My Fantasies with a Much Older Man
‘When I look in the mirror I see an old man. A grandfather. I feel like I’m well and truly past it.’ This is what a good friend who has recently retired told me over lunch as he was lamenting the inevitable ageing process.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘Do you think Jeremy Irons would be sexier if he were younger? I don’t think so. Being sexy is about using the most of what you have; your energy, your humour, your charm and intelligence. Whatever your age.’
My friend nodded, but I could tell that he still wasn’t convinced, so I decided to reveal one of my most secret fantasies to him. In fact, it was something that I had been dying to get it off my chest for several weeks, but I just didn’t know who I could tell, or who would understand. Now, it seemed entirely appropriate as I knew that it was something that would also make him feel better.
‘I can’t stop thinking about an older man.’ I confessed. My friend raised his eyebrows in disbelief. ‘But much older than you. A man in his eighties.’ I specified. My friend burst out laughing, not quite believing what he was hearing. But I didn’t. I was being very serious, so I decided to elaborate.
I have never found a much an older man attractive before. This all came about because of someone in particular. He has breakfast in the same cafe as me every morning. He is 85, but still as bright as a button. He tells me I’m beautiful every time I see him. I usually blush and say ‘thanks’. ‘You remind me of a Klimt painting. The wild red hair, the white skin…’ he told me once with a special twinkle in his eye that made me wonder if actually found me desirable.
His age and experience not only accentuate my youth and beauty, but he also makes my clitoris throb uncontrollably. His formal nature that is typical of his generation is a total turn on. But I want to encourage him to forget the formality and do what he has always craved and never dared to do.
Normally when you see a younger woman with a much older man, it’s for the money. But that’s not the case here. Nor do I have daddy issues, or granddaddy issues in this case. It’s simply because we spend far too much time worrying about things that never happen, and not living in the present. I do wonder what must be like to have time is totally against you. Maybe this is the only that we can truly live in the present. I’m sure that my zen lifestyle has something to do with it.
But enough about Zen philosophy, back to the hot stuff…
I long to strip away the barriers of formality as well as the clothes. Well, maybe not his clothes, just mine. In my fantasy I am naked, but he is dressed in a suit and bowtie. His formal attire really turns me on as it is reflective of his traditional attitude. I sit in front of him and we just talk, maintaining the formality that we are used to, even though the subject matter is highly erotic. I speak to him a way that just wasn’t normal for a woman in his time unless she was a complete floozy.
I don’t fantasise about sex. I wouldn’t want him to have a heart attack. I just want to take his old, wrinkled hand and guide it to my young, firm, pert breast. In these circumstances, a simple gesture could mean so much.
‘You’re sick’ my friend said as I came to the end of my admission. He shook his head and tutted with feigned disapproval.
‘I just can’t help myself.’ I said laughing.
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ My friend asked me. I thought about if for a few moments: ‘I’m going to have to increase the flirting a notch or three because there isn’t much time.’