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22-year-old me thought it was a dream. I'm talking about the advice my 80-year-old self gave me, but it wasn't too long before I had a chance to use it.

I'd been seeing Marty Hartenstein for two years. We were in law school together here in Boston and found that fucking each other's brains out relieved some of the pressures of law school. Just fucking, no blowjobs, no pussy eating. We were young. As soon as we got in bed my cock was hard, and her pussy was wet. We'd been anticipating this all day.

That night in bed, I suggested that I'd like to eat her pussy. She was young for law school, barely twenty. She loved to fuck, but wasn't ready for anything beyond that. "Chris, that's disgusting. I can't believe . . ."

She got out of bed, quickly got dressed and was gone.

What made it worse was that in two weeks my undergraduate roommate, Ben Proctor was getting married, and I was a groomsman; a groomsman without a date.

I was paired with Ben's married sister who was a bridesmaid. We danced when required, but mostly she danced with her husband. "Chris," she asked, "do me a favor, will you dance with my mom?"

Mrs. Emily Proctor was a widow in her late forties. Until all the wedding stuff, I'd only met her once. That was when Ben and I graduated from college.

Now, we were dancing to those slow songs that seemed to be played at every wedding. "Chris, no date?"

I explained that I'd just broken up with Marty. "Ben told me, he thought you two were serious. What happened?"

Of course, I couldn't tell her.

"Chris, I was married for fifteen years to Ben's father. I have three children. There's nothing under the sun I haven't seen or done," she laughed. "I'll bet it had to do with sex. It always has to do with sex. You didn't ask her to do something weird?"

"No, not at all." I didn't think pussy eating was weird, do you?

"You know she's young, she probably wasn't ready for whatever you had in mind." As if she didn't hear me.

I thanked her for the dance, and an hour later the reception ended. Ben and his bride were off on their honeymoon. I had a room at the hotel to myself and was ready for some sleep. Before Marty and I broke up, I thought for sure it'd be a night of sex.

"There you are," it was Mrs. Proctor. "I was looking for you. I need a shower, but why don't you join me for a nightcap in about an hour? Suite 1401."

I didn't think anything of it, but somewhere deep in the back of my mind I heard my 80-year-old self's advice, ‘pussy is pussy and never turn down pussy.' I didn't think that was what Mrs. Proctor was suggesting, nor did I think my 80-year-old self meant it literally.

After a shower, and changing into jeans, I was knocking on the door of Suite 1401. "Chris, thank you for coming. I'm drinking Scotch; join me?"

"Sure." I couldn't help but look at her. I may have thought Mrs. Proctor didn't have anything in mind, but the negligee she wore did. It was low cut, exposing her cleavage. It was shear; her nipples were clearly visible, and it was short. When she turned to get my Scotch, her wide ass was obvious.

We sat on the couch in the living room portion of her suite. "Chris, did I guess right about why you and Marty broke up?"

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