I miss Joanie. She left me suddenly. We went to bed early that night. She wanted to ‘connect.’ That’s what we called it. Hugging her with my hard penis buried deep in her pussy and falling asleep together was something we had done from the day we were married 45 years earlier. Actually, we had been doing that even before we were married, but that was our little secret. Somehow, we never grew tired of that, and did it almost every night. Many times, we didn’t even orgasm, and that was fine. We kept finguring one of these days I’d stay hard after falling asleep and remain in her, but it never happened. My penis would soften and fall out. Sometimes she’d be asleep by then, sometimes not.
A couple of times, our kids came into our bedroom when we were connected. We quickly pulled up the blankets if necessary. I don’t think the children had any idea what they were interrupting. We’d always laugh about it once we got the kids back into their own beds.
So that night was like any other. The next morning she seemed especially silent. Not moving. I sensed something wasn’t quite right. I rolled over and put my hand on her shoulder. That’s when my heart jumped into my throat. She was cold, room temperature actually, and stiff as a board.
I knew immediately that she had left us. In a wild panic, I called my son. “Jason, what do I do?” Through the tears, his and mine, we called his sister, and then he made the arrangements. I was too messed up to contact anyone.
It was so unexpected. But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.
It’s been two years. Now, I’m laying here in bed kind of idly masturbating, and remembering the good times with Joanie. I remember when the kids were small, not a doctor and a manager like they are now.
I try not to remember Allison. She was our youngest. She discovered heroin and cocaine, spent a couple of years trying to maintain some sort of chemical-induced balance, during which we sprung her from jail a few times, our TV and household cash disappeared, and she crashed her car, twice. As quickly as we’d put her in rehab she’d be back on the streets. Despite it all, we offered to let her live with us, but she was too proud. She died on a cold November night in the dumpster area behind a Safeway, curled up in a ratty old sleeping bag.
Instead, I’m remembering Joanie. The good times, the deep intellectual conversations, or so we thought, and the laughter. I’m idly touching my penis, as I think about our sex life. Oh, we did more than ‘connecting.’ We were really quite open about our likes and dislikes. She loved sucking my penis. What she got out of that, I don’t really know, but she did enjoy it. I’d reciprocate by licking her vagina to a whole series of rapid-fire orgasms. I fully understand what she got out of that!
As I’m reminiscing, my penis is getting hard. Oh, not as hard as it used to before my prostate surgery, but it’s OK. I continue to rub, and soon that orgasmic feeling starts to build. You’d think after seventy-some years of orgasming it wouldn’t be so great. However, even though nothing comes out any more, the orgasms are still as delightful as ever.
I’m feeling sleepy. I’ve got a slight ache in my left shoulder. No surprise for someone my age, right? I’m kind of dizzy too. It’s the third night in a row that I felt that strange ache and light-headed after jerking off. I’ll bring up this up the next time I see my doctor. I’m really sleepy now. Well, I think I’ll just go ahead and get some sleep…
