Well, that's the way we were thinking of ourselves, the Old Ladies of the group and it was relatively true. Though only in our mid-fifties we were almost 20 years older than most of the others at the seminar and our lack of stamina and motivation was showing. That's why we were having our nightcap in my room and not in the Bistro down the street with the others.
"What do you think? Would you rather be living through their age or ours?" I asked Winn, who was sitting back in a chair, a glass in her hand and her shoeless feet on the bed.
She thought for a moment before answering, "Their age is am awful lot more exciting, isn't it ... a lot more fun, sexually, at least."
I nodded, thinking of my daughter, "But it's not just fun that makes for happiness. It's a lot of other things, too and most of those require a lot of hard work."
"Maybe," said Winn, doubtfully, "but I can't help feeling those little items in their tight little skirts and their sexy see-through blouses are going to be doing a lot of things tonight that I've never dreamed of doing and," she laughed good naturedly, "I'm a little bit jealous."
I laughed with her, she really has a disarming honesty. "Ya, I've been thinking about that recently, too. Have I cheated myself out of some of the good times these kids just take for granted?"
Winn seemed to be waiting for me to answer my own question because she laughed with a little exasperation, "Well? Have you?"
"Cheated myself? I don't know, I honestly don't. On the one hand I haven't had nearly the fun I'd expect to have by this time in my life, but on the other hand," I shrugged, "I'm happily married, with two great kids and would never dream of screwing around."
A coy smile grew on Winn's face, "If you got the chance here, a gold plated chance with a great guy, you wouldn't think of it?"
I didn't need to think before responding, "No, I couldn't imagine cheating on Jack, would you?"
Winn laughed and sipped from her drink, "I'd love to tell you I would, loved to think I would, but, no, I wouldn't. You're right. It's cheating, cheating on someone who doesn't deserve it." Then she giggled, "Still, it would be nice to at least do something naughty once in awhile, something adventuresome. Jeez I'm in my '50's, for goodness sake, way into my '50's — it's almost over, that part of my life, anyway." Then she hesitated a moment, "Do you ever watch the health channel?"
I wanted to dodge the question but Winn was so open and honest and non-threatening I said what I believed, "God, it's just so shocking, isn't it, what those people do with each other ..."
"But interesting," Winn turned serious, "and educating. I find myself going to that channel more and more often, but never when Frank is around — I don't think he's ready ... for some of that stuff."
"Tell me about it," I said, seeing no point in telling her that Jack had long since lost his interest in anything other than perfunctory sex.
"But it's just so unbelievably fascinating, I mean really plain women, as plain and plump as I am, kneeling on a mattress with multiple parters of both genders, I mean it really gets you thinking — if they can do that stuff ..." Her voice trailed off as if she was lost in a memory.
I was going to interrupt her, to defend her but she was plain and plump, but she had a radiance about her, too, especially now, talking about sex. Her eyes were alive with excitement which brought out a strange sexuality in her: her large breasts seemed to swell against her blouse, she squirmed in the chair, almost like a teenager, and she nervously crossed and recrossed her legs as she spoke, showing more and more stockings.
Winn now looked at me, "What do you think when you hear those women talking about their sex lives?"
"I think it sounds like sex means way too much to them."
"Do you," she thought about this for almost a minute, "ya, that's true, isn't it, they seemed to be putting a whole lot more thought into it then I ever have," then she corrected herself, "or did. Recently, though," she laughed, then admitted, "well, in the past few years I've been think a whole lot more about sex then I used to, probably because of that TV channel, and maybe because I can see that my days are getting numbered, but recently I've become a whole lot more curious about sex than I ever was before." When I didn't offer any immediate comment, she added, "Do you know what I mean?"
I was about to say something, but I didn't, I nervously looked away.
But Winn must have noticed because she quickly asked, "What is it?"
I felt a flush of embarrassment, "It's personal, Winn," then I laughed to try to hide my embarrassment, "God knows, it's personal."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
I shifted in my chair and to buy a little time as I thought about it I brought my legs under me, "God, do I ever, I'm ready to explode, but I can't, Winn, it just way too personal, way too ... wrong."
