I like humiliation as much as the next sex addict, and I mean, having sex with an old, strangely bearded, homeless looking man with horns who spends most of his time shuttling crying people into spaces of which, only endless torture awaits was pretty good! I'll admit! I mean, you should have seen the fluster on my face when I explained to my parents that the Greek guy with an important job was just some grizzly, hermit looking guy of whom, has nothing better to do with his free time but hit on mortals at the bar.
And oh! The games we'd play! Where you'd take all my identification and row me to the other side of the lake, and threaten to send me to the depths of hell while doing me from behind! Well, lets just say that was good times. Though, that time you actually did send me in for a few days, kinda not as cool with that.
Yet, this whole "Oh you're getting older" "Hohoho, us immortals don't age" I'm sorry to inform you of this, but you didn't come into existence as a gangly old prune juice sipping layabout, no, YOU'VE AGED MY FRIEND. You think you're some hope springs forever spring chicken, spry thing, when the reality of your "Oh my back hurts can you row for a while?" "Do you think I'd look good with two canes?" TWO CANES? IT'S CALLED A WALKER, LOOK IT UP NEXT TIME YOU'RE ON THE SURFACE TRYING TO HIT ON GIRLS WITH GRAMPA ISSUES.
If you cannot tell, this relationship has ended.