It's Been So Long!

Emails lead to a phone call

"It's been so long since I've had sex that I feel like a virgin." Those were Sherry's words on the phone when we finally talked. I'd found her on a dating website and we'd been exchanging emails for three months, when she finally got tired of that and gave me her phone number. We'd exchanged photos and shared so much personal information that we felt like old friends, even though I'd never before heard her voice. "Up until you responded to my profile, I'd about given up on meeting a decent guy. You'd be shocked at the terrible emails that I got, and for some reason when I asked for a picture, about half of them sent pictures of their private parts. Or at least, that's what we used to call them. I'm beginning to wonder if anything is private any more."

"Did you go on dates with any of them?"

"Only one. It was awful. He was loud and disgusting and all he wanted to talk about was the women he'd taken to bed. I got the impression that nobody'd gone out with him twice, and I thought he was making up the stories about his conquests. I'd driven to the restaurant in my own car, so I told him I felt sick and I took off for home."

"It's been sort of the same with me. I took one lady to dinner and we had a pleasant conversation, but it wasn't going to go anywhere, and we both knew that by the time we left the restaurant. She wasn't disgusting, but I knew that she was angling for something, even though I didn't know for a long time what it was. Around dessert I finally put the pieces together. Her son and his family had moved in with her and they were driving her nuts, so she wanted a guy she could live with. I tried not to hurt her feelings, but I very delicately but firmly let her know that I wasn't that guy, and I didn't need her or any of her family as roommates."

Sherry nodded her agreement with my feelings. "I don't think I'd ever want to move in with somebody. I've got a very nice home, it's all mine, and it's all just the way I like it. I guess it represents security to me, and since Jay died security means a lot to me. My family accuses me of being a recluse because I spend so much time at home, but it just feels good. After he died we sold his Cadillac, but I've still got my minivan and that feels good, too, when I have to go out to the bank or the supermarket or wherever. Going from being a wife to being all alone is a big change, and with so many adjustments to make, familiar things make me feel comfortable."

"Are you sure you're ready for dating?"

"Oh, I am and I'm not. It would be nice to have somebody I can feel close to, make small talk with, watch a TV show with, whatever. But when I think about sex, I get myself confused. Physical intimacy is wonderful; it brings two people so close. But then there's a lot of anxiety involved. I suppose it's a fear of inadequacy, and besides that I don't know how it would be with somebody new. Jay and I had nearly forty years together, and he's the only man I ever had sex with. We did things his way, and a lot of things we just never did. When I read about some of those things now they seem interesting and I wonder what they'd be like, but I don't know if I'd like them and I'm sure I wouldn't be very good at them."

"Yet you're able to talk about all this with me, somebody you've never even met. What does that mean?"

Sherry laughed. "Probably that I'm desperate for company. No, seriously, we've come to know each other pretty well, I think, or at least I hope, and I think we're ready to meet and see how we mix when we're face to face. I've read and re-read every one of your emails, saying to myself, 'Why did he tell me this?' and 'His choice of words must reflect his inner feelings about that.' I'm sure that I've read things into them that are revealing, and probably some that are totally mistaken. We can't keep going on forever as pen pals, can we? Didn't we go on that website for something a little more personal? What do you think?"

"I think we need to go out to dinner at a nice restaurant that has tables with some privacy, so we can talk and look at each other and relax together. If we go on a weeknight there won't be a crowd, and they won't be trying to hustle us out because they need the table. Angus used to be like that, and I think there's one near where you live. Four questions: Are you interested? Is that restaurant okay or do you have another preference? How's Thursday night? Do you want me to pick you up at home or would you rather meet me there?"

"Well, you already know that I'm interested. Angus is all right with me, although I haven't been in one for twenty years. I never have anything important scheduled for any evening, so I'm sure Thursday will be just fine. Pick me up at home. I'll email the directions."

"Great! It's a date!"

"Omygod! I can't believe that I've just committed myself to go out on a date! What if you're a serial murderer? More important, what will I wear?"

"Look, this is just a dinner together in a dimly lit restaurant on an off night when we might be their only customers. Don't get all worked up over it. We can go in casual clothes, like jeans and a shirt. I don't want to make this a major problem for you. What the hell, we could go to Wendy's or Burger King if you'd prefer."

