Caught in the crush

I may be the grand old age of 67, but I still get crushes on people from time to time. Not as much as when I was younger, but they still happen.

Of course I'll never go to bed with them because (a) I'm happily married with no wish for extra-marital adventures; (b) they're usually a lot younger and wouldn't give me the time of day; (c) it would all get far too complicated. So it's never anything more than an entertaining secret fantasy.

I don't have any crushes on anyone right now, but I was very taken by one particular woman at the office block I work in. I looked forward to seeing her and chatting to her, and she probably wasn't aware that I saw her any differently from her workmates. After some months she moved to the States and rapidly faded from my mind.

I've written before about my huge crush on Elena (not her real name), a woman I worked with once in a bookshop when I was still single. Clearly she didn't have any special feelings towards me so absolutely nothing happened, but I would follow her every movement and utterance with heightened attention. I was obsessed with her for years until she also moved on and I never saw her again.

Long ago I had a passionate crush on a waitress at my lunch-time restaurant (that was when the working day still included a full lunch-hour). She had an incredibly sexy way of walking that always had me riveted. But as far as she knew, I was just the thin guy who ordered the omelette and chips and gave her a handsome tip. That time I moved on rather than her.

I've never actually dreamt about my crushes, except in Elena's case. It's usually strictly a daytime thing. And I would never flirt or stalk or do anything inappropriate. It's all in my mind and that's where it stays. Then again, did other people ever have crushes on me, I wonder? Was I ever crush-inducing material? If so, I never suspected and I shall never know.

Unsuitable images

How embarrassing it is when some unorthodox image of somebody pops into my mind and I then have to meet them face to face and try not to be distracted by it.

For men of course the obvious example is some inappropriate sexual scenario that imposes itself. Instead of the prim, po-faced work colleague in her sober suit, I find myself imagining a semi-naked siren luring me into her bed.

I try desperately to keep a straight face as the woman in question asks me about income statistics, performance targets or brand awareness. I attempt to push the scurrilous image to the back of my mind and focus instead on office furniture and stationery supplies. Sometimes it works, sometimes it's like trying not to think of ice cream.

Then there's the 'grisly end' fantasy. I'm picturing that noisy neighbour falling under a ten-tonne truck or perishing in a plane crash, and there he is walking down the street towards me. We exchange polite remarks as ever more gruesome finales flood into my mind.

I'm sure my lurid imaginings must be written all over my face, but he shows no sign of it. Unfortunately there's no sign of any ten-tonne truck either.

Sometimes I can't help envisaging someone in their twilight years, stooping and wrinkled, trudging along hesitantly with their zimmer frame. Why I should suddenly conjure up such an unflattering image of someone still in the full flush of youth, I don't know. Certainly they would be horrified if they knew how I was secretly painting them. If they did have a zimmer, they'd clout me with it.

What's really intriguing is that other people must sometimes be hiding equally inappropriate images of me. Somewhere out there some unlikely, innocent-faced person is privately hoping I get stabbed to death in a dark alley. Though at my age, I can't see many people picturing me in a semi-naked bedroom romp.

PS: I fantasise about all sorts of things, but I also find it easy to accept reality. An unusual combination, it seems.