"Don't you trust me, Jen?" Winn appeared hurt.
"Oh, ya, sure I do, it's not that, it's just something I have to deal with, it's disturbing, it's troubling and I have to work through it."
"Let me help you. Maybe you'll find the answers when you let it out."
There was no joy in my laugh, I really appreciated her sincerity but I couldn't, it was just too shocking, so I just shook my head.
But Winn wasn't the type to give up easily. She got up, took the two glasses to the desk, refilled them with rye and ginger ale, handed me a full glass and sat down, putting her feet back on the bed, "I'm not going to let this tear you up. I don't know if I can help, but I know it will do you a lot of good to get it out. So come on, spill it, you're in good company here."
Winn White is as she claims, she is plump and plain, with dyed blond hair, thinly pencilled eye brows, an attractive aquiline nose, a kind mouth, very white teeth and a weak chin. She's plain, but she's pretty and her body suits her perfectly, it is soft and matronly, the kind of body grandchildren flock to. Most of all, Winn seemed to exude honesty so I made a snap decision, something I almost never do, "Do you absolutely promise not to think badly of me if I tell you?"
"I'm not going to think badly of you — I don't care what it is."
"You might," I shifted on my chair, nervous but excited that something that had haunted me for the past month was about to come out. "About a month ago my daughter came into the living room while I was reading and sat down across from me. She seemed troubled and confused and, of course, I wanted to help so I tried to draw her out, much like you did to me right now. But she wouldn't open up, not then and not the other times she has acted the same way, as recently as three days ago. She's 24 and living with us for two months while she gets settled — she just took a new job in the city and will move into her own place at the end of the month." I hesitated, "And she's a lesbian. I've never really talked to her about that, never known what to say, but I'm entirely OK with it, troubled and disappointed sure, but OK with it and so is her father and brother. I think she wanted to talk to me about ... her lesbianism."
"But that's alright, Jen, a lot of woman admit to being lesbians today ..."
"No, no, I know, it's not that, it's that ... I was drawn to her, really drawn to her, and not just because she's my daughter." I could see Winn was about to interrupt so I held up my hand and quickly continued. "I know my daughter, I know her really well: know her moods, her body language, her facial expression. I think what Shelley wants is to have a relationship with me and it scares the hell out of me." Winn again was about to say something, but again I stopped her, "And what scares me most is that I have been thinking about it ... even wanting her to ask me."
Winn's eyes narrow as if she was struggling to understand, "Really?"
"And that's what's bothering me," I said, anxious to get everything out. "I want to console her, to help her in any way I can. But I'm really curious, too — that's what bothers me, that I'm really curious about what it would be like to ... you know, to have a relationship."
"With your own daughter?" There was no doubt Winn was shocked.
"Sick isn't it?"
Winn seemed to be working hard to process the information, "What are you going to do? I mean, you can't talk to her about it, can you? What if you've got it wrong? What if she doesn't want that at all, you would make an absolute fool of yourself.""
"I don't have it wrong. I've seen the way she's been looking at me the last few weeks, she's almost in pain. No, I'm not wrong about what she wants but I don't have any idea what I'm going to do about it. I want to help her but before I do I want to fully understand my motives. This could go horribly wrong."
Winn got up and turned on a light, "Boy, could it ever," she said, turning back to me. "I'd like to think a lot more about this before I offer any comment, but it does raise one point, doesn't it: just how complicated sex has become — it sure doesn't seem today to be what it used to be: a man and woman trying to have babies and then thereafter trying just to satisfy each other's urges. There seems to be far more to it these days then I could ever remember."
I was happy the conversation had veered away from my problem, "Ya, sex has become a kind of creative expression ..."
"That's it, isn't it? Expression, not procreation, not making do, but creative expression." She sat down again, but this time with her elbows on the table, "So leaving aside your daughter for now — I really do have to think about that — if sex is creative expression, how would you like to be creative? Do you know? I'm not sure I do."
