I am not into older men. I have never really been into older men. Indeed, if anything, I tend the other way. Like many of the boys, or indeed men, I know, I tend toward the lusciously young: the peach-skinned youths with soft cheeks and smooth chests who I run into at train stations and parties, rather than the contour-lined faces of men I meet through work or at dinner parties, sitting on the other side of a vegetable lasagne (cooked largely for my benefit: meaning I must go back for seconds even though I don't actually fancy eggplant that much and I'm really, really full) telling me about their investment properties.
No, no, fuck those guys - I may be 26 and technically Getting On In Years but Jesus I love their young skinny counterpart as much for the way they look in tight pants as for the way they DON'T ask for my opinion on, well, anything.
And yet. Tonight I discovered the exception: freaking Leonard Cohen. Because MY GOD. I mean the man is in his 70s. He is grey haired and jowled and, yet, when dear Lindsay leant across to me tonight and murmured into my ear: "his voice is sex" I could not disagree. It does strange things to me, this voice. He is dreamy. He is sex. I would still, and yes it pains me to admit it, go there.
The tragedy is that this great love has robbed me of the ability to be amusing about my crush. All I can say is that I would actually quite like to sleep with Leonard Cohen. That's not a joke - that's just, you know, reality. So, um you know, while I would like to have an open discussion about why it is that society deems men to generally get more sexually attractive as they get older than women and whether this is complete guff or rooted in some sort of clever evolutionary drive, all I REALLY want is to urge someone with any sort of connection to Mr Cohen to give me a call. That's right: sex has offically replaced semantics. This is what growing up feels like, fuckers. Now, give me a call...
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