Deep Thoughts Only

I blame it on the blasted Coronavirus; sitting with my wife in a three-room seniors’ apartment in our assisted living apartment, with nary anything to do but watch TV. Judge Judy, The Talk, Doctor Phil – you call that TV? Jesus, I’m so tired of that shit. “How ’bout we watch a movie, Dear?” But, “nooo, I wanna see my shows”, as if she owned them. “If you’d run the recorder for me, I’d tape them, but nooo, you won’t do it.” Another long drawn out nooo, and I get the message. We used to go to the movies, we used to go out to dinner, lunch even; we used to play mahjong and poker in the game room with other people, for Chrissakes, we used to even have company in our small place, or visit others in theirs. None of that shit is doable now. So we sit in front of the tube watching all of that crazy made up shit.

After two months of that abuse, I get an idea and I approach my 79 year old wife with it. I have to be very careful planning this or she’d just say no out-of-hand, and I feel rejection very easily, especially on the subject of sex. So, after I pour her a second Martini one night when she seems to be in a fairly good mood, I broach the subject. “Remember when we used to go to the movies all the time?” She confirms that fact and I notice the nostalgia and longing on her face. She’s smiling. That’s key. “Remember when we went to the Art Theatre and saw Deep Throat?” She looks at me funny, but still with the smile, because she remembers that whole raucous evening. We had gone to see the movie on a lark. We truly did not know what it was all about. It was about that time that theatres could show that stuff, as it was considered ‘art’.

She was thinking what happened when we got out of the show that night. She didn’t have to tell me. I could see it on her face. We were so horned up, we couldn’t even start the car without first having a quickie. Jesus. Right there in the parking lot. And on the way home, we fondled each other while driving. I nearly hit a fucking bridge abutment. Getting home, the ride continued. I didn’t need any blue pills either. As we were practicing the Hollywood roles of the movie, every once in a while she’d come up for air and say, “I can’t believe she ate the whole thing,” imitating the current ad on TV for Burger King, I think. What a night. And I could see she’s remembering it now. Good. Time for the kill. “You know, why don’t I dig out that copy of Deep Throat that I bought and we’ll watch it again?” She looked at me and was reluctant to agree, so I quickly interjected, “Aw, come on. It’ll do us good to watch it. Good for a couple of laughs thinking back.” The second Martini kicked in, and with a smile on her face, she said, “You still have that DVD?” “Yes.” “Well, okay, let’s do it. Judge Judy doesn’t come on for a couple of hours. Sure. Go get it.”

I knew right where it was and I went to get it. I stalled a little for time, and dug out an old supply of Viagra that I hadn’t even thought to use for years. I hoped they still worked and popped not one, but two, of the highest dosage pills they made. I went deeper into my stash drawer and dug out the tube of Professional KY Lubricant and slipped it into my pocket. It would take a little time for the pills to kick in, so I took the DVD and fiddled around with it and the Video Recorder. I could feel my face flushing after a couple of minutes, a sure sign that the pills still worked. As the opening scenes started, I felt the slight headache that also accompanies the usage of that product, another good sign.

Boys, oh, boys, I’ll tell you. When we got to the good parts, we were both ready. By now, she had moved to sit next to me on the couch, and as Linda did her magic in the film, we began our “experiment” in earnest. Pretty soon, we were in the middle of foreplay, and we both realized that the KY was urgently needed. I handed it to her, and she said, “You apply it,” and I did, for she was already prone. I applied a healthy dose while the glare from the TV shone on our asses, and the ooh’s and aah’s emanating from the movie were starting to get to me. And to her, too.

Well, sir, the Viagra worked just fine, I can tell you. What didn’t work just fine was my muscle control and I was through before she even started. But, we found other ways to keep it going for her and finally the second pill kicked in and we completed the act together. Thank God. I’ll tell you, I really hate the taste of the KY, but I had little choice. Our climaxes were a lot less thrilling than we both remembered, but at 81 and 79, who could complain? I usually tell my friends – the ones that are still alive – that “getting lucky” at our ages means having a good bowel movement.

Because of my enlarged prostate, and my age, none of my bodily fluid was actually transferred at the appropriate time; instead it took several minutes and released from my body when I took a shower immediately after the show. Coming back into the living room, she was in a good mood, a smuggling mood, and as we cuddled, she looked up at me and said “Was it good for you?” We both laughed hysterically at that. We both knew, the closeness was wonderful, but the sex part? Ehhh.

As we all know, girls all talk to each other, and I notice now that when I come in contact with some of the ladies from the complex, they seem to be smiling coquettishly at me. Bravo, but I’m sticking to watching Judge Judy for the time being.