1 comments/ 18261 views/ 0 favorites Midlife By: jjsharshaw Midlife When I was in my 30's I didn't understand "midlife crisis." I thought it was some joke, some bit on TV sitcoms and in movies. But now I know. Now I understand. I turned 43 just after the new millenia. My cock is overshadowed completely by my expansive gut. My hairline is receding. My eyesight is getting worse. My joints ache. I've had two back surgeries and two surgeries to remove pylonidal cysts, which are extraordinarily painful cysts at the top of your ass crack. In the last century, during WWII, there was a name for pylonidal cysts: Jeep Drivers Disease. Jeep Drivers sat a lot. And the hairs at the top of a GI's ass crack would become ingrown and then get infected causing a cyst to form. Sexy, isn't it? No. It isn't. Jeez, when I look at my back in a mirror I look like I was built by Dr. Frankenstein and he did a really bad job on my lower back and ass crack. I sweat like I'm in a sauna at any temperature above 72 degrees. For active sex, when I have it, the temp needs to below 65 and the humidity should ideally be in the single digits. Thing is, it's never the "right" temp or humidity to avoid soaking the sheets. They say you're only as old as you feel. Well, "they" need a reality check. I don't know how old I feel but I know I feel like Dan Ackroyd playing "Fred Garvin, Male Prostitute" on the old "Saturday Night Live." When I have to ask my wife or some future lover to help me remove my hernia truss during foreplay then I need to be led away quietly and put out to pasture. It's bad enough that I have to take that Christly Viagra. Oh yeah, the maker's of Viagra have really slick advertising. So slick that it makes taking it or NEEDING to take it, look sexy. You can spin it however you want. Whatever it takes to get you through a day - or a night, man. But...well, enough on this subject. All of a sudden I realize that size does matter and I ain't got it. So...when I look at some nubile young woman, reality cruelly imposes itself and I take stock of ALL my imperfections and inabilities lost with age and I look away. I can't even fantasize. When I see a well conditioned, beautiful woman older than me, same thing. The beautiful older woman has slept with the fat, balding, achy-jointed guy with "erectile dysfunction." She called him husband once. No, the well conditioned beautiful older woman is looking for everything that I don't have to offer: a nice firm body and a nice firm cock (preferably LARGE too). My analysis of my state of being? Well, God bless the biker who rides a Harley and rides with a gang. The biker - or Harley Davidson - is my only hope of continued sexuality. Have you seen the biker magazines? 340 pound guys with no front teeth who probably bathed last in the 20th century and they got these intensely hot looking chicks riding on the back of their bikes. My surface analysis is that the sex appeal MUST lie in the Harley itself. So at age 43 I spend more time surfing Harley web sites than porn sites; pining away for that 1200 pound assembly of metal and rubber that will attract babes and insure wild, passionate monkey sex with leather clad but half naked beautiful girls for the rest of my days. Sex worth writing to Penthouse Forum about. Of course, if it's not just the Harley then I'm screwed. But there's always self delusion, right? Well, thank God for wives, I say. My wife is someone who doesn't care that I'm going bald, have achy-joints, sweat or can't get it up on demand all the time, every time. She only minds my snoring. She doesn't mind that I'm not hung like porn king John Holmes. Hell, she doesn't even know who John Holmes was. Even after four kids, she says I still fit inside her perfectly. Til death do us part. It's not such a bad thing. Trade her in for a Harley or a flashy sport car? Trade her for the first woman who professes an interest in me despite my obvious physical faults? Not on your life. No sir. She still carries the beauty of our first date, our first kiss, our first time we made love. Like fine wine, she ages well. Very well. 98 percent of all women do. The leaness, the anorexia of youth fades and the body blossoms into something sensual and comfortable and highly erotic. So screw you if you don't like the cliches. Chances are you're still "young." Enjoy it while you got it, brother. When you lose it, pray that you are either riding with a biker gang or have a woman who loves you as much the first day you met as the morning she wakes in your bed, 25 years later. I've got that woman. Now...if I could just afford the Harley... Midlife "Well, that ended badly." Peter mumbled to himself. He tried to get to his feet. He was sitting on the floor of his living room trying to sort out just what had happened. But his alcohol clouded mind and his stinging cheek made coherent thought a little difficult. He had acted like a prick and he knew it. He made another attempt at standing up but his pant-legs were bunched around his ankles and one foot slid out from under him again. "Fuck it." He growled. And lay back onto the floor, his hands clasped behind his