Winter Semester
As you may have deduced by now, I love women. I am very appreciative of the fact that they come in all sorts of shapes, ages, and personalities. It's like Forest Gump's box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get. The fact that I am old as Methuselah only broadens my range of appreciation: 50s look as good to me as 20s, 180s as good as 110s, uppity as good as yuppity. This brings me to my new box of Whitman's Samplers, my graduate class in Western Cinema.
It is unfortunate that we are merged with a course-related group of undergraduates. You have to throw the 18-21 year olds back in the water. Like baby trout, they don't have the capacity to defend themselves against mature anglers. They have wonderful instincts and look delicious, but they don't make much of a meal until they add enough life experience to their native brain power to be mentally, sexually, and socially companionable.
Fortunately, our class has such an outstanding array of pulchritude that it will keep me blissfully content through Spring. One sweet young thing, a twenty-something of breath-taking beauty, has twice rescued me from techno-disaster. Trying to learn the newly computerized library system, I fell hopelessly behind the instructor because I couldn't manipulate the rollers they provide on a lap-top (to substitute for a mouse). Reading my SOS body language, this angel-of-the-classroom reached over with swan-like grace and, with two flashing strokes of her delicate fingers brought me and my laptop right up to speed. I should have swept her away to Camelot immediately, but just in time I remembered that her boyfriend is a rather large fellow who works in law enforcement, so I kept my peace.
Not to be discouraged, however, I found more appropriate objects for my weekly fantasy. One woman, whom I would judge to be (but never mention) in her mid-40s, sat next to me while watching a required film in the library. By the end of the first scene I had mentally projected us to the local drive-in in the back seat of my GTO. I was just rounding third base when I remembered that drive-ins were obsolete and that, anyway, her spouse (or mine) would in all likelihood object to the procedings.
I fall in love about twice a week. This usually occurs when I become aware of a woman's high intelligence or exceptional talent. The current object of my pseudo-romantic fixation is aroud 50 years old and has almost as many neuroses as I do, but she would fit well into the afore-mentioned GTO (which I sold, unfortunately, in 1967).
I enjoy being Walter Mitty, regally scanning my class for objects of fascination. So many dreams, so little time. Beats the h-ll out of reality, though. When I convert some of this stuff to real life, you can't imagine the trouble I get into.
Later
As you may have deduced by now, I love women. I am very appreciative of the fact that they come in all sorts of shapes, ages, and personalities. It's like Forest Gump's box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get. The fact that I am old as Methuselah only broadens my range of appreciation: 50s look as good to me as 20s, 180s as good as 110s, uppity as good as yuppity. This brings me to my new box of Whitman's Samplers, my graduate class in Western Cinema.
It is unfortunate that we are merged with a course-related group of undergraduates. You have to throw the 18-21 year olds back in the water. Like baby trout, they don't have the capacity to defend themselves against mature anglers. They have wonderful instincts and look delicious, but they don't make much of a meal until they add enough life experience to their native brain power to be mentally, sexually, and socially companionable.
Fortunately, our class has such an outstanding array of pulchritude that it will keep me blissfully content through Spring. One sweet young thing, a twenty-something of breath-taking beauty, has twice rescued me from techno-disaster. Trying to learn the newly computerized library system, I fell hopelessly behind the instructor because I couldn't manipulate the rollers they provide on a lap-top (to substitute for a mouse). Reading my SOS body language, this angel-of-the-classroom reached over with swan-like grace and, with two flashing strokes of her delicate fingers brought me and my laptop right up to speed. I should have swept her away to Camelot immediately, but just in time I remembered that her boyfriend is a rather large fellow who works in law enforcement, so I kept my peace.
Not to be discouraged, however, I found more appropriate objects for my weekly fantasy. One woman, whom I would judge to be (but never mention) in her mid-40s, sat next to me while watching a required film in the library. By the end of the first scene I had mentally projected us to the local drive-in in the back seat of my GTO. I was just rounding third base when I remembered that drive-ins were obsolete and that, anyway, her spouse (or mine) would in all likelihood object to the procedings.
I fall in love about twice a week. This usually occurs when I become aware of a woman's high intelligence or exceptional talent. The current object of my pseudo-romantic fixation is aroud 50 years old and has almost as many neuroses as I do, but she would fit well into the afore-mentioned GTO (which I sold, unfortunately, in 1967).
I enjoy being Walter Mitty, regally scanning my class for objects of fascination. So many dreams, so little time. Beats the h-ll out of reality, though. When I convert some of this stuff to real life, you can't imagine the trouble I get into.
Later
posted by Papa Bill | 12:18 PM
4 Comments:
Your wife is featured in one entry, your sexual fantasies in the next. I'm not sure which of the two would rather read your blog. Stupidity or courage? I think somewhere in between.
Love it!!
totally sick... I can't believe you look at women in such a way...
ughh
you need to visit the bunny ranch dude, not a college campus!!!
The wife isnt getting the job done, eh?
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