Why doesn’t anyone help me at this sex shop?

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I didn’t know what the problem was. I’m a perfectly respectable woman who knows what she wants and has the ability to pay for it. At the age of 83, I’m a little older than others and maybe legally blind, but generally speaking, people welcome me into their stores and boutiques and provide immediate assistance. Move forward to do.

But here? In this sophisticated Soho sex shop? It was like a farewell to the sea and I was moored on a distant coast. No one was asking if they needed help finding something. To make matters worse, the friend I specially invited to review and report on the product seemed to disappear. Did she magically vaporize in the midst of embarrassment with an array of colorful dildos that greet us on admission? What did she expect in a place like this? Variety is their specialty.

Believing in pursuing the happiness of people of all ages and habits, I had in mind buying some fun toys. For this purpose, I was ready to buy, buy, buy, but there seemed to be no one to sell, sell, sell. Visually impaired (as shown by my whimsical, bedridden cane), as I am, one could certainly see that help was essential. Now, more than ever, I needed my companion.

But she was sunk in a distant corner. At first, she was like a game to accompany this shopping expedition. Why is she barking now? Indeed, a functioning adult could not be shy. Because they are in an environment dedicated to joy. Such a break would be ridiculous in this era.

My motto is one sex, two sex, sex for everyone who wants it. And it emphasizes aging, our people who are deeply involved in aging.

I find the prudence around the sex shop confused. I grew up in the 1950s. At that time, many of us were obsessed with Dr. Freud’s remarks about simultaneous vaginal orgasms. In a psychoanalytically prescribed correct gender world, the use of jewelry will reduce the dominance of the omnipotent male organ. It was out of the question at the time. But surely we are no longer tied to male ego syndrome.

Do we really believe that the poor are so fragile that they will lose their position as cosmic masters unless they are the only source of sexual pleasure for women? Why do we impose such a burden on these hectic souls? We all know that anyone who has the right idea wants to please him, her, or their partner or friend. Such people may be willing to offer reinforcements in some circumstances.

For some of us, the era of hassle is over. Nevertheless, a solo excursion at noon or a teatime rendezvous maybe just a ticket. Regardless of the setting, toys can be us for adults.

When people look down on sex shops, they often do so with the cliché that “sex should be natural.” Yes, but sometimes sex is amplified by music, scents, fantasies, toys, and touches and strokes. And, of course, all of these additions can enhance one peculiar sensation, as well as delicious duets, trios, quartets, and more. Does that mean we are still away from our vagina? If my shopper was overwhelmed or uneducated about such issues, it was my duty to be honest with her.

The rescue went smoothly. I knew I had to engage and dispel any strange notion that kept her away from her appointed job of being my eyes. Why didn’t she investigate the scene, decide on an attractive inventory display, and march on the aisle in an interesting way? Was it a matter of age? She is not mine. After all, she was only a bud in her forties. Perhaps her elusive behavior is simply the stupidity of a young man.

Finally, I found a shopping companion and put a comforting hand on her. “Speak up!” I said. “Why are you timid?”

“When I talked about the excursion to the sex shop, I thought you were joking,” she said. “We don’t do this in our hometown. The Lord has mercy.”

I could almost hear her blush.

“My loved one,” I said. “Complete pride in all our adventures is one of my mottos. There is no embarrassment or judgment.”

Was there a problem with the idea of ​​an old blind social worker as a leader in sexual enhancement? Or was it the problem of my clear voice permeating the calm environment? I did not know. It doesn’t help to give her distressing thoughts any more airtime. I grabbed her arm tightly and sashed the aisle together.

Pink, purple, baby blue, turquoise — there are so many fascinating items in such delicious colors. We won’t go into detail about the equipment offered, as we want to encourage a personal exploration journey.

A music bar floats out of the window, bringing flashback memories. A slow and lonely night of fun. Fragrant baths, self-massages with fragrant body oils, special playlists, special menus to help adjust the rhythm of joy. How convenient is it to push that soup of electrical energy into a drawer in a nightstand? Instant inspiration. The new modern meaning of old timeout.

My companion and I have completed the purchase. Finally freed from her prejudice, she got caught up in the sway and followed my good example of the purple rule. I shook my twin shopping bag, left the store, stood in the corner and laughed. Two friends enjoying a snap, crackling and pop life.

There should be no age restrictions on sensual and sexual life. Erotic energy is always age-appropriate. It’s a way of being in the world, a twist of the gala we add to our daily lives. We flirt with the bus driver, wear a red slip under a black dress, and melt the perfect chocolate appetizingly on your tongue.

Our bodies are our friends — more than just trays to carry our heads. We register the world through our senses. Grounding and a source of joy. In old age, you are accustomed to hearing and vision loss, but use the deficit to get closer to taste, touch, and smell.

We are in the final stages. You can let go of a lot of things. For example, mountaineering and effort. Body shaming for another person. Most of us agree with gravity, as evidenced by our slightly altered body shape. Self-doubt, which can hurt even our most intimate moments, is no longer predominant.

We must put joy at the center: it is our freedom. Always available, the reality of our senses finds us. It’s a way to respect the amazing gift that we are alive. We land on the body’s breathing, blood, and bones. Finally, we belong.

Would you like to continue celebrating with the treasures of the sex shop? I have lived in an accomplice of love for many years. Two collusions living in our messy, complex and beautiful life comedy. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a toy or not. The important thing is laughter. The humor of preparing for lift-off. It’s funny, but sometimes it’s full of sadness. We old people know that we lose each other lately. Someone has to go first. I’m not kind Is me.

But in the meantime, my focus is on intimacy. I want an undisturbed, unrestrained, unrelaxed mind, body, and uncoordinated bond between partners.

In the secret of our flesh, my partner and I find each other. Dig into it and discover it. He sits on the edge of the bed, removes his glasses, folds it neatly, and puts them on the nightstand. He is intentional, my love. He deliberately focuses.

When he turns his head, he can’t see his expression, but I believe he can feel it and know what will happen next.

He turns off the light.

Hiding in his arms, I adjust my breathing to him. Touch, words, caress. I’m sinking, 5 fathoms deep. I’m growing up and gathering. Get ready to fly. We live with an old body, this guy and me, but for now, we are alive — strong in desire and certainly in the bright joy of our flight.

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