Facets of Love Ch. 11

"I was twenty at the time. Despite being a lowly receptionist in a large law firm, James always took time to talk to me when he came into our building. Nothing inappropriate, not like most of the young lawyers who were obviously on the prowl, bragging about how far up the corporate ladder they were climbing. James was different. He never once told me what he did. From the people he was visiting, I knew he had to be somebody important, but our conversations were always about me.

"This went on for nearly a year. He'd stop by once or twice a month, we'd talk for a few minutes before his scheduled appointments and, even though he didn't have to, he would make a point of saying goodbye on his way out of the building. I don't know why he chose me. There were four other receptionists in the building, some of them much prettier and more outgoing than me but, for some reason, he took an interest in my life. He was the healthy father figure I never had. Until he became something more.

"A few days after my twenty-first birthday, I showed up to work with a black eye, compliments of a man I had planned to marry. When James walked up to my desk, he took one look at my eye and asked me out to dinner.

"Now think about that for a second. Nobody believed my story about getting hit in the face by an errant baseball. My friends knew who was responsible for my injury; it was my supposedly loving fiancé who refused to be seen in public with me until I 'looked better'. But, when James and I walked into the restaurant together, everybody assumed he was my assailant.

"He didn't care. James completely ignored the nasty looks our waitress gave him, toned out the snide remarks of the people dining close to us, and spent the entire evening doting on me. He never said a word about the purple ring around my eye, we spent the entire evening talking about my future. And then, when dinner was over, when I told him I really didn't feel safe going back to my fiancé's apartment, he took me to his hotel room and gave me a fatherly fuck."

"He did what?" I asked.

"He made love to me, like it was my first time. He kissed me like nobody had ever kissed me before. He stroked parts of my body that no one else had touched. He brought me to my first orgasm, even though he was far from the first man I'd slept with. He treated me like a lady, a sensuous woman, and a wounded child... all at the same time.

"I immediately fell in love with him. Dumped my fiancé, moved in with another girl, and, at James' coaxing, started going to night school. There was no doubt in my mind that I would soon be Mrs. James Spencer. Yeah, he was over twenty years older than me, lived in a different part of the state, and refused to divulge anything about his job or past, but compared to my previous boyfriends, he stood head and shoulders above the crowd."

"Okay," I said. "So, either my great aunt just took advantage of her grandnephew, or there's more to the story."

Anabel chuckled as she kissed me tenderly on the lips. "I'm not completely sure who took advantage of whom tonight but, yes, there is more to the story.

"James and I dated, if you can call it that, for six months before he introduced me to George."

"Who's George?"

"My husband."

"You're married?"

"He died five years ago."

"Sorry."

"I am too. He was a cop who responded to the wrong call one night. But, putting that sadness aside, George was another of James' projects. The two of them met when George pulled James over. Now I know what you're thinking, but James did not trade an introduction to me in exchange for getting out of a speeding ticket. George had already told James that he was letting him off with a warning. But, an hour later, after George poured his heart out about his wife leaving him, James mentioned that he knew a lady who needed a good man."

"And that lady was you?"

"Exactly."

"Just like that? You were madly in love with my Uncle James and then you dumped him and married a cop?"

"No. It wasn't anything like that. James purposely set us up. All the time he was dating me, he was actively looking for another man to take me off his hands."

"Why would he do that?" I asked. "Why would he deliberately introduce a beautiful, talented, charming woman like you to another man?"

"Because there was, and still is, somebody else in his life."

"Who?"

"I haven't a clue. In fact, I was hoping you knew."

"My mom has known James her entire life and, in her opinion, James is asexual."

"I know at least a dozen women who will vehemently disagree with your mom."

"You're not the only one?"

"Wow! You really don't know do you. Your Uncle James is the most sought after, non-available man in Tallahassee. Up until an hour ago, I'd have rated him the best lay in the state. Now, even at his advanced age, he's running a strong second. And to answer your next question; yes, now that I'm widowed, he and I still get together when he's in town. But it will never go any further than that.

