I think I’m boy crazy.
But I’m fifty.
Boy crazy at fifty.
The thing about being boy crazy at 50 in the 21st century (which is my theme here at Age Rage: not the boy part, not the crazy part, but being middle age now, when such a massive, unstoppable change has taken place: social technology) is that thanks to social networking, is that just about anyone, can fulfill any fantasy they can think of within, oh, say, three hours.
Do I want a vegan poly bi 420-friendly couple to share role play fantasies including induced lactation?
… but that’s not the point. The point is, if I did, I could be at their place in…
… however long it would take me to get to Portland.
More… imPortlandy — oh, no she did-ent! — sorry, it’s hard to resist a horrible pun when I’m feeling vulnerable, there’s my fear that any ‘boy’ I might approach will be giving me that look that the boy in the photo is giving. It’s scary being ‘out there’ again after so long! And everything’s changed: not just the ‘rules,’ but I’ve changed, too. *sigh*