“Maybe the director thought it would bore an audience to see a man massaging a woman’s feet for a few minutes before stroking her ankles…”
I’m 74 and my wife is six years younger but somehow still beautiful without “work.” Her cheekbones support her enormous dark brown eyes and anchor kissable lips; small, even teeth; and, in profile, a perfect nose.
The most surprising thing about her beauty is her skin, soft, easy to stroke, no folds or moist spots so my hands glide smoothly pleasuring stroker and strokee.
It’s hard to say who is luckier, her for being so “hot” in her late sixties or me for having a woman I still want to look at and touch after decades together.
We watch a lot of movies on Netflix which they categorize as, “Genre – Romance”. There are always sex scenes in which there is huffing, puffing, plunging and exhilarating release as climax occurs simultaneously.
That’s not exactly how I remember it, but it doesn’t matter; I’m not jealous.
What we have is a deep, quiet intimacy that these performers, supposedly enacting sexual experience in younger days, never even attempt.
Maybe the director thought it would bore an audience to see a man massaging a woman’s feet for a few minutes before stroking her ankles, turning her over to lie on her stomach, then massaging one calf and the other, then the back of her thighs, then the very bottom of her spine, then up the spine letting my fingers focus on each vertebrae, then to the neck and back down the spine until she turns over on her back and slightly opens her legs.
By now I know where that spot is, but I’m not too anxious to get there, so I explore around a little until her sighs tell me it’s time to find it again.
Then it’s my turn.
I’ve lost track of time, but it doesn’t matter. No kids around. Telephone and television silenced.
We have as long as it takes to “make love”, sometimes with variations to avoid repetitive routine but rarely with the sticky lubricant that would be needed now to do what they do in the movies.
Hey, millennials! That’s what you have to look forward to.
I call it having sex. You can call it whatever you want.