Diary entries - 8
Not the South China Morning Post

Patsy
                                THE "LIFE� OF AN AGEING HOMOSEXUAL

You were once handsome,
You were once fit, lithe and taut,
You were once a �great� athlete�.
Your skin was tight and blemishless,
Your sense of humour was astounding,
Your social skills were wanted everywhere,
You knew every latest song,
Your dancing skills were the envy of the dancefloor,
You even knew how to dance with cloths and hankies,
You were able to partake of drugs,
You were invited to every social event,
The dinner party invitations clashed on many occasions,
The theater, the opera, the symphonies
and to prove your hype the concerts, the festivals, the happenings.0
You go to a bar and picked and chose your men,
The telephone use to ring incessantly,
You were able to turn men away,
You didn�t need to go to the �parks� the �cemetery� the toilets� to have sex,
You were sex personified.
You use to be able to go to a bar and pull a man within a pint,
You use to be able to walk down the street and get cruised,
Drive down the road and get a smile from the most handsome men, you didn�t even notice the �uglies�

Now my dear friend ,
What are you?
Like he rest of the poor buggers out there,
Tired, aging, but yet still lustful.
The trouble is, what do you want.
And even then, what you want and what you get are two different things.
Oh, to be young again you cry.

People, even �friends� tell you that life begins at 40,
That, my dear readers, is bullshit.

Where, oh where, have your looks gone,
Where oh where, have your dancing skills gone,
Where oh where, has your pulling power gone.
Where, oh where, have your looks gone,
Where, oh where, is the fitness, the litheness and taughtness,
Where, oh where, is the �great� athlete�.
Where, oh where, is the tight skin ,
Where, oh where, is your astounding sense of humour ,
Where, oh where, have your social skills disappeared to,
Where, oh where, is your knowledge of every latest song,
Where, oh where, have your dancing skills gone,
Where, oh where, are the drug dealers,
Where, oh where, are the social event invitations,
Where, oh where, are the dinner party invitations,
Where, oh where, are the theatre, the opera, the symphonies invitations,
Why do I bother having a telephone,

You go to a bar tonight and what do you get � boredom.
Walk down a street and your head is like a radar but to no avail,
Drive down a street and you look at everything in trousers and almost end up in a fight.
This, my dear friend is the life of an aging, tired and worn out poof.
Did I say friend, I mean acquaintance.
What is there left in the social scene to do, but to bow out graciously and let the youngsters enjoy it without the hindrance of tired old poofs like myself.
Farewell to the scene, farewell to the memories, farewell to the good times.
What is left, oh lets see, a meal for one, yet again and a five finger shuffle later, if I can bother to raise the enthusiasm...
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