And so to bed

It’s hard to believe it has been only a week and a half since Debbie and I got naked together.  So much has changed, so fast.  There must be something magical about sex.

It was Saturday.  I was over at her place, reading her Dorothy Bryant’s Miss Giardino, a book I really enjoy.  We were sitting on her sofa side by side, taking time out every few paragraphs to kiss. 

After a while the kissing got more heated and more intense.  When we stopped for breath, Debbie said, “Maybe we had better go for a walk” … but neither of us made the slightest move to get up.  I asked her when she would feel comfortable about going farther – about fucking, except I didn’t put it that way to her.  After all, I don’t expect to be legally divorced.  And I have no idea when Wife and I will live under separate roofs.  As a practising lay Buddhist, Debbie is bound by rules prohibiting sexual immorality; but she understands those rules to mean "Do no harm," and it's not like she could possibly be responsible for breaking up Wife and me.  Debbie said that if it’s going to be only a little while till I moved out, she’d rather wait; but if it will be a long while, then no.

At this point I got a text from Son 1 telling me he had just finished taking the SAT.  Debbie suggested I call him.  I didn’t really want to let go of her, so I said he could wait a minute.

She thought some more.

Then finally, slowly, she said, “I think … I think I’d like us to move into the bedroom. But first I’d like you to call Son 1.”

Hallelujah.

I called Son 1.  He hadn’t really expected me to call, but we chit-chatted for a minute before he wanted to go off and do something else anyway.  So Debbie and I moved into her bedroom.

Is it just my experience, or is there always something a little awkward about that moment when the two of you have first decided that you are going to fuck, but you haven’t yet and you face each other alone and fully dressed?  Admittedly my experience isn’t very wide (you can cross-reference here), but it seems that way.  So we stood there for what was probably half a second (but felt like a couple of minutes) figuring out, What now?

Debbie asked, “Shall we undress each other?”  Yes.  Let’s do that.  And let me add that Debbie has a lovely body.

Yes, she’s fifty-eight; and yes, you can see it in her face and hands.  Age wrinkles all of us there.  Even D, you will recall, had deep wrinkles in her face.

But the skin beneath her clothing is smooth and soft and creamy; her breasts are surprisingly firm (much firmer than D’s); her nipples are small, light pink, and seem always at attention; her pubic hair is light golden brown with not a streak of grey.  Could it be this way with all women in their late fifties – I mean, that they look older on the outside but have the bodies of women twenty years younger?  Or have I just been incredibly lucky with D and Debbie?  Either way, I’m not going to analyze it too much.  Nor complain.

But I couldn’t get hard.  Not at all.  Not that day, and not the next when I came back and we spent a few more hours in bed.  Oh, I think I got a little hard at one point but it lasted only a few minutes.  But other than that, … nothing.  I tried not to be embarrassed.  I told Debbie it was probably just shyness … that I had reason to think this was normal when I was with someone new for the first time.  (I wasn’t sure how much to tell her about my time with D, although as the days have passed we have both shared stories about prior lovers so it turned out to be OK.)  Debbie worried that she was doing something wrong, that she was not giving me the cues I needed somehow.  (Apparently this was a big problem with her second husband: that he consistently misread her sexual cues and gave her none of his own.)  But no, it wasn’t that.  My dick just refused to engage.

For her part, I’m not sure that Debbie ever came, either.  She breathed heavily but there was none of the volcanic convulsion that I learned to expect from D’s orgasms.  Debbie told me she was already pleased she could respond as far as she did – that she had feared she wouldn’t respond at all because it had been so long since she had fucked anyone.  (I still don’t know how long “so long” is, but apparently her sex life with her second husband came to an end not long after their daughter was born. And the daughter is now in graduate school.)  And she was full of praise for how skilled she thought I was.  I can’t think of anything I did that exhibited any great skill; just used my tongue and fingers in ways I learned from my time with D.  But Debbie was very happy.  And after a couple of hours, she told me she had memorized a poem for me, and recited it:

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

If you measure sex by an orgasm count, the weekend wasn’t much.  But it was our first time lying together, skin to skin, and starting to explore each other’s bodies.  And by that measure it was perfect heaven.