I’m An Older Gay Man And I Know It Will Get Worse
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« on: August 26, 2017, 06:20:58 pm »

My body, that instrument that, once upon a time, introduced itself before I did, is falling apart. Slowly, yes, but it’s happening. It’s a thing, decay. Happens to anyone whose name is not Cher.

I’ve heard a lot lately from men older than my 53 years, gently chiding me for writing about a sexy life in the fifth decade. Most of the comments have had the tone of “Just wait,” and, while I’ve not addressed them individually, I hear the words. Now that the universe has decided gay men are going to grow old — T-cells be damned — we’re facing a whole new set of obstacles.

If you are gay, single, and childless, as I am, the future is as unpredictable today as the present was a couple of decades ago. Most 50-something gay men I know are married, and a huge percentage have children. I don’t know if they are all in love, or if it even matters, but I envy the security they have in one another and their family.

I don’t want to make the assumption that all gay, committed men are happy and carefree about their future. If I don’t specifically address them in this piece it’s because they’ve been mostly silent in regards to my work.

Unlike our predecessors, if you are gay and not married or partnered at this age, you face much of the same criticisms that single straight people do—what’s wrong with you; why haven’t you settled down; why are you so picky? Or, the alternative: You must not want a partner, children, a house. You’re happy in your life of solitude, so I’ll just ignore you and not invite you to that dinner party because it’s, you know, for couples.

For the record, because it’s come up so often, I would love to be married. I’ve come close a few times but it was never the right fit. I don’t want to “settle”—I’m too much of a romantic. I’d like to fall madly in love and take it from there. Pesky fate has thrown other plans in front of me. It’s a lonely feeling and I’m often envious when I read of my married friends’ placement and predicament.

Most 50-something gay men I know are married, and a huge percentage have children. I don’t know if they are all in love, or if it even matters, but I envy the security they have.
It breaks my heart when I read about a gay man over 60 talk about his loneliness, his lack of family, his lack of friends because of AIDS, his “invisibility.” Many of them were deserted by their nuclear family decades ago, and there was no lifeline to grab onto. I realize that I could be headed in the same direction, though I take comfort in the fact that I have siblings and in-laws and an extended family. For now I am good. I’m not immune to the temporal thrill of “fabulous at 50,” labels, or any of the other saccharine titles publications use to make our lives appear forever glamorous. We’re all scared. We’re all doomed.

About 10 years ago I told a 70-year-old straight woman that I was worried about growing old alone. She told me that, after two divorces and several bad relationships, she was thrilled to be single and I should be to. She was effing Mary Tyler Moore again! The next time I spoke to her, she had a new boyfriend. They remained together until her death 10 years later, and were the darlings of her assisted-living home. It’s addictive, this need to couple.

Not a week goes by where one of my gay, single peers doesn’t tell me of aging fears — “it ain’t for sissies,” ironically, is a perfect expression for the process. Most of us have witnessed, or are witnessing, the natural progression of parents, and know our number will soon be called. “Invisibility” is the most common phrase I hear, as well as scenarios in which they’re living with cats or their one, other single friend.

There’s also a terrible fear, at least in New York, that because beautiful bodies and youth have defined them for so long, without that armor they’ll further be alone. It’s as if this city, once so welcoming, stopped taking their phone calls and their texts and blocked them from Facebook, “life” edition. And every time a friend finds a partner the tug-o-war game gets another teammate for the other side. There’s so much grasping for rope.

Many years ago a man in his ’70s offered me a 100 bucks for simple sex, and I said sure. It seemed like a quick way to pay a bill and I’m not a prude about such things. I don’t remember much about him except that he seemed very lonely and reasonably well-off in his retirement — he had lots of tales of over-65 vacations and loved scuba diving.

I took him to my apartment and agreed to his one non-debatable request that I kiss him. I think he wanted that more than any other physical contact. Afterward, I got dressed and made light of things and watched him sit up, motionless. He hadn’t taken off one article of clothing. He looked at me, arms folded, told me I had a beautiful smile, and said, in a whisper, “I hate being old.” Then he walked out of my door and I never saw him again.

I don’t know if what I did was smart, or if it would hurt or help him. Perhaps it was something he did on a regular basis and it gave him a sense of freedom. Perhaps he forgot about it as soon as I did. Perhaps it spiraled him into deeper loneliness. I don’t have an answer. I do know that that someday I might find out for myself.
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« Reply #1 on: September 08, 2017, 05:50:53 pm »

My body, that instrument that, once upon a time, introduced itself before I did, is falling apart. Slowly, yes, but it’s happening. It’s a thing, decay. Happens to anyone whose name is not Cher.

I’ve heard a lot lately from men older than my 53 years, gently chiding me for writing about a sexy life in the fifth decade. Most of the comments have had the tone of “Just wait,” and, while I’ve not addressed them individually, I hear the words. Now that the universe has decided gay men are going to grow old — T-cells be damned — we’re facing a whole new set of obstacles.

