She was a modern American woman, taking the requisite Prosac and Prempro of her 60s generation. One pill to keep her head sited in the right direction and the other to keep her lady parts oiled and ready to roll.
She'd recently found herself drawn to younger men, imagining the delight of a frolic in the sack. She pictured flat smooth bellies and rounded buttocks. And of their dangly parts well she found herself dwelling much longer than a glance at passing crotches. Circumcised or not she'd wonder. Her mother had always told her to look at hands and fingers for a correlation to length and breadth. Musing gave her immense pleasure.
Celebrity fangirling became a regular pastime. Naked pictures of her favorites appeared on her phone. She smiled each time she had a look. They were ever so tastefully posed. Swank bodies lying in exquisite tranquility. But oh she wished for just one little peek. For just one mistake of the camera. For a brief glimpse of the forbidden fruit.
One afternoon, while indulging in a facial, she had an orgasm. And though she found it very agreeable she also found it puzzling. An esthetician applying mascara had sent her into carnal madness. A singular experience that planted the question of why and could it happen again in her mind
Her husband regularly came to bed late while she retired early. So each night before sleeping she'd spend time with her imaginary lovers. Fancying a kiss. Slowly anticipating a caress. Pondering an embrace. Her own hands always lay in repose; the entire pursuit never more than a brief mental tryst.
Over time men of all ages started to appeal to her. She unabashedly eyed their manliness. Occasionally one of her targets would return her not so secretive appraisal. And she liked that too.
Looking at men in the produce section of her favorite grocery store often yielded fine results. For it seemed to her a place where the opposite sexes could slyly mingle and move on.
One day, after a not so furtive glance, upon which she'd decided that the man's manliness was certainly circumcised, he eyed her
and returned her mischief.
"I see you like your carrots long and already pealed," he said looking into her grocery cart.
"Much less fuss," she said. "Though sometimes the process of removing the skin to get to the inner deliciousness can be a Zen experience."
"And it seems you prefer your tomatoes well-hung and on the vine," he said.
"I find them sweeter and juicier," she said with the assuredness of an
expert chef de cuisine.
"It appears as though you are planning to cook a stew," he said taking into account her potatoes and and pearl barley.
"You are alluringly perceptive," she said, "but I have yet to find the perfect piece of beef."
"Look no further," he said loosening his collar and adjusting his belt. "I'm quite sure I can help."
To her immense surprise, he took her hand in his and placed it on his chest. She could feel his hard pecs beneath his shirt and his aura beginning to enter her.
Her mental snapshot of him fit her fangirl fantasies; the male epitome of her lust and desire; tall and lean with dark wavy hair and blue eyes. Her hand told her of his smooth hairless chest and of the possible peek for which she'd longed. Just the right amount of wrong she thought.
But then she realized that any spooning, love-making or otherwise would involve her droopy belly and saggy breasts. And though her Prosac kept her head sited in the right direction and her Prempro kept her lady parts well oiled the rest of her body presented a downside to the whole thing.
She slowly and regretfully removed her hand from his potential dreamyness. "The menu appears delicious," she said. "So lovely to peruse but sadly I cannot order."
Then she headed for the meat department, bought a perfect cut of beef and called her esthetician to book a facial.
©kcasady
