Finally, I have gotten enough of my male life behind me that I understand that to be a good lover to a mature woman you have to have been through all the stages. The "What do I do?" early stages, the awkward first times together, the twenties when you fall off the bed and pass out, the thirties when every man knows his woman can kill him with her pussy if she wants to, the forties and fifties when life begins to change and sex changes with it. I remember days when I was too tired to please my wife; days when my multi-orgasmic female sex fiend could not quit thinking about a sick kid or problems at work long enough for me to get off much less her. I remember menopause, operations, breasts lumps, swollen prostrate, high blood pressure and Viagra. The end result is that I love women, with all their complexities and with their patience and understanding to spend time with me. We don't compete anymore; neither of us take Cosmo checklists to bed to see if our relationship is healthy; neither of us are embarrassed to ask for what we want or discuss what we like. Neither of us pass judgment at the moment, although we may say at breakfast, "Let's not to that again."
Yea, I know I am talking about a woman who matured along with me and isn't addicted to drugs, isn't trying to get even with some s.o.b., isn't a bi-polar escapee from a local institution and hasn't raised drama to some absurd art form. There are enough of the good ones out there to keep life interesting even in my sixties. I went through the second childhood stage - dated the twenty year olds, thirty year olds and was rejected by would-be cougars. Occasionally one of life's jewels shows up in my life and the sharing, accepting pleasure is cast within reality, within our separate lives and within the boundless walls of pleasure that two people can share. Last time I told you about my evening with Mable. I can still smell her juices on me and feel her muscles contract around my wrist. She fulfilled a long held fantasy for me and I got to remind her that at seventy-one her body was magnificent and could please any man.
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I missed a day or two of the required morning coffee meetings at McDonalds of "old farts anonymous." Toby called me at home.
"Dave, we have been missing you. What's happening? Are you sick?"
"No, my wife has gotten worse; I've had to arrange more help for her and I've been pretty tried."
"You sound exhausted."
"I'll see you and the guys for coffee tomorrow. See if you can suggest a good date for me to the museum. I have to go to a French painting exhibit and I need someone who will make me look good in a subject I know nothing about."
The next morning Toby told me how to call Ann, the rumored "anaconda swallower." I had only met her briefly at the door on the way out of the dining room the one day I ate breakfast as his guest at the Gardens.
"Ann, this is Dave Gordon, we met at breakfast about a month ago at the Gardens; Toby was my guide."
"I remember the tall, sexy, playful, professor."
"Oh, you have a silver tongue and have already made me feel ten feet tall. Toby tells me you might keep me from looking like a dunce a week from Saturday."
"That is quite a lead in. What does it mean?"
"For many years, I've been a lifetime member at the art museum, but my interests are everything except early French painters. I understand you might have some knowledge in that area?"
"A million years ago, I taught such things."
"You are smart as well as lovely. Will you be my date for that night and keep me from making a fool out of myself?"
"Didn't Toby tell me you are married?"
"Yes, I am, to a lovely, over medicated, very disabled woman with no short term memory. Her nurse will be staying over that night. If you would like, we can start here for an early cocktail so you can meet everyone, go to the showing and then find somewhere better to eat than the plastic food that the museum will serve with the boring speakers."
"Finally, a man who knows when to leave a party."
"I'll pick you up at five-thirty, we'll go by my house for a cocktail and then be at the museum at seven."
Some people clean up well and some people clean up so well you don't want to go out. Ann was in category 2. I am not a breast man, but in her case, I would make an exception. They stood like perfect Jane Mansfield cones, demanding that all male eyes pick a breast and drool while he watched it move with a life all its own. She had learned to put on make-up when it was a pleasurable art and not a task. An easy twenty years vanished from her body and I felt like I was dating a younger woman and would have to earn my minutes with her.
Ann was cordial and handled herself well at my house. She was impressed with its many rooms, the pool and was gracious when she met Helen. Helen was having a bad spasm and I had given her several medications to break the cycle. Ann sat with me in the den and talked while I ran back and forth.
"How long have you been taking care of Helen?"
"We've been together thirty years and she has been sick for fifteen. She has been through operations and pain that I could never endure. I have promised her to take care of her the rest of her life and not put her into a nursing facility. Together we built a nest egg that will allow me to keep my promise."
"I'm sorry Dave; I didn't mean to hit nerves."
"Ann, you didn't. I liked you from the second we met and I love how your mind is quick and you can banter with me. Still I want to be honest with you about my situation. The physical side of things was a major part of our married life but disappeared completely six years ago. You are my first non-paid escort date."
She looked at me strangely. I realized how what I said had sounded.
"I apologize, Ann. I have not had sex with a woman in six years. I have hired beauties to make me look good at book signings and I did have an evening with Mable to play out a fetish. If I have offended you, we can cancel tonight and I'll take you home."
She ignored my offer and asked, "You are a writer?"
"Under several names. First as a technical writer, then my mysteries took off and a couple of sci-fi stories did well. I write porn and maintain lots of email pals for my sex life."
"Are the David Stone mysteries yours?"