If you are gay, single, and childless, as I am, the future is as unpredictable today as the present was a couple of decades ago. Most 50-something gay men I know are married, and a huge percentage have children. I don’t know if they are all in love, or if it even matters, but I envy the security they have in one another and their family.

I don’t want to make the assumption that all gay, committed men are happy and carefree about their future. If I don’t specifically address them in this piece it’s because they’ve been mostly silent in regards to my work.

Unlike our predecessors, if you are gay and not married or partnered at this age, you face much of the same criticisms that single straight people do—what’s wrong with you; why haven’t you settled down; why are you so picky? Or, the alternative: You must not want a partner, children, a house. You’re happy in your life of solitude, so I’ll just ignore you and not invite you to that dinner party because it’s, you know, for couples.

For the record, because it’s come up so often, I would love to be married. I’ve come close a few times but it was never the right fit. I don’t want to “settle”—I’m too much of a romantic. I’d like to fall madly in love and take it from there. Pesky fate has thrown other plans in front of me. It’s a lonely feeling and I’m often envious when I read of my married friends’ placement and predicament.

Most 50-something gay men I know are married, and a huge percentage have children. I don’t know if they are all in love, or if it even matters, but I envy the security they have.
It breaks my heart when I read about a gay man over 60 talk about his loneliness, his lack of family, his lack of friends because of AIDS, his “invisibility.” Many of them were deserted by their nuclear family decades ago, and there was no lifeline to grab onto. I realize that I could be headed in the same direction, though I take comfort in the fact that I have siblings and in-laws and an extended family. For now I am good. I’m not immune to the temporal thrill of “fabulous at 50,” labels, or any of the other saccharine titles publications use to make our lives appear forever glamorous. We’re all scared. We’re all doomed.

About 10 years ago I told a 70-year-old straight woman that I was worried about growing old alone. She told me that, after two divorces and several bad relationships, she was thrilled to be single and I should be to. She was effing Mary Tyler Moore again! The next time I spoke to her, she had a new boyfriend. They remained together until her death 10 years later, and were the darlings of her assisted-living home. It’s addictive, this need to couple.

Not a week goes by where one of my gay, single peers doesn’t tell me of aging fears — “it ain’t for sissies,” ironically, is a perfect expression for the process. Most of us have witnessed, or are witnessing, the natural progression of parents, and know our number will soon be called. “Invisibility” is the most common phrase I hear, as well as scenarios in which they’re living with cats or their one, other single friend.

There’s also a terrible fear, at least in New York, that because beautiful bodies and youth have defined them for so long, without that armor they’ll further be alone. It’s as if this city, once so welcoming, stopped taking their phone calls and their texts and blocked them from Facebook, “life” edition. And every time a friend finds a partner the tug-o-war game gets another teammate for the other side. There’s so much grasping for rope.

Many years ago a man in his ’70s offered me a 100 bucks for simple sex, and I said sure. It seemed like a quick way to pay a bill and I’m not a prude about such things. I don’t remember much about him except that he seemed very lonely and reasonably well-off in his retirement — he had lots of tales of over-65 vacations and loved scuba diving.

I took him to my apartment and agreed to his one non-debatable request that I kiss him. I think he wanted that more than any other physical contact. Afterward, I got dressed and made light of things and watched him sit up, motionless. He hadn’t taken off one article of clothing. He looked at me, arms folded, told me I had a beautiful smile, and said, in a whisper, “I hate being old.” Then he walked out of my door and I never saw him again.

I don’t know if what I did was smart, or if it would hurt or help him. Perhaps it was something he did on a regular basis and it gave him a sense of freedom. Perhaps he forgot about it as soon as I did. Perhaps it spiraled him into deeper loneliness. I don’t have an answer. I do know that that someday I might find out for myself.


Interesting pessimistic post..

 Tongue



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« Reply #2 on: September 10, 2017, 07:52:48 am »

Interesting.
I used to fear getting old. Now i accept it will happen (not thrilled about that, tho !)

The loneliness is more personal i think: in me probably will happen as a "radicalization " of me not liking people that much.
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« Reply #3 on: September 22, 2017, 10:14:05 am »

Interesting.
I used to fear getting old. Now i accept it will happen (not thrilled about that, tho !)

The loneliness is more personal i think: in me probably will happen as a "radicalization " of me not liking people that much.


Personal choice then..

 Evil

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« Reply #4 on: September 22, 2017, 04:32:15 pm »

I also fear growing old alone. That fear probably explains why I'm so driven to find a boyfriend, lol.
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« Reply #5 on: September 22, 2017, 04:52:57 pm »

I hope you'll forgive me but I think the OP's post is bullshit.

