Saturday, July 22, 2006


Ok, this bit is not about money but the second most important thing in life, which is sex, of course. My dad visited me last week. He's a 70 year old widower. Somehow and with great reluctance on my part, our conversation turned to sex. My dad proceeded to enlighten me as to how hard-on drugs like Viagra and Cialis have totally altered the sexual landscape for guys in their sixties and seventies. "It's hilarious how they warn that a side effect of Levitra is an erection that might last over 4 hours," my dad said with a chuckle. "Great marketing! Every old goat in his laz-e-boy sat up and said, 'Damn, I got to get me some of that.'" Suddenly it's sex, drugs and, if not rock n' roll, then at least Frank Sinatra for these geezers.

My father regaled me with details about his recent visit to a titty bar/flesh den known as Pure Platinum. He went there with a couple of other old-timers. "I checked into the VIP Champagne Room," he related to me. "Man, were my buddies jealous when I told them what happened."

"What happened?" I asked with some trepidation.

"Well, I'm getting a lap dance and next thing I know, the girl has my pants unzipped and she's yanking on my pecker."


"Yeah, and after looking around to make sure nobody was watching, she's blowing me." He added a globbing/gagging sound for extra effect. Remember, we're talking about a 70 year old guy who is about 60 pounds overweight.

"She finished me off with a hand job," he added. "My buddies were all waiting for me when I came out. They didn't believe me when I told them I got a hand-job, a blow job and even a little penetration. They all thought I was lying. I showed them her phone number that she gave me. Said to call her sometime."

He went on to tell me how one of his pals, Van, also 70 years old and good looking enough to merit the nickname "The Troll," was even dating one of the dancers. "Van, a sugar daddy," I said, incredulous.

"The Troll was telling me the other day about how he discovered what they call a woman's G-Spot," he continued. "You know what the G-spot is?"

I answered that I remember reading about it 20 some years ago in my girlfriend's Cosmopolitan Magazine. In fact, back in the day it seemed like Cosmo devoted about 2 or 3 articles to the subject every issue, as if finding the G-Spot was as mysterious and monumental as The Search for the Holy Grail.

"He said his girlfriend showed him where find it. Right under the pelvic bone. The Troll said he got his finger up in there and man, did he work that thing. Got his girlfriend to come a half dozen times. Said after it was all over, it looked like she had wetted the bed."

More info than I needed to know.

"And Claude, you know Claude, right?" (Another dude in his seventies on a Viagra fuck rampage). "Well, Claude is driving his wife nuts. She's such a sweet woman, devout Catholic. She told Claude that she really didn't enjoy sex so much anymore, being that she's 68 years old. And Claude said to hell with that and that he planned on screwing her at least 4 times a week. He told me I should have a pre-nup if I ever get engaged that stipulates that my fiance's got to give it to me at least 4 times a week. I said, shit, I might have a hard time living up to my side of that agreement!"

Pity the poor woman in the twilight of her years whose husband has discovered Levitra.

Finally, Dad noticed that I was getting a little uncomfortable hearing the tawdry details about his and his pals' sex escapades. "Hey, it's not like all we do is go to Pure Platinum and think about sex," he said defensively. I have to admit that I was perturbed by my father's lust. I had never seen that side of him until now. Of course, he had never displayed it when Mom was still alive. And I have to admit that I found it disconcerting that my old man was getting more action than I was.

But really, deeper down I was sorry to hear that guys that age are still so horny because I had hoped that by then sex would not be the second most important thing in life. Think about the huge amount of time and effort we males expend on something as ephemeral and base as getting our rocks off. The benefit of those efforts is a one shot gratification, not cumulative the way, say, learning is. The few moments of feel good are no more lasting and tangible than a used condom. You would think 70 years would be enough time to realize this.

I had always thought that as a septuagenarian my mind would be engaged in the "higher things," such as art and learning, how to make the world a better place, etc. By then, I assumed that the cravings would have died down, enabling my spirit to have attained a steady state of equanimity. I looked forward to moments of peaceful contemplation, not distracted by the sensory, sexual overload that our present culture dumps on us. A wizened old man, comforted by a philosophical resignation to the fact that I would soon be casting off these mortal that such a bad way to go out?

Instead, Dad and his fellow Sybarites still talk about who would be the best lay, Angelina or Brittany. With the end of the journey still in sight, the heavenly light visible at the end of the tunnel, do you really want to still be stopping at magazine racks and surreptitiously taking peeks inside mags like Jugs and Swank? Won't you look even more ridiculous swiveling your head and ogling a nice piece of ass that just walked by you on Madison Avenue when you're 75 years old, your prick as hard as your walking cane? Before Viagra, Levitra, Cialis, guys didn't have any choice but to pursue interests of the mind and soul because there was nothing they could do about the lust in their hearts, to paraphrase prissy Jimmy Carter. There was no lead in the pencil, no crank in the crane. To avoid going insane with frustration, the old dogs had to learn new tricks, direct their attention upwards from their crotch. In short, they became wise.

I don't think that we have fully comprehended the seismic effects that these dick drugs will have as to how we view the life cycle, what it means to age, how we address the end of our days. In that sense, these drugs may have uplifted our elders' limp pricks but left our culture low.

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