I have a very romantic bent, can be consumed with love at a glance, a casual overheard utterance, the slightest piquant fragrance alighting within my nostrils. I have a natural inclination towards the tall and aquiline, odd as both the marriages were with comparative gnomes. If my lust has a type it would be somewhat boyish, short of hair, bright of eye, flat of chest, a very Grecian composition indeed. Questions of latent homosexuality are acknowledged openly, but any truthful response is far too belated to be currently significant.
My tastes whilst easily aroused, beguiled, are lately controlled, my heart might flutter, but my features remains largely pan, eyes well obscured behind dark lenses admittedly. Was a time I could have been accused of dribbling quite openly, a fleck of drool condensing at the corner of my lips for all to witness. Such telltale leakages are now put down to excessive age and infirmity, a most welcome and acceptable justification. Sordidness is somewhat excusable in the elderly, a fortunate bonus for elongated survival.