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Lockdown lovers

There's no harm in an old fart window shopping...

By Karen CavePublished 3 years ago โ€ข Updated 2 years ago โ€ข 4 min read
2
Lockdown lovers
Photo by Ihor Malytskyi on Unsplash

This lockdown. This pesky, bloody virus, affecting my virility. It's not only making everyone scared and miserable, it's wrecking my damn love life. This pandemic is poking a hole in my perversions. Calling a halt to my hanky-panky happenings. Putting a stop to my sensual shenanigans.

I am a sixty-three year old man. And true, my better days may be behind me, but I still like to think I can make a young woman smile. I certainly have an eye for the ladies - and a good, strong pair of hands too. That's not changed, despite my advancing years.

The trouble is you see, I may get older, but there are always attractive younger women to marvel at. And how utterly stunning they appear to an old codger like me! Their smooth skin is a balm for my rapidly failing eyes, their bright, perfect smiles an ointment for the annoyances and inconveniences of middle age... going to the toilet at all hours is a bloody pain. And even when you're done you can't get rid of it all, no matter how hard you shake it.

I gaze at those unlined, glossy, painted faces, and subconsciously stroke my chin whiskers, imagining how it would feel to place a wrinkled, liver-spotted hand on that soft skin, to inhale that exotic perfume and body scent.

I look at beautiful hair on women in their twenties, thirties, forties... long, short, straight, ringlets, bottle blonde, jet-black, or pink; it makes no difference to me. It's the way it moves that I notice, that touches my heart; the way it smells too, if I am close enough to be so lucky. The 'swishier' the better, the constant movement of a glossy mane, making a mockery of my creaky old joints as I attempt to stand or sit.

My hair is not swishy any longer, though it used to be, in my younger days. Back when I was a 'catch.' Now there are only a few wavy white strands left, circling my bald patch. Yet hair is rapidly sprouting out of every other orifice faster than I could ever trim it. Even if I could locate it all and keep my hands steady enough, I would never be so inclined. No, I would rather gaze in wonder at my mirror-opposite, in the form of the face of youth, wandering about, gorgeously unaware of how much they affect me. How much they feed my soul, and how much I envy them.

Oh, but it gets harder, the older I get. It's got to the stage now where I'm not even considered a nuisance to a beautiful woman anymore, I am merely a harmless old fart to be smiled at politely, or worse, looked through as though I am not there. I am not sure which is worse; being tolerated or being ignored. To them I am harmless, but how wrong they are. They may have youth, and carefree-ness, but I have age, and wisdom, and a lot of patience. I bide my time. I window-shop.

These old eyes have seen so much, these hands have done much. If only the beautiful women knew and saw just how much; it would mess up their fragile, innocent minds. You see, I don't just want to touch a beautiful woman; I want to get inside that beauty, that innocence. I want to break apart that beauty, piece by shining piece. I want to cut through what is on the surface, and see the beauty that is also inside; the heart and the lungs, and the veins, and those sinewy muscles. I want to get inside that skin, let it slide all over me, feel the beauty all around me. I want to see through their eyes. And maybe I cannot have it, so I can destroy it.

So, you can see how much I truly want lockdown to be over, so that I can go back to doing what I once did best; observing beauty, and making it a part of me.

Today I go to the park, as I do every single day; just a harmless, doddery old man with a stick. I always use a stick now, even though I don't really need it. It makes me look less able, more vulnerable. A person is more inclined to find me harmless if they think that I am helpless. I have a cheeky smile, and people talk to me, laugh with me, wave with their dogs. But they have no idea how dangerous I really am, and what lurks beneath my kindly exterior, my twinkly baby-blues. The capacity I have to really hurt and destroy another person's life is an absolute secret, known only to the few I have killed.

A young woman passes me by; she is very attractive, with long, blonde, glossy curls. Her skin glows; I bet she moisturises. I want her skin. She beams a dazzling smile at me, and I wave and smile. I wish that I could close the distance between us, and that she could feel the full force of my cruelty and envy. If only this pandemic would bugger off. If only I could get my hands on her soft flesh.

My time will come again. I will be patient. I cannot wait to play once again with my gorgeous, young lovers.

psychological
2

About the Creator

Karen Cave

A mum, a friend to many and I love to explore dark themes and taboos in my writing. I am an optimist with a dark side...

Hope you enjoy! I appreciate all likes, comments - and please share if you'd like more people to see my work.

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