The Aging Internal Flames

Friday night across the nation thousands; hundreds of thousands of people, young and old, are preparing for an event called “Dating”. George is no different, well maybe a little different…

At sixty years of age George is trying to adjust to the changes in his body by using sexual enhancement drugs, hair dyes and denture crème. None of this would have been necessary if it weren’t for Bill Gates’ invention of the personal computer.

Besides Viagra, Grecian Formula, Poly-Grip and Microsoft, George had to learn a new language; a language which is mostly abbreviations such as “LOL”, “ASL”, “AFK”, and “BRB”. Within no time he was slicking back his newly restored black hair and typing romantic abbreviations on the Internet with literate younger women. George was back in high school in his mind. There wasn’t a night where he didn’t go online and meet a new prospective “Blind date”. With each press of the “Enter” key his confidence was building. He met a computer girl with the handle “thepixeledtiger”.

         thepixeledtiger: LOL@studlyone
         theviagraprince: Hello ladies @-->--

George was a real smoothie with the cybercafes. The flower was one of the first things he learned to attract attention to himself. It worked on several occasions and the pixeled tiger fell for it.

         thepixeledtiger: You are a Prince, thank you Viagra… lol

Yes the pixeled tiger was “laughing out loud” but it was one of those flirtatious laughs where the woman flips a hand through her hair, strikes a sexy pose and runs her hands over her body touching her breasts like a ripe fruit in need of picking.

George felt that stirring, the feeling that young men get when they feel they are about to “Score”. He swallowed and typed.

         theviagraprince: Tiger may I have your ASL?
         thepixeledtiger: No I need it … ROFL
         theviagraprince: LOL
         thepixeledtiger: I’m 41. I’m all woman and I live in a state of loneliness. What about you?
         theviagraprince: Well, I’m old enough to remember Elvis in his youth, male, and I’m located in a state of a hopeful romantic.

In private conversations they exchanged their personal email addresses, descriptions of their appearances and even their phone numbers. Eventually they discussed their likes and dislikes in bed, which is George succumbed to the ultimate pride swallowing; he asked Denise, “thepixeledtiger” if they could meet.

Friday morning George and Denise looked in their mirrors on their lives… George decided his dye job needed redone. He had the time since he discovered there was only a ninety minute drive between their homes.

Denise saw the white highlights in her blonde hair. She debated a coloring but then thought against it since every dress she owned was purchased to accentuate her hair. She also figured, correctly, that George would be too nervous to count her non-blonde hairs. She had other things to worry about, like what should she wear. Did she want to appear anxious for sex or did she want the more conservative “School teacher” look. Notice she wasn’t worried about which shoes to wear; doesn’t every woman have about 50 pairs of shoes?

The evening date drew closer with each beat of the clock. George’s hands began to perspire with anticipation of meeting his tiger. His thoughts and daydreams were as pixilated as any computer image but they weren’t in any known computer programming language.

After one last inventory of the items he thought he might need; the Viagra, Poly-Grip, Old Spice, and made sure they were in the glove compartment of his rental car, he put the keys in the ignition and started on his way. The red Mustang convertible purred like a pixeled tiger but ran like “Funny Cide, the last gelded horse to win the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness. This wasn’t a misplace analogy because our old stud felt like the best part of his manhood had rode its last pony years ago. He had hoped that the free sample of Viagra would erase forty years of his wrinkled libido.

Denise finished washing, blow drying and styling her non-blonde streaked hair. She wore a tiger print head band and diamond studded earrings that drew some more attention to her lovely face. A white button down blouse with an embroidered tiger lying in high green grass over the only breast pocket was the chosen top. She also wore a black knife=pleated midi skirt. She, as they say, cleaned up nice from head to her toes, which were covered with a low-heeled pump tied with a ribbon across the instep. I think you shoe experts might call Denise’s footwear a Ruby Keeler.

As you might have already guessed, your narrator thinks she is a real “Knockout”. The poisoned apple-wielding witch in Snow White would definitely have more competition. Even the perfect and innocent Snow White herself would be jealous.

Denise puckered up her lips, closed her eyes and made a kissing noise. “This should knock George’s socks off” she said with the nervousness of a girl about to have sex for the first time. Even though there is nineteen years between George and Denise, both want those youthful feelings back in their lives. The “In-bed-by-ten-to-wake-up-by-six-all-alone-days” are making them feel older at an alarming rate.

The wheels are rolling… the roulette wheel, wheels of the vehicle, the hampster wheel and the wheels of nervous emotions. George’s hands are gripping tightly to the steering wheel as the tires roll along the pavement at 50,… 60,… 70,... 88 feet per second (for the mathematically challenged that is approximately 60 miles an hour). His driveway is a mere memory; his lifetime hometown isn’t even an image in his rearview mirror, George is only looking forward.

There is only one stop he has to make before arriving at Denise’s house and that is to a florist to pick up a single rose highlighted with a few sprigs of “Baby’s Breath” wrapped in a decorative floral paper and a silk ribbon. Even though it has been over five years since his last date, George is still the hopeful romantic.

At the very moment Denise looks out the upstairs bedroom window to see if her Viagra Prince has arrived, he does. Only Internet lovers up to this point but they have that ESP that only true love seems to come with. She watches as George sits in the Ford Mustang, runs a comb through his windswept and Stylish gel hair while looking in the mirror. She has to smile when she sees the sixty year old man lean across the passenger seat and stare into the glove compartment and pull something tube like out and squirt it into his mouth. She watches as he puts this back and pulls out another bottle and sprays his hands and chest about six times. She doesn’t want to seem over-eager so she steps back from the window and tries to anticipate the inevitable knock on the door.

The pacing started. A nervous habit Denise picked up since she agreed to give George her email address. Now he is here and she has nowhere to run…

“Knock”

“Ding-dong” A nervous George knocks on the outside door before seeing the doorbell. He sees his reflection in the glass panel of the storm door. His dark brown tweed jacket, his blue tie selected because it makes his eyes stand out, and white shirt makes him look like a suave and debonair Sean Connery with a Wal*Mart budget. The bulge in his pants makes him look like a desperate pubescent teenager seeing a naked set of tits for the first time.

“Think baseball old man, before you scare this woman away”. This was George voicing his private thoughts. He didn’t think Denise could hear him.

She opened the door. They looked at each other for the first time. Eyes met and then they took in each other’s body. George saw her hazel eyes, her 34 inch breasts, her curvaceous hips and he was in love.

Denise looked into his blue eyes, the gray in his moustache, the tweed blazer and the wet spot in his crotch area. She exclaimed “Batter up!”, literally dragged him into her house and within moments had his pants off. They both floated to the same upstairs bedroom as she used to spy on him in the car.

The whole time they made love George couldn’t help but yawn. It turns out that “Junior” didn’t need the help in the stimulation department once he saw the true beauty of his pixeled tiger. The blood cells that should have been directed for arousal weren’t needed so they continued to burn calories by making him drowsy.

This story has a happier ending than them sparking the internal fires in the loins… George proposed and Denise accepted. They will be married and continue to make passionate, soul-cleansing, feel it from the hair to the tip of the toes, even on a weekday at 2:30 in the afternoon, love for as long as they live.

THE END