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  • She was a popular writer, but forlorn and unhappy. She hadn’t been touched in six years. Her new lover, some ten years younger than she, laid her on her back, opened her wide and she swallowed him whole. His resulting slumber, deep, black and uninterrupted informed him that he’d never known sleep or rest at all.

    One day without warning the source of her contentment suffered a drought similar to a Midwestern summer. So he did what any patient but arrogant lover would. He waited for her deluge like croppers wait for summer rains and hurricanes. When her rains came, he was guaranteed one long week of her naturally and graciously receiving him. It also meant he would sleep an incomparable rest once more.

    But the rains never came.

    “I need a proxy,” the woman announced. “Someone to hold me before you come.”

    He stared in disbelief. This was random. Out of the blue. “You need another man?”

    “Yes,” she said, "Another man."

    For the first time her younger lover saw in her an insatiable vixen, not the fair, forlorn and facile maiden who asked for nothing while lovemaking. After every halfhearted orgasm, she watched him in envy as fell into his unlonely, in-utero sleep.

    It hit his ego with a hard right to learn the organic source of her pleasure could be pried from loins other than his own.

    “Will you bring him tonight?” She asked in a voice sweeter and drier than their favorite champagne.

    He wanted nothing more than to please her, but he also wanted to change her mind. And she watched him squirm in ignorance. He worked harder please that spot of hers, unaware that what he needed to reach sat in the center of her right and left brain. He performed with admirable effort, but still her rains would not come.

    She found the other him one day in the park on the benches as she and her lover strolled past. The young man recognized her, he had admired her since he was a teenager. That's how long she'd been anchoring the city's local news.

    The new young man visited happily and playfully spoke with the virgin maiden. He felt privileged to know her and showed his admiration with soft touches against her thigh. A caress of her sculptured jaw with his firm and ambivalent right hand.

    Slowly her rains came during their cerebral exchange.

    The young man managed charity, insouciance and respect all at once. Her body, mind and soul absorbed and floated in the charity her lover did not possess.

    In that moment, the lover understood his failings.

    "You think I'm a boor," he said.

    "No," she said. "You're interesting and appealing, and I love life with you in bed."

    His smile faded, she'd hurt him badly, but his silence informed the older and wiser virgin matron that her young lover had learned.

    In the morning, after his slumber, he spoke to her gently, with passion and sincerity.

    He even reached over to kiss her. A first. Delicately and fondly on her sculptured right cheek.

    image: wikipedia (virginity), "Invocation" by Frederick Leighton
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