Strong, angular features, timed tested and sculpted face were once the first signs of what was to come: an evolving, powerful, intense, breathtaking desire to possess or be possessed by the good looking middle age man sitting across me at the bar in La Placita de Mercado de Santurce. Not today. The desire only reached the first stage, where only basic beauty lines or virility projections were seen, without moving beyond the sensation that once made me cognizant of an erotic journey on route. Losing a segment of a sexually-related experience, having the first sensation and not to continue feeling its development, remembering when it was the explosive joy of what could come, was all enough evidence to argue that sexuality was changing, separating its compounds, losing water, “jojoto”, like an aging ñame. .
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