The Old Fellahs Show Their Hands

"Fucking hell, boys," my words sounded choked, "Is it always like this?"

*******

I didn't get to find out if all my dates with the two elderly deviants would be as good as the first. Not long after, my grandfather became seriously ill, was admitted to hospital and never recovered. After he was gone, I visited Gramps one more time and we made love, but we both knew it was a gesture of farewell. I moved out of my mother's apartment to new town. I found a job, went to night school and built a life. I had a few disastrous relationships until, in my thirties, I met a man thirty years my senior, my sixties silver-fox.

This man, my husband, remains the love of my life and I have never explained why it amuses me so much to teasingly call him Gramps or Grandpa when the old fellah is flagging.

Another mystery he has had to live with is my rare but sometime drunken need for anal sex. He learned that given enough rum, and after being touched and kissed with just the right amount of sleaze, I will turn around, wiggle my bottom at him and say, in my sluttiest voice:

"Is this the moment you stick it in my ass?"