now 2002 and proud to say I've maintained that effort for this past 12 years. Stopping sex was the easier of the two.
Now, at 59 and looking like Chris Kringle, I've experienced a strong re-emergence of hormonal-sponsored urges. It's not a pretty picture. At least from my perspective of being inside the picture frame, looking outward.
When I was in my prime, I was never at want for a sex partner. I confess I was among that portion of each successive generation who reinvents the same old wheels and I am guilty of turning my head at the opening of a bar door and making instant appraisals of the next candidate to become my future ex-partner. When I'd see someone who looked then as I look now, the phrase troll would pop to mind and I move on to another vodka martini, rather confident that at the end of that particular night's play time, I would have experienced the company of yet another attractive and willing partner.
I haven't been in a gay bar in well over 20 years and I don't even go to "gay" AA meetings. I go to AA because I'm a recovering alcoholic who relies in great measure on the program and my friends in it to steady and support me in my ongoing recovery. The gay AA meetings I have attended all had a subsurface ambience of a dry bar--I was too aware of the gayness to focus on the real issue for being in an AA meeting.
Over the past several years I've learned to sublimate my growing awareness of my preferred form of sexual activity by using the Internet--if you can "think" of something you think you might like, you can find it on the Internet--or at least you can locate it. Getting it just isn't guaranteed.
I've "clicked on" and had more "virtual" experiences in the past 10 to 15 years than I could ever have experienced in the previous incarnation of myself prior to abstinence from either sex or booze. NONE of them anywhere near as satisfying as the real thing.
I have my preferences, men 40 to 49, height and weight proportionate, good personality, gay, bi, or whatever. Body hair and passivity is paramount in my selection. You see, I'm a butt guy. I love hairy butts, men who have them and who like for somebody else to play with them. I've always been a top oriented guy. Not to say that the other role hasn't taken place, but only on the rarest of occasions.
At any rate, it's now time for me try to go back out on the playing field and I'm stressed by the field I see in front of me and I'm thwarted by the lack of reception that I've received. What ever happened to straightforwardness and old fashioned honesty? When I post an ad, I describe myself as I am, as is written here. In ads, I'm specific and more detailed in my wishes. In the years I've been posting to the Web, I've actually met two guys, that's two (2), who were as they described themselves in their ads; one I was with one time and the second one I chickened out on after meeting him, because he was so incredibly gorgeous that I simply could not believe that he'd want anything to do with me on an intimate basis.
Everyone else turned out to be, face-to-face, not to be anything at all as they had described themselves; all older, bigger, balder, skinnier, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. Although a couple of these guys were eager, it didn't work for me and I found myself in the role of rejecting someone and it made me most uncomfortable.
It's a strange position to be in, or at least I find it odd, at the very least. I read about older, heavy guys lucking onto the "perfect" and unexpected other guy and things are really hot. I just don't seem to be able to hit that mark and I'm not looking for the "perfect" anything.
Was just sort of wondering if there are any kindred spirits out there who might like to share any similar experiences or insights on the topic. lick_man@hotmail.com