Thursday, 22 December 2016

Dead Man Walking

Earlier today I updated my about page, which seems to get more and more irrelevant every year, and adjusted my age from 30 to 31, which has actually been the truth since March; I just didn;t want to update my about page until my bloggiversary. That was yesterday, only I forgot about it.

Hooray.

31. I looked at that number for a while and was, temporarily, confronted by my own mortality, constantly reminded that I didn't expect to live past 18 to begin with; 25 was a miracle. 31 is totally a peak; I'd say it's all downhill from here, but realistically, it's been downhill since the age of five.

I'm reminded at this point of a friend I used to have who had met me once at a music event while we were both in the sixth form, developed a crush on me and added me on MSN, although she didn't tell me why. Years later and we were still talking, only by this time she had moved to Portsmouth and attended university, dropped out, and was living with her boyfriend, who was - what seemed to me at the time - unreasonably old.

Cue the sex conversation.

My friend was frustrated. She was in a relationship with this guy who wouldn't have sex with her unless he was up for it, even if she wasn't at that point. It all seemed rather one-sided to me, but according to her, the oral sex was good. She also said that she liked to have sex in the missionary position, but that that wasn't particularly fun, and considering that she'd been wanting sex since a very young age and not getting any until the age of 19, she was a little disappointed.

I asked her what the matter was.

"Well, he's 28," she said, "and his peepee isn't what it used to be..."

I tried to ignore the fact that she'd used the word "peepee".

"...his peepee isn't what it used to be, so it isn't always that good."

It's because of that one conversation that I've always been worried about my sexual prowess past the age of 28, never mind 31. I've probably died by now and haven't noticed yet; I'm just a poltergeist haunting my own corpse or something.

There's an interesting contrast between my friend and her boyfriend with the defunct peepee and the multitude of people I've seen on the blogosphere recently saying that they're having the best sex of their lives in their 40s and 50s. I was always told that, for a boy, his sexual peak was at 16 or 17, whereas for a girl, it started when she hit 40 (hence the "toyboy" fantasies or me having sex with an older woman when I was 21) - but I've since been told that this is, in fact, untrue, and that everyone is different. Who knew?

Certain of my own impending death as I am, I'm surprisingly sexually healthy, I think: I'm still having strong, fairly regular erections that don't need to be physically brought on by my hands (they can be, obviously, but they often aren't). My penis still swells to its full length and seems to be working well enough, all the right pulses and twitches and jerks, and my orgasms are powerful, an ejaculation of adequate proportions or a dry orgasm which shuts off my body for a while, leaving nothing but a faint, untraceable buzz for a bit.

On account of the fact that I'm over the age of 28 and still managing this with fairly alarming regularity, I'm not entirely sure that my friend's boyfriend was being entirely truthful when he blamed the fact that she wasn't enjoying sex too much on his penis. While we were both in agreement that she could feel sexual pleasure and experience orgasm (evidenced by the fact that she spent most of her time downloading porn and masturbating), it wasn't particularly evident. I felt sorry for her, but there really wasn't much I could do.

Before you ask, no, I didn't.

The other day I found her on social media and dropped her a line to see how she was. She was okay, still in Portsmouth, and although she'd lost touch with the random girls who were had been her friends, she was still with her older boyfriend. She didn't mention sex, and I didn't think to ask. But I did ask how he was.

"He's good," she said, "he's always been good. I love him; I've loved him now for a very long time."

And that, I'm reliably informed, is something that can happen at any age.

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