A lack of Response

Recently I met some old school friends. Blokes I have known for thirty years but only see rarely. In the years since we last met up our lives have changed, we've got older and less vehement about life. It was obvious  that a couple of the chaps wanted to discus something personal but were reticent to go first. I have shared a jacuzzi and French hookers with these chaps so had no reservations in admitting to the truth that as you get older the trouble with girls is that sometimes you can't respond as vigorously as you might wish. 
            The first time it happened to me was with my first wife. She suggested we do some massage.

"Excellent," I thought, imagining a bottle of Chablis, a few candles and perhaps some Ann Summers accessories but, no, she actually came to bed with a massage manual. She read it whilst wrangling me like a DIY project. I did not respond appropriately.

             My ex-wife, being a doctor, said I had a problem. I agreed but thought my problem was that my wife was too dull; Charlie Sheen would have struggled for enthusiasm. My previous girlfriend used to dress up for me. 

            “Oh, hello!” I said as my girlfriend walked into the lounge with a bottle of champagne one evening. “What’s your name?” She was wearing a French maid’s outfit, with high heels and bright red lipstick.

“Violet, sir, from the scullery.” She poured the champagne, which bubbled over the glass like an innuendo. “Cook says you are all alone and so I have to keep you company.”

“Well, that’s true, Violet, Cook is very considerate.” I took the proffered champagne glass and Violet leant forward and gently licked the spilt wine from my fingers. “What did Cook suggest you do to keep me company?”

Violet glanced shyly at the floor, looking very much like a timid wench.

“Whatever, you want to do, sir.” She lifted her gaze to look me in the eye with as much challenge as submission. I drank some champagne and kissed Violet with the bubbles still in my mouth. She responded with passion as I stroked her with my spare hand. I cupped a breast then ran my hand down her back and over her leg.

She knelt down in front of me to do Cook’s bidding with expertise.  I twirled my fingers in her hair with one had and had to hold myself up on a chair with the other.

“Violet, that’s good,” I gasped, “do you get much practice in the scullery?” She paused in her duty to respond.

“Yes, sir,” she said whilst stroking me smoothly, “Cook gives me to the stable boys if I am bad.” 

“What do you do that’s bad?” I queried, fascinated by her willingness to play this game. 

“Well, once I forgot to clean the grate in the kitchen so cook spanked me and took me out to the stables.” She spoke with a quiet, high pitch that drove me to a near frenzy. I pulled her up and pushed her forward over the arm of the sofa.

“Spanked you like this?” I slapped her arse and ploughed into her from behind.

“Yes, sir,” she squealed, pushing back forcefully. “The boys used me for ages, laughing whilst they took turns.” 

“How many stable boys have I got?” I asked, not really certain that I wanted to know.

“I’m not sure, sir,” panted Violet, “I lost count because some were using my mouth. At least six, I think.”

I digress. The point I am trying to make is that as a bloke gets older he needs more stimulation. His libido is no longer his best friend; i.e. always around and never lets him down. As I have migrated through my forties, friends have started alluding to this situation. Some discus it openly and most are primarily interested in “the little blue pill”. This is a rather typical and egocentric male response. Personally, I think it better not to worry about what you can’t do and focus on what you can do.  
           Massage, slow and deliberate, seems to help, making sure the room is warm and your partner is comfortable. Use a little oil or lotion so your hands don’t rub the skin. Don’t rush. Start with the shoulders and work down. Do not forget the feet. In fact, once you’ve down the top half, cover her with the duvet and concentrate on the feet for a while. Avoid intimate places, it builds some anticipation and lets her know you’re not only in it for the sex.  
           I'm a great fan of oral sex. Again slow and deliberate. Don’t pursue her orgasm; it’s not the bell at the top of the pole on a fairground attraction. Come up for air. Ask how it feels, where else she wants you to focus. But don’t push it if she’s not talkative. Just get back to it. Be gentle. Build up slowly, let her set the pace.  
          Then call in the cavalry. Don’t assume, ask first. In fact, you should have discussed vibrators or dildos beforehand. My favourite is the Rabbit from Ann Summers; it has “ears” on the top to stimulate her. Of course, it’s my favourite because it’s her favourite. Again, start slow and gentle. Ask for direction, guidance but don’t nag or appear too eager, you’re not trying to ring the bell. And if it doesn’t don’t EVER say “Never mind,” or “Next time.” You’ll make it seem like you’ve both failed.  
           Hopefully the long wind up will work for you as well.

I suppose what I am trying to say is that the focus of sex is different, perhaps with different outcomes in response to different activities and attitudes. Perhaps this is a situation where the Chinese proverb about the journey being more important than the destination is true.