An orange in a sock

Yeah, those are my tits now. They’ve been that way for about a year now. When I’m standing up or laying flat on my back they’re OK, still hanging in there. But bent over, like when I’m fucking Maestro doggy style and leaning over to kiss his beautiful lips or stroke his soft hair – it’s a sad sight. An orange in a sock. They’re no longer round globes of flesh with a pert little nipple. The flesh is like a long, loose saggy strip with a bulb on the end. Now I can’t take credit for that hilarious imagery. That’s goes to my friend out in Ottawa – a kickass woman who has been there with me to laugh through the painful times. She reminds me that you can’t keep a woman with saggy tits and a flabby ass down. We’ll wiggle, jiggle and blow your house down! (And now pass me the ice cubes ’cause I’m having a hot flash.)

There’s actually lots that I love about aging. While the body slowly declines, the mind activates. I’m embracing different opportunities, taking chances … and picking gravel out of my knees when I fuck up and fall down, knowing that I’ll have a laugh with my friends, get up again and try not to repeat the stupid shit.