I was stretched along Andrew closely, embracing him with one arm, while I stroked his ass with the supersized lubricated cock dildo. He was making all of the right noises, but I could sense that the passion just wasn't totally there. He wasn't writhing or trembling as he had been doing for years under the attention of my own cock.
That was the unspoken missing element in our love making now. My cock, which had dominated and satisfied him for so many years, just was no longer up to the task. I still had my soft mouth, however, and I was eventually able to get him to pant and moan for me when I gave him suck. Afterward he held me and purred for me, telling me how much pleasure I had brought to him. But I knew. I knew it wasn't the same—that it never again would be the same again.
Andrew hugged me extra hard after we'd made love—or some semblance of love that would have passed as such if we hadn't known each other's bodies totally before—and stayed with me in the bed for a long time before he rose and padded into the other room to shower. But I could feel the tension in his body; the tension of nonfulfillment.
After I had taken my own shower, we dressed and left our row house on Cathedral Street and walked down the hill to Annapolis' Dock Street to sit at the Middleton Tavern's outside café and sip wine and watch the late-afternoon activity in the small harbor there.
We hadn't discussed my impotence, and it seemed that Andrew insisted that we spend more time in public like this so that we couldn't discuss the topic. It isn't like my problem should not have be anticipated. I had remained potent into my early sixties; it wasn't all that normal that my libido should now have become dormant. Andrew was over ten years my junior and still very vigorous. In fact we were both in superb shape and trim; it was only this little problem of mine. But it obviously wasn't so little of a problem. In my rosy-glasses view of life, I had assumed that Andrew and I would be a loving couple for the rest of our lives. We had been together for fifteen years, and they had been glorious years in terms of our sexual union.
In all that time I had never had cause to worry about or question Andrew's total fidelity to me. I had been the dominate one; the top to his bottom; the one fully equipped to keep him satisfied.
As we sat at the café, I watched Andrew ogling all of the luscious young men strolling about, some going to or returning from their boats in the harbor, some well-toned students from the adjacent U.S. Naval Academy, resplendent in their jogging gear. There had been a time, not very long ago, when Andrew would only have eyes for me when we sat here. My sudden, but apparently total and permanent impotence had changed all of that, no matter what assurances he gave me.
"Andrew, we need to talk about this," I murmured to him, not wanting to share this conversation with all the others in the café
"Stop worrying, Kevin," Andrew said with an unconvincing breezy tone. "We're both growing older. Some things just aren't that important any more. There's nothing to discuss. Everything is just fine."
I was not fooled. All the time he was saying this, he was looking over my shoulder, eyeing the hunk of a young waiter scurrying back and forth, trying to stay ahead of the needs of the crowded café.