head. He chuckled to himself when he thought back to the spectacular disaster the night had become. He hated dating. It was usually a necessary evil if you wanted to get into a woman's pants but he still hated the ritual. Tonight was no exception. He rolled to his side, stretched out an arm to the coffee table and groped for the wine bottle he knew was there. Ah, pay dirt. He lifted his head a little and tried to drink but most of it dribbled down his chin. "Fuck it." He said again and let the half full bottle drop to the floor and roll away, leaving a red liquid trail. He met Allison at his boss's birthday party. Allison was a beauty. Allison? No, that wasn't her name. ADDison. That was it. Good god what kind of name was that. What happened to Mary and Linda? He would even take a Tiffany now and then. But all the Madison, Taylor, Dakota, Kristen, Tristen, Kirsten, Kirsty crap made him feel old. At 42 Peter was far from decrepit, but he had less and less to talk about with the bevy of beauties he usually surrounded himself with. He kept himself extremely fit and he was usually moderate about most things. Tonight was an exception. Back to Addison. When he met her at his boss's birthday party he was instantly struck by her sexily tosseled red hair, big blue eyes and incredible figure. She was draped in a tiny black cocktail dress with a plunging neckline that showed off her milky skin to perfection. It wasn't hard to turn on the charm and get her phone number. She was just as eager as he was to get together. Tonight as they ate dinner at an elegant restaurant, he had found out she was only 21. Peter had been out with many much younger women before, but tonight the age difference struck him particularly hard. She was literally half his age. He found himself struggling to keep the conversation flowing. She was intelligent but she was also still in college and that fact only made Peter order another bottle of wine. He began to get irritated with everything she said. She brought up movies and music that he had no interest in and when he tried to change the subject to something he was interested in, she was obviously pretending to be interested, too. At least that's what he made himself think. He began making snide comments about everything she said. Until they both sat in an uncomfortable silence. Even though he didn't feel like it, he asked her if she'd like to go dancing and she eagerly agreed. He was glad that they had left his car at home. After a bottle and half of wine he was in no condition to drive. The cab took them to a trendy nightclub. The night was still young so it wasn't crowded yet. Addison took his hand and immediately led him to the dance floor. He barely moved as she swiveled and gyrated around him. The music was deafening and Peter's head began to pound with the beat. Addison rubbed her ass up against his crotch. He supposed this was the latest dance move because he noticed some of the other couples were doing it too. Again he felt old. God, he needed a drink. Peter spun on his heel and made his way to the bar without a backwards glance at Addison. He heard her call his name over the thumping beat of the music but he pretended not to hear her. She finally caught up to him after he'd already ordered the drinks. "Jesus, Pete! Why'd you just leave me there!" She shrieked. "I told you I was going to get a drink, didn't you hear me?" He lied. "Oh." She said. She tried to catch his eye then she shrugged. "I guess I didn't." She shrugged again, deciding to let it go. "I guess it is pretty loud in here." Peter just grunted and took a large swig of his drink. Addison leaned into him and sipped her cocktail. "Hey," she cooed. "Why don't we bounce and go back to your place?" She rubbed her hand under his jacket. "How 'bout it?" Her obvious attempt to turn him on only worked to irritate him more. He tossed back the rest of his drink and said through clenched teeth, "Yeah, let's bounce". In the cab she talked and talked about school, while Peter just stared out the window. What the hell was wrong with him? He was usually very friendly, a great conversationalist and a master at seduction. All he wanted right now was for Addison to shut up and to stop rubbing her hands all over him, but he couldn't think of a way to tell her so without hurting her feelings. And as bad as he felt, he also realized that it wasn't her fault that he was feeling so shitty. Once inside his home, he went directly to the wine rack behind his bar and opened up a new bottle. Addison stood by the door uncertainly. "Look, Peter. I can leave. I can tell something's wrong." He gulped down half his glass of wine without really tasting it. He poured a glass for her now. He sighed tiredly. "I'm sorry, Addison. I guess I'm a little tired tonight, and not just a little drunk. Please excuse me. Why don't you have a seat?" He came across the room to the sofa she had perched on and handed her the glass. He refilled his own glass and sat next to her. "So. Allison, why don't you sit back and relax and let Ol' Peter make you feel nice. Hum?" He put his hand on her soft shoulder under the strap of her