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A grimace paints Leon’s face as he undressed in his washroom, there was going to be a fifty fifty chance something is sagging wrong. His balls were hanging more and more dreadfully each passing month and it has become ludicrous at this point. His dick is getting wrinkles, but his balls fatter? They don’t even look nice, they’re getting hairier and shrivelled. And Leon barely has body hair — wait. No. He didn’t use to have much body hair.
Times are changing, boys are getting perms, kids are shouting skibdi at him, no one gives a shit about Backstreet Boys anymore, and he’s got full blown bush of white hair growing out his nose.
Too much a hassle to trim. So he just sighs and hides his face in shy hands when out and someone looks at it too long. “D-don’t look!.. I’m.. I’m so hairy!” He’ll whine. Hips swaying in embarrassment and cracking.
When they crack, so do his knees. Then his back. Then his neck and fuck— his asshole too now and then.
Leon’s ass cramps, he glares at the mirror in front of him. Bathroom foggy from the shower as he awaits for it to be warm enough to step in. Dreading the greys he sees coming. Had been trying to intentionally not look but fuck it’s hard.
he used to love looking at himself. He’d bend over and wriggle his ass at the mirror when he was 27 and young. His butt used to be perky. His hair could swish in that cool boy flip without needing extensions to hide his bald spots.
“Honey?” He whines, calling out. “My.. My Uhm. Hurts!”
“Your asshole?”
“…Yes.”
You step into the washroom with a tight pursed flare of annoyance. You’d been insisting he went for the annual fucking check up and more importantly a damn prostate exam. He’s at the age it’s risky, for gods sake. But he scoffs at the notion whenever you bring it up.
Arguing, “my prostate is perfectly fine, thank you! I’m not that old.” When he was, in fact, that old.
This is on him. “I can check if it’s hemorrhoids again.” You groan. That’s what it was last time. Though he insisted it was the stress of the missions, rather then the fact he’s gonna be sixty soon enough. More content denying that and believing he’s still at the prime of a boy band.
”I don’t think so I shat perfectly fine today.” He grumbled back. Shuddering when his ass cramps again oh fuck. That sucks. It hurts thrice as bad as when his back or knees do. “Ouchhh ughhh!”
”Leon go to the fucking prostate doctor already.”
”No! You know that’s such an old man thing.” He hisses petulantly. Wriggling his wrinkling buttocks to try and alleviate the strain between his cheekums. “This is so skibdi hon…”
You glare at him again and he gives you, what he thinks are puppy eyes. All the milfs used to say he had ‘em when he was a rookie cop. Women loved his humour, bingo! His puppy looks, or flashy side part. That’s why women still look at his hair. Not cause his extensions are falling off or anything, or his receding hairline flopping amidst a mission. Can’t be that.
Ah, this is all bullshit.
“Babe it really hurts. I gotta—“
”If this is about DR OZ AGAIN I WILL KILL YOU, LEON, DON'T FUCK WITH ME.”
He pouts. “But he says it’ll make my hole back to a pretty pink pucker that’s gotta help.”
”no Leon.” Your eye twitches. Maybe it’s time for divorce. His drinking habits never really quelled. He swore up and down for well over three decades they would but nope. That and he still jacks off to weird porn and says bro and women all the fucking time.
”Women..” He scoffs under his breath. Flips his flimsy falling emo cut back. Cringes when he feels the breeze against his forehead which has begun to draw back (bald).
At Sunday he goes to the Dr. Oz Ted talk to see it live. He got mad dough so lack of money is never a concern, he’ll never retire anyway. The government gives him aderall, a pat on the back and money for dentures then sends him off on another mission as usual.
”And with this cream, your wrinkles will go away!” Oz says to the crowd with a sparkling bright white toothy gleam. “Now, onto the next one. These pills will make your penis enlarge!”
Leon watches with aw. Giggling wistfully as Dr. Oz waves and smiles before existing the stage. “Oh daddy Oz.. I’ll always believe you.”
Obviously, to anyone past the age fifteen but under the age forty, they do jack shit. Leon frowns at his ever wrinkling penis he had to pop some viagra to work, and get used to a cock ring to fuck properly and not go soft and let out a nut before you.
Once, he was a stud. So masculine and filled with sexy birthing hip testosterone all the ladies desired him. You the one he settled down with. Albeit you insisted he was insufferably annoying to most women even then, he knew you were lying. You’re just a little tease who shouts ‘I’m gonna divorce you so help me god!’ To get his attention.
Dr Oz’s miracle product was a lie. Prostate doctors are probably too, you’re lying. The government lied about eventual retirement plans, at the behalf of his anxiety when initially dragged into the job.
Everything sucked. He just wanted the greys to go away and his genitals to reform into youthful shape akin to his blazing boytoy personality. Oh he’s so lovable.
”Babe?” He mumbled, shimmying out the bathroom again. You’re glaring at him, receipts in hand. Reprimanding through a killer gaze without need for a word or mutter to push the message across.
”You mind telling me what this is?”
”Daddy… Daddy Oz said it would work.” He sighs shakily. Gesturing to his unchanged dingaling that hung sadly against his thighs with depleting muscle. “But it didn’t.”
”Well. The fuck did you expect?”
”Newborn bussy… And big dick.”
”Your dick was never big in the first place, genius. I mean Christ on a cross—“ scrunching the papers in your hand, you toss them into the bin across the bedroom and mend your temper. ”Did that stop me from liking it?”
”No…”
”Did my saggy skin stop you from liking mine?”
Taking in your appearance, he sucks in a breath. Regretting every inch of his whining leading up to this confrontation. Almost like an intervention to his myriads of. Issues. Insecurities that have been dwelling in his soul and hemorrhoids each passing year. Because what you said was the cold blunt truth, he did still like your appearance. Age and all, it didn't cross his mind as much as his own did. Dr Oz was a liar. Leon's only now seeing it. His lip juts, eyes batting at yours and he chokes out a noise; a sniffle departing from his long breath.
"No..."
You nod then, eye twitching in blinding irritation. This is not a mutual intervention, the job has simply made him a more sensitive soul, and his reliance issues from the erectile dysfunction and aging certainly didn't help the one sided infatuation with being pampered and comforted. Sure, you did so and more, but he perceived it as though you were fawning over him— rather than just being a regular ass wife and husband who have to, by bare minimum, care for each other.
"You're so hot, babe." He purrs, saggy everything flopping when he shimmies to your spot. "Can we?-"
"No." You sternly reply.
He whines again. But you offer no reprieve. Later at night you two cuddle together and sleep. He's a bit more soothed, but the looming prostate exam keeps him up.
"This is so not-bingo.."