’Till Death...

Desire. Heat. Passion. Hours lost in unbridled lust for young flesh. Sweat. Moans. Explosions of spasmodic ecstasy. Ah, these are the pleasures from which an old man's dreams are made. The intensity of erotic sexual congress - the animalistic pillaging of a willing body - or two - the submission to fantasy and debauchery; memories fading to dreams indeed.

Yet, that tight young flesh loosens, wrinkles, and sags. The exotic scent of the moist flower dissipates and dries. The ecstasy reduces to expectancy and then neutrality. Through it all, though, for the very lucky, remains a partner. A friend. Encouragement, respect and commiseration. A connection and bond forged in the fires of youth and strengthened over time by the battles of life. We grow self conscious of our bodies as they wither and fail, but the comfort of a hug and a snuggle exists without judgement. A shoulder to cry on or an embrace to rejoice with; priceless as time trudges on. Unconditional love is tried and true. Acceptance and forgiveness of flaws and failings is something Eros never offered. Agape allows us to grow old with a sense of dignity and purpose. My familiar rock, regardless how weathered, will forever offer more comfort, support, and that elusive notion of love than any ample bosom of a fleeting dream. Somehow I know - the feeling is mutual.