I'm 48 and single I love being older. When I was in my teens I was keenly aware that age was a bitch and that my health was nothing to take for granted. I made a choice when I was 14 to be a vegetarian (lasted till I was 21) and I've eaten well ever since. I also followed the wisdom that tanned skin is damaged skin and I have always exercised regularly.
 
The result is I've neither a wrinkle nor mole, have a strong body (was last sick in 2001), and I'm happy. Every single friend I came of age with is fat to obese, gray, and slow.   
 
As for wealth, I started investing for my retirement when I was 25 and I'm set. 
 
As for relationships, I've not done well with long-term relationships but I have a lot of fun -- and I'm fine with that. I've already taken care of my future by making sure I'm healthy, financially stable, and have a wide circle of friends. 

My point and reason for writing is this: You made choices and now the consequences for those choices have come to bite you on the ass. You have a chance to make new choices for a different future. Either you will or you won't but it is within your power to make changes to improve yourself. The alternative is that you can wallow in pessimism and self-pity.

The choice is yours. It is not too late.


https://www.happyfacts.me/news/10-people-who-look-really-young-their-age-without-a-scalpel-sight/
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« Reply #6 on: September 22, 2017, 05:23:29 pm »



Many years ago a man in his ’70s offered me a 100 bucks for simple sex, and I said sure. It seemed like a quick way to pay a bill and I’m not a prude about such things. I don’t remember much about him except that he seemed very lonely and reasonably well-off in his retirement — he had lots of tales of over-65 vacations and loved scuba diving.

I took him to my apartment and agreed to his one non-debatable request that I kiss him. I think he wanted that more than any other physical contact. Afterward, I got dressed and made light of things and watched him sit up, motionless. He hadn’t taken off one article of clothing. He looked at me, arms folded, told me I had a beautiful smile, and said, in a whisper, “I hate being old.” Then he walked out of my door and I never saw him again.

I don’t know if what I did was smart, or if it would hurt or help him. Perhaps it was something he did on a regular basis and it gave him a sense of freedom. Perhaps he forgot about it as soon as I did. Perhaps it spiraled him into deeper loneliness. I don’t have an answer. I do know that that someday I might find out for myself.[/color]
IKR, I'm in my late 50s.
The only way to delay the physical effects of aging is to exercise as well as taking good care of the skin. It doesn't cost much, just that it takes time and effort. Our aging skin is in such desperate need for external care that a little nutrient shows vast differences.

I go to saunas for older men and have sex with older men like myself, unlike some picky old men trying to cling onto their long gone youth and trying very hard to hookup with young men who usually spurn their advances.
There are older men of 60s 70s there and even if he can't get it up, we can still touch and cuddle as long as he is still clean and decent. If he wants to feel the inside of a warm ass again, I'll open my legs for his fingers to fuck me. At our age we have seen and done so much sex, there's nothing to be coy about sex. Sex is just sex to be enjoyed while you can.
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VDM - Very Dirty Minded, I almost always misread things to sex (e.g newbie >>> nudie ) LOL.
So I like to talk dirty.
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« Reply #7 on: Yesterday at 01:16:50 am »



Many years ago a man in his ’70s offered me a 100 bucks for simple sex, and I said sure. It seemed like a quick way to pay a bill and I’m not a prude about such things. I don’t remember much about him except that he seemed very lonely and reasonably well-off in his retirement — he had lots of tales of over-65 vacations and loved scuba diving.

I took him to my apartment and agreed to his one non-debatable request that I kiss him. I think he wanted that more than any other physical contact. Afterward, I got dressed and made light of things and watched him sit up, motionless. He hadn’t taken off one article of clothing. He looked at me, arms folded, told me I had a beautiful smile, and said, in a whisper, “I hate being old.” Then he walked out of my door and I never saw him again.

I don’t know if what I did was smart, or if it would hurt or help him. Perhaps it was something he did on a regular basis and it gave him a sense of freedom. Perhaps he forgot about it as soon as I did. Perhaps it spiraled him into deeper loneliness. I don’t have an answer. I do know that that someday I might find out for myself.[/color]
IKR, I'm in my late 50s.
The only way to delay the physical effects of aging is to exercise as well as taking good care of the skin. It doesn't cost much, just that it takes time and effort. Our aging skin is in such desperate need for external care that a little nutrient shows vast differences.

I go to saunas for older men and have sex with older men like myself, unlike some picky old men trying to cling onto their long gone youth and trying very hard to hookup with young men who usually spurn their advances.
There are older men of 60s 70s there and even if he can't get it up, we can still touch and cuddle as long as he is still clean and decent. If he wants to feel the inside of a warm ass again, I'll open my legs for his fingers to fuck me. At our age we have seen and done so much sex, there's nothing to be coy about sex. Sex is just sex to be enjoyed while you can.


 angel


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