The conversation with his physician was just the kick in the butt that he needed. Brian James was 59 years old, recently widowed and lost. His marriage of 33 years was a good one. He and Laura enjoyed a loving relationship and a healthy sex life. At times they were adventurous, but never what one would call "kinky". They enjoyed "Viagra-free" sex until two years ago when Laura was diagnosed with uterine cancer. Laura's illness was lengthy and was marked by moments of hope, relief, disappointment, pain and ultimately her death. Throughout those 33 years Brian was a faithful spouse, not merely in the bedroom but in all aspects of their relationship. His faithfulness was manifest during their final two years together by the tender care that he gave her, spending hours with her, reading, talking, joking, giggling and crying. He never complained, (at least no one heard him complain), and when the end came he was appropriately sad, managing to tell his daughter and son that the final two years with Laura were a gift.
A few months after the funeral, Brian experienced the strange sorrow of noting how everything seemed to continue as normal with the exception of the lingering loneliness. Both his boss and his clients were as demanding as always. He still got letters and junk mail addressed "Mr and Mrs. James". There were the 6 o'clock phone solicitations asking, "Can I speak to Laura James?" Those were the calls that touched the rawest part of his grief, because Brian wished that he could converse one more time with Laura.
There were also the moments of guilt. He was watching a cable movie and found himself experiencing an erection during a particularly explicit love scene. He took his hard cock in his hand began to rub up and down, enjoying the pleasurable sensations, knowing that not everything in his life had died. Within a few moments he shuddered to orgasm and the thick jism bubbled out from the end of his cock, dribbling down his hand , onto his pubic hair and balls. He sat in the chair, sated but strangely guilty for enjoying this moment by himself. At that moment he felt utterly alone, wishing he could share that moment with another, feeling the flesh of one next to him, glowing together.
8 months after Laura's death, Brian had his annual physical. He had the usual issues of men his age, of which could be remedied by exercise. "Brian," his physician began. "Everything is in good working order for a person your age, but you need to start exercising, not just for your physical health. You need to get out of the house and meet some new people. It is time to begin the next chapter."
It was a little more than Brian wanted to hear. "The next chapter", or "last chapter"? The thought of starting anything new bothered him. He could join a gym or health club, but they were populated by narcissistic body builders half his age. At least he thought so. And he knew what "meet some new people meant." It meant women. This was more frightening than donning shorts and athletic shoes and stepping on a treadmill.
Perhaps it was the loneliness of the evening, rolling over in the queen size bed stretching and arm, only to hug air that moved Brian to join a local health club four days later. He purchased a trial membership and was assured that he would find others his age and fitness level at the club. "They are usually here early in the morning... before work," suggested the young woman at the desk. She was wearing a scarlet leotard showing a hint of cleavage. Brian did his best not to stare at the breasts in front of him, but he could not help giving a glance every split second at the outlines of the nipples that this outfit failed to hide. The short conversation had its effect upon one muscle, and Brian could feel his cock hardening and pressing against the fabric of this pants. He hoped that the young woman who was having this effect upon him would not be as observant of clothing as he was.
For the next three weeks Brian showed up three or four times each week and worked out, slowly building up his time on the various machines. He discovered if he came in at 7 a.m., most of the crowd was over forty and there was a gracious acceptance of the realities of aging. He found himself comparing his body and relative fitness to the other males in the room and felt that he stacked up well against the "competition." He did not have a large gut, and even though he was not accustomed to regular exercise, he was not over weight. He also enjoyed looking at some of the women who were regulars in the morning. He would converse in a friendly way with them, but he never bothered to introduce himself and he never asked their names. There were a few who particularly caught his attention. There was a tall woman with grey hair. Her hair was cut at a medium length and she often tied it back when she worked out. Even though her hair was grey, almost silver, she had a face and figure that defied age. He guessed that she was his age, perhaps a year or two older. One of her exercise outfits particularly caught his attention. It was light blue with thin yellow horizontal stripes. The stripes, stretched over her body accentuated her mature curves, a generous bust and a slight bulge in the tummy area. She wore shorts that clung to her butt and Brian would often try and get the treadmill behind her so that he could observe cheeks moving under the shorts as she worked out. There was the time when she finished with her workout and was facing Brian who was on the bench press machine. She took her towel and wiped her face and he found himself staring at her cleavage, noting the tanned freckled skin. He wondered where the tan line ended, if there was one. He realized that laying back on the bench he could not disguise what was occurring in his shorts and that a tent was beginning to emerge. As he sat up in an effort to hide it, she gave him a smile and a knowing wink. He was mortified.
There was also a cute pixie type woman who was probably about sixty five. She must have been a dancer or gym teacher, Brian concluded because she was in such good shape. She was all of five feet tall and he would have been shocked if she weighed more than a hundred pounds. Her hair was cut short but stylish manner and she wore a head band to keep it from her eyes. She usually wore a spandex top and it was apparent that she had no bra on, not needing it to support her rather small chest. What she lacked in curves she seemed to make up in energy and grace. When the tall one, (he did not know her name) was not around, he often looked for his pixie (his temporary name for her).
