I recently moved to a sheltered home scheme renting through a local Housing Association. That's where I met Gordon, a widower with a heart by- pass which he said made him a little bit immobile.
I got to know him doing my bit in the community garden, he would come and sit on the garden swing chair as I tended the garden.
In between times I would take a seat and chat with him. I could never have imagined in any shape or form would I ever become involved in an intimate relationship with this guy, for one he was in his seventies, a decade older than I and for two, because of his medical condition.
It didn't become apparent that he had an attraction for me when, dressed in shorts and perched upon his seat with thighs parted, I had observed occasionally he scratched himself over his privates. I thought nothing of it because lots of guys do that openly these days, maybe often to announce their masculinity when a girl took their fancy. How could I have know that in Gordon's case it was me!
As our discussions grew more regular in the garden I noticed how much more prominently he was rubbing himself as we talked about anything, the weather, the garden, anything. And as I realised it was not just your common or garden scratch I saw each time he had developed a swelling beneath those tight beige shorts which, surprisingly, I felt drawn to.
Now Gordon knew I was married, he'd met my wife several times - in the garden and doing his rounds in the flats collecting for charity so I automatically assumed he would never make serious moves in my direction unless given a good reason, He had strong virtues I realised that. But I felt the urge to be with him stronger and stronger oddly enough. What it was lured me to him as a mystery, but Gordon was a really nice guy, never groaned of moaned and had a wonderfully warm disposition, but I did feel he was lonely so perhaps my companionship would make him feel better about life.
As our conversations took a more intimate line, he bravely told me about how
it was with his wife, that in her later days when her cancer became more imminent, how she lost altogether the need and wanting of sex and how he realised his bi-sexuality. When she died all that was forgotten because of the trauma, he told me, but recently his interest had been restored.
I did not ask him why that was but I had a good idea, it was just the way he looked at me when he told me that.
So I felt it was just right for me to share some of my darkest secrets with him, because he had been open with me - and anyway I found myself wanting to go that step further because when I questioned him about his medical condition - and how any intimacy would effect that, he simply replied that he still gets the urge, that the doctor said do what his body told him and enjoy life while he was able
I did feel empathy towards him and joked that I had noticed that - but when he came out to me when he told me that, there had to be a way to give him some gratification.
"Have you ever thought of making it with one of the single women here?" I asked.
He smiled and said that he had, but somehow he could not even raise and eyebrow anymore for an older woman, and the younger ones never gave him a second glance anyway, which he said was understandable.
I just sat there in silence for a while, did a little more hand weeding in the flower bed nearby, kneeling and bending to reach the offending groundsels and other weeds.
I felt a certain surge come over me, like I knew he was watching me with some intensity, but it made me feel good.
Gordon continued our conversation as I pulled out the weeds and, occasionally turning my head I noticed just the way he was looking at me bent over, the way he was squeezing himself at quite a pace.
I was excited sure enough, found myself stretching over further to pronounce my rear end and then I hear a response.
