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Before reacting to the actual thoughts you have laid out here, I first want to acknowledge the emotion that you express. I'm sorry that you are feeling these things and the associated sadness/negativity/fear/disappointment. Those are not easy emotions to bear. I hope that you can sense the care and solidarity that I am projecting through this imperfect medium.

Regarding the post itself, I could tell you about how I - and so many other tops like me - are maximally turned on by a guy your age, how we project the essence of masculinity onto bodies like yours. (My whole life, my cock has has tended to get hardest and most needy for men 10-20 years older than I.) However, I suspect that these types of reactions wouldn't do much to assuage the gnawing feeling of creeping mortality, the "tooth that nibbles at the soul" as Dickinson put it.

I wonder if you might find more comfort among these questions were you to look for - not answers, per se - but solace in community rather than sexual drive.

For so much of my life, my sexual hunger as been the primary grounding force. If I am sad, or broke, or confused, or disappointed, my cock need always grounded me and helped me feel like my true self. That drive for pleasure has been so reliable that it has helped me wrest myself from some very rough times and situations, and brought delight and wonder back into moments that were otherwise very bleak. It's also been omnipresent with my joys and accomplishments, and a way to celebrate achievements and life markers. However, after I lost a very dear friend to suicide almost two years ago, I too was plunged into periods where I would ruminate on mortality and the nature of consciousness. I was dealing with grief over my friend and preemptive grief for others, also speculating on what might happen to my own insights and experiences when I reach the end of my life. These feelings were hard to deal with on their own. Yet when they became accompanied by a decrease in sex drive, I really felt like I was loosing my bearings. The hunger to fuck had been a force that kept me feeling definitively me.

After circling around these emotions in seemingly repetitive gyres for several months last spring, I was lucky to have my mood recentered by opening up to those close to me, and leaning on old friends. Like righting a capsizing ship, their care and solidity gave me leverage to get my own head screwed back on straight. Prioritizing time well-spent with these good people has allowed me to surf on the chaotic big questions of life instead of getting overtaken by a series of waves. I sincerely wish that for you right now.

As an added bonus to really feeling the support of these people, I have also reignited my sexual urge. I just started barebacking last month, and it is also opening new avenues of lust, pleasure, insight, and understanding about myself, my body, and my place in the world.

Let me be the first person to offer you a big hug with no expectations for any outcome, other than giving you the space to feel safe and cared for long enough to take a deep breath. Be well, good man.