In March, Marjorie lost her husband to cancer. She was 54. He was 73. Every woman who marries a considerably older man is aware of this eventuality. So it was no surprise. A shock nonetheless. But no surprise. In fact, they’d been planning for this. He’d been dying for quite some time.
Even still, when Joel died, Marjorie didn’t know exactly what to do. They planned on growing old together. Well, he did. She never got the chance. After his death, she did the usual distract yourself, suppress your feelings, pretend that everything is fine routine.
And then, one evening, she was watching some stupid TV show (part of the “distract yourself” routine) when she suddenly became incredibly aroused by the sex scene.
Before she knew it, her hand was down her pajama pants and she was masturbating. She was dripping wet. Soaked. Things escalated. The sex scene ended, but she was on the couch, fingering herself into a huge puddle.