Get ‘Rock-hard’

Our kitchen of ‘give and take’

If you thought the road to getting old is easy and paved with gold, think again. Some time ago I wrote an article about getting old and even praised some of the benefits often overlooked in magazines for the ‘senior.’
https://oosterman.wordpress.com/erectile-dysfunctional-benefits/

Many of the senior magazines seem to feel it their duty in pointing out, ad boring infinitum, that old age needs not result in a soft age and that a slackening off on a firm ‘useful’ erection need not be a foregone conclusion. As if!

Ever since I wrote this article I have been getting spam e-mails exhorting me to take tablets for the correction of any possibility of erectile wilting. ( how would they know?) This is while women line up trying to make the best of things with face peels or wrinkle free necks. Men’s only thought is to their holy dick (penis). Why is it assumed that all an ageing man ever wants is to be ‘rock-hard?’

I have lifted my security from medium to strong on my computer but as I get up each morning, (soft as eider-down) and make my weary way to the computer, I have this melancholic task of deleting those endless posts that vary from; ‘she will scream for more’, to ‘you will last like a teenager again’, for ‘swell with size and confidence, to the grand finale of ‘get rock hard’. All they want is to sell pills.

Is that what it is all about? Is that what has driven me? How sad a comment on men. What a dreadful plight, blight and burden on men. Just when I have arrived at an age to contemplate going to a travel night with video-slides of ‘trip down the Danube’, I still keep getting those spams. I am actually in the market for ‘reduction pills’ or ‘moving gaze above navel’ potions, see the ‘true opposite sex’ tablets with ‘and how to ‘engage in nice conversation with women’ unguents.

Surely, we deserve to be left alone and calmly allowed to age, enjoy a stroll around the park, sit on a bench, observe the glint in crow’s eye, the black raven’s cry and quack of ducks. Give men a break. Some deserve it.

“Could it be that advancing age is blessed with well hidden benefits of not having to be driven by those ridiculous up and downs, up and downs again? It is not as if, afterwards, one ends up in Kalgoorlie, back of the black stump or Vienna. No, we are still is in the same spot and our partner will soon be snoring, a bit tired and the ‘Rock hard’ Viagra now is calling for a revenge but will settle for a solid bout of thirty six hours of indigestion.”

Boner’s Plight.

There used to be cinemas that featured news and documentaries only. At least in Holland they did. They were cheaper than movie theatres and ideally available for those with little money. School boys and girls who earned pocket money by collecting and selling rags and newspapers after school hours would be included in any audience. I did too but supplemented my meagre earnings by stripping (stealing) lead flashings from underneath windows. It would have been 1955. A year after, my parents took that five weeks voyage to Australia. Goodbye friends, goodbye school, goodbye everything including the Newsreel Bioscoop.

Back to 1955. I vividly remember getting to see my first erotic movie. I have never forgotten this since. In fact, I am only just now getting over it. Please, all of you, get a bit closer to your screen, écoutez bien! It was my first adventure in a burgeoning world of sexual awakening. My imaginings running amok. Erections were unpredictable, diabolically spontaneous and unstoppable, especially in front of the class-room. I used to feverishly fantasize being run over by the tram, all to no avail. I somehow understood ‘it’ finally had to go somewhere, but where? No one had told me yet. All I was told by my mother was ‘whatever happens, keep your hands above the blankets,’ or ‘ eat an apple, read a good book.’

I was seated in the cinema and probably watching the news with an Eisenhower urging on troops in Korea or other foreign country when out the blue came a short B/W documentary of an African nature. It was some kind of parade of young beautiful African girls WITH BARE BREASTS. My first sighting of the real soft breasts of which I had dreamt. I already had looked at some of my mother’s women magazines but they, the desired breasts, were always encaged in sturdy white or cream panzer like brassieres underpinned by steel. It wasn’t enough. I wanted the real (reel) item. This short movie of the African beauty parade was a God’s send. I somehow learnt where all this was going to finally lead to. The erection was palpable right down to the end of my shoelaces. It was my first honeymoon.

I caught the tram home, erection still in full flight while I was hanging from the leather strap. As the tram stopped and started I was jolted backwards and forwards. It was a delicious trip back home. I have seen many breasts since but none as impressionable as those first ones on the white screen back in 1955. It had to do for a long time. Australia experienced in Revesby and Bankstown a rough awakening. I am sure this would have helped me in front of the classroom.

Election, Rejection,Erection

Election, Rejection, Erection.

We are again at the threshold of a possible change. The election in September is what will dominate much of the media and news. The worrying thing is the contemplation that Abbott will get in. Can you imagine? The horror, the horror of it all.  And Pyne, oh the pain…That face so contorted with spitefulness formed by decades of anger and malice. What makes him tick, one wonders. Yes, having watched him on Q&A, I could not but push the off button. The man seems filled with anger or revenge towards anyone with a different opinion to his own.

I could not help but chuckle when someone yesterday on the ABC Drum described Abbott as ‘The Lance Armstrong of Politics’. I am unsure if he is even in that league, suspect he is much more lacking in imagination than Lance. After all, Lance was so convincing, the whole world remained spellbound by his lies for years.

I stood back in amazement when that scandal unfolded, never in my worst nightmare could I have imagined that a metal frame and two wheels and a man dressed tightly in Lycra akimbo on this contraption could possibly create such turmoil. On TV I sometimes noticed whole mobs of cyclists bent over their bikes going hell for leather trying to go as fast as possible to a mountain top. I could not help but think of the possible itches and rashes that would have to be growing just as fast between their Lycra enhanced speeding thighs. That thought made me switch off the TV with the remote pointing at those cyclists with some cheerful alacrity.

I sometimes think that Abbott’s fondness for cycling and his strange swagger through Parliament might well also be related to Lycra.  Mind you, sitting for hours in Parliament would give anyone an itch if not bouts of incontinence to boot.

With the ageing population I noticed the canny Aussie entrepreneurial spirit rising again. Many super-markets and chemists carry blatant advertising of nappies for the ‘more mature’.  One local chemist shop has an ad where a greying ‘more mature’ man dressed in nothing more than white underpants clearly showing a huge bulging nappy,  smiling defiantly while standing next to his Jaguar staring straight into the camera. What chutzpah, what nerve and male libbers. A standing ovation for the male please!

http://www.abc.net.au/science/articles/2013/01/30/3678527.htm

I haven’t quite reached that stage yet but H is making encouraging noises by pointing out the mature nappy division at Woollies.  This brings me to the erection part of my tale. Was it a dream or factual but did I read recently that men lacking in ‘firm enough for intercourse’ tumescence are at higher risk of heart attack? I think it must be true because I have been a little anxious about my own firmness of late. What do they mean with the specification of firmness? Is it some kind of angle measurement? Is anything over ninety degrees (from the floor up)) firm enough? I wished I never read that article, am forever looking and waiting for erections to happen now, and hoping to delay or prevent a heart attack. I used to be so happy waking up and admiring the morning glory greeting me ever so cheerfully. This morning, possibly through that rotten article it was not ‘firm’, just half mast looking a bit chagrined.

It is not easy being a man. We carry a huge burden.