by Bob Jacobs
Gloria has been "almost fifty" for years, the big five-oh approaching like an unstoppable truck, headlights on, horn blaring. Yesterday it finally happened, it came and went - marked with a little foreplay for old time's sake - and we awoke this morning to a world still turning. I came back from the bathroom and found her naked in front of the dressing table mirror, buttocks on the pink padded stool, plumpness and gravity spreading them outwards like fresh dough. Her bosom sat on her belly, her nipples stared at her feet. "What is it?" I asked, as her lips quivered. "My God," she hissed, bringing her hand up to her mouth: "I'm almost sixty!"
Bob Jacobs, whose full catalog is here, lives in the south-east of England with his wife and kids and Sony Vaio. In his spare time he likes to lie motionless on his back, whistling and staring at clouds.