I didn't need to ponder the question, I have thought a lot about it, "No, I don't, I don't have any idea — I can't relate to those women on TV who seem to be trying to coax every bit of sexuality from within themselves, God, they'll do anything," I hesitated, wondering if I should make the admission, "But the thought of actually exploring my own sexuality — to see what's in there, well, that gets me excited, that's why I watch those shows. I mean what are the possibilities? I don't really have any idea."
Winn sat back in her chair now, "Have you seen the program, I can't remember the name of it, where there's a sex councilor — it seems to be all about touching, really slowly. That's the one I like best. Frank has never really touched me," she laughed, almost contemptuously, "well never for more than 30 seconds."
"I know the one, the soft light, a little out of focus ..."
"I just think it's so hot, the other shows are fascinating, they have so much information, but that one, well," she said, getting to her feet, "it's a good time to end the evening."
I followed her to the door, "This was fun, Winn, thanks."
Winn turned and kissed me lightly on the cheek, "Me, too. I'll think about your daughter tonight, see you in the morning."
I had cleaned the glasses and was half undressed when I heard a knock on the door. I quickly pulled my blouse over my bare chest and answered it.
"I was going to phone," Winn appeared nervous, even frightened, "but I thought that a phone call would be a chicken's way out." Her words tumbled out quickly, "After our talk I knew I was going to masturbate tonight and I wanted to know if you would join me ..."
"Join you ..."
"I don't want you to think I'm awful, but it would be just so great, so exciting if we could masturbate together." She squeezed my hand. "Anyway, think about it. I'm going to have a long bath now. If you want to come over in a half hour well, I'd just love it." And she turned and walked down the hall.
WIth her words my legs had turned to jelly; I had to hold onto the doorknob. Masturbate together? What was she thinking? Who would do that? I've never masturbated anywhere near anyone else, my husband included. It's a private act, THE MOST private act. 'I don't want you to think I'm awful!' Awful? You're disgusting. Depraved.
I was shaking when I closed the door, shaking as if I had just received the worst possible news. God, get a grip, I said to myself, heading into the bathroom and turning on the bath. 'Come on over in half and hour and we'll masturbate together.' God, who does she think I am?
I asked that question three times into the mirror as I took my clothes off. What does she see in me that she would think I'd do such a thing? Was it because I told her about Shelley? Was it my admission that I was interested in sexual creativity? What?
The mirror was beginning to steam so when I studied myself I thought of that TV sex show where the partners just touched each other; where the lighting was dimmed and the camera slightly out of focus — but even through the fog I could see that the nipples on my small breasts were stiff, with anger I said to myself as I turned and stepped into the bath.
How do you even do that? Masturbate together. Sit on chairs? Lie on the bed? Am I supposed to open myself up to her? Is she supposed to open herself to me? God, who ever heard of such a thing?
I turned off the taps, fell back and went under the water as if to purge myself of my thoughts. But I couldn't. I tried to think of other things, anything else, but I couldn't — the very thought of masturbating with somebody else seeped into my head no matter how hard I tried to fight it off. And then she did, too.
That pleasant face, so open and honest, was smiling at me as I envisioned her sitting on the bed, her back against the headboard. I had to turn away as in my mind I saw her slowly open her legs. Watch me, she was saying to me. But I wouldn't — each time she said it I'd turn away. But she persisted: I could see her hands on her thighs and I could see her thighs slowly open, just a little, she appeared so natural, so comfortable, so cheerful on that bed with her hand slowly sliding down between her legs.
'I've become a whole lot more curious about sex than I ever was before,' she had said. 'Do you know what I mean?' Of course I knew what she meant, I knew exactly what she meant. But masturbate? Together?
But I knew I was curious, I knew my nipples weren't stiff from anger and I recognized my light headedness immediately: it was the same feeling I got when my daughter looked at me with that lustful yearning in her eyes: it was just so wrong, yet so ... exciting, as if my body was still capable of adventure. But what do you wear to a group masturbation? Anything? Nothing?
My nerves were shaking, I could see it in my fingers. Or was it excitement? How long had I been in the bath? She had said a half hour. Maybe she had already started; maybe I was too late. I quickly got out and as I vigorously toweled off I realized I didn't have an option. I had brought only a single cotton nightie. I'd try it on, maybe if I looked all right — but who looks alright in a cotton nightie! I'll dress, clean underwear, if I hurry ... I panicked, I didn't know what to do, I felt tears welling in my eyes ... don't, think, just put something on, anything and go, get there before it's too late ... perfume? Should I ... the phone rang. I picked it up on the ring.
