It’s embarrassing to say, but I might as well lead with the truth: I’m 76 and still horny as hell. I’m tall, with the kind of posture that used to turn heads but now just reminds me to stretch. My hair’s gone white, my skin’s mapped with wrinkles, and even with hearing aids, I miss half of what people say. But desire—desire’s still loud.
At my age, people expect you to mellow out, to trade sex for crossword puzzles and nostalgia. But my sex drive never got the memo. It’s as stubborn as I am. The people who turn me on aren’t the people who want me. My wife is also in her 70s, and when I met her, she was gorgeous: thick hair, sharp wit, a body that could make me forget my own name. She’s softer now, slower, still my best friend, but not my fantasy anymore.
More, here.
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