dress and felt her silky skin. "I bet it costs Daddy a pretty penny to keep his baby girl all powdered and curled." He ran the back of his hand across her chest and skimmed over her perfect breasts. "And I'm guessing these cost him a pretty penny." Addison stiffened. "The name is Addison! And my daddy's money is none of your business! And neither are my tits!" Her voice was shrill. "I think I better get going. I guess this wasn't such a good idea." She stood to leave but Peter grabbed her wrist. "Aw come on, Ally . . . uh Addy. We were just getting started." Peter stood a little unsteadily and let go of her hand. "I thought you wanted to have a little fun." Peter clumsily started to unbuckle his belt. "Little Peter hasn't been out in a couple of days and he was looking for a good time!" When he finally got to the zipper, Addison had slapped him pretty hard and was out the door before he could register what happened. He stood there for a few minutes as his pants started to creep slowly down his legs. Good Lord! What had just happened? Never in his life had he ever treated a woman so shabbily. He started towards the wine bottle when his trousers hit the floor and so did he. Damn! ------ Sunlight stabbed at Peter's eyes. "Where the hell . . " he croaked. The midday sun was streaming through the skylight above him. He tried to lift his head but his neck and back protested. "Gawd!" He groaned. He was still on the living room floor, his pants still wrapped around his ankles. Another attempt and he was finally in a sitting position. He had never felt this hung over, not even in his college days of debauchery. "Mr. Walker? Are you alright?" Peter winced. It was Maria the housekeeper just coming in the front door. "Mr. Walker, are you hurt?" She rushed over and tried to help him up. "Gently, Maria. Just help me to the sofa. Ow!" His muscles protested but he finally managed to half sit half lay down on the couch. "Please, just leave me here a minute. You just go about your work." She hesitated. "Can I get you something? I mean you don't look too good." She rushed off towards the bathroom leaving Peter mumbling feebly to himself. "Please. Don't mind me. Just leave me here to die." He chuckled to himself then his head pounded. "Christ Almighty, take me now! Oh, my head." Maria rushed back with a glass of water and aspirin. "Here. Take these and you just lie back and let Maria take care of you. I knew one of these days you were going to go too far and here you are lying on the floor, reeking of liquor. Tsk. Your nice suit all soiled. I wouldn't wonder if you soiled your underwear, too." As she scolded him she helped him out of his clothes. Peter was too hung over to struggle. He just let her take over and before he knew it he was resting comfortably under a soft blanket as Maria rushed around cleaning up the mess he had made the night before. He watched Maria as his eyes began to close. Maria was a very pretty woman, even in her drab gray uniform and heavy black shoes. She always wore her dark hair in a tight bun and as he drifted off to sleep, he imagined Maria's glossy black tresses cascading around her smooth shoulders. "Mr. Walker?" Maria's soft voice slowly woke Peter. "Mr. Walker, I'm leaving now. I left dinner on the stove. It just needs to be warmed up when you're ready." Peter stared into Maria's gentle brown eyes. "Maria, wait." Peter scrambled to get up off the couch. Maria was nearly to the door by the time Peter had untangled himself from the blanket. He reached out for her wrist. "Wait. I just want to ask you something." Maria turned to him and looked down at his hand on her wrist. "Yes, Mr. Walk . .!" Peter watched as a red flush flooded her face. He looked down to see what she was looking at and even though it was close to evening he had a beautiful morning wood sticking out of the fly of his boxers. He dropped her wrist and spun around. "Christ!" He sprinted back to the couch and wrapped the blanket around himself. "Sorry about that." He turned back to Maria and was surprised that she was laughing. Laughing! "Oh, Peter! You should have seen the look on your face!" She doubled over and laughed even harder. "Priceless!" Peter watched her with a bemused look on his face. Had she really called him Peter? He had asked her to call him Peter for the last 6 months but she had maintained that the agency she worked for had strict rules about that. "I'm sorry, Maria. I guess Little Pete doesn't know what time it is." He chuckled. Maria used the back of her hand to wipe the tears of laughter that trickled down her cheek. "Do all men name their private parts?" She giggled trying to compose herself. "My ex called his 'The Big Man!'" She burst out laughing again. Peter had never seen her like this before, but her laughter was contagious. He began to laugh with her. "The Big Man? Was he?" She practically shrieked at the question but couldn't talk and shook her head no. She wiggled her pinky at him. This set Peter off and he too was howling with laughter. After a few moments Maria was able to compose herself. She wiped her eyes again. "I'm sorry, Peter . . . Mr. Walker. I