“The answer to the former is yes.”
“Okay,” she replied. Awkward silence followed.
“I think I offended you,” I said.
“No, no, it’s okay. Sex was just the farthest thing from my mind.”
It was my turn to be silent.
“You’re older, so maybe you can tell me something, if you will?”
“I’ll try,” I said.
“I could ask my father, but I don’t want to know his answer.”
“What’s your question?”
“I can’t believe I’m asking you this. All right. At what age do men start to lose interest in sex?
“I don’t know,” I chuckled. “I haven’t hit it yet.”
“Really? How old are you?” Sarah asked.
“Sixty.”
“You’re my father’s age, but you still think about, you know, women and sex?”
“Yes. Supposedly, a man’s desire peaks in his late teens or early twenties. That may be true, but I haven’t noticed much of a decline.”
She remarked, “I’ve read that women seem to want sex more when they get to their late thirties or early forties.”
“So I’ve heard. Why are we talking about this?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, more to herself than to me.
“You’re unhappy, aren’t you, Sarah? You don’t have to tell me why, but if it will make you feel better, I’ll listen.”
She gave me a shy grin. “How much do you charge for a session, Dr. Croswell?”
“No charge. Professional courtesy. Now, tell me as much or as little as you want,” I said.
“Maybe we can talk while you drive me back to my car. I should try to get some sleep tonight.”
Sarah was quiet for most of the trip back to her office building.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“Twenty minutes up the highway from here. I would drive past your hotel on my way to Owens’ building if I came straight from home. Should I pick you up in the morning?” she asked.
“Meet me in my lobby at eight. We’ll have breakfast and then I’ll drive us to the plant.
“Ooh, I’m going to meet an older man at his hotel again. Sounds naughty,” she laughed.
“Breakfast and work sound naughty? You don’t get out much, do you?”
“I was raised to work hard. It’s what I do. Anything out of my routine can seem like an adventure to me,” she said.
In the parking garage of her building, Sarah got out of my car, but leaned in to say, “See you in the morning!” I got a quick close-up of her chest when she did that, and a nice view of her legs when she climbed into her minivan.
The next morning, Sarah was waiting in the lobby when I came off the elevator. As promised, she was dressed in slacks with a matching blazer, over a light sweater. If she was trying to cover up her good looks, she failed miserably. Even in this outfit, she was very attractive. Her height and those long, long legs were simply accentuated by the full-cut trousers she wore, and, if anything, I got a better appreciation of her trim torso and entertaining bust line. With her hair pulled back and held in a pale blue clip that matched her eyes, she looked even better than she had the day before. Even more desirable.
“Good morning,” I called.
“Hi!” Sarah smiled, turning to greet me. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Sure.” We walked toward the restaurant.
The place was set up as a buffet. We got trays, and she took a lo-cal blueberry muffin, a grapefruit half, and black coffee. I almost felt guilty piling my plate with scrambled eggs, sausage, and “hash browns,” but that’s what I felt like eating.
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