Linda Lovelaw didn’t seriously consider sixty-five to be “old” in the truest generic sense of the word. She was only a short month past her sixty-fifth birthday, when she was informed by her sometimes difficult eldest son that the family, along with the family’s attorney, had decided the best place for her now was in the Shady Arms Assisted Living Facility in a recovered-from-farmland community of frenzied recent development. A short drive to check it out left her with a sense of being shifted to the hinterlands for the purpose of being forgotten.
She had been getting through the increasingly long empty days recently with a generous doses of selections from her favorite wine list making her subdued enough to tolerate even the most annoying situations. Linda would be the first to admit that she had let her hair go a bit because it was so boring to keep brushing the long tresses like an endless chore for the benefit of strangers. Her hopes of attracting some male attention had diminished to a vanishing point that no longer held interest for her reduced libido. Actually, her dresses, mostly out of style, were fitting her much better these days, because she had lost interest in eating rich foods loaded with unnecessary calories. Her last husband, the polo player, was already pushing up daisies in Arlington for almost three years. She did have a shameful regret at not visiting him one single time during that period. He had been an attentive lover, but dreadfully committed to his circle of male friends that often stole him away with lures of sports, gambling and the smelly “fishing” business that she was totally unable to comprehend.
Linda’s three children were adamant about her closing down the family home and moving into the facility. She was equally as adamant about staying in her home, until she was ready to be sent up the chimney with understandable efficiency. She was actually more upset over the fact her most dependable physical assets was beginning to droop quite outrageously in abject surrender to the march of time and the law of gravity. She had considered the deployment of a “form-fitting” girdle to create the perception of a more middle-aged looking backside, but the constriction didn’t seem worth the effort as it was far too uncomfortable. Every now and then, she would look over her shoulder into the full length closet mirror to reassure her qualms about allowing her “droop” to be seen in mixed company.
She tried the girdle but it looked far too obvious under her loosened up clothing. The thing that seemed to work best was the “control top” pantyhose that held her goodies under tight rein but still allowed it to jiggle with some level of feminine allure that would appeal to young studs interested in plumbing the stretching ability of more mature females with cooperative attitudes. She had gotten her share of such Lotharios, much to her everlasting shame, and now all she was interested in was a nice glass of Chianti and a session with her battery-operated boyfriend in the privacy of her lonely bedroom. Then, she had a long phone conversation with her former best friend Mabel down in Biloxi, Mississippi and the inveterate gossip-monger told her,
“Some of those male Alzimer’s residents are about as naïve and pliable as alien robots and all they need is a little push in the right direction to get real thing right in your lap.”
It set her devious mind to working and she toned down her objections to the proposed change drastically when the subject was brought up in family discussions. The family put the house on the market and she was willing to sign the papers providing she was assured of a lifetime residence in the assisted-living home in the country.
The loss of the house was not as depressing as the fact she hadn’t had a decent fuck-fest for almost a year and using her bottom drawer battery-operated device was getting a bit too convenient to substitute for the real thing. Her face was still in good shape because she had made a point to stay out of the sun after reaching a life-changing forty and her tits were adequate for most situations even if their customary perky presentation was now more a matronly presence. She never left her bedroom without a nice “natural-looking” make-up job that offset her messy hair and her annoying drooping ass. She had discovered that a fetish-minded group of male perverts were addicted to mature female backsides with that capitulation to gravity and the drooling pleasure-seekers tended to pound her flesh hard in a standing position just to feel the way her ass cheeks bounced with a mind of their own. In all honesty, she didn’t get too much from the experience, but she noticed the fetish obsessed pack drained joyfully when she stood in cooperative compliance. It was at least satisfying to feel hard cock once again even if she didn’t get the same kick she experienced at a much younger age.
Her children were all married and had their own families to look after, so she buried her urges to be motherly or grandmotherly and pretended to be disinterested because the generation gap had struck with a vengeance.
Linda listened to their advice and wanted to throw things with a vengeance, but calmed down and just had another glass of the delicious Chianti. Her thoughts of romance reminded her of her youthful visits to Venice and the canals that struck a romantic chord in her soul. It made her laugh a bit because, in all honesty, she realized it might be more lust than romance that filled her with thoughts of wrapping her legs around faceless men with huge tools that never seemed the least bit interested in filling her needs.
Eventually, they wore her down her resistance and she signed the papers that insured a place at the Shady Arms Assisted Living Facility. At first, she was concerned about her “things” and what would happen to the accumulation of material objects over her lifetime. They solved that worry in a hurry by turning the entire affair over to Mister Gaddington and his quartet of Estate Auctioning experts that picked her house clean in a single weekend. All she had left was a single old fashioned trunk that looked like some vaudeville joke hiding a murdered corpse inside. Of course, she still had her small valise with her jewelry and her second pair of teeth that she wore in an emergency when there was a problem. The absence of her “choppers” was the only thing that sent her into a tizzy because she recognized she looked ten years older than her actual age when she didn’t have them nestled snugly inside her lips. On the other hand, it was a big advantage to remove her teeth for a session of “on her knees” oral loving because her soft gums were a lot more arousing than the sharp edges of her imitation teeth. It also allowed her tongue to move around a lot easier to tickle and tend to some fat prick’s needs in a darkened bedroom.
She took a shower in the upstairs bath of her little townhouse apartment that was equipped with the “sit-down” ceramic bench on one side and a pair of safety bars that made getting in and out a snap without much effort. They had assured her the Shady Arms had a similar bath in each private unit and she had looked at the brochure with a tinge of distrust in her heart because it all seemed a bit too contrived.
The last thing she did before making the move was to go to the local mall.
The mall was in her estimation a dreadful and disgusting place to make purchases but it had the right mix of stores for her purchases and she liked the fact she could park her beloved Jaguar with the real wood interior dashboard right next to the entrance. She made a point of never parking in a handicapped zone because she was afraid people would get the impression she was feeble and “over the hill”. It was annoying to walk the extra distance but she chalked it up to “getting exercise” and it made her feel like she was following doctor’s orders.
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