The End of My “Re-Virgination” Period

When I speak of “re-virgination” it’s with a wink to all the “born again” Christians who  wish to denounce their previous sexual activity and start over calling themselves virgins. That’s just silly!

My particular use of the term is a reflection of what happens to a woman’s body when, shall we say the, “church doors” have been closed for over 10 years? My gynecologist confirmed that indeed, the “hinges” are bound to be pretty tight when reopened.

But who should be invited to the alter to break my 12 year “fast”? A one time visitor or a devout parishioner? It was a dilemma. I was eager to open the doors.

Miraculously, Stephen appeared on match. com. He was 28, good looking, successful and seemingly intelligent. He quickly became a devotee. I thought he was a slightly goofy, given our age difference. But he was rather emphatic that this was his charge. I was 55.

He told me an erotic story of a tryst he had with his older college professor. It sounded more like a fantasy. But what did I know? After weeks of his aggressive coaxing and cajoling, I relented and we set a date to “hook up”.

I was self conscious about the vertical scar left by an emergency c-section. So I shopped http://www.hipsandcurves.com and bought a tasteful red and black lace corset.

I laced it up while he was en route to my apartment, only to learn I was brimming over the top like the foam in a stein of beer served in Munich. Damn! I hate when that happens. I threw on a robe.

Although I’m not much of a drinker, I had champagne on hand just in case.

He arrived. I stalled before inviting him up.  Was I really going through with this?

When I opened the door,  I was wearing a corset, stockings, heels and a light robe.

“HI…” He said. He eyed my breasts like a pitbull eyes a T-bone steak. He stopped breathing.

“Hi Stephen. Come in”

He must have thought I said “Jump in.” He immediately started to cup my breasts.

“Whoa. Settle down! You’re making me uncomfortable. This isn’t going to work if I’m uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry. But damn!”

“Not kidding Steve…” (Behave yourself young man!)

“Ok. Sorry.”

I offered him champagne.

“I didn’t come to drink.” Touche!

I tried to make small talk, wanting to make sure he wasn’t a crazy person. He became paranoid when I started asking about his family.

“I didn’t really come for small talk either.” Good point.

Although he was nervous. He was a normal, horny, bit of a daredevil-type guy. Nothing threatening about him whatsoever.  I popped my ipod into the dock thinking it might relax me.

When he kissed me, it sent a jolt of energy through me that got everything flowing. He dove into my breasts like a starving man seated at a buffet table. I began to giggle because I couldn’t believe I was finally being touched. What was I thinking all these years? I must have been out of my mind to have given up sex for so long.

Previously, he bragged that although he would be good for two or three rounds, the first one might be rather quick. Ok… I guess.

Suddenly he decided that 5 minutes of foreplay was enough to grease the hinges. I figured “Why not? It’s only round one.”

He began to thrust…

1…2…3…4…5.

He let out a shriek!

AND… WE’RE DONE HERE FOLKS!!!!

He falls on top of me in a big heap.

What was that? Did I miss something? Really?? It was over. Not kidding.

“Wow! Sorry. But…wow” He said.

“Excuse me?” I queried.

“I didn’t expect that. Sorry…”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“You’re so tight!”

“It’s been 12 years. What did you expect?”

“Well, certainly not that.”

“But I told you.”

“I know. But I didn’t believe you.”

He gets up and goes to the bathroom. I’m thinking, “Great! we’re warmed up.”

He returns to the scene.

“I’m sorry. I’m gonna go. This is too weird for me.”

This just went from the ridiculous to the sublime.

“Really?” I asked.

“Ya… I probably shouldn’t be doing this.”

Suddenly my Demon Dog turned into a Boy Scout before my very eyes.

I couldn’t help laughing at myself for having engaged in this folly. But I was elated to have “loosened the hinges”. What a relief.

“Ok… Have fun at the Bulls Game tonight. Nice meeting you…”

Shortly thereafter I poured myself a glass of champagne, put on some music, and laughed to my heart’s content. I even took a “selfie” to laugh at in years to come. It was a lovely way to spend a sunny Sunday afternoon. I never saw him again. Nor did I care to.

Following Saturday morning I received a text from him. It contained his address with the following message:

Stephen: I NEED YOU NOW! HERE IS MY ADDRESS. COME OVER. PLEEEEEEZ!
Me: For more of the same? I’ll pass. Thanks.