When I travel for a week or more, I plan an unscheduled contingency day. That way, if a museum is unexpectedly closed, the weather is, or I’m just feeling well, there is a spare day to do something I really want to do.   Arlene and I, though, had no problems. We saw all the sights we wanted to see. On our contingency day, our last day, we stayed in bed for hours after waking. We cuddled, talked, cuddled some, and planned our day.

We started the day with a walk through Central Park. We returned to our hotel for a change of clothes as it was warmer than predicted. We then hit the Museum of Modern Art. While being with Arlene was nice, I had a “You call that art?” opinion towards most exhibits.

We had a nice dinner at a Greek restaurant. I told Arlene there was one more museum I wanted to see, “The Museum of Sex.”  (Yes, there really is such a museum). She replied, “Oh, that’s sound interesting.” 

We walked a few blocks to the museum. I paid for our entrance fee. (Arlene and I had agreed I would pay for attractions, and she would pay for meals). The first large exhibit hall was a simple history of sex through the ages, dildos from ancient Egypt, Catherine the Great, Flappers, the invention of the pill, etc.

The next exhibit hall began (pun intended) with a “straight”-forward history of the gay rights movement.   The exhibit continued with pictures of gays, lesbians, etc., enjoying everyday life, with several pictures of weddings. However, what made the pictures unique was that they were of everyday people, not supermodels. There were pictures of adults of all ages. Some of the women were “Reubenseque.” Some of the men were balding.   

 The next exhibit hall was labeled BDSM. I’m not into BDSM, but call me cheap; when I pay a museum entrance fee, I want to look, however briefly, in each exhibit hall. There were paddles, crops, gags, etc. There was also a display of a full-sized, X-frame cross. A sign read, “Play with the equipment, but keep your clothes on.”  I read somewhere that twenty percent of American women aged twenty-one to sixty read Fifty Shades of Grey. I am pretty sure the sexual person that she is, Arlene, was part of that twenty percent.

I told her to step up on the platform and spread her arms and legs.   She replied, “Yes, sir.” I secured the clamps, which were more symbolic than functional. Arlene had on pants, with a light material of some sort, not jeans. Since no one else was in the exhibit area, I stood close to her, ran my hand lightly on the upper inside of one thigh and then the other, and repeated, each time getting closer to her crotch. Arlene whispered, “Please, stop.”

I’m going to say something politically incorrect; sometimes, women have to make a token protest. Otherwise, without a token protest, a woman would be admitting she was “easy,” she doesn’t want to think of herself that way, so she makes a token protest. However, Arlene’s “Please, stop” was serious. (Arlene later related she was incredibly turned on, but being in a public setting, she felt she just had to stop).

Like museums everywhere, the exit was through the gift shop. The gift shop was a sex toy store by any other name.   Conditioned as we were from looking at exhibits, it was only natural to look at all the toys. There were dozens of dildos, vibrators, strapons, BDSM stuff, penis sleeves and penis extenders. Arlene commented, “Oh, that one has little bumps.” Very subtly, I rubbed her side. 

The clerks saw me and said, “Many older couples enjoy those.”  Arlene, imagining feeling little bumps inside herself, replied, “Oh.”  I whispered to Arlene, pick up the model you want and tell the clerk you want to get it. Arlene changed her mind about the bumps, picked up the eight-inch translucent model, and said, “We’ll take this one.”  I paid the inflated museum gift shop price, but the clerk threw in a small tube of lube for free. 

We returned to the hotel and watched an NC-17 picture on Netflix, waiting for the pills to kick in. Arlene was dressed in a sexy red nightie. I was in my boxers. I had my new purchase on the nightstand ready for immediate use. As the movie ended, Arlene excused herself to use the bathroom, and I took the opportunity to put on my extension. It wasn’t as hard getting my balls through the opening as I thought it would be.

As Arlene returned to the bedroom, I was there with my extension pointed skyward. She just stared for a moment. Seemingly without thinking about it, just for a few seconds, she rubbed herself.

We were already turned on from the movie. A good NC-17 movie can be better than most porn in that regard. She returned to the bed. I kissed her and played with her boobs over her nightie. She pulled down the shoulder straps and said, “This should help.” I took one nipple in my mouth and teased the other one.  

Then, I worked my hand southward. Even through the nightie, I could tell Arlene was wet with anticipation. I undid the snaps. My fingers teased her clit and did “come hither” with her g-spot. Sensing it was time, I positioned her on the edge of the bed.  

We had left the light on medium-low. As I stood in front of her, I saw my erect self through the translucent sleeve. I did not feel small or ashamed. I felt more confident, like the confidence that comes with trying to catch a pop fly with a glove instead of barehanded. 

I got the lube bottle opened. However, I said, “I would feel better if you did it.”  The idea of stroking my artificial self with some lube was just a bit much. Arlene sat up. At first, rather mechanically, started to apply the lube.  

Then, after a few seconds, something clicked inside of her. She rubbed the lube with decided enthusiasm. With two hands on my new purchase, she exclaimed, “It is so big!”

I’ve learned in my sixty-five years that it is often what someone doesn’t say is important. Arlene wasn’t saying, “It’s too big.” She was just stating the obvious. I was now longer and had more girth than 85% of men. Leaning back on the bed, she said, “I’m ready.”

The height of the bed was just right. I held my new cock with one hand and teased the outside of her pussy. Arlene answered, “Please.”

I slowly edged the tip and the first inch or so and stopped. I let Arlene get used to the feeling. Then another inch and stop. Then another inch, followed by, “I want all of you!”  I thrusted all the way. Then, I held still, letting Arlene adjust to that very full feeling. 

There wasn’t a need to wait long. Arlene was ready. I thrust in and almost all the way, then in again. I didn’t go too fast; slow and steady wins the race. Slowly, I quickened the pace.

Good sex means good communication. I asked Arlene how she felt, in a tone I had never heard from her before; she replied, “I feel good.” 

I pulled out, got her further on the bed, and then prepared to enter her again. I held my upper body up with both arms but needed a third arm to guide me. Grabbing the artificial me, Arlene said, “Let me guide you.”

In I went. It was much easier than the first time.   Arlene said, “Ride me hard.”  I didn’t slam into her, but my lovemaking was certainly vigorous.   Her body shook and she exclaimed, “Yes!”  I stopped but stayed inside. I kissed her on the mouth, then let my body weight fall on her. However, I had not cum yet. 

I didn’t bother taking off the sleeve. I just started to move in and out again. Sometimes, I would be almost all the way, and Arlene would thrust her hips to get me.   It was too long before she shuddered again, and not too long after that, another orgasm.

Her third intense orgasm sent me over the edge, and I came. Exhausted but very satisfied, I rolled onto my back. Arlene lay on her side of the bed and just said to the ceiling, “That was awesome,” followed by, “So intense!”

I took off the artificial me and put it on the bedside.   Arlene cuddled up and whispered, “You really know how to please a gal.” I replied, “It was a lot of fun for me too.”  Without saying a word, we both realized we needed a good night’s sleep before flying out the next day. 

As we packed our bags, I tossed the sleeve in the trash. Arlene, “You are throwing it away?” I replied that I didn’t want to go through TSA with a sex toy. Arlene said she understood and augmented the already substantial tip I had left for the maid. 

As we booked separately, our seats were not together on the flight to Phoenix. With all our experiences, both in and out of bed, swirling in my mind, I found it hard to read or watch the inflight movie.  

In Phoenix, Arlene’s connecting flight departed before mine. When it came for her to board in front of the other passenger, I gave her a most passionate kiss. Then I held her close and, paraphrasing Bogart, whispered, “We’ll always have New York.”