ED

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Getting old is not for sissies.

I’ve been living here for two weeks. They call it ‘independent living’ but I’m not as independent as I was before. My kids were worried about me living alone and thought I should have help close by in case something happened. They were never clear about what ‘something’ was but I’m sure they thought, since I was seventy years old, I would do something stupid and hurt, or kill, myself. I went along with them but I’m not sure I made the right decision.

But here I am. It’s actually a continuous care facility. I’m living at the entry level of ‘care.’ If I can’t take care of myself in the future, I can move to the ‘assisted living’ section of the facility, and, eventually, to the ‘nursing care’ section which is the last level before the grave. I’m not sure who makes the decision as to when I must move ‘up’ the care chain but I’m sure it’s not me.

Actually, it’s not as bad as I make it sound although I wouldn’t admit it to my children. I still have my driver’s license and my car and my apartment has a large living room with a kitchenette on one wall and two other rooms I use for a bedroom and a small office. I get two meals a day, breakfast and dinner, in the common dinning room in the clubhouse attached to the nursing home. The room is like an upscale restaurant with linen tablecloths and waitress service. The menu is limited to six or seven choices each day but the food is great. I only need the kitchenette for lunch and snacks in the evening.

The other thing they don’t tell you about is the population ratio. There are two hundred twenty women in the facility and nineteen men, including me. More than half the women are in the nursing wing and another group is largely immobile and in assisted living. That leaves approximately thirty women living independently and ten of those are married living with their husbands. The breakdown of the men is similar. Of the nineteen men, only three are single, living independently, and are in the dining room alone for regular meals.

The three of us, the men, usually get together to play a little pinochle after breakfast. In the afternoon I frequently take a long walk through the exquisitely landscaped gardens and wooded paths and maybe drop into the recreation center to shoot a little pool or play some darts. Most weekends, one or more of my kids come to visit me. I don’t know when they’re coming so I spend most of Saturday and Sunday in my apartment reading or watching sports on the television. I’m sure they think I spend most of my time there. They don’t stay long. They say they don’t want to imposition me but I suspect it’s the other way around.

One rainy afternoon I carried my e-reader into the library to read. The library is the quietest place on the campus, with indirect lighting and comfortable seating. I had settled into a corner of one of the sofas and had been reading the latest Lee Child novel for about forty minutes when an attractive woman in a skirt and loose top sat next to me. I judged her to be in her late sixties, slightly overweight and extremely well preserved. I might have lingered too long when I looked at her. Her large bosom was challenging the limits of her blouse. Whatever it was, it was enough for her to want to talk with me.

“George. It is George, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Abigail, but my friends call me Abby. I noticed you around the last few weeks and thought you might be new, so I came over to welcome you the farm.”

“Thanks. The ‘farm’?”

“You’re welcome. That’s what most of us call it. Sometimes it feels like we’re being kept here and ‘zoo’ seemed a little severe, so the ‘farm’.”

“Wow. I think you’ve nailed it.” I put my book down on the arm of the sofa and turned slightly toward Abby, inviting further conversation.

“How long have you been on the farm?” asked Abby.

“Just over two weeks. I’ve got a place in independent living.”

“Just you. No wife or girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

Abby was full of questions. “I assume you were married once. Can I inquire about what happened?”

“You can. I lost my Martha two years ago after over forty-five years together. I’ve been alone ever since.”

“I’m sorry about your loss. What brought you to the farm?”

“My children. They thought I’d be safer here and they wouldn’t feel so guilty about my living alone. I added that last thought on my own.”

“That’s pretty much everyone’s story. Death of a spouse and ungrateful children. They just don’t have an understanding that, just because we’re old, we’re not without feelings and urges,” offered Abby.

“How do you deal with the feelings and urges?” I asked.

“Well, I’ve come to a place of peace with the loss of John. As for the urges, I’m always on the lookout for opportunities.”

“Abby, can I call you Abby?”

“Sure. I think we’re friends now.”

“Abby, did you come over here to proposition me?”

“Well! This might be a very short friendship.”

“Whoa! Wait a güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri minute. I didn’t mean to insult or offend you in any way. At my age, I don’t have much time left for drawn out negotiations and I wanted to put the cards face up on the table. I’m not upset at the suggestion nor am I adverse to it.”

