A Second Chance

I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped out of the doorway and away from the doctor's office. I couldn't help but smile a bit, it hadn't been nearly as embarrassing as I'd expected. I had that funny feeling in my mind that going to the doctor on April first, April Fools day, might not be such a good idea. But what could happen? Does Mother Nature have a sense of humor? But it had truly been innocuous; I'd answered the doctor's question of is there anything else? With an "I need to know what's available for ED."

I don't know why it would have been any more embarrassing to admit I couldn't get it up to the doctor than it had been to realize all I could provide was a limp dick to my lover as she sucked my cock. How had I not managed to notice? In retrospect, how could I have possibly thought it was going to get better just because I was with a hot and sexy woman who wanted me as bad as I wanted her?

I hadn't noticed because it actually wasn't any one thing. After being married for thirty some years to the same woman, she'd come down with cancer, and after a three year battle had passed on. When I thought back, I found out I couldn't actually remember the last time I'd had sex. She died two years ago; she'd been in and out of hospitals for three more, violently ill or weak most of the time. Neither of us really felt like sex for those three years of pain and misery. One day I was happily married and having regular sex, the next I knew it had been almost 6 years since I'd had sex with anything other than my hand.

I'd met her online. A comment on an article I'd written on my blog. I'd answered, she'd answered, I sent her a specific comment; she sent me a specific comment. From an anonymous e-mail to exchanging addresses, flirting, talking, and eventually video chatting. She was late 30's, I was 60, but so what? We thought alike, flirted alike, talked about wanting the same things -- what was a few years age difference?

Of course when my wife had gotten sick, I'd found that I could distract myself, when I wasn't caring for her, with porn and erotic literature. At first I'd made the excuse that I wasn't 18 anymore. Sure, I didn't get a hard on first thing in the morning like I used to, I didn't get a hard on in the shower like I used to, I didn't get a hard on watching sexy movies like I used to, I didn't even get a hard on when I glanced down over the fence to the neighbor's house and spied the college age daughter and her friend sunbathing topless. That had been two years before, just before my wife passed. I'd pulled my cock out, only semi-swollen, whereas just a few years before it would have been pointing at the sky before I pulled it out. It hadn't taken but a couple of strokes at that time and it stiffened right up as I peeped over the fence, imagining playing with their fine young bodies. That it took a while to get hard just didn't register, that it almost instantly wilted once I coated the fence with a couple of sprays of man juice didn't register. I reasoned it all to the stress of losing my wife; that I wasn't 18 anymore, but I could still perform virtually on demand. Right? I mean after all, I could cum when I masturbated other times.

But it wasn't just about cumming, it was about getting more than a little hard. It was about getting hard enough to pleasure my woman, my lover, and when it didn't happen, that's when it was embarrassing.

She'd said she enjoyed herself. I'd gone down on her, several times, easily getting her off numerous times with my tongue. She'd provided the same courtesy to me, sucking me, working me expertly -- only to have my still only semi-hard cock, still not hard enough to slide inside her pussy, pop in her mouth. We'd spent the night together, and I was hopeful, despite the lack of actual fucking. She'd at first said she'd had a great time and 'let's do it again." But as I walked her to her car she stopped, and turned to me. 'Jerry -- that was fun, but it's not what I wanted. I wanted cock, you gave me great tongue, but I need..." She'd not been able to finish, but I finished for her. "Yeah, I know. You need a man, not a limp dick."

That had been a little over a year ago; I'd not talked to her since that less than memorable date. And then we unexpectedly crossed paths. She had a boyfriend, and I still had a limp dick. After a year of feeling sorry about myself -- I finally made an appointment to see the doctor.

I walked downstairs to the pharmacy with my new prescription of Sildenafil. I couldn't look at the young girl who took my prescription order, just handed it across, and noticed the rock on her hand. Married. Going home and getting laid regularly, ran through my head. I glanced up, she gave no sign that she knew what the prescription was; she just took it and processed the order. "Your name will be on the board when it's ready. Probably 10 minutes."

"Thanks."

