The Rape of the Sabine Women
Part 1: Call Me Plunar
I am old now. I don’t actually feel old, but, I am old.
The truth is: for each man, the day comes when the infirmities of age become all too painfully obvious. His once proud sword, no longer responds, as it once did so faithfully, to the call to arms when faced with the plethora of feminine beauty which thrives in our eternal city. My own dance with Eros is no longer a lusty reel, but a pale ballet. At my age, the modest pleasures of watching seem all that the gods have left to me.
Thus I spend hours contemplating the fascinating variations on the feminine form, taking delight in the parade of nude women at the baths, which, like all true Romans, I religiously attend, each and every day
Ah, to loll peacefully back into the warm scen
