My favorite hotel, Isosceles, is renowned for its mission statement, “We Connect You.” I wished they could work their magic with my secret; I was losing the ability to connect. I sat at the mirror table in the lobby restroom, observing finely dressed younger women bustling in, chattering openly, about their sexual exploits. I smiled to myself, invisible in their world, noting the pressure inside me.

They spoke of what they would do, wouldn't do, and what they couldn’t wait to do. Ah to be young again and to have known then what I know now. The downfall for younger women, they didn’t know what the future held; the downfall for older women, they did.

Vibrant sexual energy abundantly flowed around me here. It proved to be a fruitful place to play psychological games. If I were to select, who would I choose to invite to a private party with Dominic and me? The first candidate dropped her dress straps and adjusted her breasts in her translucent bra. She worked it like a job, not a sensuous act to move her forward in sexual desire. The other candidate eased her hand up her leg, smoothing out her thigh-highs to the top lacy edge. The light and seductive touch suggested the first stroke was for herself and the second for someone else.  

What would she think about my tattoo, my piercings, or my body? She had no clue I sat here squeezing a vibrator in my vagina and feeling full with a new toy in my ass. At Dominic’s whim, I received vibrations, in both places. Claw-like contraptions, attached to my piercings, weighted my nipples providing minimal stimulation. All of this was designed to aid me in the search for my elusive sexual edge.

The young, fresh bodies here triggered hot sex scenes in my head. They were wonderfully sexy, raw and heated, nasty and dirty, thought-filled bubbles which I hoped would connect to my body.

Aging had robbed me of the capabilities for my own direct sexual connection, much less a quick connection. I struggled to make the psychological interest high enough or arousing enough, so my brain processes could coax just one biological nerve to spark and move my body interest and sensation along. If my mind and body connected, maybe today I could access my sexual edge.

A voice interrupted me. “You seem either sad or serious in this beautiful sitting area?” The lovely thigh-high woman stood fluffing her hair.

“Ah, both. Just reminiscing.” Could this intuitive young woman have an inkling of my predicament?

When I was younger, my visual sexual representations of the world followed with an instantaneous kinesthetic reaction. It was like the arousing picture contained an electrical plug and I was its outlet. When a delectable sex scene plugged in, I surged. That electricity traveled throughout my body and found its home in my sexual responses. I craved to experience that again.

“May I be honest?”

“Please.” She sat down on the stool beside me. The slit creeping up the side of her dress exuded bold seduction and confidence. She was luscious in black lace against her pale skin. The plunging neckline highlighted her rounded breasts. She studied me.

“I’m looking for a sexual spark to take me to my sexual edge.” She didn’t blink, so I continued. “Your last sexual experience how was it?”

She smiled a knowing smile. “Hi, I’m Annalise. Sex stories require at least a first name.”

“I’m Georgia.”

“I blew my husband in the coat closet on the way to the bar. It was good but I’m looking for more.”

“Well, you’ve got the tools you need. Youth reeks of dopamine for risk taking. It’s the main pleasure resident in the home of the sexual edge. It’s housed there with fearlessness, vulnerability, and personal courage.”

“How exactly is this sexual edge?”

“For me, it was the place where I teetered leisurely before the orgasm explosion. It was the place that consumed me and burned pleasure into the cells of my being. I only pulled myself back to heighten the experience, before I dropped off the edge, and reveled in total sexual pleasure.”

“So it’s high level arousal that is extended and ramps you up before you go over the edge into the orgasm.”

“Essentially, but I miss the journey into the sexual edge more than the plunge off it.”

“I get that. I felt fearless in the closet plunging, but it didn’t have any expanse of a burning or hovering quality that I wanted. It was short lived.”

“I believe that sexual edge repertoire is an acquired skill that you can harness and practice for the rest of your life. Well, at least I did.”

“You did?”

“I never considered that one day it wouldn’t be there. Now I know that experiencing the edge is affected by aging. When the lubrication created by hormones for zapping pleasure nerve endings expires, what do I do? What connects the psychological and biological processes?”

Annalise paused and searched my face.

“I don’t know, but you can do what you’re doing. Talk, tell, show. Hey, bring me into the loop. This can benefit us both. Maybe I can help you with a new route to the spark. I’m pretty creative. You can show me how to expand the hovering, the journey.”

A hotel worker abruptly interrupted our conversation. “Are you Georgia or Annalise?”

“Yes.” We both replied.

“Dominic and Tony said to give you these.” She held out her hand which contained two remote controls. Laughing, we each took one.

“Kindred spirits, Georgia? What’s your thought here?”

“Annalise, today is my birthday. I told my husband I wanted a sexual affair with a younger woman.”

“This is surreal; I told my husband I wanted to have sex with an experienced woman. I booked a room here in Isosceles with no plan. My friends told me this place was special, their mission statement works.”

I considered Annalise’s words. She could be me twenty-five years ago. Was I even as bold then, as she appeared to be now? Ann Friedman’s question rattled around in my mind. “If older women can’t admit we're not having the sex we want, how can we help younger women?” Does this situation apply? We women are, after all, housing a wealth of sexual information we could share. Moving into the last half of life, we have seen and experienced much about sexuality culturally, relationally, and personally. Maybe there was still time for a new experience, a sexual edge recalibrated.

I stood and offered my hands to Annalise. “I would love to create a plan with you. Any ideas?”

She took each hand and kissed the center of my palm. When she rolled her lips and tongue lightly on my skin, something inside me shifted.

“Let’s go up to my room and send for the guys later.” She pressed the button on Dominic’s remote. I gasped.

“What else you got going on in that body, Georgia?”

“Oh, interesting things in the places that used to count.”

“A woman after my own desires. I can work with that.”


Writing today for WICKED WEDNESDAY. Stories about the edge. For other renditions, CLICK HERE.
 


Comments

04/07/2016 11:24am

Sounds like their conversation is the start of interesting & sexy things...

Rebel xox

04/07/2016 1:20pm

Oh such an interesting conversation...

Velvet x


Comments are closed.

google-site-verification: googlef89250be6bb0fa69.html