I went and took a seat in the waiting room, just watching the activity behind the pharmacy counter, when I realized who I was looking at. She looked different in her white lab coat, but there was no doubt that I was seeing the woman from the gym. In her lab coat she didn't in the least look sexy, but I'd seen her working out in the mornings, wearing her leotards or spandex shorts, her form fitting workout clothes, and especially the deep vee top that always gave a beautiful view between her largish breasts. It's not the size; I'd internally argued as I'd admired them, it's the exposed flesh of her breasts - that deep vee enticing the eye. She had to be nearly half my age, she no longer had the rock-hard body of an 18-year-old athlete -- but then, neither did I, which is why I was in the gym. What was she, maybe 35? Perhaps 40? That would make her 20 years younger, but if I'd not had an erection problem, I wouldn't have let that stop me. I know she'd had to have seen me looking at her once or twice while I was on the treadmill, the wall of mirrors made sure of that, but we'd never spoken.

I glanced at the board, the "J.Whit" signifying Jerry Whiteman coming up on the ready board even as I looked. I moved to the counter, a young man appeared and seconds later handed me a bottle of Sildenafil. My negative response to his question of whether I'd ever used this before had him telling me to stand by, that the pharmacist would be by to explain the side effects. I watched the pharmacist, an older Chinese gentleman, as he was speaking to someone else when her statement "Jerry Whiteman?" caused me to look up. She was looking right at me, an enigmatic smile on her face. The attraction was instantaneous; she was even better looking up close than she'd seemed from a distance at the gym.

Her lab coat effectively hid her body from view. Her semi long dishwater blond hair was tied. My God, did it have to be her?

"Yes, that's me."

I didn't know what the hell Sildenafil was until I looked it up later -- generic for Viagra. Vitamin V. What middle aged men, who want to please their lady, use to get it hard like they did when they were 18. At least that's how I'd imagined it.

"L. Rapier, Pharmacist," her nametag said. I wondered what the L was for. She was quite professional as she explained the possible side effects and drawbacks of Viagra. Yes, she warned me that an erection lasting more than four hours was truly serious and needed medical attention. She asked if I had any questions, and then with a sexy smile on her face added, "Have fun." She winked and turned away, once again the total professional. I'm not sure whether I blushed -- but I felt the heat on my face.

I'm sure I heard the universe laughing; I'm fairly certain that Mother Nature does indeed have a sick and twisted sense of humor, and she does love to play April Fools Jokes.

~

"Hello Jerry Whiteman," a woman's voice said behind me. Looking over my shoulder from the chest press that I was using, I found a smiling "L. Rapier" standing behind me.

"Hello L. Rapier", I said, first sitting up and then standing to face her. The thought of her explaining Viagra to me the day before immediately filled my mind, the flush of heat on my face rising somewhat more slowly this time.

"I thought as many times as I've seen you here I ought to at least say hello since I know your name."

"I think you've got me at a disadvantage," I said, "as I don't know what "L" stands for."

"Linda."

"Linda Rapier. That's a sharp name," I tried for the joke. She rolled her eyes in response. "Heard that one before, huh?" I said.

"Only about a million times since high school."

"A million times in 20 years, hey, that's what -- about a hundred times a day?" I tried, feeling myself sinking from my efforts.

"Well, thank you," she said, catching me by surprise with the sincerity of her statement.

"Thank you?" I questioned, not understanding what she was thanking me for. "For what?"

"High School was a lot longer than just 20 years ago, so thank you for the little lie."

"Little lie?" I responded, looking her in the face. "What I consider the hottest woman in the gym, who could easily pass for 35, is thanking me because she looks so young?" She laughed and shook her head.

"You don't give up, do you?"

"Well, have I managed to talk my way out of taking you for a late breakfast, or lunch later, or perhaps just a cup of coffee or tea?"

She stared, saying nothing immediately. I watched the emotion play over her face. What was it? What was she thinking?

"I shouldn't have said anything; just let you do your workout."

"Why?" I asked puzzled. "What did I say?"

She shook her head in the negative. "It's not what you said." She paused, sucked her lower lip between her teeth and then glanced around. "I'm not interested in being a notch on someone's bedpost. I'm sure, whoever the Viagra was for, won't appreciate you asking me out." She turned and walked away, leaving me stunned.

I watched her walk away, finding a treadmill on the far side of the room, putting on her headset and turning her iPod on. Turning back to my own chest-press, I finished my reps there and moved on to the next. I finished my workout and headed to the shower, noticing she was still on her treadmill. It passed through my mind that I knew why she looked so good.

