Unsex story

We get there.   It’s nothing special, but we didn’t want special, we wanted something we could both afford.   This motel room costs $120 a night, but it’s away from Atlanta and it’s away from where each of us live.   I look around, her suitcase is on the suitcase rack and mine’s on the floor.   I hear the toilet flush and hear her zipping her zipper and pulling up her pants.   She comes out with a 3x X-files T-shirt and xl shorts.   She’s Caucasian, not that matters to me.   She has stretch marks on her legs, drooping nipples, no makeup on, and her legs have stubbled hair on them and her armpits aren’t shaved.   Not everyone’s cup of tea, but I’m not everyone.   The most sexual organ in the human body is the brain.   Not the breasts, not tits, not the penis, the testes, the prostate, or the G-spot in the labia minora, it’s the brain.   I grab her shoulders, pulling them towards me like a dog getting chicken after starving for three days.   Our lips touch, gentle, crescendoing into a French kiss.   She pulls my t-shirt over my arms and head and I return the favor.   We continue making out.   Her bra is dark purple and she still has khakis, tennis shoes, socks, and I assume underwear.   We savor each other.   I pull her pants off and they stop at her shoes.   We both take our shoes and socks off.  This is called a seventh inning stretch.   We continue making out.   I can taste Chinese chicken, stir-fried vegetables, and soy sauce.  Wonder what she tastes of me?   I pull down her panties and she pulls down my depends.   She has on pads.  We’re both incontinent.   She’s post, so we don’t use a condom.   I’m free of STDs and so is she.   I’ve never done it natural before tonight.   She reaches for the bottle and reminds me that at her age, she needs lube.   Lots and lots of lube.   So, I let her apply it.  Then, I enter her and stop.    She’s patient, but gives me a funny look.  

   It’s been seven years since we’ve had sex and I want to savor this moment.   Like being on a roller coaster and hoping it’ll never end.   I move slow.   I squeeze her right breast and it feels like dough, warm, soft, gooey.    Her nipple is soft.   Is she turned on?   I go out of her and kiss her genetalia with my lips, with my tongue and she moans.  I then I see myself inside of her.  I do this a few times, and she seems to prefer my mouth.   Then, the inevitable happens.   She orgasms/cums and I orgasm/cum inside her, but not like the movies, natural, real.  

    And then comes the part I’ve been looking forward to.  See, we cover ourselves with the blanket.   It’s soiled, but this is a motel, so who cares?   Someone else will wash it.  She lies on her left side and so do I.   I put both arms around her rib cage and touch her breasts like a teddy bear.   I say, “I love you,” and she says, “I love you, too”.   Then, we lay there.  Just lay there and it feels like the antithesis of loneliness.   It feels like someone cares.   Like someone doesn’t just want to have sex and leave, but wants to have sex with  me and only me, just like I want to have sex with her and only her.   She doesn’t care if I can’t perform and I don’t care if she can’t perform.   I care that it’s her I’m sharing this bed with and she just cares that I’m the one she’s sharing the room with.   And that’s what sex is supposed to be about.  It’s not about how big or small our different parts are, it’s about intimacy.  

    I hear her snoring and it’s beautiful.   I feel her chest expand as she inhales and shrink as she exhales.  Teddy bears don’t do that.   I feel the warmth from her body and I feel her bones against my body.  Even though it’s a motel, it’s silent, except for her snoring.   The sheets feel like nylon against my skin.   It’s perfect, nirvana, ecstasy.   Then, I cry.   But, it’s a good thing.   It’s been seven years since I cried.   The shield around my heart has broken, but it’s the antithesis of a broken heart.   My heart is unprotected and safe.   I feel her breathe in and breathe out.   Her stretch marks feel bumpy.  I put my arms around her stomach and I feel full.   The tears fall and I grin.   They go down the pink bumps on her back and make a puddle on our bed.  

     I hear myself starting to snore and it’s like a symphony.   She snores, I snore, she snores, I snore.   It’s perfect harmony.    The hotel is rented for a week.  I look at the cheap wallpaper peeling in the corner of the wall, the blinds drawn, the padlock in, the light coming through the peephole and pray that this moment will last forever.    

      I look at us in the dark (my eyes have adjusted).  We’re both hairy as bears, I’m almost middle age and she’s past middle age.  We both have white hairs everywhere.   There are stretch marks on both our bodies and we’re both failures as far as the outside world is concerned.  I can’t get married, buy a house, drive a car alone, and my parents introduce me as their disabled son.   She delivers food, but right now, we’re cuddling and there’s a lock on the door and a do not disturb sign on the door and I’m crying tears of joy and she’s sleeping through the night although she has insomnia.  

     After sex is what real sex is about.   The unsex of sex.   The knowing the person’s name, their hobbies, the music they like, the books they read.   I stop crying and I’m at peace.   I hear the air conditioning purr.  We can’t hear upstairs neighbors, downstairs neighbors, or neighbors on either side.   I hear crickets outside.   The television is off.   The faucets are off without dripping.   And I hear her soft snore.  Life is good.  See, this isn’t a porn story or even erotica.   It’s about real humans with real feelings really connecting.   There’s less connection today because of technology, but now, in this moment, life is beautiful.  I breathe in, she snores in.   I breathe out, she snores out and we live happily ever after, in this moment.   God has answered both of our prayers.  May this moment never end.  Amen. Amen.