At seventy, I had an epiphany that the sand in the hourglass was accumulating quickly at the bottom. I was in good shape for my age, thanks to a wife who insisted on unprocessed, fresh food and lots of exercise. Unfortunately, cancer had leveled the playing field for her, and suddenly I found myself a widower. With my wife's passing, I let laziness get a foot in the door, and I started to let bad habits creep into my life.
Fixing meals for one became an excuse to dine out more than I should. Even worse, those meals often took place at fast food chains. I had the menu for Taco Bell and Burger King memorized. All I needed was to hear an Arby's ad saying, "We have the meat," and I was out the door. I fed my depression and my body with shit.
So when I finally got the courage to step on the scale, I took a step back.
"That can't be right. The scale must be broken."
But of course it wasn't. And that's when I decided I needed to return to my wife's healthy ways.
I joined a gym and used it. I shopped at specialty markets and returned to food with labels devoid of scientific terms for ingredients. I walked and swam every day.
In three weeks I was starting to regain not only my physical health but my mental health as well. I sold our three-bedroom home and moved into a spacious apartment with a variety of modern amenities.
The apartment complex I moved to was populated mostly by younger couples as well as many singles. Living in Florida meant, of course, that we had a large pool, and I used it. I swam laps when few others used the pool in the early morning, but afternoons, I tended to relax more and just enjoy the semi-tropical sunshine that the state is blessed with.
That time of day was popular with bikini-clad residents as well. Scoping them out behind dark sunglasses was part of my mental well-being. There's nothing wrong with just looking. Like Jimmy Carter, my impure thoughts occurred only in my mind. And technically I was single so I wasn't acting unfaithfully. Being tanned and reasonably fit did little to enhance my prospects among the younger populace at the pool. The few ladies near my age who frequented those social spaces tended to be overweight and not my type.
I knew that, given my senior status, I was essentially invisible. Anyone wearing a thong wouldn't be able to see me if I were standing next to them. Their interests in men tended to focus on hunky, weight-lifting, tattooed types young enough to be my grandchildren.
On rare occasions, a young twenty-something might have a brief conversation with me. After all, I was a harmless old man. This self-deprecation is not meant to elicit compassion. It is simply the reality that I lived with. So I continued to eyeball women through dark glasses and listen to snippets of inane conversations about social media, singers, and movie stars I had never heard of.
And then, one day, everything changed.
"Excuse me, sir, can I ask you a question?"
The smart-ass grammarian in me wanted to say, "It looks to me like you are physically capable of the deed, or were you asking for permission?" But instead, I said, "Sure. Ask away." all the while thinking Yes, I'd love to rub sun tan oil all over your voluptuous form.
"I see you out here all the time, usually with a book. I noticed you read mostly classics...like Thomas Hardy there." She paused.
I looked at the book in my lap, The Return of the Native. I was nearly finished with it, but I had also read it before when I was in college.
"Anyway, I'm an English major. I was wondering if you would share with me some of your insights regarding nineteenth-century British authors. I'm deeply interested in that period and by the looks of it, you are as well."
My jaw must have dropped. I was staring at a beautiful young lady in a bikini with bulging breasts who also happened to want to talk to me. And not about my favorite contestant on "Fantasy Island."
"Of course. Please understand that I'm no expert, but it is also a passion of mine. I'm sort of reliving my college days with these books. I'd be happy to talk with you about them. Have a seat."
We introduced ourselves. Her name was Vivian, and she was attending Florida State and graduating in the spring. She hoped to one day teach English Literature. I explained that I had previously taught high school. Eventually, it came out that I had lost my wife and was enjoying retirement.
And so the die was cast. We chatted briefly about 19th and early 20th century Brit lit for a few minutes and then arranged to meet later over a glass of wine or some other adult beverage. Vivian had a class to prepare for but promised to follow up. Smiling, we shook hands and exchanged contact information. As she retreated, I stared at her perfect apple ass in her skimpy two-piece. My dormant penis reacted positively.
I didn't think this was going anywhere sexual, but even at my age, hope springs eternal.
For the next couple of weeks, we occasionally spied each other at the pool and made a point to sit together and chat. We were both comfortable in each other's presence, and I'm pretty sure Vivian was reassured that I was harmless and not a serial killer.
A few days later I checked my voicemail, and I had a message from her.
"Hi, Mr. Martinez. This is Vivian. I hoped maybe we could get together soon for something a little more formal. I'm pretty much free for the weekend. Why don't you plan on coming to my place for dinner on Saturday if that works–six p.m. would be perfect. Let me know if that works for you.
I returned Vivian's call and accepted her offer for dinner. I promised to bring a nice bottle of wine to go with her preparations and anything else she might need.
