Lately I've been rereading some of the novels of the mid-century Nobel laureate Yasunari Kawabata, author of "House of the Sleeping Beauties," about elderly gentlemen who pay a procurer for the pleasure of meditating silently for a few privileged hours on the changing of the seasons while they gaze at a beautiful naked young woman as she sleeps. They just look. They don't touch. Very Japanese.
For the young people who really somehow don't understand: Getting old really is just as horrifying as everyone says it is. I think women often manage to do it better than men. But if you're a guy, you definitely can't stop obsessing about vulvas. Or penises. Whichever is your preference. I myself can't make up my mind, and cannot stop thinking about either one of them. And if you're a fetishist, you also can't stop thinking about handcuffs or ropes or hairbrushes, or whatever your kinky little heart was always set on since you first decided what sex was all about for you. And the horror is that you keep thinking about these things long past the point where you are able to enjoy them. And way, way past the point where anyone else is going to care enough about you to undertake what by then will be the enervating chore of helping you with the feeble remnants of your desire. Unless your true-love is one in a million. Which does sometimes happen. Or unless, as Debbie Harry used to sing, you stay pretty and die young.
So the problem of the aging deviate is the problem of everyone who grows old. You have to figure out how to do more with less, and be grateful for whatever meager crumbs you get. Or, as the gloriously talented Idina Menzel sang in "If/Then," you learn to live without.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQM2qZQ-y_w