Thirsty

 My car door opens to a sobbing Sharon. She had just seen her attorney regarding a malpractice lawsuit.

How horrific to rehash the death of a partner. Brutal.

Then the conversation changes to her reawaking experience with her handyman.

"am I a whore?" 

She goes on for what seemed an unbearable mind numbing eternity of naughty flirting. Who hasn't done this from time to time.

"No Sharon, you are not a whore, whores get paid."

And besides she has not even kissed the man. Not even laid laid a hand on him. Her thoughts and desires do not make her a whore.

"Sharon, you are a slut. You want to give it away free. Not that there is anything wrong with with that."

No one at our age wants to enter a long term relationship, what ever that might be. The rules are very different. 

"Not that I am an expert on any of this...." 

I continue to assure her that relationships have evoled even with the younger generation. Now that we have reached this age we have the privilege and maturity to define our space and needs as we please. We are not dependent on the construct of society to fit in. There is no job or social circle that hems in.

She misses the intimacy of a 40 year relationship. That doesn't get pushed quickly. Even if your goal is a one night stand. 

I think most people fear the connection, the power that a physical, intellectual  relationship with out the structure.

Friends with benefits. 

Assets and advantages

"Why don't you try Match or Our Age?"

"What would I say?"

We all chime in ......

You own your own house, You have a car, all paid for. Your retirement is good. You can travel....

And, you are not looking for more than "companionship".

You have you own teeth. you have two new knees, and a stent. Other than the bladder leaks what more can a man want?

And as in the dark all cats are gray, the pleasure of corporal enjoyment with an old women is at least equal and frequently superior every knack being by practice capable of improvement. 

B. Franklin 

Taking names and numbers

 "Why don't we sit in the dormer so we have a more quite space for talking and the music will not be so loud? " I say.

A bunch of my friends go out on Wednesday evening  to listen to local music and catch up. It is a very safe comfortable space. A loft with a caffe vibe in an old restored building from Alaska's past. It is an Ale House in the lower portion. All the windows look out on historic land and mountains in the distance. 

It invites older and younger people. New memories made and bits of past ones evoke memories of folk music from our younger days. Legends born and Legends past. (Hobo Jim)

"No, she says."  "I must be seen!"  

Why? 

"I have my note pad and pen. I ready to meet guys" 

Not very discrete.  She interacts with other guests and is loud and annoying. Perhaps only to me. 

She is dressed Alaskan casual. Her hair done nicely and slight make up. Ok looking for a woman 77 years of age.

She has her pencil and note pad ready for taking names.

I am aware of older people looking but the thirsty nature of this has really taken me aback.

Death and sex

 Life is good. I have developed friendships, go out to eat, see plays and concerts .... the usual things of a retired upper middle class person.

Recently I have done extensive remodeling to my home. It feels like home. Not just a place to just sleep, or eat. But a home. There is something very beautiful and safe about this for me. My home is definitely  an expression of who I am.  

Maybe weirdly an extension of my sexuality. 

Something that has been missing for a while. 

I have been a safe place for my girlfriends to tell their secrets, and openly state how they really feel or think. 

My home is my safe place. A retreat from the world.

I was again looking forward to having the Truck driver over this evening. He was not about to secure a place close so I could sneak  over and bring him back here. 

The years of the anticipation of time. I thought it had come to an end. 

His words are welcome and good to hear even when there is no follow through.

I will still hope. 

sixteen years of moments. 

I regret nothing.

But as my Title suggests.....

A good friend lost his wife recently. He was in a very bad way. He was admitted into hospice after falling and breaking his hip. He had been recuperating from pneumonia and has fluid on his heart. 

He was brought to the memorial by special ambulance.

He had tubes coming from everywhere and was half conscious. 

After the service he was wheeled out to the Narthex to receive condolences from well wishers before returning to the hospital.

I stood in line and after reaching his side said "the tulips and flowers are beautiful and she would have loved them." 

He woke from his comma like state and grabbed my arm " I love you" 

It was kind of creepy.

A few weeks later at a concert my 93 year old friend told me she whispered in his ear that he had better get well as she wanted to flirt with him.

I didn't dare tell her what he said to me. She was sure I was flirting with the 90 year old she had her eye that sat behind us in church. He died. It shocked us all as he was so healthy. In his sleep. 

