hot septuagenarian erotica — plus half-fare metrocards!

October 6, 2004

Today I attended the first meeting of my fiction writing class. I am excited to see how my work will play among the over-55 crowd. Last time I took a daytime class, it seemed to be full of actors and waiters; this time it’s retired people.

This is by no means a complaint, as I enjoy interacting with people who remember decades of perhaps more import than the last few. But it’s also entirely possible that somebody will just be kind of miffed or offended.

Maybe I’ll just continue writing my usual perversion-and-lurid-interest stories and simply make all the characters septuagenarians.

“I’m not a lesbian,” said Mabel, swallowing. She had always been shy. “But maybe for you I could make an exception.”

Slowly, Hattie scanned up and down Mabel’s floral-clad figure. And in one swift movie, Hattie had Mabel’s wrists behind her back and was staring into her eyes with the intensity of stark-white cross stitch on black linen.

“You’ll be whatever I tell you to,” said Hattie. “I’ve been watching you since the very first night you came to bingo.”

Hattie’s hands were strong despite her arthritis, and her will was even stronger. Her grip on Mabel tightened, and Hattie’s face belied the slightest sly smirk.

I’ve been shrinking over the years, thought Mabel. I’ve gotten shorter. She looked up at Hattie, Hattie who was nearly five-foot-six in her Dr. Scholl’s pumps, whose hair was perfectly marcelled, whose silver cane was always polished to a pure, bright shine.

Mabel was scared. She trembled like a schoolgirl back when coyness was still a virtue; she shook like the three-layer gelatin ambrosia she always brought to her grandchildren’s birthdays.

I’ve always wanted to know what it was like, thought Mabel. She imagined the sapphic pleasures that lay ahead of her, the thoughts that had overtaken her mind ever since the first widows’ group meeting. She imagined everyone playing “strip support group,” wherein each lady had to remove an item of clothing for each time she shared about overcoming her loss. Of course you miss Walter, they would say. Now take off your girdle.

“We’re going to my room,” said Hattie.

“I’ll tell the nurse we’ll be playing Chinese checkers,” she continued, “and that we don’t want to be disturbed.”

Posted by jen | Filed Under humor 

Comments

2 Responses to “hot septuagenarian erotica — plus half-fare metrocards!”

  1. Anonymous on August 31st, 2006 1:28 pm

    that was great…
    your one crazycool chicky.

    peace, love & soooooul

  2. Faustus, M.D. on October 26th, 2007 4:36 am

    Oh my God I love you.

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