I was about 12 when i first saw Star Wars. That was the day i fell in love. His name was Han Solo and he was a ne'er-do-well from outer space. I loved the way he mocked the old man and the kid, threatened the 'droids and cast sneaky, curious & lusting looks at the young princess. His sex appeal was palpable. Men wanted to be him, women wanted to tame him.
Although Han was tough when he needed to be and tender when he needed to be - he really was quite often an asshole and i wanted him like a junkie needs a fix.
The dangerous past, sarcastic wit, and smoldering sex appeal sent my imagination soaring. I didn't know anything but the biological fact but i was developing quite a keen idea of how things may occur. My man was a space cowboy and i wanted him to show me the Pompatus of love.
1978: Feathered hair and spandex pants were not for me.
I wanted to touch his manly Chest Hair and get a peek at what he was hiding down those form fitting trousers. This was my adolescent fantasy. Han Solo in 1978, again in 1980 and then once more in 1983.
I have to admit, 30 years and a lot of grey hairs later i still want to touch that chest hair and sneak that peek. Only difference is i've been married and divorced and Han is now a 66 year old actor with grandkids. I do not care. He's my Cary Grant. There was a man who aged wonderfully and still had sex appeal in his twilight years.
Han can be 98 with no hair, one crooked Kukla tooth angled sideways, and a giant dead wookiee stuffed and mounted in the corner. He'll always be my first love, my first fantasy and my enduring ideal of what a man should be. Ok - Perhaps with a little less assholery. That shit gets old no matter how hot you are.
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