I love old men. Not just twice my age, but maybe three times my age. Men with straggles of white hair covering shiny, liver-spotted scalps. Men who smell like mothballs and Bengay. Send them my way. I love them.
When a little old man walks in to a strip club in the wee hours of the morning because he just got out of bed and had ladies on his mind, it puts a smile on my face. I approach him immediately. “This one is mine,” I think as I chase after him. Between his senior citizen hobble and my high-heel-impaired walk, I need to move as fast as I can to claim him like a mother would claim her wandering toddler in a department store. I must capture him and protect him from the other predatory strippers. We all want his money, but I will get so much more out of the experience of entertaining him than they would.
Old men are dirty as hell and it is hilarious. They do not filter their thoughts or language when they get the opportunity to cut loose. “Do you ever finger bang these sluts?” a senior citizen customer asks me in his raspy old voice while scanning the room and checking out the “sluts.” I want to laugh hard enough to blow a snot rocket. With his bad posture and khaki pants, he looks like someone you’d help to cross the street and it is strange to hear the words come out of his wrinkled old mouth. I tell him, I sure do finger bang these sluts.
I can’t remember his name, but they often have great old guy names like Elmer or Lenny.
Lenny asks me more about my lesbian experiences. How old I was my first time I was with a girl. He wonders if I stuck a finger in her butt. “Did she come?” he asks with a look of great concentration. His eyebrows are long, white and wiry and make him look like he is related to an owl.
Old men, I suspect, have a much better understanding of the precious nature of time. They don’t waste valuable time with small talk or shame. I also suspect that they don’t get too many opportunities to share their sexual thoughts with many people, especially young naked women. I imagine them sitting around playing dominos or attending bingo night while being burdened with these erotic thoughts. Lenny’s wife, Eleanor or Agnes or whatever, would be shocked.
I look forward to another visit from Lenny or Charlie or Elmer. They keep me laughing and I’m positive I provide them with a valuable service. Speaking of service, another thing about old men that no one wants to know is that they don’t need Viagra.
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