"No, a bottle of wine would be nice. Otherwise, just bring yourself. I'm looking forward to it."
*****
Saturday finally arrived, and I excitedly prepped myself for our dinner date. I paired a nice pinot noir with the chicken dish that Vivian had described. I showered and shaved, and did a final review in the bathroom mirror. I still had most of my hair, but my wavy blonde locks were now decidedly gray, even approaching white.
"No getting around it, you are old," I told myself. But then, this was not to be a romantic evening unless I was pleasantly mistaken.
I rang her bell, bottle in hand, and heard footsteps. When the door opened, I almost gasped. Vivian was dressed in a beautiful pants-suit instead of a two-piece. Her auburn hair was down and she had on make-up. I had only seen her without those adornments, and she was gorgeous.
"You look nice, Tony. Come on in."
"As do you. I've never seen you with clothes on." We both laughed.
Her apartment was tasteful, if a bit Spartan. She explained that her college budget limited some of the niceties that she would prefer, but for now, she didn't mind living that way.
"It's better than a dorm," she explained.
We sat at the kitchen bar/counter and she served a chardonnay to go with some hors-d-oeuvres she had prepared. We toasted and chatted.
"Dinner's all ready. I only need to do a couple of last-minute things before we eat, so relax and enjoy the wine."
*****
Dinner was lovely, and so was Vivian. We both seemed to enjoy each other's company and common interests. Our shared love of literature was only a starting point. Eventually, we talked about music, art, and even more controversial aspects of those subjects. Vivian proved to have an open mind about everything from Robert Maplethorpe's art to nude photography.
At one point, she asked me if I had ever read Lady Chatterly's Lover.
"Only the good parts," I admitted. "Typical young male interests for me, I suppose. It was the epitome of cutting-edge at that time. Sort of the first acceptable high-brow porn. It was probably the first time I realized just how exciting literature could be. I won't bore you with how I reacted to it."
I smiled at the thought of whacking off while reading the seamier parts of the novel. Back then, my fertile imagination required little to make me cum. The busty women on the covers of sleazy pulp novels were usually all that was required.
"It was my go-to porn whenever I felt the need to masturbate," Vivian admitted. I'll never forget the first time I read it when I was seventeen and came across the word "cunt." I immediately pleasured myself as I imagined being in the arms of a strong lover like in the novel.
Her frank talk caught me by surprise, but I tried to act nonplussed. The youth of today are more open about off-color subjects, probably due to 24/7 exposure to it. I only smiled but immediately pictured her unclothed on her bed with an open book and her fingers working away.
"That was the start for me. I came to enjoy porn as an adult–even some of the more raw examples. The internet has opened my mind to the beauty of sex, but also the various permutations. If you can imagine it, it is out there. Not all of it is like the dirty magazines that were only sold in sleazier porn stores. Some of it is artfully done. I have a collection of pictures and short videos, mostly black and white, that depict lovemaking in beautiful ways. I guess that, anymore, there are few limits as far as graphic depictions. We've come a long way from Chatterley and DH Lawrence."
"I have to say I'm a little surprised by all this, Vivian. Not shocked. Just surprised. I wouldn't have pegged you for the type that watches porn. But as they used to say on Seinfeld_'Nof fhaf there's anything wrong with that.'"
Of course, I was reluctant to admit how much porn I watched as a widower and a single male. But as the conversation continued, I fessed up to it. By now we were well past formalities. I had gone from Mr. Martinez to Tony.
Vivian laughed at my jokes, and her laughter was infectious, As we talked, her hands were often grabbing my arms or my knees playfully. With a couple of bottles of wine under our belts, we were socially lubricated and friendly touching became frequent.
One thing led to another, and we ended up in front of her television that she linked to her laptop. With a few deft keystrokes, we were soon watching two women entwined in a black-and-white video of passionate lovemaking. In time they were joined by a muscular gentleman with abs of steel and an amazingly thick cock. They turned their attention to the faceless hunk and began sucking as much as they could fit into their respective mouths. It was artfully done and sensuous as hell.
"I find blowjobs to be the ultimate in foreplay. Don't you? Of course, I enjoy receiving pleasure with cunnilingus."
Where was all this leading? I looked over at Vivian and tried to read her. We were seated next to one another and her hand had slowly found its way to my thigh.
"To be honest, it's been so long since I've had a blowjob, I can't say for sure. I tend to agree with you, though. Especially when two beautiful women are fighting for first rights like on your TV there. That looks like fun. Oh, to be the guy in the middle!"
"Tony, in case you haven't figured it out yet, I have a thing for older men. And I'm very attracted to you. It sounds like you are long overdue." Vivian smiled a sphinx-like smile. "Would you mind if I fellated you? I'd love to suck your cock."