I wondered how old she was. If it had been much longer than 20 years since high school, how old would that make her? Maybe 5 years more and she'd be 43, ten she'd be 48? No way she was that old, but even then, she'd be 12 years younger than me. She hadn't commented about my age, and I knew she'd seen my medical record so if she wanted, she had to know that. But still, she'd said hello; if she'd wanted to keep me strictly on a professional level, she wouldn't have said hello. At least that's what I reasoned.

When I came out of the shower, she was no longer on the treadmill, and no longer visible in the gym. I saw a parking spot open up right in front as I started my car, and a sudden decision made, I pulled in and shut the car off.

From where I was sitting and watching I could see as people came and went. The early morning crowd was thinning, and I'd about decided that she must have left without changing when suddenly she appeared, walking toward the door. I opened the car door, and waited, timing it until she'd just be coming outside before I stepped out. She turned the other way, not seeing me, but she stopped and turned as I called her name.

I stepped up and stuck my hand out. "Hi, you're Linda Rapier, right?" I said it as if I'd never met her. "I'm Jerry Whiteman and I've been working up the guts to ask you out for a cup of coffee or something for the last few weeks. I think we got off to a bad start, but not necessarily because of anything I did. I just want you to know a little about me. I married my high-school sweetheart when I got back from the Navy. We were married for 30 years before she got cancer and passed away. I met a woman a year ago on a dating site; we got together once and, well, it was a disaster for me. I'll be blunt, I couldn't perform, I couldn't get it up." I paused; she was looking right at me, perhaps looking a little stunned, but not saying anything. "So anyway, I saw this gorgeous woman in the gym beginning a few months ago, and although I felt like saying something, I was reluctant to be embarrassed again, so I went to see a doctor about my problem. And, wouldn't you know it, the woman that I had in mind when I sought some medical help unexpectedly turned out to be the pharmacist at the pharmacy that I visited. And so, when I asked you a while ago for a cup of coffee and you responded that the woman who my prescription was probably for the benefit of wouldn't appreciate me asking you out -- well, I guess that's up to you. I'm going to get in my car and head for work just like I always do, but I'm coming back tomorrow and do my morning workout once again. Sometimes when I try something new it doesn't work out right the first time, but sometimes when I give it a second chance, early problems seem to disappear." I nodded and said, "Have a good day," turned around walked back to my car. I started up; she was still standing near the entrance watching me as I drove away. When I looked back in the rear-view mirror, she was gone.

~

"Hello Jerry Whiteman," a woman's voice said behind me. Looking over my shoulder from the leg press that I was using, I found a smiling "L. Rapier" standing behind me.

"Hello Linda Rapier," I said, first locking my legs in the extended position before slowly retracting them and standing to face her.

"I thought as many times as I've seen you here, and since I knew your name and a little bit about you, I ought to at least say hello and tell you a little about myself."

"Oh?" I said, holding my hand out to her. She gripped it, without totally releasing it afterward. "And what about you is there that I should know?"

"Well, for one, not that it matters too much, but I'm not 35 years old, I actually graduated from high-school 35 years ago." I did the math, she had to be somewhere in the 53-year-old range. She might have graduated a year or two before or after 18, but that had to be a close estimate, and meant she was perhaps only 7 years younger than me.

She just looked at me. "Is that it?" I asked, "all I need to know about you?"

"Not all." She looked over just as I sensed someone moving onto a machine close by. I glanced over to see a woman adjusting the weights and preparing to use it. "Perhaps if you were to ask me for a cup of coffee or something after we work out, we can find out a bit more about each other? You know, sometimes when you try something, and it doesn't work the first time, all you really need to do is try it again."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Listen, Linda, I generally get a bite of breakfast before I head on to work. If you'd like, I'd really like it if you'd join me for a bite to eat?"

"Yeah, I don't think so."

I was stunned at her answer. Here she'd been telling me she was interested, that all I needed was to start over and she'd be amenable to that, and she just flat turned me down. She waited just long enough to jerk my chain and added with a grin, "I actually ate a little something earlier, but I could go along and have a cup of tea while you eat."

"I'd like that."

"So would I." She motioned toward the treadmills, "I'm, uh, going to the treadmills." I nodded, and she turned and took a couple of steps before she stopped, looked back thoughtfully and turned back. She walked right up to me and bent over to whisper in my ear. "Just so we're on even ground, you should know that I lost my husband a while ago also. It's been three years since I've had sex, and if things work out with us, I'd like to help you find out if that Viagra does what it's supposed to." She turned toward the treadmills and walked away.