At the time, Sofera was exactly sixty. I knew because I provided the music for the birthday party. We had become friends over the years outside of the long friendship with her husband. I had never thought of her in a sexual way.
After a lifetime of travel, Sofera spent much of her time stuck at home. Swings in her health often made it hard for her to get around, particularly in the winter. To provide her with some company, I dropped by here and there while her husband was at work.
I tried to stay present with my smart and observant friends. Being both smart and observant, Sofera caught my focus drifting. I answered with a news brief: my most recent ex- wanting to reunite, ongoing family drama, a worry about something or other. I also had not slept enough. Sofera probed for more information. I picked out bits of answers from my scattered, racing thoughts, more to be polite than seek commiseration. It was all friendly, a meeting of equals. I had left behind any need for a mother substitute when I passed thirty. Half checked out, and probably motivated by my unconscious or some nonsense, I brought up that the now-former girlfriend liked to hear, shall we say, erotic talk. On the phone, in person, even in public.
"What kind of things did you say?" Sofera asked, with an interest that shocked me. I made a How can I talk about that? face. "What?" she said. "I am a grown woman. I know what happens in bedrooms. Do you believe I've never thought about sex? Let alone had it after twenty-some years of marriage?"
"It just never entered my mind that you did."
"Because I'm old."
"No, man," I said with a laugh. "Women with partners who are friends of mine--why go there? I have a hard time imagining sex with someone when I know they're behind a locked door."
"Did you start by asking her what she was wearing?"
I didn't have the energy for one of Sofera's interrogations.
"She usually waited for the call without clothes."
"Tell me one thing you told her. One little story."
I made a face. "Performing in front of an audience is not my forté."
"Pull up one of the dining room chairs behind the couch. That way you only have to provide audio."
It did help to be out of her sight. In a spirit of vengeance, I dug into the platinum level of smut in my memory. I wanted to shock Sofera so much she clapped her hands and ordered me to stop. A combination of improvisation and what I remembered of the original, the story started with two men pleasuring a woman and moved forward. One man's mouth on her mouth and the other man's mouth between her legs. Face-sitting, sixty-nining, taking her partners at each end on her knees and on her back. Getting no reaction, I shifted in the creaky chair.
"Would it be out of the question to drink a dram of your scotch?"
"You know where we keep it," Sofera replied in a quiet voice.
I slammed a shot and poured two more fingers as an antidote to the pheromones in the air. Step by step, I took her through the woman's unlikely number of orgasms, worked to the men preparing her to be taken from behind.
"Not into butt play," Sofera said.
"Strike it from the record."
I took a slow, deep drink to give myself time to consider possibilities. As I put down the glass, I noticed Sofera's hands were no longer visible. The fact that muscles worked on both of her arms, left no doubt, but I scooted just a bit forward to see her fingers rippling the fabric of her sweater. Her breathing had become quicker. She had closed her eyes.
Moving closer to Sofera's ear, I said, "The woman stood and bent over the edge of the bed. The second man thrust his entire length into her. She bent to rest on her elbows. Her presenting herself that way encouraged the man to move faster and then faster. The loud slaps of their colliding bodies mingled with her begging to fucked, to take his come, to go harder. She heard him near that zone where excitement forces you to finished. At that point, he slowed his pace and caressed her ass. He pulled out with a groan of disappointment and stood panting as the woman rolled to her back. With his hands he turned her to his left. She lifted her right leg. He took her from behind that way, awkwardly but at the same pace as before."
Sofera had stretched out in the chair. By chance, I saw her lift her sweatpants with one thumb and slide the other hand inside.
"Listening," she breathed. "Still listening."
But Sofera didn't listen for long, As I talked the couple in the story through their screaming orgasms, Sofera let out a soft, trailing moan. Brief, and not at all demonstrative, before she withdrew her hand and gasped.
"Jesus Christ," she said. "I was starting to doubt I could want an orgasm, let alone have one again." I moved into her view to re-take my seat on the couch. That she seemed okay with the scene eased my own embarrassment. "I want to tell you something," Sofera said. "A real something. More than once, many times in fact, I've seen you return to a table in a restaurant or return to the living room with a drink, and as long as you're not looking my way, I watch your crotch. You used to wear tight jeans made with that stretchy denim. You remember?"
"I do. Slightly too small for me."
"No kidding. They showed you off in detail. That time we met for Chinese with that dark-haired woman, the plunging red sweater--"
"Yes," I laughed. "She was quite a piece."
"You had an erection the entire meal."
"Quite a bit longer."
"Did she provide relief?" Sofera asked.
"You know, forget fiction, I should've told you that story."
With absolute, total conviction, she said, "Would you like to be relieved right now?" My shocked expression had no effect on her. "I can't do anything too intimate. I've really wanted one thing in particular, the one thing I fantasize about when you in your jeans cross my mind. Those slacks you're wearing aren't nearly as tight, but I can see what's happening down there. You look amazed. Is it so shocking I'd be sexual?"
"It's one-hundred-percent surprising, is all. Nothing else implied."
I was aroused by her straightforwardness more than anything. A splash of curiosity was mixed in there, too.
