The Age Of Man Novels & Stories

I groaned, emphasizing on the word ‘little’. “Okay, little mate!” he chuckled, pulling me by my waist, I crashed into his chest, groaning as I felt his large arms wrapped around my tiny body. “21 years is no longer little.” I groaned, tugging at his arms on my neck before resting on his vast chest. “To a forty-two-year-old man, you're little!” he chuckled, his chest vibrated on my ears and I hastily moved away from his chest. “Forty what?” I gasped, staring at his face. My eyes widened in shock when he shrugged off his shoulders like his age didn't mean anything to him.

"You called for me?" Sitting on the tardy chair was a short wiry man with stiff hair and an ugly frown. He was maybe in his late fifties, though he claimed to be older. This mad man told me he was using the powers of the darkness to make himself younger and he was way older than I thought.

Because the only answer that came into my head is something that opposes my long time belief. “Love.” "Huh?" "Fall in love,” I suggested. He did not reply. His mouth opened but closed again. “How old are you?” I asked again. “33,” he answered in slow pace. He’s older than me. “Then the only way is to fall in love with the right person and date her for real.” “Dating at this age?” he uttered. “Isn’t it too late?” “It is not too late for everything. A 27 year-old man became a CEO then died at 50. A 50 year-old man became a CEO and died at 90. Do you know that saying?”

I asked, unwrapping one and holding it out to him. Will took it and gnawed on it, his face unreadable. “You know I’m thirty, and you’re nineteen, right?” “Right,” I replied. “Age is just a number. And guys my age? They have the maturity of a tadpole. I think they only think about their tadpoles.” He chuckled. “As a man, I can tell you it doesn’t get that much better as we age. We just hide it better.” “Liar,” I said.

I grin and bring the coffee pot to refill his cup. "Thirties?" he questions and I shake my head and point my finger upward. He shrugged, unsure of my true age. "I'm forty-eight and past menopause, so no children and no husbands," I pursed my lips and glared at him. "You're a baby, I'm over 300 hund," he closed his mouth quickly and looked away from my questioning look. I rolled my eyes at the strange man and headed back to my dishes. I glanced over at him, there was something very odd about him, sometimes his eye looked like it glowed and his hair looked like it was black and red. I purse my mouth and dry my dishes, putting them away when finished.

"Age is just a number, Hakeem. But since you are really interested to know how old I am, I am going to say I am old enough. I am old enough to do everything and anything." Hakeem bit his lips as if he was thinking. "Master once said we never really know how old we look until we start to think about what we have achieved in our lives." "Does achievements justify a human stay on earth?" Blackwheel asked. "It does, sir. In India, there is an age for women to get married. Once a woman starts turning thirty and she is yet to find a man, her situation is considered questionable. The same goes for a man. There is a time and season for everything. Don't you believe in that, sir?"

he says, curiously. Yeah, his way of saying, I’ll let you take over for the moment, but just remember who’s in charge. “Okay, how old are you,” I ask. “I’m 145 years young, and no I’ve never married, no children … yet. I’d love a big family,” he says confidently, raising his eyebrow. Most women would interpret that statement as … well what’s wrong with him? In all those years there’s not been one single woman that wanted to put up with him?

They had a for year old daughter. However, a married man he was, he was still the dream man of all girls and women of different ages. At his current age of thirty years old, he looked young and very handsome. he has nice flawless skin, a perfect firmed body, and a perfectly molded face as if God had made him a perfect creation when he created human beings.

He leaned against the table, arms crossed, studying her with quiet, unmistakable interest. Ethan Lawson. Twenty-five years old. And already wondering who the woman was who’d made his mother smile like she used to when he was a boy.

“Oh wow, and he’s still kicking?” William snorted, “Kicking? The old man looks like a military general in his early 60s and all he ever does is hibernate. Like what the hell, how fair is that?” “Okay, now I know you’re tripping,” Alastor snickered, “Humans age quick, you know, even if they’re half-gods.” Alastor paused, staring at William’s twitching eyebrow. “Not like I’m saying you look old…” he added.