"I don't know anything about his home life, but the ladies in Tallahassee, DC, and many other parts of the country, all think he has a main squeeze in Tampa. What he does up here is missionary work. He's too good of a man to love 'em and leave 'em. When he courts a woman, he does it for a purpose. Hell, he's made more matches than an online dating app. But what he does in Tampa, where he lives, and who he lives with, is a mystery to us all.

"So, tell me dear boy," she said as she leaned forward and dangled her boobs enticingly close to my mouth. "You've known James your entire life. How does the subject of so many women's wet dreams occupy himself when he's around family?"

It was not my place to tell Anabel about my uncle's monk-like existence at home. Just like I wouldn't be sharing what I learned about his Tallahassee persona with the rest of my family. If James wanted to live a double life, that was his business.

Despite her continued efforts to pump me for information, all Anabel got out of me that evening (and the following morning) was a tummy and womb full of cream-of-DNA soup and a promise to come see her the next time I was in town.

-

Dr. Martha Weaver Spencer

In 1998 the FDA approved Sildenafil (more commonly known as Viagra) to treat erectile dysfunction. Nobody had ever heard of ED until Pfizer accidentally discovered a cure for what was previously assumed to be a natural result of aging.

The first TV commercials for Viagra confused a good portion of their audience. When advertising a weight loss product, companies showed before and after pictures of formerly fat clients. Likewise, commercials for male pattern baldness products provided side to side comparisons of a shiny scalp versus a head full of thick hair. But the producers of Viagra and the other Sildenafil based medicines were obviously not allowed to display visual proof of their product's success. Despite a push for truth in advertising, there were no comparative shots of a wrinkly one-inch limp dick lined up next to a seven-inch pulsating boner.

If you think about it, the only clue the distributors of Viagra gave their prospective customers was hidden in the required warnings about the drug's possible side effects. "... flushing, headaches, runny nose..." and the list went on. But the true tell was a warning to, "Seek immediate medical attention for erections lasting longer than four hours."

"A four-hour erection!" millions of middle-aged men exclaimed. "Hell yes, sign me up."

Forty years later, the female equivalent of Viagra appeared on the scene. Just like its' male counterpart, this marvel of modern medicine treated a condition that was previously thought a natural result of aging and subsequently required its' own fancy name. 'Bosom Degeneration', or BD, soon became the official medical term to describe the age-old problem of sagging boobs. The firm bouncing beauties that once enticingly stretched a twenty-year-old coed's sweater, slowly divulged into floppy, droopy bags of breast flesh as the effects of childrearing and gravity took their toll on women in their forties.

That was before the introduction of Boobifil. Designed as an alternative to hormonal based birth control, a small, daily dose of Boobifil was supposed to trick a woman's body into thinking it was already pregnant and therefore prevent ovulation. It didn't work. Women who took Boobifil continued to ovulate and menstruate according to the lunar calendar like women had been doing for thousands of years.

However, just like Viagra failed to treat high blood pressure and angina, but returned the stiffness to elderly men's pencils, Boobifil also had an unexpected benefit. It made old breasts young again. After ninety days on Boobifil, forty-year-old breasts, that once hung low and empty, regained their fullness. Fifty-year-old nipples quit looking down at the floor and, instead, took on forward and upward points of view. And sixty-year-old tits that spent the last twenty years resting on their owner's stomach rose up proud and supported themselves again.

As usual, all drugs have side effects. In the case of Boobifil, "patients may experience a slight swelling of the breast, heightened nipple sensitivity, and increased libido."

Don't ask me how it does it. My doctorate is in psychology. But I can explain how the introduction of Boobifil affected my patients... and me.

My clients, both female and male, were ecstatic. The women looked and felt half their age, and the men reacted accordingly. It was as if both partners were having an affair with a younger version of their spouse.

My personal reaction wasn't near as positive as my clients. Yes, I took a daily dose of Boobifil. Yes, my fifty-eight-year-old tits regained their pre-pregnancy shape and fullness. And yes, I experienced all of the aforementioned side effects. But, unlike my clients, I didn't have a significant other to share my newfound youthfulness with.

Looking back on my adult life, I had gone from feast to famine.