"No, no! You don't understand. I'm a woman. I want to go into a dither about this. It's part of what a date is supposed to be about. Don't try to make it easy for me, because it's not supposed to be easy. It's supposed to be like a minor crisis, and then magically turn into something wonderful that I can recall over and over the next day and the day after that. You're expecting me to take this in stride, but that's not how it's supposed to be. I'm supposed to feel like Cinderella!"

"Okay, Cinderella. I'll come by to pick you up Thursday evening at seven. I'll be driving a pumpkin."

The first date doesn't work out as planned

Zero Mostel made a fortune starring in a Broadway play called "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum." I'm reminded of that title when I think back to picking up Sherry for our date, because a funny thing happened on the way to the restaurant.

I rang her doorbell and she came to the door, all ready to go, even to her purse. She looked amazing. I mean, we're no kids, but she could have had thirty-year-old guys taking a second look as she walked by. I stood back a little on the doormat to give her room, and I just froze.

"Hank, are you all right?" she asked, looking anxious.

"All right? What the hell, I'm thunderstruck! You look amazing!"

"Well, this is just how I look. Don't make a big deal out of it. I'm just an ordinary woman,"

"Is that what you think? Has somebody been filling your head with that nonsense? Sherry, you could pose for magazine covers. I knew you were pretty from the few photos you sent me, but they didn't do you justice."

"Thank you, but I yam what I yam, to quote Popeye. Come on, put your eyes back into your head and let's go."

I held the door of the car for her, and helped her with the seat belt. Then I got behind the wheel and came to a dead stop. "There's something I've just gotta do first," I said, and I pivoted in my seat and reached over to her, hoping that she wouldn't get mad if I tried for a kiss. "Sherry, please let me have a kiss to start the evening off."

"Oh, I like kissing," she answered. Our lips met, then we wrapped each other up in our arms and really went at it. Her tongue was even more active than mine was, and we seemed to kiss forever. When we broke it off and caught our breath, she looked shaken. "That was wonderful but I'm afraid I messed up my lipstick. I'll just go into the house for a minute to tidy up."

So I got back out of the car and helped her out, and walked her up to the front door. She unlocked it and started to go in. "I'll only be a minute. Oh, I can't just leave you standing out here on the doorstep. You might as well come on in." We walked into her home, which was beautifully furnished, past the formal living room, through the dining room, and into the family room. She leaned down and picked up a remote control and turned on the TV. "Here, you can watch the news for a minute while I fix my face."

I was right behind her, and as she pivoted around to head toward the master bedroom, we almost collided. I grabbed her elbows to steady her, and we stared at each other for what probably was two seconds but felt like a long time. Impulsively, I pulled her closer and bent down for another kiss. It was very quiet, just the news commentator babbling on, and then her purse dropped to the floor with a clunk. She reached up and wrapped an arm around my neck and we lost all track of time and place. Next thing I knew we were on the sofa, and the kiss had developed into so much more as we tore at each other's clothes. I had my left hand on her right breast, through her bra. "Take it off," she said. Panic! She wants me to remove my hand. I sort of froze in place, until she said, "I meant my bra, silly." So I did, and my hand went right to her nipples, each in turn, as I gently rubbed them and rolled them in my fingers. She was breathing hard, and she could barely get out the words, "Suck my tits." She had read my mind. Meanwhile, since my hands were free, I found the zipper of her skirt and undid it, whereupon she raised up a little so I could slide her skirt and half slip off onto the floor. Then I was faced with a decision, to slide her panties off or wait till later. What the hell, things were moving fast here, why not? I grabbed the silky little garment that was already damp to the touch and slid it down to her ankles. As she settled back down on the sofa she kicked her shoes, skirt, slip, and panties halfway across the room.

"I'm afraid you'll think I'm being too aggressive," she said, as she undid my belt and started in on my slacks. I still had my mouth full of tit, which gave me an excuse for not saying anything. I wouldn't have known what to say, anyway. I mean, she certainly was being aggressive but I'd never want her to think I didn't like it, but I sure as hell didn't want her to stop. She worked at my zipper and I raised my butt up in the air so she could slide my slacks and underwear down, whereupon I did what she had done, and kicked my clothes and shoes onto the growing pile on the carpet.