don't know what's wrong with me." She shook her head trying not to laugh. "The situation . . . uh . . . you wanted to ask me something?" "Did I?" Peter panted trying to catch his breath. "Oh, yes. Uh . . it seems kind of silly now. Do you have to leave? I mean could you stay to dinner?" He felt really awkward now. "I really need to talk to someone . . . and I think you may be able to help." "Dinner?" She tilted her head. Peter noticed the smooth golden skin of her neck and how truly gracefully she moved. "Well, I suppose. . I . . uh. ." "Great! You just . .uh . . .have a seat," He wrapped the blanket more securely around himself as he trotted to his bedroom. "Or pore yourself a drink! I'll just put some clothes on." He called back to her. By the time he got back to the kitchen, Maria had set the cutlery and two big bowls of soup out on the small table where he usually had breakfast. She was just poring out two glasses of wine when he came in. "Thanks for setting the table. I didn't want you to go to the trouble. You already made the dinner." He sat across from her, eyeing the glass of wine. "Maybe, I shouldn't have any more." He grimaced. "The way I feel right now, I don't think I ever want to see wine again." Maria looked up shyly and began to eat her soup. They ate in silence for a few moments. The soup was delicious and Peter ate quickly. "Wow. This is really good. I don't remember buying any canned soup like this." "It's my grandmother's recipe. You know, Mexican chicken soup." She smiled at him. "Good for what ails you." Peter had never notice how quick to smile Maria was. He liked the way her full lips curled on one side, revealing a very charming crooked smile. He smiled back easily. "Well, I don't know about your grandmother but you're a very good cook." She shrugged and continued to eat. "Um...you wanted to ask me something?" Peter took another spoonful of soup before he answered her. "Yeah." he said slowly. Where to start. He wasn't even sure what it wanted to ask her. He had asked her to join him on a whim but now that she was sitting in front of him he wasn't sure what he really wanted to say. "Tell you the truth, I don't know where to start." he frowned. She leaned toward him and cocked her head to the side. "Does it have anything to do with me finding you on the floor with your pants down around you ankles?" A humorous light played in her eyes. He chuckled, "I guess you could say that." He shook his head, "I just had a disastrous date with a very lovely, very young lady." She raised her eyebrows, "Young?" He nodded shamefacedly, "Very." "Ah." "Yeah," he hesitated. "I kind of...got drunk..." She interrupted him "I guessed that." "I guess I treated her pretty poorly," he sighed. "She slapped me." Maria raised her eyebrows again, but didn't say anything. "I guess I deserved it," He snorted. "I haven't been turned down by a woman since I was in high school." Peter had the good sense to realize how that must have sounded. "I know that sounds conceited, but it's the truth. I've been pretty luck in the romance department but lately... I don't know. I don't feel like playing the game anymore..." He stopped. He hadn't realized he felt this way until the words were about to fall out of his lips. "I think I want more." He whispered the last part. Maria looked down at her soup bowl. "Why do you think that is?" "I don't exactly know." He frowned. "Actually, until I said it out loud, I didn't know I did." "Well," she leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "Why do think that is...now? I mean why at this time of your life? You know, what's different now?" His vision turned inward at her question. He thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. "Age, maybe? Hopefully some wisdom." He shrugged again. "I didn't ever wanted to examine my life before. I thought that I didn't need to. I've been pretty happy with the way my life has been going. I'm good at my job. I have enough money to do just about anything I want. My health is good. My family, you know my parents and sisters are across the country and I see them a couple of times a year and I keep in touch with phone calls and emails. So I don't feel like I'm alone in the world or anything like that..." he hesitated before he finished his thought. Maria watched him carefully. "But?" She prompted quietly. "Huh." He grunted. "I never thought there was a but," He smirked at her. "Doctor." She chuckled and took another spoonful of soup. "That's what my daughter calls me. I guess I'm always asking her questions. Making her think about her motivations and decisions. I want her to be able to make good decisions now while she's young. Think things through, like I never did when I was her age. "I don't regret having her but I was far too young. I was 19 when I had her. I didn't think about the future. You know, school and what it would take to raise her right. But I was so in love and I thought that was enough." She sighed and then smiled up at him. "Her father is a very good man but we realized early on that we weren't meant for each other. He's been around all her life, which is more