I need to warn you upfront, if you’re the type of reader who’s only looking for a lot of fast and furious sex in these gentle memoirs, you’d best skip right on past this one. If, on the other hand, you’d like to meet my favorite trio of geriatric gents, please read on.
Bud, Roy and Charlie come to visit once a month, the day their Social Security checks hit the bank. Thank God they don’t all get paid the same day of the month. Otherwise I’d never get anything done. Now I’ve never imagined myself doing pro bono cases, or even caring for shut-ins. Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t charity work - even though I offer all three the courtesy of an AARP discount. But frankly, had you suggested to me at the outset of my dubious career that I’d end up servicing the prurient predilections of a nefarious network of senior citizens, I’d say you were off your rocker.
Perhaps part of my quandary is that my own Dad departed this vale of tears when I was sixteen. The rumor was he might have ended up in Boise or Reno but those tales were largely unconfirmed. All I know for sure is he skipped town for greener pastures. So maybe my caring for Bud, Roy and Charlie stems from some sort of an Electra complex but I don’t think it’s all that cut and dried. Aside from their physical infirmities (and I do mean as in Not Very Firm!), they are three of my least demanding clients.
Last month on the eleventh, right on schedule, Bud called me up and reserved his regular hour for 4:00 in the afternoon. All three of my boys like to book a mid-afternoon session so they don’t miss the Early Bird prices at the buffet downtown. Bud spent his working years as a middle manager for a defense contractor in Orange County. He has a Master’s degree in Public Administration and has done some work on his doctorate. He isn’t dumb by any stretch of the imagination. How do I know so much about his personal history? Bud has entertained me with his life story at least a dozen times.
Bud likes me to undress him slowly. Then I make googly-eyes at his limp dick and say, “Ooh, I’ve never seen one that big before, I bet you made the girls real happy back in the day!” I push him down on the bed and do my level best to get a rise out of him but it seldom works. He is, however, happy with my effort to arouse him. Once we’ve determined he isn’t gonna pop (again!) we lie there together on the bed and he tells me detailed stories of his reckless youth and respectable middle age, how his wife of thirty years passed away from the cancer the same week Bud retired. He isn’t bitter or pessimistic about any of these events. But, Oh My God, does he love to rattle on.
One of the delicate problems I face with Bud, Roy and Charlie is that they use up the whole fucking hour. When it comes to my young Studs, they get off, get up and get out. With these three I have to keep an eye on the clock because if I don’t interrupt them in mid-reminiscence, dress them back up and get them out the door, they’d easily run on for hours and probably miss the Early Bird special in the bargain. Still, by God, I love my over-the-hill boys to death.
I’m gonna climb up on my soapbox and rant a little. Some folks believe sex work is a crime against society; that the money I earn from my labors should be used to feed the hungry mouths of the children legitimately sired by my clients. Yet, who among you suffers when I make life a bit more pleasant for Bud, Roy and Charlie? And is it a sin for them to indulge in an hour of harmless play just because sex is involved? It doesn’t hurt a single soul. Besides, it makes me feel really special!