“Since you put it that way, I guess, in a way, I did. Look around. There’s not much opportunity for an active woman in this place. You’re the best possibility to come through the door in over a year.”

“Okay. Now that we’re on the same page, how do you want to go about it? I don’t think making out on this couch is what you had in mind.”

“No,” laughed Abby. “Why don’t come by my place tomorrow for lunch? I’ll whip up something delicious and we can talk in private.”

“That’s the best invitation I’ve had in two weeks. See you around eleven-thirty?”

“It’s a date. I’m in IL-107. See you tomorrow.”

Abby left me alone in the library. I tried to read again but couldn’t concentrate on the story. After about fifteen minutes, I went back to my apartment to fantasize and worry.

At breakfast the next morning, Abby and I exchanged smiles but sat at separate tables. I sat with my two-pinochle partners and Abby sat with three other ladies who kept looking in my direction, which made me nervous. After breakfast, I ducked the card game and drove down to the IGA supermarket where I picked up a little fruit, some unhealthy snacks, some ice cream and a bottle of inexpensive Barefoot Merlot. The wine was good enough to be a thoughtful gift but not expensive enough to be an invitation.

At twenty-five after eleven, I carried the wine on the short walk between IL-123 and IL-107. I knocked on the door at exactly eleven-thirty. Abby answered the door and greeted me with a huge smile as I handed her the wine. She had obviously prepared for my visit. The apartment smelled wonderful with the aroma of something I couldn’t immediately identify. Abby apparently believed in the old English proverb, “The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” However, the way Abby was dressed had a much larger impact. Abby was barefoot, wearing what appeared to be a short silk robe, belted at the waist, and little else. The robe rustled sideways as she led me to the rolled arm sofa in her living area.

She took the bottle of wine to the kitchenette, a trip I appreciated both going and coming. I had overestimated her weight when I first saw her in the library but not the size of her breasts. She sat on the sofa next to me on my right. “Your place smells fantastic. Can I inquire as to the origin of the aroma?” I asked.

“I mixed up my variation of Hungarian Goulash. I’ve got egg noodles to serve it on and a green vegetable as a side. The wine will make a perfect accompaniment. I hope you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it. As good as the food here is I really miss a home cooked meal.”

Abby looked at me for a brief moment before she asked, “So have you been thinking about our conversation yesterday afternoon?”

“Honestly, I’ve thought about little else. I’ve been too distracted to watch TV or read and, believe me, that’s not easy to do. Also, I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

While looking directly into her eyes, I slowly moved my right hand in her direction until I could grip the lapel of her robe between my thumb and fore finger. “This robe is quite beautiful,” I said as I slowly moved my fingers down the length of the lapel. I had the impression that Abby was hardly breathing as I moved my fingers back up the lapel. She made no comment, or effort, to stop me so I pressed the back of my hand gently on the inner layer of the robe until it was against the wall of her chest. I moved my hand down the lapel again while also rubbing her body as my hand passed between her breasts. I watched as Abby closed her eyes while I moved my hand down and back up again. The movement had caused the hem of the robe to creep up her thigh and, with a quick glance, I confirmed my original estimate as to the extent of her clothing.

Suddenly, Abby’s eyes popped open. “I think we should eat,” she said as she got up off the sofa and walked again to the kitchenette. I got up as well and followed her. “What can I do to help?” I asked.

“You can open the wine,” she responded. “The opener is in the last drawer on the left and the wine glasses are in the cabinet above the fridge.”

I managed to find the corkscrew and opened the wine. I then gathered two balloon glasses and turned around. In my earlier distraction over Abby’s choice of apparel, I had failed to notice the small table next to the kitchenette. It was exquisitely set with gold-rimmed bone china place settings and special occasion silverware on a crisp white tablecloth and linen napkins. A glass of ice water was next to each setting. I put the wine glasses next to the water glasses and the wine on one end of the table. As I turned to see if I could do more, Abby was güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri moving toward me with a bowl of buttered noodles.

“Have a seat. I’ll get the rest.”

