Sirens and Sex

Posted by Donna Arp Weitzman • January 04, 2016

If your passport affirms a birthdate before the middle half of the last century (20th century that is) you are more than qualified to decide your own sexual behavior.

When being questioned by your Women’s Bible study class, it is tempting to be coy. Fred was the only man for me; he was the first and will be the last.

Your sinless sisters look at you with various states of belief. Some nod their pin curled coifs with thin straight lips while patting their freshly starched skirts. Others look at you in pity, mouths slightly open, while clearing their throats. Monthly cut and color jobs are necessary for their avid hunting trips to the Bingo games on Friday nights. They refuse to accept the theory, ” Abstinence makes the Heart Grow Fonder.” They are pretty fond of company especially if he pays for the dinner.

While Gladys admires your dedication to becoming a late in life nun, Betty Sue pitties your lack of foresight. How sad she thinks, my friends sex life with Fred must have been bad—-a new man might put some spring back into her step!

Happy you have made your decision, you accept a girls night out. An early dinner at Tonys Italian and the new movie your friends recommend starring Meryl Streep and Diane Keeton. You look forward to some laughs.

During your linguini and clams you try to overlook the happy couple next to you popping another cork of Chianti. Can he possibly be that funny as you notice the top button of her silk top gapes open. They must have arrived here before you and your favorite spinsters as their Caesar salads appear untouched.
How their scene differs from your night with the boring grandmas. Another story about the newest grand baby is one story too much.

Your thoughts go astray as the cheesecake is served. I’m not that “over the hill” you ruminate looking more closely at the oversexed duo next door. I look as good as her.

Suddenly, clouds appear, and your thoughts aren’t so sunny. How would I ever undress in front of anyone else? Just like an oak tree, a man could count my years by the folds on my thighs. How could he want me when he might worry he could
drown in my potholes medicinally termed cellulite. You silently curse gravity for turning your firm B cups into merely another ripple on your torso. No, I can never be like the mature naughty nymph at the next table. I do not need that aggravation!

The lust-laden twosome bellows again breaking your negativity. You remember a similar scene between you and Fred a few years back. Four decades of a same sex marriage (meaning forty years of sex the same way, not the same gender) was an incentive for you to plan a trip to Vegas. You specifically requested the mirrors on the ceiling hotel and were relieved that Sin City still offered this kind of sizzle.

Thinking you would add some interest to your wardrobe and instill some excitement to Fred’s life, you ordered the hot pink bikini panties from
the Victorias Secret catalog he had hidden under the recliner. Being mindful of his heart murmur, you felt fairly secure he’d seen your troubled torso enough times to not warrant a trip to the desert emergency facilities.

After checking in you giggled to the bellman, can you bring the bags right away?
It was imperative you get to the bathroom before Fred. Pooped from the trip, Fred scolded you a bit for paying extra for a bigger room. After all two double beds were fine. However, he didn’t feel up to the fight, so let this one go.

Lowering the lights and ignoring Fred’s bodily function sounds, you remembered the first night forty years ago. Only this time, you can now see yourself shining from above. Wow, what happened to you! No facial wrinkles, no dippled thighs, no rolls of extra chlolestral, just smooth sailing for this belated beauty queen. Before you could peel your eyes away from this sight to behold, Fred had slipped into slumber, ignoring his sublime sex kitten.

Disgusted with his lack of effort, you vowed to never forget what a mirrored ceiling can do for a woman, but not for a man. While your mind celebrated your new found youth, gravity being your welcomed friend, Fred got what he deserved. A mirror for him only amplified his back hair. Next time I will just put the hand mirror above me in our bedroom at home and save the extra money for cotton pjs.

However, the Vegas lesson on good looks has stayed with you. You feel relieved that you know how to perfect your imperfections. If the man now inebriated was taking you home, you would not have to worry. Since Fred’s heart attack and his untimely passing, you need to remodel the house anyway. It’s simple, You will have the handyman install a life size mirror over your new mattress.

That does it, you think, no reason I should be celibate. And I will have the body to prove it. Regardless of his preference, I am always on the bottom. If he insists on sleeping on his back, when he awakes the next morning and glances up, I am still the tight, toned tart he so desires!

I look around at my spinster sisters. I am not going to share my secrets. They will wonder why next time they see me I am smiling. It’s because I’m having so many overnight visitors. After all, maybe they will remember, I was voted the most social in my high school senior class.

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