Then she turns to me and says "there is a new bachelor in town... ".  It was a man who recently put his wife in care. She has dementia. 

After my walk with walking buddies we stopped in a caffe for coffee. One of them pipes up with what I am sure she thought would be a conversation starter. 

"My husband says we all have 30 years left as lifespans are longer now" She is 74.

We all started laughing our asses off. 

"for God sake, we call each other every morning to see who is still above ground" 

Our lives seem so short now. 

 

Flash Fiction Friday

Word Limit: 170-190

Key Words: compose, propose

Forbidden Words: red, said

                               The Muse

It had been a while. 

I thought saying I love you , Proposing was a good right?

Making it real. 

It was all play, naughty. 

Meeting in the dark, In my studio. 

We were more than lovers. Composing, improvisers. Absorbed in thoughtful touch, carefully and thoroughly pleasing each other. 

Music, and art poured from me, following and during the visits. 

Life can be colorless without an abstraction.

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Dress Code

 Word Limit: 80-90 *or* 180-190

Key Words: lick, lock

Forbidden Words: cone, grown

Dress Code

"Remember, there is a strict dress code for this event!!!!! Please don't show up in......you know what mean......let's just say....."

" I get it, I understand that is is a solemn ...."

"See you at six, then. It would not be complete without you!"

Somehow I got the impression that my presents was not exactly wanted. But, was required by the powers that be.

People putting me in a box that is acceptable, or palatable for a annal, pretentious, fuck, civilized world, just so they can get a look at the famous painter. 

I hate being in a room with bores. But it does pay for my room and upkeep. 

The event is for a benefactor of the arts. not necessarily mine. She had lots of money for those that made her look smart and fashionable.

I am announced as I arrive. The fake smiles greet me as I walk in. If only I could find a friendly face.

There he was. But I can't say hello. I can't give it anything away. 

I turn in another direction. He is acquiesced into another conversation. Saved for now.

I need a refreshment so I head for the bar.  I have another banal conversation. Have I stayed the required length of time.

I walk down a hallway for some rest of it all.

"were you going to leave without....."

It was him. he took me in his arms lifted up my skirt shoved his fingers deep inside me. 

"Not wearing panties, were you hoping I would see you, whisk  you away lick you, taste you?"

"yes, but...."

"Shhhhhh....."

He puts his hand over my mouth. 

"She is gone now, we are free. "

But are we really. The world will go on locked in its grove, just as it always does.

There is a dress code.

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Change of Venue

 It was a dark place, with clandestine, serendipitous meetings. For 10 years  the old building, it's seasons, mood and ambience set a tone. Snatched moments, the roles of each of us, put the relationship in a capsule. It was defined. 

Four years, it has been since seeing the truck driver. Outside of that space who are we. What is this, and can it survive.

Lots of texts pass between us. No meetings. a phone call.

The time is never right. 

We are out in a different world. 

The longing has never faded. We both question what it is that makes us want to continue.

I prep and preen each time there may be an opportunity. 

"The reason I ask is that  I will be out your way and will have a moment to stop by." 

Just as other times that fell through, I said " no he will not be home. It would be great to see you. "

I had plans  that day, I didn't break them. I didn't  groom, or prep. The house was not clean. The yard was not manicured.

I liked all things to be in place before. Special corcets were made in England by hand. I hid them under my work clothes. A fire was lit, the smells of something good cooking in the kitchen.

I thought it all was why he lusted after me. I was somehow special.

He texted he was nearby, I told him where I lived. 

I could not take take my eyes off him. I drank him in. His eyes, his face.

I gave him a tour of the place. " you always have the most interesting homes"

"I don't have much Time. I just wanted to see you. "

He kissed me. "I wasn't sure how it would be after so long"

It was like time had never passed. It was a zone that belonged to us. Not a place.

He opened his pants, I tasted his sweet cock. Our conversation was smooth and connected.

Our bodies had no boundaries. Our touch was honest, like best friends, no limits. No fears. Confident.

We reminisced of our time before. 

" I love you so fucking much" I said

"What did you say" 

"nothing"

"If you don't tell me I coming over there ....and... 

" I love you so fucking much"

He smiled so big. Like a gift had been given to him that he had always wanted.

So softly. with passion....." I love you too".

And so it ended. Till the next time there is a moment in time.