We spent the next hour sitting at the table, eating, talking and drinking wine. I don’t remember when I’ve ever had a better meal. I savored every bite of the Goulash, the wine was a perfect match, and the conversation never stalled or became uncomfortable. When we finished the bottle of wine, Abby stood and said, “Go sit in the living room. I’ll take care of the leftovers and join you in a minute.

A couple of minutes later, Abby killed the lights in the kitchenette and met me in the living area with a second bottle of wine and two clean glasses. She sat in the same place next to me and poured two generous portions of wine. I placed my hand on her thigh and sipped my wine.

“Abby, before we go any further, I have to tell you a little about myself.”

“George, I don’t need to know about your past. I’m happy to have our history to begin yesterday and move forward from there.”

“I appreciate that and I feel the same, but I need to tell you something that might create problems if you discover it at the wrong time.”

“Now I’m curious. Tell me.”

Nine years ago, I got cancer. Prostate cancer. A particularly aggressive form of prostate cancer.”

I could see the concern in Abby’s eyes.

“The doctors, Martha and I all agreed on the best treatment and within weeks I had my prostate removed. I’ve been clear of the cancer since. I have annual checkups and, so far, there is no indication it will return. However, the surgery had a serious side effect. I have a permanent case of ED – Erectile dysfunction. I’ve not had an erection since the operation.”

“You poor soul. You must have been miserable.”

“Initially, yes. Over time, and with Martha’s help and understanding, I’ve managed to recover nicely.”

“But how about sex? How do you overcome that loss?”

“Martha and I found many inventive ways to have fulfilling sexual encounters. The surgeons reconnected my nerves in a way they described as allowing an orgasm. It’s not nearly the same as the orgasms I used to have but they provide feedback to my partner and I’ve adapted.”

“Why did you choose now to tell me?”

“I know it’s presumptuous of me, but I thought we might get physical at some point and I didn’t want you to have expectations and be disappointed. I actually lost sleep last night worrying about how to tell you. I decided to tell you up front. The longer I waited the more I thought it might hurt you and I didn’t want to do that to you.”

“Thank you for that,” responded Abby. “You really are a sweet man.” After a short pause, “Do you really like my robe?”

I may be old but I’ve spent most of those years in the company of women. Abby just told me she was not as concerned as I about my ED. That knowledge lifted my spirits and eased my worry.

I reached out and touched her shoulder lightly with my fingertips. “Yes, I really do like your robe. It looks spectacular on you.”

I watched Abby’s face as I slowly circled my fingers over the front of her shoulder. She smiled slightly as I gently massaged her shoulder and then slowly closed her eyes and relaxed back into the sofa. I moved my fingers slowly across the top of her chest and onto the other shoulder. I continued to slowly move my fingers on her shoulder using the smoothness of her silk robe to enhance the feeling. I was in no hurry. I wanted the sensations created by the robe between my fingers and her skin to last a long as possible and for Abby to feel as if she were floating weightless.

I shifted my body slightly and stood up. I used my hands to move her legs onto the sofa and then I sat on the edge facing her. I repeated my motions on her shoulders using both hands this time. Abby scooted down on the sofa on her back until her head was on the sofa arm. She opened her eyes once as I focused my efforts on her shoulders and upper chest. She was smiling broadly as she closed her eyes for the second time.

After about ten minutes of my slowly widening the range of motion with my hands, I brushed one hand over the top of her breast and then over her nipple with the lightest touch possible. Abby twitched slightly and let out a deep breath. I could feel her nipple hardening under my fingers. I repeated the motion with my other hand on her other breast. The result was the same. Both her nipples were hard under the smooth silk of her robe and my fingers.

Over the next ten minutes, I expanded my touch to include the entire bulk of her breasts, returning frequently to her nipples to help maintain their firmness. After a while, I moved my hands to the ends of the belt holding her robe closed and pulled open the bow knot and undid the belt. Once the robe was free of the belt, I took one edge of each lapel in each hand and slowly, very slowly, moved the silk sideways from her body. I tried güvenilir bahis şirketleri to keep as much of the silk in contact with her skin the entire time to heighten the erotic nature of what I was doing. I pulled the robe from her breasts last letting the silk catch and then slip off her nipples.

