Theres a quiet desperation that comes with getting old in a place like Derry. Where everything was about survival during the Troubles and now its about pretending we dont have needs. My Mary passed seven years back and lord knows I miss the simple comfort of human touch.
The Catholic guilt runs deep here. We dont talk about loneliness. We dont talk about wanting skin against skin. We certainly dont talk about paying for intimacy. But here I am talking.
I met Alicia through a recommendation. Soft spoken woman about ten years younger than me. Professional. Clean flat in the Waterside. She understood immediately what I wanted wasnt just sex but connection. A hand held. Someone looking me in the eye without pity.
My generation we buried our emotions under politics and religion. We survived bombs and sectarian violence. But tender moments? Soft contact? Those were luxuries we couldnt afford. Now Im retired and the silence is deafening.
Some might call what I do shameful. But Ive been alone too long to care about their whispers. Sometimes a man just needs to feel human again.