"Of all the gin joints in all the towns he’s
never walked into
mine."
Having never picked the right guy for
myself after searching 40 something years, my grandmother insists I’m cursed; I
tell myself.... I just haven’t met the right guy.
Through the years the gene pool has been
more than kind to me. Thankfully, I can hold a strong candle to
slightly-above-average beauty, and I still manage to turn a few heads, even at
my age.
I don’t have an Ivy League education,
but I’m no dumbed-down, touched-up blonde. I believe there is a lot to be said
for us street savvy business women. If you were stranded on a desert island you
would definitely want me with you. I can guarantee you -- I would find a way
off that island before either of us lost a complete dress size.
I haven’t missed a hair
appointment in the past 25 years. Not for the birth of my only niece, not for
my 90-year-old neighbor’s funeral, and certainly not because I was stupid
enough to get stranded on an island without a hair salon within swimming
distance.
However, I do fear it’s just a matter of
time until all hell breaks loose and down I go -- my chin hanging to my boobs,
my silicone torpedoes pointed straight down towards an old gunnysack of
cellulite, my knees sagging to my swollen ankles, and I’m most afraid I will
one day have to tuck my ass into the back of my knee-high support hose so I
won’t trip over it. I anticipate the day I wake up and realize, “Wow, I’m old.”
Until then I say, “Ladies, hold your chin up high. That way when your turkey
neck sways, at least it sways with confidence!
And keep your sex, spicy and hot, hot, hot!
Remember when you were 20 and you loved
when you were kissing some little hottie that you just met in a bar. A couple
shots of tequila and the next thing you knew he’s got his tongue down your throat
like he’s going to rip your tonsils out…But at 20 years old kissing wasn’t the
nucleus of hot and horning, the tequila and hormones took care of that. So
kissing was just something you did to pass the time until you got to the good
stuff.
But now days…the kissing better be good. After a
hysterectomy good kissing is like the whip cream on the strawberries. Kissing
is the battery cables to my slightly sluggish motor. But a few good kisses, a glass of wine, my estrogen patch, some
testosterone gel, a shot of KY jelly and I’m good to go.
But I’ve noticed that old people and
married couples don’t really kiss. I’m not sure where they lost that part of their
relationship. Maybe because good kissing is really truly an art, and I’m grateful
I mastered it way back when and I love to kiss. Nothing hotter than a long
passionate kiss-Like a kitten chasing the end of a string and never gets tired of it. I love to be kissed
by a guy who knows how to smooch.
But now at my age, good kissers are hard
to come by. Maybe they're lazy, perhaps they should slow down on the little blue
pills until they master the art of kissing a girl the way she should be
kissed. Slow, soft, and just enough to make her want more.
Recently I went out with a guy and after
a pretty nice evening, talking and drinking wine, he walked me to my car. Innocently
I opened my mouth to say thank you, and that’s when he seized the opportunity. Like
a cruise missile he launched his tongue into my mouth. The torpedo hit my pearly
whites like he was ready to sink my battleship. “Wow-Slow down G.I. Joe” I said
once I caught my breath. But before I could start my car, Torpedo Tongue fired
again. This time, I blocked the blow with my cheek… “Awe, I just wanted to give
you a nice good night kiss Kristina” He said with a sad pathetic look on his
face. “Yes, I detected that when you fired your bazooka down my throat. Personally
I prefer a soft tongue teasing approach” I said as I started my car. “Well it
was just a tactical error. I’ll do better next time. Lets go to your place
Saturday night?” He said as the car waiting for my parking spot honked their horn
to hurry us along. “Call me….” He said as I drove away…
“Next!” I said to myself as I put my
jammies on and crawled in bed alone.
