14 June 2009
It finally stopped raining this afternoon. We'll see how long the good weather holds up.
I took a short bike ride to Forest Park, which is a few miles from my place, and through Dominick's neighborhood, except that he wasn't there.
It seemed that every female I saw was younger, skinnier and prettier than I am. The weird thing is that when I look at my face in my mirror--say, when I'm brushing my hair or applying makeup--I actually like what I see. Perhaps most people wouldn't say I'm beautiful, or even pretty. But I have been told that my face is "inviting" and that it expresses "tenderness" and "vulnerability."
Well...I certainly don't make any effort to be aloof or haughty. And I suppose I can empathise with a pretty fair number of people, some of whom would seem to have little in common with me. If I am exuding those qualities, I'm happy. And I know that people respond to happiness.
OK, so maybe I have Angelina Jolie's soul. But I wouldn't mind having her body.
So, instead of all of those young, skinny and pretty girls, all of you guys can have a dowdy, flabby middle-aged woman. You'd all make such a trade. Right? Of course you would. And you know why: If girls wanna have fun, all of you guys want a girl who's having fun.
Take it from me: When I was a young man, I dated women like the one I am now. OK, I'll clarify that. I've never dated a trans woman--at least, not to my knowledge. But I've dated a few women who were at least ten years older than I was. None were skinny, though none were fat. Two of them had nice legs; all of them had beautiful eyes. All except one were divorced and all of them raised kids, whether while or before I knew them.
Take it from someone who dated older women and is now the older woman: We're more fun. We're more interesting. We know how to do all kinds of things you haven't yet imagined. But we can teach you, if you're interested.
Here I am, bags and all. I invite you.