The Reluctant DILF

by Christopher T. Wood on October 30, 2012



I get it.  It’s LA.  Women have gotten so much unwanted attention from passing romantic road warriors chuck full of piss and vinegar for the approximately 2.37 seconds it takes them to amble past her, women have mastered the art of the “casual ignore”.  That time tested ability to look past, around or through any temporary paramour just as he locks his magic orbitals on hers, cocks his head back and throws a knowing eyebrow to the skies.  By the time any words of romantic invitation have left his lips, she’s blowing by him like an NFL linebacker pulling a swim move on a six year old.  All he’s left with is the profanity his momma taught him.  However…I had lost weight.  Forty pounds, to be exact.

(Sidebar.  Not so hard, actually.  First, live your life about twenty pounds overweight. Then gain twenty more.  Now, buy a scale.  Step on it.  Oh no.  Return it while shaking your fist at the cashier and muttering something about the demise of American quality. Buy a new scale.  Step on it.  Throw your head back, scream any variation of “Fricka Fracka” and then eat less and exercise more.)

Forty pounds!  And unless my mirror was lying, I was closing in on that freaky guy with no skin I saw in High School science book.  Except I had skin.  Surely my new found fitness would lead to a virtual downpour of female receptivity to MY head cocking, eyebrow raising come-ons, right?

I got nothing.  I went outside.   Nothing.  I stretched.  Nothing.  I took my shirt off and stretched.  Nothing.  I stretched my shirt.  Nothing.  I ran, jumped, hopped, skipped, walked, danced and rolled over dead in the two blocks between my home and Runyon Canyon.  Nothing.  Not a fertile female flicker to be found.  Every age appropriate woman I glanced at maintained a nigh religious focus on some e-mail, text or tweet far more compelling than whatever I was selling.  Forty pounds up.  Forty pounds down.  Nothing had changed.  What was it all about, Alfie?  And then…

12:17 pm – Thor’s Day at the southwest corner of Hollywood and Fuller.  The wind was coming out of the east.  I was standing shirtless with my arms akimbo, breathing deep recovering breaths after the first of many sprints when I heard it.

“Whassup?”  Feminine?  Check.  My direction.  Check.  My head pivoted right and left to track down the sultry MILF that had finally seen the hard won value in my new…  Right. Left.  Nothing.  I was alone on that curb.  The nearest humans to me were the four eighteen year old girls idling in some after-market Nissan Sentra, waiting for the light to change and checking me…  OH MY GOD!

As my eyes blinked hard enough to kick up a cool breeze, a young, black, unsmiling girl stared me down.  18!!  Her arm hung James Dean-like out the passenger side window.  Her three cohorts channeled a Charles Bronson movie gang circa 1976.  Bored, Bad and Interracial.  There was no giggling, no furtive glances shot among them.  They were no place they hadn’t been before.  Just four serious women waiting for this young piece of meat to wise up or move on.  So I did what any red-blooded, 45 year-old American male facing such circumstances would do.

I knelt down to tie my shoes. Never has a man inspected his perfectly well tied shoe laces more intently than I did in that moment. But I knew she was still watching. Peeling off my on sale, Targee’ bought, Champion shorts with her relentless, barely legal eyes.  I was caught.  I couldn’t not tie my shoes forever.  Eventually, I would have to look up because staying curled over your feet until the light changed seemed a bit extreme.  But when I did, I knew she’d be there and I knew what she’d say.  I looked and she did.  “Whassup?”

Shit. My turn. Grow a spine, man. She’s just a child. You lived and loved and lost a lifetime before she was a byte on some hospital computer. Surely you can say something. I giggled. A smirk barely curled the right side of her lip. She cocked an eye brow to the skies, double tapped the outside of her Nissan and they were gone.

Tell me you saw that!! No one did. I wondered if I did. I wondered up Runyon Canyon. I wondered down Runyon Canyon. I wondered all the way back to the northwest corner of Hollywood and Fuller. I wondered as I took note of a man and his barely college age daughter waiting on the other side. I wondered less as I passed them both mid-street and the girl/woman/Bathsheba turned a full 180 degrees around so as not to break our optical connect, gamely walking backward a full three steps.  Her hair bounced in slow motion. I felt like I was wearing Axe Bodywash.  And again.  All smirk, no smile, eyes wide open as if to say, “Come on, kind Sir, dinner is served and this plate won’t clean itself.”

There it was.  I was a DILF.  D.I.L.F.  A heretofore, un-described and inexplicably desired older man.  If the last two expose’s didn’t seal it, the fledgling femme fatale who complemented my melons in Ralph’s, the starter scamp who showed me her aps on the beach and the sophomore strumpets who snapped pictures of me from their car certainly did. I was a DILF! I had Children of the Corn nightmares of going to the amusement park and young lives being cut short as heated hussies threw themselves at me off the Ferris wheel.  Unsmiling.  Always unsmiling.

Yesterday found me back at Ralph’s staring at the Ben and Jerry’s.  I could undue this madness.  A couple pints here, a couple pints there… who would know?  A few nights of one beer too many.  I knew the bartenders at Formosa.  How hard could this be?  Back to the pudgy anonymity I…

“I’m sorry, Miss.  Whassup?   I’m just buying some ice… That is funny. That’s very funny, so, ahh, why aren’t you smiling?”

Christopher T. Wood

Christopher T. Wood has been an actor in Hollywood since the tender young age of 36.  He has appeared in numerous commercials, television shows and films and has been loving every minute of it.  He has been known to spontaneously break out into uncontrollable laughter while sitting at what others might describe as a boring audition.  The prevailing theory as to why this occurs is that he has just remembered he used to be a corporate lawyer on Wall Street for eight years and has now been retired for ten.  He thinks that's very funny.

{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }

Al Donahue November 2, 2012 at 1:49 pm

Very well done! Keep ’em coming

Steve October 30, 2012 at 5:56 pm

Hilarious. Someday, when you’re a GILF, you’ll have Velcro shoes and will have to find another way to dodge a glance.

Jeff Civillico October 30, 2012 at 5:38 pm

SO GOOD! Can’t wait for the next one. More, please!!

Mark O'Connor October 30, 2012 at 11:37 am

Very Funny! Keep it up Chris! You DILF.

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