Turning Thirty

It was my birthday. Generally a day I’d always enjoyed, the last few years it had mostly just given me anxiety. This year, it was worse than ever. I was turning 30. The big three-oh.

As much as I wanted to say that I was totally indifferent to aging, or that it was only a sign of greater wisdom or something… I would be lying. I knew that nothing could stop the passage of time, not for anyone. Of course it would be healthier to just accept aging as natural and inevitable. But, frankly, a big part of my career was fueled by how good-looking people found me. Though that definitely hadn’t bothered me when I was younger (quite the opposite, it had been exciting and different), recently it had gotten under my skin, leading to endless spirals of dread.

When would the comments about me getting old become unavoidable? When would my smile become friendly, like everyone else’s, instead of a devil-may-care smirk? When would my voice be raspy and grating, instead of deep and sexy? When would I not be attractive anymore; when would people look at me with pity or surprise, seeing how I had aged? When would the kids in their teens, even twenties think I looked old and unrelatable? When would people start laughing at me if I sang Sweet Blasphemy? Or Bulletproof, Drag Me… were there even more? When, when, when? Surely, if ever there were a time when it all would come crashing down, it would have to be today…

I stood, staring unflinchingly into the bathroom mirror. Was it me, or were my eyes more sunken? Were the wrinkles on my forehead still there, etched in even when I wasn’t making a face? Were my lips narrower than usual? Was I shorter? Was my hair thinner? Were my features getting less symmetrical?

My self-examination was interrupted by the sound of a hyperbolic sigh coming from behind me. I couldn’t miss the note of genuine irritation in the love of my life’s voice as she called to me from the bedroom we shared, “Andy, for fuck’s sake! You’re not old! You’re obsessing; won’t you come back to bed?”

With one, final scowl, I turned away from the judgment of the mirror’s reflection, and flipped the bathroom light off on my way back into the bedroom. (Y/N) lay in bed, her long hair mussed over the pillows, the sheet only coming up to her waist. Even after all this time, I still wasn’t immune to the sight of her round, ripe tits. Mmmm.

She caught me looking and chuckled as I snuggled up next to her, putting her head on my chest with another sigh. “Blue-bear, you have to stop. Just let it go.” I didn’t want to talk about it, so I just grunted noncommittally.

Groaning in frustration, she pulled out of my embrace a bit and propped herself up on an elbow. “Everyone ages! You’re the hottest person on the planet, and you’re making a big deal out of turning thirty?!? I-“

Touchy, I interrupted her, something she was used to but definitely didn’t like, “-That’s the problem! I’ve become intrinsically associated with being this ‘hot guy,’ will I even have an identity when I’m not anymore? Will my career be over? What-“

I was surprised when (Y/N) cut me off tersely, something she generally didn’t do, especially not so harshly. “-Just stop! Everyone says men age better than women, and you’re incredibly good-looking! How do you think I feel? I’m four years older than you are!” With that, she turned over, away from me, and went silent (aside from a few angry huffs).

The genuine hurt and exasperation in her voice made me realize how self-centered I was being. I had completely forgotten that (Y/N) was older than me and made a big stink about turning 30... I winced, uncomfortable with what I’d done. Sometimes I was such a fucking dumbass.

I needed to make amends. I pressed myself against her soft backside, wrapping one arm around her waist and wiggling the other one under her pillow, spooning her just the way she liked, so we could be closest. “Doodlebug?” No reaction. “Sugarbutt?” Still nothing. I pressed a kiss into her hair and made a last-ditch effort, “I love you, Peaches…”

It was as if I hadn’t even said anything! She wouldn’t even respond to her favorite of the pet names I had for her. Uh oh. I was really in the shit can.

Notes

I wrote this story as a gift for a friend. Also because I needed a break from how serious and intense the rest of my stories are at the moment. Hope you enjoy!