An Old Man's Dream

[Barry G]

An Old Man’s Dream
(Warning: contains inferred adult material & is 1150 depressing words long)


I have been thinking about the concept of winning the lottery and suddenly becoming mega rich for all the world to see. I find myself day dreaming of being the target of nubile young ladies each with a voluptuous figure, silky tresses, luscious lips, long legs and satin skin. I cannot yet work out whether I’d like the redhead, blonde or brunette flavour. What I have decided is that there must be ample decolletage otherwise on my part there will be no rising to the occasion.

Actually the odds on winning the lottery are longer than my popping my clogs but maybe I could have sold the screen rights to ‘The Horse goes Classical’ and thereby have earned a huge fortune. That is about as close as I can realistically come nowadays to making some dosh. In which event my long suffering Missus of 45 years will probably take half the cash and will drive off into the sunset in the new Mercedes convertible with a toy boy. It will be so much easier for her, he will be up for it.

I am imagining looking at a photograph of myself on the front page of some magazine at a celeb writer’s bash accompanied by a young blonde beauty. In the photo the young ‘innocent’ damsel will be wearing an exquisite ensemble dreamt up by an Italian couturier. She will be showing ample cleavage and a long length of sun tanned thigh. The rear end shimmy will only show up in the videos. She’ll probably be old enough (yes ‘old‘) to be my great grand daughter. The Maitre D in restaurants in the hope of a fat tip will no doubt politely refer to her as: ‘my daughter’ which can be highly embarrassing for all parties.
In visualising these scenes I am asking myself: ‘just why would I do this?‘

After an evening out and a sumptuous meal we would drive home for the seduction scene. There we would reach the moment of denouement. Just how would I persuade her that I am only old enough to be her father rather than her grandfather? Perhaps I could persuade her that the wrinkles are a sign of maturity and that the grey hairs are reflecting the silver colour in fashion for this season.

Obviously I would have to look the part of a suave sophisticated lothario. It comes to mind that some people have said that I resemble Sean Connery, but that is usually after they have supped a glass or three. I have always encouraged that way of thinking even though Sean does have that Scottish brogue and a twinkling eye. Importantly he is bald with a hairy chest and so am I, but I don’t do Scottish accents, neither would I ever wear a kilt even though I do have hairy legs I have always been told that bald men are sexy and I have basked in the accolade since I was twenty one. It is a bit late to think of a wig and our Sean never wears one. Luckily Sean has been seen wearing specs but it will not matter to me, as I always pretend mine are sunglasses even at night.

To get the slim figure of a typical double 00, obviously the wearing of a corset would be called for but I could hide that under a silk shirt and an expensive Savile Row dinner jacket. With all that smiling, there is maybe a question about the teeth. I’ve still got six which did not originate in a porcelain factory. My dentist tells me that I can have some implants fitted but they would have to be screwed directly into the gums. Falsies are out of the question because at the end of the day you have to plonk them in a glass of fizzing water on the bed side table. I am reminded of that point by my long suffering flesh and blood wife who says that falsies would be the final straw to our relationship. She has tolerated a lot from me over the years but a gummy mouth and a set of false teeth is way beyond what she promised to foreswear all those years ago. I do have a hairy chest and the silky luxuriant beard. Indeed I never shave the chin or anything else hairy - no, not never, no how.

To be honest there is the odd little wrinkle around the corners of the eye and the forehead. They come from the mischievous twinkling of the eyes which always gets the ladies going. Botox as I am led to believe, shrinks the skin - I do not fancy that route because the active ingredient of Botox is some so called safe relative of botulism. Not for me, Old Son. What about the droopy stomach? Well that won’t be the only appendage which is drooping will it?

Luckily the blonde bimbo won’t be looking at my flat feet which point at 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock. She’ll spend most of the time staring up towards the ceiling and not down to the floor. Anyway she will be too stunned from gazing into my eyes. She’ll be tickled pink by the light tender touch of my finger tips. She will be soothed by my mellow voice. And no doubt, she’ll be thinking of my money.

No, as I go through in my mind the process of setting the scene for the titillation, it is obvious that the dirty deed will have to be done in the dark, preferably the pitch dark. Of course the whole event would all have to be filmed in ultra violet light just in case the blonde tries for blackmail. And as for that little mark on her buttock - I’d have to record it on a tick box just to prove the bodywork was scratched when I signed the hire agreement.

You would think that in this modern age someone would have invented a big water bed with a built in wave maker for this type of occasion. It would make things so much easier if you could throw a switch which would energise the waves up through storm force, gale force, hurricane force, to typhoon rapture. There would be significant advantage in owning such a contraption in that I would only need pills for seasickness. I do wonder how the Hughs of this world manage and they are older than me.

Sadly, even after serious forethought, this romantic interlude is simply not going to go right. It is more likely that I would get paid by her for not having to go through with it. Anyway there’s no point, we can’t beget a new dynasty to inherit the dosh, my ductus deferens was rendered defunct years ago.

This day dreaming must now stop. If my wife is going to run off with the postman (out in the countryside we no longer have milkmen) then I shall just have to rely on my wit, my humour, my perspicaciousness, my charm, my winning smile, my twinkling eyes, my wisdom and whatever else I can kid myself into believing.

Money might gild the lily but it won’t put the clock back. Although on second thought, it might make the bimbo knock twice on the door.

[eden2000]

How amazingly imaginative you are. I found your description of how things would be delightful. The images it brought to my mind made me laugh. Please continue in your search for fame because I think you deserve to fullfill that fantasy.

[Lagrange]

Good stuff. My favorite part was the bit about the water bed. Very clever.

[MJ Preston]

An excellent read Barry. To win the lottery for me would not be the toys or ladies to massage my ego, but the time to do what it is I love.