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I said the meeting with Sarah Dunfee was a disaster. It was.

I never saw Simon again. Never sucked his cock again. Never felt his tongue on my clitoris again.

At fashion shows I learned that he’d requested a transfer to a different department within his company. A position where he wouldn’t have to travel. Perhaps, Mrs. Dunfee was getting his tongue like I’d been getting. Perhaps, Mrs. Dunfee, a woman in her sixties, was learning how to give Simon blowjobs. I was jealous.

From then on there were no men in my life. It hurt to lose Simon, although I should have known better.

There were no men in my life for five years. Just like after Herman died, I threw myself into my work. I traveled the state checking in on my shops.

Even though, I had no interest in men, I dressed like I was an advertisement for my stores. My hair which was showing some grey was always perfect. Back then they called it frosted. I was still a blonde, and the grey was well-hidden. I don’t know about such things but my pubic hair was as blonde as it was when I was a teenager.

As for my tits. I thought there still wasn’t much sag. Herman loved to watch them bounce while I rode Herman Monster, and Simon loved to play with them. Of course, they didn’t spend much time with them because I was on my knees blowing them most of the time.

One day I was in Hollywood, doing the mundane things people do at home. Cleaning, washing, grocery shopping. I was in the local drug store when I thought for sure there was a man I recognized. “Boyd, Boyd Lambert? Is that you?”

I’ll let Boyd tell you the rest of the story.

After my wife died. I didn’t have much of a love life. I didn’t have any love life. I’d just celebrated my sixtieth birthday. The kids and grandkids came back to Hollywood. It was a grand celebration.

In the drug store, this woman called my name. I didn’t recognize her. I thought maybe she’d been a student. That happened a lot; running into old students, but they always called me Mr. Lambert, not Boyd.

I stared. Blonde, attractive, young, very well-dressed. “Boyd, it’s me, Nanci Goldfarb. Nancy Goldfarb now, Nanci Darden when you knew me.”

My heart skipped a beat. Not because she was apparently married, but because I’d never forgotten those extraordinary blowjobs. There was movement in my pants. That hadn’t happened in a few years.

“It’s been a long time. How have you been?”

“Boyd, there’s so much to tell. I just left the grocery store. I have some frozen stuff in my trunk. Could we meet for coffee tomorrow morning? The Bean? Is eight too early?”

“No, eight would be fine. Nanci, you look stunning.”

“Thank you, Boyd. See you tomorrow.”

I don’t know what you were expecting, but romance was the farthest thing from my mind. Like I said, I’d just turned sixty.

I was at The Bean early and secured a booth. I didn’t dress for the occasion; jeans and an old Grateful Dead tee shirt. Just like yesterday, my heart skipped a beat when Nanci walked in.

Yesterday, it was because of the memories it brought up when she told me her name. Today, it was because of what she was wearing. You might remember, nineteen-year-old Nanci Darden was a bit on the chunky side, but she sure could suck. Nanci Goldfarb filled out a pair of jeans. Her ass was sculpted, and the tee shirt showed off what just had to be surgically enhanced tits. I was old but I wasn’t dead.

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