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I was embarrassed and unable to say a word, when he asked me what the fuck I was doing. I could only stammer and tried to make up a story about a dare to tease him. Laughing and staring at me I started going on about the only way he was going to get laid was if some girl came and knocked on his door. Then he asked if my wife knew I was dressed like this and of course I told him no! I wanted to leave but he kept asking about my clothes and who put on the makeup and where I got dressed.After about 5 minutes, which seemed like 1000 I told him I was going to get home. He asked if I wanted to change back into my clothes and I guess without thinking he asked if I wanted a beer, I said yes. I needed one bad so I walked into his living room and in the better light he told me I didn't look bad and he even though he'd gotten lucky when he first saw me. Sitting on his bar stool sipping the beer my dress had ridden quite far up my thigh and as I pulled it down some he asked what I had on. Then it was over; I was tubeless again, and looking at my poor shrunken, pubic hairless dick, almost lost between my thighs and leaking blood. It seemed very sorry for itself and certainly very doubtful about its future. The whole episode prompted me to reflect on the condition of my sexagenarian body. Fuck, I thought. I don’t have a fat belly like so many other middle-aged men; my skin’s pretty tight after all. Okay, I admitted to myself: I no longer have those solid, rippling, sportsman’s muscles of yesteryear. I wasn’t the young woman’s idea of a dream lover any more, but I was okay. Finally, I thought: what they see’s what they get. And I’ll settle for what I can get after this. That’s profound philosophy, I reflected, as I reached for a glass of water to wash down the painkillers offered to me by one of the nurses.Chapter Four: Back to work…MaryAs the days went by, George’s words still haunted me. But I was back at my desk within three days, and pissing better than ever. From.
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