I enter the sex shop unstable on my feet and shaking.
"Hello, Mrs. Grey," the staff greets me.
"Please," I tell them, "call me Ana."
The sad truth about getting old is that you go from having sex every day of the week when you're young, to having sex almost every day of the week when you're old.
You almost have it on Monday...
You almost have it on Tuesday...
You almost have it on Wednesday...
Etc...
There's an old saying that goes, "I may not be as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever was." So, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying Christian is lacking as a lover due to his age. He's as good as the next guy. As long as the next guy is deceased.
I walk up to the clerk. He's the hunky equivalent to a nice tall glass of Metamucil.
"Yooooungg mannnnn," I ask the clerk, "doooo you seellllll vibbbbrrratorrrss?"
"Why, yes, ma'am," he answers, obviously checking me out.
"Thhhe Ronnnn Jerrremmmy Delllluuuxe Modddellll?"
"Yes, ma'am," he nods his head, impressed at my superior choice of sex toy.
"Thhhe sssssixxxxxxteeeennnnn innnncherrrr?"
"Yes, ma'am," he tells me, and takes a quick peek down my blouse. Unfortunately, to see my breasts at my age he'd have to look up my skirt.
"Thhhhatttt takkkessss eeeeeiggghhhtttt DDDDDD Ceeeelllll batttttteriessss?"
"Yes, ma'am," he says, obviously flirting with me.
"Theeennnn cannnn youuuu plllllease telllll mmmmeeee hhhhowwww toooooo turrrnnnn thhhe dddammmnn thinnngggg offff?"