"Count backward from 100," he said, an old joke.
"99," I said and went to sleep.
I woke and groaned. Damn, my arthritis was bad today.
I swung around until I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for that wash of pain in my hips to pass and the room to stop spinning.
Finally, I dared to stand and make the dangerous journey to the bathroom. I sat, peed, wiped, and went to the vanity to wash my hands.
Okay, I'm a little vain, but what I saw in the mirror was pretty damn good for a woman with well over three-quarters of a century on her personal calendar. My hair might be thinning, but I had that silvery grey color that only a very lucky few get naturally. My face was lined, but I thought that made it interesting.
My body was thin, okay, my body was skinny. I'm one of those women who shed every fat cell she ever had when menopause hit. My shoulders were big knobs and my elbows were the biggest parts of my arms. My breasts had fallen, the result of breastfeeding my seven children, and my oversized nipples pointed straight at the floor. My hipbones were prominent, leaving deep cups inside of them, highlighting the way my thick labia hung loose. I was almost hairless down there, the result of balding not wax or razors.
I smiled as he walked into the bathroom and moved behind me.
"What IS his name?"
I thought, smiling as my lover, brought home from the Club last night, nuzzled at my neck, and found my nipples to play with.
"Oh, who cares?" I thought as his hands moved from my hips to my belly and then down, giving me that rush deep in my belly that every woman craves so badly.
"Good morning, beautiful," he said, his finger probing, finding my clitoris and sending that electric tingle that made my nipples hard and started my Bartholin's and Skene's glands producing the natural lubricant that would make sex easy for both of us. The air was suddenly full of my pheromone-laden womanscent, evolution's way of making sure this lovely young man (what WAS his name?) wouldn't lose interest.
