blame evolution

Man: No, really, I moved in with her, purely as a lodger, and I knew it would happen, and from the start I was wondering how I could extricate myself... And yet, and yet, we got on brilliantly, and I was of course flattered by her interest, and impressed with her hard-won wisdom, and she was a thorough sensualist, and she loved my cooking, we shared many epicurean delights. She didn't have quite my intellectual bent, and she was continually apologetic about this, while I felt apologetic about my years of impotent dilettantish self-indulgence, though I wasn't so vocal about that. 

Mentor: What about physical attraction?

Man: Ah, there's the nub. She had an attractive face, a warm, loveably attractive face, and when we first kissed her face flushed and her eyes shone. I'll never forget that. She was dazed and excited like a child. Her body was, as she described it, middle-aged and matronly, and I  must admit to not finding it overly exciting. Of course now I myself am older than she was then, and my body has gone almost, but not quite, the way of the Marquis, so it would be churlish to complain. I personally think it would be a crime to offer this body I have now to any woman. Of course I intend to work it into shape, sometime. But there were other things about Zelda; she had no illusions about herself, she dealt with herself with humour and realism, and sexual relations with her were easy, gentle, affirming. I've described it before as a healing relationship. Sexual healing, that's really what it was, and I'll always be grateful for that.  

Mentor: And yet?

Man: Hah. I suppose my problem was that after years of sexual fantasy, my ideal woman hadn't changed. At nineteen, at twenty-nine, at thirty-nine, my ideal woman was young, smart, taut, and twenty or so. Of course I could stretch the ideal, to thirty, thirty-five.  Approaching fifty though, that was a real stretch. Needless to say, I hadn't come to terms with myself approaching forty.   

Mentor: So you liked her, you were very fond of her, you were grateful to her, but you weren't sexually excited by her?

Man: Well, I was sexually excited by her, by her excitement, and her lovingness, for a time, but I didn't think I'd be able to keep it up, so to speak. It was a bit like being a prostitute, I imagine - if you're with a customer who's in one way or another not quite ideal, you start fantasising about someone else. And all this made me feel very guilty, and I never felt like a prostitute, and it was only the body thing. I never felt that I wanted someone gentler, or kinder, or more sensitive. Or rarely. She was pretty well ideal in those respects.

Mentor: You can always blame evolution.

Man: Sounds good. What do you mean?

Mentor: The sex drive is about spreading the seed. You're programmed to anticipate with the maximum of pleasure sexual relations with the woman best equipped to successfully carry your seed. Middle aged and matronly generally doesn't cut it, no matter what your age.