Thinking of England

Writing in this blog after so, so long, as I did yesterday, has made me feel like a new man. Instead of the 113 year old which I am, and often feel, I feel this morning like a sprightly 75 year old. It’s as if I had made love with a woman last night, so good do I feel.

Of course, being 113, I don’t find it as easy to make love with a woman as when I was 75. But my libido hasn’t totally gone, so I still look with desire upon many a young woman who I see in a supermarket and elsewhere. Could they ever contemplate in their heart of hearts that this 113 year old man shopping for food next to them, is thinking how they would look naked? And what if they could read my thoughts, how would they react? Would they run screaming to the supermarket manager to tell him to throw out that old man who’s imagining them naked? Or would they feel flattered?

Knowing very little about women, I don’t know how they would react. This is why when I do encounter a woman I find desirable, I don’t let on that I do. I find it amazing how little I know about women, even though I was married to one – my late wife, Gladys – for over 50 years. In the weeks and months after Gladys and I had met, I thought I knew everything about her. And I continued to think this even during the first few years of our marriage. But as more time passed, it dawned on me that I knew almost nothing about her. When she died, she’d become a veritable stranger.

I’ve written elsewhere of the occasion when I discovered *Gladys in bed* with one of my fellow army officers. Our marriage was never the same thereafter. My conjugal demands on Gladys lessened to no more than three or four times a year, and I only made them when I was so consumed by the fires of lust that it was affecting my ability to make decisions as an army officer. You must understand that, as a high-ranking army officer, with the lives of so many men dependent on the decisions I made in war and in peace, it was imperative that I think clearly, and I absolutely couldn’t when my body was consumed with the fires of lust.

I made Gladys understand this too, which is why when I made my conjugal demands on her, she complied, lay back, and – I’ve little doubt – thought of England. Of course, being a man, I was consumed by the fires of lust more than three or four times a year – more like three or four times a month. But there were usually other women around, including prostitutes, on whom I could slake my lust. But sometimes they weren’t around, particularly when I was in-between affairs, and when I was posted to army garrisons in districts so sparsely populated, there were no prostitutes nearby.

Since I’m now 113, my being consumed by the fires of lust is no longer quite the problem it once was. But it’s still sometimes a problem, and, to slake my lust, I must today rely almost solely on prostitutes, since I have little opportunity to meet women with whom I might have an affair. This is one of the downsides of living outside the law. But even were I on the right side of the law, and so were living contentedly in a nice suburban house with a lawn and garage and all of that, I still might find it difficult to find a woman with whom to sleep, because few women seem to want to sleep with a very old man like me without being paid to do so.

I do find this vexing, for prostitutes are an added drain on my budget – an irritating burden, since money is so hard to come by when one lives outside the law, as I’m now compelled to do.

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