When the robe was completely open I savored the beauty of her naked body lying on the sofa with the open silk robe under her. I began to move my hands slowly over her naked breasts, repeating the motions I made earlier. The tiny movements of Abby’s body confirmed I was pleasing her, especially when I gave her erect nipples additional attention.

When I was sure she was completely focused on the sensations resulting from my attention to her breasts, I began to move my hands slowly down her body. As I moved lower, I leaned in and kissed the nipple on her right breast and then the left nipple. I returned to the right breast and began to suck on her nipple gently but with intention. I alternated between her breasts while I moved my hands down her torso and to her hips on either side of her pubic area.

I ran the fingers of my right hand through the curls of the very neatly trimmed hair of her pubis. As I moved lower I encountered her swollen and stiff clitoris. I sat up, began to lightly rub her clitoris in a circular manner and moved my left hand to her abdomen, rubbing the area around her navel in the same manner.

I focused my attention on maximizing the effects of rubbing her clitoris for the next twenty minutes until Abby’s body began shivering and then becoming stiff as the anticipated orgasm happened. I paused my movements as her body relaxed and then began to kiss her abdomen.

In a voice I could hardly hear, Abby said, “We need to move into the bedroom.”

With my help, Abby sat up on the sofa and got on her feet. She took my hand and, with the silk robe flowing behind her, led me to her bedroom. Once inside, she dropped the robe from her shoulders and roughly pulled the neatly made bed clothes down to the foot of the full sized bed. She then turned to me and began to unbutton my shirt.

“Help me here. I don’t’ want to waste any time,” she pleaded.

I swiftly removed my shoes, socks, trousers and underwear. When I was as naked as Abby, she crawled into the bed, lay on her back and patted the sheet inviting me to join her. I climbed on the bed, knelt beside her and began to rub her breasts as I had done earlier. Abby responded by closing her eyes and exhaling slowly.

I began to kiss her navel while holding her breasts. As I ran my tongue around her navel, I moved my hands down to her hips. As I slid down alongside her, she spread her legs and I moved between them. I was then able to kiss her abdomen lower until I reached her clitoris with my lips. I kissed, tongued, and sucked her clitoris for a wonderfully long time, alternating between light soft touches and firmer more intense pressure until Abby responded with another, more intense orgasm.

I relaxed my activity as Abby’s climax subsided. When I sensed she was calm, I began to kiss her vaginal lips while slowly sliding two of my fingers inside her. Once in position, I rubbed the root of her clitoris with my fingers and returned my oral attention to the external portion of the organ. As she began to tense up, signaling the beginning of another climax, I slipped one finger from her vagina and slowly inserted it into her anus.

The shift in focus caused an explosive orgasm. I believe she stopped breathing for a short period. I kept up my activities to prolong the experience for her. Expecting her to beg me to stop, I eased my kisses and removed my fingers from inside her. She lay on the bed limply for several minutes before she reached for me and pulled me up along side her. She took my head in both hands and kissed me for the first time. I can’t describe adequately the passion of our first kiss. There was a hunger in that first kiss that we both tried to satisfy. Lips, tongues, cheeks and teeth were all involved. I thought I had a strong tongue, but after that kiss Abby knew that I no longer had my tonsils.

When we were orally satisfied, Abby pushed me onto my back on the bed and began to kiss down my body. We had reached the point I’d been dreading since we started on the couch. She cupped my testicles with one hand and my penis with the other. As her head reached my crotch, she fed my flaccid penis into her mouth. Five minutes later, she abandoned the oral effort and began to stroke me while keeping me well lubricated with saliva and focusing on the glans. That wakened those nerves the doctors had been so generous in reconnecting. Soon I was unable to keep still, alternating between stiffening up and lurching around on the bed. Abby used her weight to keep my hip movement restricted while she rubbed even more vigorously. She relented after I begged and pleaded.

Physically exhausted, we lay side-by-side on the bed until we had recovered some. Abby turned to me and said, “Thank you, that was wonderful.”

I turned toward her and said, “You’re welcome. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Nothing to be disappointed about. I’ve been with a number of men in my life and that’s the first time anyone has actually made love to me rather than just getting laid. That includes John.”

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