"I hope you're not disappointed in my equipment. I'm not real big."

"Actually I was hoping you wouldn't be huge. I've been reading about oral sex and I'm dying to try it, but I was afraid maybe you'd be too big to fit in my mouth. Oh, you feel just right. I want to lick it. Now I've never done this before, so be patient with me. Actually, I've never even seen one of these up close."

"Wait a minute. You've got two kids. Were they Immaculate Conceptions? Did a bunch of angels fly in?"

"No, but we always had sex in the bedroom at night with the lights off, and I barely got to touch Jay's cock. Is that the right word, cock?"

"Yes. If it's big and hard it's sometimes called a prick. Just don't call it a penis. And I won't refer to your vagina. This is a personal encounter, not a biology class."

She was licking the head of my cock, and purring. "Oh, I think this is so nice. It's so soft and smooth, and as I lick it you're getting bigger and harder. I've heard women say that they'd never do this, but I think it's wonderful. It's such a lovely little thing, and I think it likes me." I didn't want to laugh out loud, so I concentrated on playing with her tits, and I gently laid a hand on top of her head to let her know I approved of what she was doing.

I somehow got us turned around on the sofa, and I got her on her knees, straddling my chest. I had to bend my neck way forward but I got into a position where I could lick her pussy lips while she sucked my cock. I wanted to reach her clit but I couldn't bend that far, so I did my best with what I could reach. The thought crossed my mind that this wasn't a full sixty-nine, but maybe more like a sixty-eight or maybe a sixty-seven-and-a-half. Sherry was making little excited noises, so I decided to go for the prize. I lifted her hips up in the air and sat up, which was a clumsy position but it got my tongue to her clit. I started to lick it softly and then beat it to death by flicking the tip my tongue across it. That turned out to be the wining combination. She lifted her mouth off my cock and howled like a coyote with her legs wrapped around my neck. Her whole body stiffened up and throbbed, and then as she started down off the peak of her excitement I felt her relax, and the leg lock on my neck loosened. We were in an unstable, top heavy position, and I was afraid she'd topple off onto the floor and get hurt. So I got a foot onto the floor and pushed to roll us the other way, toward the back of the sofa. Then I put that foot back up on the sofa and raised my knees so she could grab onto them for support as she finished riding out her orgasm. Her screams had softened to moans, with some soft babbling thrown in, and I figured she was more than halfway unconscious. She quivered and moaned softly and gradually came back to the land of the living.

"Oh, Hank, thank you! Oral sex was just a great mystery to me, and I thought the wonder stories I'd heard must be exaggerations. That was the greatest thrill of my life! To think I've been missing that all these years."

"I understand where you're coming from with that, but just think of the wonderful surprises that are out there for you to discover. You're like a kid that just took her first step into a candy store."

"And you're the storekeeper. Please help me turn around so you can hold me without talking to my feet."

That turned out to be something we'd have to practice. The sofa was very solidly made, which was a good thing as Sherry went hand over hand along the top of the back, while I tried to take some of her weight onto my hands, still gripping her hips. Halfway around I got a knee in my crotch, but I tried to hide my discomfort so I wouldn't dampen her enthusiasm. Then, with her legs and hips safely stowed, I lowered her shoulders gently so she wouldn't land on my chest with a splat and injure her twins. Settled, she ran her fingers through my hair while I wrapped her in a warm hug and covered her face, neck, and ears with little kisses.

"Well, look," I said, "we can still have all that casual conversation that we had been storing up for Angus, to get to know each other without getting too personal. What's your favorite color?"

"Red. I like blue, too. Not much for orange or green. Yellow's okay for patches of bright color to lighten the whole scene. What about you?"

"For most things, blue. I've got half a closet full of blue shirts. I like yellow for a car with black accents. Red is good in small amounts for trim. For stuff in a shop, like machines and cabinets, I like grey. Do you like cats and dogs?"

