There’s something about this warmer weather that makes me want to strip off my clothes and run naked through the park. I would not, however, wish to frighten the squirrels so I shall instead exfoliate and moisturise, and, like the elegant lady that I am, peel away a layer or two to allow the rays to gently bronze my body before revealing it in anything other than the softest candlelight.
Summer is an awkward season if you are a creature of the night. It doesn’t get dark until 10 p.m. and there is a definite lack of ambience trying to be seductive stone cold sober in broad daylight. As I am in the (late) summer of my life, I need the gloom in order to bloom; the deeper the gloom, the more bloomin’ marvellous I feel. When Rod Stewart sang of Maggie May: “The morning sun when it’s in your face really shows your age…” I was relieved when he went on: “…but that don’t worry me none, in my eyes you’re everything” which compounds the theory that lust is blind.
Before I begin to fade, go crinkly and bits of me start to drop off, I have found myself taking the fast train rather than the scenic route lest I run out of time (I ran out of thyme the other evening but that’s another story…)
When I was in the early spring of my life, those many moons ago, an expression often used with bravado by bragging boys was:
“I live by the three Fs: find ‘em, **** ‘em and forget ‘em.”
I remember in all my innocent ignorance feeling shocked by this, never believing I’d be a victim, less so a perpetrator. Women are wired differently, and though we may find ‘em and **** ‘em, we hardly ever forget ‘em, no matter how many Pink Martini Shooters we’ve imbibed.
The ‘must-have-instant-gratification’ generation – and some of us old enough to know better – embrace the 3F situation. It suits our lifestyles. Everything these days is carried out at breakneck speed and few of us stop to smell the roses – we just need to get them home and into a vase, so we can dash back out again. The ease (or complexity) of internet dating has produced some pretty short-lived romances, with ‘romance’ being the least operative word.
With my more suitable suitors, I expect to go slowly (some of them walk with a stick!) I am taken to the opera and out for dinner and I know they relish the notion that I may eventually be dessert. How little they know…I live in a third floor walk-up, and even if I did ask at the end of the evening: “Would you like to come up and make love to me?” they’d be bound to answer: “I can do one thing or the other, but probably not both…”
With my toyboys, however, bouncing, bounding bounders that they are, they make the climb in a minute flat and I have had occasion to become a fruity fondue covered in chocolate before even glancing at a menu.
Horses for courses, I say. Enjoy the weather, everyone – like lust, it may not last…
By Poshbird aka Wendy Salisbury who wrote The Toyboy Diaries which can be found at all good bookstores and on Amazon.
