Many years ago when I was in my early twenties a group of women from the office took a trip to Chippendales, the male exotic dance club (okay, I might have arranged the outing). We had a good time hooting and hollering as the men danced and stripped down to g-strings. Afterwards, one of the ladies, a fifty-something woman made the comment that the men reminded her of her son.
On various blogs, 20-something and 30-something authors have posted photos of men they consider to be sexy. The men appear to be in their 20s, possibly 30-max.
I gotta say, they remind me of my son, if I had one. Now that’s a splash of icy water.
While I can admire male beauty for its own sake (as I did the one night when I watched a young male model do one armed pushups on the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills—oh baby!), for me to truly find a man sexy now, he has to show some living, carry a few battle scars…show some character that is in some way reflected on his person. When I see a young man who is perfect and buff, he looks unfinished to me, like he’s not quite ready for the world and it’s hard to take him seriously as the romantic lead.
As a teen-ager and young adult I read Harlequins, which not infrequently, featured barely legal heroines and 40-plus heroes. I don’t want to return to those May-December days, but why not have 40-year-olds looking for love and finding it with other 40-year-olds?
Does anyone besides me want to see some older romantic heroes…men in their 40s…50s who’ve lived little?