"I'm sorry, Jen, I shouldn't have ..."
"What do I wear?"
She was holding the door when I passed by her noting that her pretty pink nightie was infinitely more attractive then my sexless cotton shift. I sat in a chairs and looked at the two full drinks on the table.
"You look like you're mad at me." Winn was standing by the television set.
I didn't look at her, "I'm not. I just don't know how to act. I've never heard of this before."
She walked over and sat on the bed just a foot from me, "We don't have to do this, Jen. It was something that flashed into my head and I said it without thinking about it because I knew if did I'd never mention it. So I'm glad I did. I do want to masturbate with you but I won't lose a friend over it. If you're really uncomfortable with the idea than we won't do it, it's that simple."
"But you want to."
"It was our talk. I really loved it, we seemed to feel the same way about things, I loved that and I didn't want to just leave and have everything go back to the way it was. I wanted some sexual adventure and I sensed you did too, and I thought this might be it."
I still couldn't look up, "So how do we do it?"
She laughed nervously, "Well, that part I haven't actually thought through. I thought we would just do it like we would normally do it, except we would be doing it together, at the same time."
"In these chairs? On the bed? On the floor? Where?"
"Are you comfortable there?"
"Then I'll use the bed," she stood up, stripped off her pink nighties and climbed onto the bed, and rested her back against the head board.
I couldn't look at her, "Do I take my nighties off, too?"
"Do what you want to do, Jen. Don't do what you don't want to do. This is supposed to be fun, exciting — an adventure. Just do whatever you want."
"Am I suppose to look at you?"
"If you want, I'd certainly like to look at you. You're really exciting."
"I don't feel exciting."
But it looked as if she was already tuning me out. She was looking at me with a dreamy half-smile on her face and her hands were messaging her huge breasts as she brought her heels up to her cheeks.
I know what made me do it. It wasn't the sight of her. It wasn't the excitement that was charging through my body like an electric current. It was something she said, 'I didn't want to just leave and have everything go back to the way it was.' I didn't either. I guess I was looking for the same sexual adventure she was because I stood up, pulled my nightie over my head and held out my hand to her. "I know how to do this, I've done it before — in a hotel room after watching porn. Alone." I pulled her to her feet, pulled the comforter off the bed and dragged it to the hallway where I spread it out on the floor and as she watched me with wide-eye curiosity I sat down on the comforter with my back to the wall, facing the closet mirror. "This way we can see each other."
She sat down with the enthusiasm of a teenager and leaned back against the wall with her knees as tightly clenched together as mine. She was looking at me, her eyes sparkling with excitement, "Can you believe we're doing this?"
I couldn't and I couldn't say anything, either, my mouth was too dry with fear ... and with anticipation. She slowly opened her legs, bringing her hands teasingly down her thighs as she did so. I followed her lead, slowly opening my legs as she opened hers as if we were two flowers in time-lapsed photography. But different parts of the flower: it was as if her petals were soft and rounded and light and welcoming, while I, with my lithe, lean body, seemed to be offering more the sharp-edges of leaves.
Her eyes were not on mine now, they were on my tiny tits with their impossibly erect nipples. She was staring at them, her tongue riding along her lower lip as she slowly opened her legs and slouched against the wall.
I had watched her fingers trace their path along the white flesh of her inner thighs; I had watched her thumbs disappear into her hair as she squeeze at her tendoned crotch, now her fingers slowly disappearing into the large light brown bush that spread wide across her belly in a great triangle that disappeared beneath her.
I quickly checked mine. It looked so sparse and whispy next to her forest and I felt puny: my tiny tits against hers, my thin thighs against hers, my whispy bush against hers. And now, with her eyes still on my nipples, she squeezed her right breast and the fat oozed around her fingers like putty and her hand curled deep into her almost disappearing — as my fingers touched my clit.
We were making love to our fingers, but we were fucking each others body.