Fifty Shades at Forty

I am officially at that age when I look at a picture of Kit Harington and get excited. The dishy Game of Thrones actor is 30. More than a decade younger than me.

So here’s a secret. I have been following a few of these unattainable hot males.

Benedict Cumberbatch. Idris Elba. Harington... you get the drift. Sometime back, I would start my week by sharing GIFs of Cumberbatch emerging from a pool in a sheer white shirt, or simply looking into the camera, with my girlfriends. I even sent one to my former boss, who is single (and fortunately for me, extremely forgiving).

I was a proud ‘Cumberbitch’. And a glimpse of His Royal Hotness was all I needed as a sleep deprived mother of a hyperactive child from having frequent meltdowns over nappy rashes and vaccine charts.

It was all going alright until another Brit (oh ok, I have a thing for them. With that accent and that whole ‘dark’ touch, who wouldn’t?) took over. And the coolest thing about this takeover is that I didn’t even realise that I had been taken!

It was a regular Sunday morning, and I was browsing over brown bread and coffee. When suddenly, I chanced upon a picture of Harington, being... just Harington. As a follower of the most successful TV series in recent times, I have grown to like Harington, like everyone else. The curly haired underdog, who comes back from the dead. The bastard son who becomes King. And the good looking guy who can make even the wildest creatures fall in love with him. But it was not until that moment — when I laid my eyes upon Harington in a white shirt and jeans, taking a stroll, that it hit me. “OMG OMG OMG! I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS GUY!” And with that epiphany, came the realisation ‘OMG OMG OMG! I AM IN LOVE WITH A THIS GUY WHO IS ALMOST A KID’ For a moment I was Madonna. Demi Moore. Samantha Jones from Sex and The City. See how one fantasy can roll into another?

Age is a funny thing. As young girls, we fantasize about older men. You know, a greying George Clooney type. But you know you are getting older when you look at a young-ish guy and get this irresistible urge to pat his cheeks, ruffle his hair, fix his shirt collar. Meet him for some coffee and cupcakes. Or follow him on in his fan page.

You can always pass these gestures of affection as motherly instinct. No one needs to know (wink).

(Scribbler, scribe, traveller Chandrima Pal takes you through the sexuallandscape of today)