At a certain age you become invisible, your mojo springs a leak, that sexual scat you give off lessens, that lust the opposite sex felt for you begins to dissipate and turns into something else your ego must endure, with or without the aid of antidepressants.
Now invisibility is related to the aging process and in the good old USA the loss of youth and the youthful look is an unforgivable sin that leads to sexual invisibility and this process starts at a younger age each year. Now many men and women choose not to go quietly into the night and battle their unavoidable invisibility, and I’m not talking exercise and good diet here. I’m talking about the mutants that have been created by plastic surgeons who will nip and tuck from your asshole to your upper lip for the right price. Who the hell do these people think they are fooling? Sure, they are no longer invisible, but their lack of invisibility has nothing to do with sex appeal but rather freak appeal. Now I don’t know what it feels like being looked at by “these eyes” — maybe the tradeoff is worth it for some, but for me I’m becoming more and more invisible every day. It started for me when my youngest son was a junior in high school and I noted how some women started looking at him with lust in their eyes and had stopped looking at me that way. In the beginning I thought I was imagining things — these dirty old women. I wasn’t looking at their daughters that way. But the more I observed them, the more I found this fact to be true. I had reached the top floor on the sex appeal elevator and was now starting on that painful ride to the basement. Now, the ride car can be slow or fast. You get on the elevator in your early 20’s or 40’s, but make no mistake about it, eventually you are going to get on the elevator and end up in the basement, unless you die before you get there. This is not a happy thought, not something you sit around meditating on because it makes you so happy. I personally wish there was away around it. I personally liked being noticed, having women desire me.
Now if someone is overly interested in me, I’m a little suspicious. I wonder about her psychological profile. Are there any skeletons in the closet? Knives under the bed? — Stuff like that. Not that I would act on the occasional overture back then because I was happily married, but I do wonder, something I never did before I started to become invisible.
Now when did you start to become invisible? Don’t want to talk about it? In denial? Fine. I understand. I totally understand. It’s not something we want to talk about. But hey, take a look at some pictures of yourself when you were younger, when you were hot. Now tell me truthfully, can you blame them? There’s no comparison. If you have a choice between looking at that guy (or girl) or yourself today, who would you look at? I rest my case. Cut, maybe plastic surgery is not such a bad idea after all.