"Dogs yes, cats not so much. Dogs are so honest about their thoughts and intentions, and they return affection so freely. Cats are aloof, and sort of sneaky. They just have a different world view from every other creature. You're a dog lover, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I've got two rescue dogs and we all love each other very much. One was orphaned in a hurricane, and the other was left behind when his family moved. They were both picked up walking the streets, and to them I'm their savior."

"Do you think they'd like me?"

"I'm sure of it, and I think we ought to find out this weekend. The only reservation I have is that they're both males, and even though they're neutered they go nuts over beautiful women. All the time you're around they'll probably act as if I don't even exist."

"Oh, I hope they take to me. I'd hate to be put in a position of competing with your dogs for your affection. That just wouldn't be right. What's your favorite food?"

I knew I'd sound like a weirdo, but I had to tell the truth. "This will sound strange, but I don't think there's anything in the world that can beat a really good hamburger with all the right stuff on it. What about you?"

"I've been getting away from red meat lately. Well, away from beef, that is. It's not that I won't eat it at all, just that I think we eat too much beef, depend on it too much for our protein. I love a really well cooked cod or other white fish with a mild flavor. Icelandic cod is my all-out favorite. Unfortunately the best way to cook it is to batter it and deep fry it, and the fat or oil has to be very hot. I like wild caught salmon almost as much. If you can get salmon right after it's been caught it has a lot more flavor than the salmon you buy in a supermarket. It seems to lose so much in the days between when it's caught and when it gets to the store."

"What about gamey fish, like swordfish? I don't care for them as much as the milder flavored fish. I love red snapper and another one I like is mahi mahi."

"I don't think I've had either one. The strong flavored fish, like halibut and swordfish, don't appeal to me all that much. I mean, they're good, but I don't think I'd order them in a restaurant. Did you ever have haddock?"

"That always used to be my favorite, but they've almost made it extinct from overfishing it. It's hard to get now, even in New England. I've managed to get it in Massachusetts, but not in Connecticut. What about lobster and crab? I like crab as much as lobster, although that's another kind of seafood that's getting hard to get, except in Baltimore."

"I never had that sort of crab, but I like king crab. I think lobster has a better flavor. It's so good when you dunk it in melted butter. Probably the worst thing for your arteries, but it sure tastes good. What about vegetables? I love broccoli. Most other vegetables, too, but broccoli tops them all. When I was a little girl I used to call it little trees."

"That's cute. I like broccoli, but I like cauliflower a little better. Especially in a cream sauce, or better yet, cheese sauce. I love Brussels sprouts, which aren't all that popular. In the fraternity house we used to call them shrunken heads. The cook used to serve them because a lot of the guys wouldn't eat them. She was always trying to keep the cost of food down by serving us stuff we didn't like. I never made much of a hit with her because I liked everything she cooked."

"What's your take on Lima beans? I like the big ones, the ones they call Fordhook, but I'm less fond of the little ones, the baby Limas."

"I like both kinds. The quality of the frozen ones seems poor. They've been left in the field too long, I guess. Some of them are woody and a lot of them are tasteless. But I've always been a fan of good Limas. They're nice with a little butter melted on them, but there again the stuff that tastes good isn't so good for us. A lot depends on how they're cooked, I think. Peas are like that, too. When I was a little boy we grew peas, and I used to go out in the garden and pick them and pop the pods open and shuck the peas right into my mouth. Sweet, and a wonderful flavor! Even on hot days, with the sun shining directly on the pea vines, the peas were cool when I'd get them out of the pods. Peas don't need a lot of cooking. I can't stand overcooked peas, all mushy and blah. I like to get good frozen peas and microwave them until the ice that's in there with them is just melted, and then cook them one more minute and take them out."

"What about places. Do you prefer the city or the country? I like the it here in the city, being able to hop into the car and drive half a mile to find anything I could ever need. But I don't like the traffic and the feeling that I've got neighbors scrutinizing every move that I make."

"I've found what for me is the best compromise. I have city water and sewers, and electricity and gas, but where I live there's some space between the houses and there aren't that many of them. All around is farmland, where I can see cotton and alfalfa and sugar beets and millet being grown as I drive past. I have to drive a dozen miles for most of the stuff I need, but it's a small price to pay for a place were I enjoy living."