There was the delightfully dirty old fella upstairs who was married to a younger woman. Not too young, mind you, for he was in his 70s, give or take, and she had made it into her fifth decade. When they weren’t fighting they were rocking the house in a more benign fashion. My basement hovel sang with their outbursts. This was my first introduction to elderly sex–which I feel is an understudied phenomena–and it did give me pause. I was young, after all. TGA has an open mind, however, and truly believes that such pursuits should be a must for all senior citizens. 

I once rented a small room in house that had been subdivided into three apartments. Two gay undergrads shared each other’s pleasures–for I have to think that they gave as well as they received–in this house-of-love. If I had recently been introduced to the sounds of elderly sex (the only sounds my grandparents ever made were primarily G.I.: gaseous room-shaking emanations), I had not yet had any commerce with man-man love. I begrudge no man or woman his predilections, but I was fascinated with their sounds in the same way that one might the mating calls of rare birds. For in my experience, these were rare birds indeed. 

There were others–many others. And to each, I raise a toast. You enlivened countless of my evenings with your joy, brief though it were. Cheers!