What It Means To Me To Have A Lover

What It Means To Me To Have A Lover

In two weeks I turn 71 – please, my FB friends, no silly birthday greetings, I find that practice infantile – and in my fifty years as an openly gay man I never had reciprocal love from another guy until now, until HE came along. Yea, over the years I had my crushes and infatuations and one sided love affairs that were all in my head like some Harlequin novel addict, but not even with my long term partner who was as conservative as a Presbyterian minister, and as romantic as an unflushed toilet, no, not until now did someone come into my life suddenly – isn’t that always the way – and show me what it’s like to have a man feel the same way about you as you feel about him.

I thought that such feelings were impossible, that they had been blowtorched out of me as I earned my Ph.D. in the Gay School of Hard Knocks.

I was wrong.

True, what turns him on and makes him complete is not what the average boyishly handsome, intelligent and athletic 43 year old guy looks for – HE likes his men older, usually much older than him so though he could be my younger son, and my usual longings are for guys closer to my mythical age – I’ll get to that in a second – not a day goes by that I don’t thank the Gay God for having him. And, right up front, there’s no money or drugs and other inducements involved. All he wants is me. In fact, sorry Just For Men, he even likes the gray in my beard. He’s the one with the naturally manly lean and mean body like it was sculpted in clay and I the guy in fair shape and stretch marks, but he’s the one who keeps telling me I’m the perfect man for him.

On the other hand, in my defense, I ain’t your typical seventy year old either. Most people take me for my fifties – I know that’s still old but seventy sounds like pre-nursing home material – thanks to good genes, not abusing myself when I was young, and keeping my shit together and mind fresh when most guys over 50 – gay or str8 – are train wrecks.

And we’re both fur lovers so it doesn’t take much more than a glance or even just a text to give one another raging hard-ons. Totally compatible in bed from Day One, we also are creative types both in and out of it – I write with words, he writes with music and digital images – and we share the same minimalistic views on life and living.

Most of all, I’ve done things with him that I never did before with any other man like – yes, hold hands. Christ, you would think if you had reached the seventh decade of your gay life holding hands with a guy would have been old hat by now, but not for me. He’ll grab my hand if we’re out and about or lying naked side by side in bed as of it were the most natural thing for two men so into one another could do. And while I’ve kissed guys, no one kisses like he does. Christ, we could probably kiss the afternoon away without even knowing we’ve cum.

After all these years of watching other couples display their affection for one another openly, and feeling a mixture of jealousy and loneliness, it has finally happened to me.

Just the other day I painstakingly went through all our text messages to find out when this all started – it was two years ago come this fall – and I saw we both recognized the chemistry between one another almost immediately.

No, we have not pledged oaths of monogamy, though at my age promiscuity does not hold the glamour it once did, and we both cherish our time apart, but there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that he will go down as the love of my life.

What do they say – better late than never? And if it all ends tomorrow and my tomorrows are reaching their expiration date, I can at least say I had it once in my life.

Thanks, Gay God. I’m a believer again.

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