I started feasting the day I turned 18. I had Frank for twenty years... two decades of making love to the man of my dreams at least once a day and often twice. When Frank died, Robert hesitantly took his place... but I had to share my son-in-law's affection with my daughter, and then my daughter's girlfriend. I went from a daily dose of physical affection to twice weekly.

I got a temporary boost when Robbie turned eighteen. For two glorious years, I spent three nights a week in my grandson's bed and yet another night each week with his father.

All that changed in 2038. Robert and Robbie, the two men in my life, the two cocks my pussy needed more than oxygen... those two marvels of manhood turned their attention away from me and towards the younger generation. The two men I tutored in the fine art of seduction spent a great majority of their time using the bedroom skills I taught them on the three sisters.

I didn't disagree with their actions. I'd written several books and given numerous presentations on the advantage of sexual tutoring. But the cold hard fact of the matter was, I wasn't getting any.

There were six vaginas in our extended family - seven if you included Gloria's ridiculous nurse - and only two penises. Robbie spent six nights a week boning his sisters and the seventh night with his mother... who still wouldn't let him fuck her. Robert spent one night a week with each of his daughters, three nights with his wife, and split his only otherwise free night between Gloria and me.

Do the math. At the not so ancient age of 60, despite my rejuvenated rack and fully functional sex drive, I was only getting laid once every other week.

From feast to famine. And there is nothing I can do about it.

-

Mary Spencer Jones

Robbie and James got home from their Tallahassee trip on Friday afternoon. Both of them were surprisingly closed mouthed about their joint venture.

"How'd it go?" I asked.

"Fine," James said.

"Did you learn anything?" I asked Robbie.

"Not much, except I know I don't want to be a politician." His inability to look me in the eye told a different story. Something happened in Tallahassee. Something big.

I didn't press him on it at the time. Whatever he was trying to keep from me wouldn't last the weekend. Saturday night was our night to sleep together. Once he got his hands on my boobs and his cock between my thighs, he was absolutely defenseless. Two minutes of playing with my nipples would lead to a twenty-minute confession of whatever sins he and James committed in the state capital. And even if he somehow kept his lips sealed Saturday evening, my lips around his cock Sunday morning would certainly loosen his tongue.

Except Sunday morning didn't come... or at least Robbie didn't come in me Sunday morning. Because I didn't sleep with him Saturday night.

"Would it be okay if Grandma slept with me tonight?" Robbie asked before Saturday's dinner.

"If that's what you want dear. Can I ask why?"

"I need to give her something."

"Can't you give it to her now, or tomorrow morning?"

"No, it has to be tonight. And it has to be in my bed."

-

Dr. Martha Weaver Spencer

Mary warned me.

"Robbie wants you to sleep with him tonight," she said while the two of us cleaned up Saturday's dinner dishes.

"With me? Are you sure? Robbie hasn't missed his Saturday night mommy time since the day he turned eighteen."

"I think it has to do with something that happened when he and James were in Tallahassee."

"Did he find himself a girlfriend?" I asked. "A serious girlfriend?"

"Possibly. But that would normally be something he'd discuss with me first."

"Then what?"

"Maybe a girl taught him something new and he wants to show you what he learned."

"You mean something he doesn't want to do with his mother?"

"Well, you are the sex expert. The most promiscuous woman in the family. It would certainly be a feather in his cap if he got to teach you something for a change."

I wasn't buying it.

First off, short of using barnyard animals as props, there was absolutely nothing remotely sexual that Robbie and I hadn't done together at least once. And, on the slim chance that I did leave out some small nuance of his education, he would surely prefer trying it out with one of his teenaged sisters instead of his damn near sixty-year-old grandmother.

The answer was obvious. Robbie was breaking up with me. He would be kind and gentle about it. He'd give me one more night of bliss and maybe a morning to remember him by. And then he'd drop the bomb.

"Grandma," he'd say when we were done. "I love you more than any grandson has ever loved a grandmother. But it is time I find a girl my own age."

He would swear to love me for the rest of his life, but make it blatantly obvious that, once I left his bedroom, I would not be invited back.

