There's no fool like an old fool. Old people like to imagine that young people have the hots for them. They can't see themselves unless they look in the mirror, and when they look in the mirror, they put a spin on what they see. Perhaps they see themselves as they were twenty or thirty years ago.
As a general rule of thumb, I think that young people are attracted to young people, and old people are attracted to young people, and the main exception to this would be where an old person has enough money to make it worth one's while to feign blindness to physical appearance.
Recently, an older friend of mine has fallen in love with a fellow in his twenties. His heart is twisted in knots and his self-inflicted torture is painful to watch, in part because I've been there myself.
If one has to wonder whether another person is attracted to them, the correct answer is probably No. Certainly the safest answer is No.
One of the supreme humiliations is to woo and be rejected out of hand. It is painful to endure a powerful, all-consuming infatuation, as I indeed have, only to discover that all of one's feelings and all of one's plans are regarded by another as being without any value whatsoever. The offer of love, the offer of support, one's hand in marriage and one's whole life may be rejected simply by hanging up a phone or with a terse email as cold as ice.
I am not a great judge of other people's feelings. I'm not that bad, but rate my skills at people-reading as merely average at best. I no longer trust my intuition about whether people are attracted to me. I am very suspicious of wishful thinking and the failure to detect deception.
Sometimes, when I was much younger and more attractive, of course, people feigned attraction to me for their own ends. A lesbian struggling with her orientation, pretending to be bisexual, was one example. I was useful to let her think she was being "good" as judged by the values of her Catholic parents, and useful besides as an attractive mate to flaunt around her girlfriends and make them jealous. I remember her friends, because she introduced me to so many of them, just brief meetings to ensure they got their eyes on me and would tell everyone they knew about her and me together.
People often feign attraction or interest because they enjoy the flattery of another person. They feel better about themselves for being loved by another, even if the love represents something that they could never reciprocate.
A lesbian is a lesbian in part because of sex, but mostly because they prefer to love a woman and not a man. There is the physical factor, but the emotional factor is more important. As for me, friendships with women have never endured for any period of time. I have never experienced a close friendship with a woman that lasted more than a month. Other than my mother and grandmother, there has never been a woman I would feel comfortable calling on the phone just to chat. I do not know why this is, but I think it is a strong indicator that a gay relationship is what's right for me. With women, everything just seems wrong. I have more difficulty reading women than I do reading men. By contrast, men are easy, whether straight or gay. I can predict what they are thinking with much greater accuracy. Perhaps that is why I prefer the company of men.
My father has a problem with reading people that has only grown more severe with age. He deludes himself into thinking that various women are secretly attracted to him. His imagination engages, and he composes elaborate theories that have no basis in reality. The consequences are humiliating and sometimes dangerous.
For my part, I intend to avoid such foolishness, but if an age arrives at which my mind is no longer capable of resisting the siren call of delusion, then I hope I will have enough wit and resolve to end my life with some semblance of order and decorum and salvage some dignity. One of the great tragedies of our civilization is that old people are expected to simply go on, long after their wits have left them, on and on until such time as natural death occurs. Death is not compassionate. Nor is Death prompt. Rather, Death toys with his victims like a cat, letting them suffer and inflict misery and confusion upon their loved ones and their communities.
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