than I could hope for from someone who was so young. But it's been hard on all of us." Her face brightened. "Now I'm going to school at night and I have the flexibility with my job that I can fit that in." "School?" Peter was surprised. "What are you studying?" "It's just for a paralegal. But I figure that when I get work in a law office I can then go to law school." She made it sound so simple. "You want to be an attorney?" Again he was surprised. "Sure." She smiled. "I want to get into family law. You know, child custody. I hope I can help people who are having a hard time doing the right thing for their kids." "Wow, that's a tough line." He looked closely at her. "I mean, I don't really know you but I can't imagine you being a hard nosed attorney." Maria laughed. "My family wouldn't agree with you. I can be pretty tough when I have to be." She sat forward again, "You only know the 'maid' Maria. I'm also, mother, daughter, artist, musician, great cook and Junior Judo champ." She pointed aggressively at him, a smile fighting to break through. "So don't mess with me." "Wow," he said again, laughingly. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I really didn't know who I was messing with. Steady, Tiger!" They laughed together. Peter hadn't felt this comfortable talking with a woman in a very long time. He was liking Maria more and more. He wanted to know more about her. "How old is your daughter?" Maria squinted at him. "I can see right through you, Mr. Peter Walker. You want to figure out how old I am." She crossed her arms firmly. He shook his head quickly. "No! Really, I was just wondering how old your daughter is. I can't imagine you having a grown daughter, so..." He shrugged. She chuckled and relaxed. "I don't really care, Peter. I'm just messing with you. My daughter, Sandra, is going to be 21 this year. So I guess that makes me 40." "40?" Peter's eyes widened. "I thought you were going to say your daughter was 13 or something." Maria's eyes warmed, "Why, thank you kind sir. But some days I feel like I'm 60." she frowned. "Tell me about it." Peter nodded. Then he leaned in and looked closely at her. "You sure don't look 40 to me. Your skin is so smooth and, I don't know, fresh looking. It's just lovely." Her cheeks flushed a little and she couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Well, thank you, Peter. That's...um...that's sweet of you to say." He knew his stare was making her uncomfortable but he couldn't seem to help himself. The blush on her cheek was endearing and he was just noticing the dark caramel color of her eyes. "Would you care for more wine?" He asked to break the tension. "I don't think I should, I've got class tonight." Her eyes flitted to the clock above the stove. "Oh, my gosh! I've got class in an hour, I'm going to have get going." She was up and moving, gathering the dishes of their meal. Peter grabbed her wrist to stop her movements. "I'll take care of that. I've managed before you know." He smiled at her. The skin of her arm was warm and soft while the muscles underneath were firm. She hesitated then swiftly placed the dishes back on the table. Maria moved away from him. "Do you mind if I use the guest room to change my clothes? I really don't want to go to school in my uniform." "Sure," Peter gestured with the dishes in his hands. "You know this house almost better than I do. Use whichever room you like." Maria left quickly to get the bag from her car. Peter piled the dishes on the counter and started to fill the dishwasher. "Not completely helpless," He smirked to himself. He was just wiping down the counter when he heard Maria re-enter the room. "Thanks for dinner, Peter. I enjoyed the company." He turned to her and was stunned. This was a different woman. Her dark hair that was usually in a tight, neat bun, waved to her shoulders. She'd applied a bit of gloss to her lips, making them seem fuller and inviting. She was dressed casually in a white top and jeans but the effect it had on Peter was surprising. He tried not to make if obvious that he was admiring the curves that the simple clothes were showing off to perfection. Midlife "Thanks for joining me. You gave me a lot to think about." "I didn't do anything." She shrugged. He moved towards her, "Sure you did. You listened and didn't judge. You asked just enough to get me thinking." He was a only a couple of feet from her. He brushed her shoulder lightly with his hand. "I really appreciate it." She shrugged again. "Any time. I've really got to go." She looked up at him. Swiftly she put her hand on his shoulder and stood tip toe to place a quick peck on his cheek. Just as swiftly, she was walking quickly through the living room to the front door. She raised a hand as she past out the front door. "'Night, Peter!" She called over her shoulder. Bemused, Peter touched the place she kissed him, thinking about the sexy roll of her hips as she walked quickly away from him. *********************** Tuesday couldn't come soon enough for Peter. Maria was due to come in the afternoon while he was at work, but hopefully she would still be there when he got home.