A lesser woman would have stood him up. Stayed clear of his bed. Turned him down before he rejected her. If he was any other man in the world, to include his father, that is exactly what I would have done. But he was Robbie, my grandson, my magnum opus, my pièce de resistance.

Frank's death shattered my soul. Robbie gave me something to live for. So, at the appointed hour, I quietly entered the cabana, slipped off my clothes, and, for the last time, proudly walked into my grandson's bedroom...

...to find James in Robbie's bed.

"Martha?"

"James?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm supposed to be giving Robbie a lesson," I said.

"From what I've heard, the boy's already graduated."

"Who told you that?"

"Every woman he's ever slept with."

"They talk to you about such things?"

"They don't have to. I can see it in their eyes."

"Really? You know the look of a sexually satisfied woman?"

"Yes. I do."

"But? You're..."

"Gay?" he asked.

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of asexual."

"Why?"

"Because I've known you all my life and have never seen you in a romantic relationship with a member of either sex."

"Yeah. About that," James said. "I might have a little explaining to do."

"Now?"

"Yes. Right now. Before I lose my nerve."

"I don't have any clothes on."

"Either do I."

"But you've got a blanket covering you."

"Feel free to climb in with me."

Which, to my utter dismay, I did.

"Do you remember the night of your eighteenth birthday?" James asked.

"Of course I do. We were in the mountains. You, Frank, and I pitched tents between our two families' cabins."

"And then?"

"You know exactly what happened next. I snuck into Frank's tent, lost my virginity, and got knocked up with Mary.'

"Do you remember the time of each event?"

"Of course not. I didn't have a time schedule. I left my tent when I figured everybody else was sleeping. And once I slipped into Frank's sleeping bag, I certainly didn't stare at my watch to determine the exact time he first penetrated me."

"10:23," James said. "That's when you snuck into my brother's tent. You lost your virginity at 10:42. Mary was conceived six minutes later."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Unlike you, I had a time schedule; I was looking at my watch. My plan was to visit your tent at precisely 10:30. Not to do anything inappropriate. You were only 18 after all. Although the thought of a short cuddle and maybe a first kiss entered my mind. The other two... the exact time you lost your virginity and the moment Frank's seed entered your womb... I figured those lined up with the slight cry of pain coming from you and then my brother's roar of delight."

"You were going to come to me?"

"I was. And would have if you had waited seven more minutes before going to Frank."

"I'm sorry. If I had known..."

James reached over and laid a single finger against my lips. "Don't be sorry. Thanks to those seven minutes, you got to choose the man you would marry. Thanks to those seven minutes, we have Mary and Robbie."

"You wanted me?" I asked.

"Of course I wanted you, like every other man who has ever met you."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"I would have, if you'd waited seven minutes longer."

"I'm not talking about then. Why didn't you tell me about your feelings for me after Frank died?"

"I was going to. After an appropriate amount of time. I figured I'd give us a year or so to grieve Frank's passing and then we'd have a heart to heart about our future. But I didn't figure on you shacking up with your son-in-law less than a month after you lost your husband."

"When did you know?"

"About you and Robert? Damn near immediately. Martha, I've spent my entire adult life watching you. Not judging you. I am certainly not qualified to do that. But I know the meaning of every expression on your beautiful face. I can tell what you're thinking by the way you stand. I know when you're bluffing and when you're absolutely sure. I can't put an exact time to your first tryst with Robert, but I'm fairly sure of the day."

"Did you also know about what I was doing with Mary?"

"From day one, except that information I gleamed from her. She's easier to read than you."

"If you're so damn good at reading people, why didn't you know that I wanted you?"

"Huh?"

"That night in the mountains. The night I snuck into Frank's tent. I made a mistake."

"That's water under the bridge," James said. "You were young, your hormones were flowing. Frank was a good-looking guy. One thing led to another-"

"No!" I interrupted. "Not that kind of mistake. I knew exactly what I was doing. I intentionally set out to lose my virginity. But not to Frank."

"I don't understand."

"I made a wrong turn. I meant to go left but went right."