By Kendra Holliday | February 25, 2018
I had a wonderful consultation with a 77-year-old man named Owen (he gave me permission to share his story, changing details to protect his identity).
Owen looks like a sweet, happy Grandpa, and he is just that. But underneath the big smile, warm, bespectacled eyes, and button-down plaid shirt, he is a total pervert.
And he’s frustrated.
He’s been widowed for many years, and is attractive, fit, financially comfortable and in good health. He’s had fair luck dating (there are four women for every man his age, after all), but he can’t find a kinky 60-70-something woman to save his life.
Every woman he dates is a prude. They’ll tell him, “I won’t be intimate with you until we’ve dated for six months.”
Or, if he kisses their belly and starts moving south, they’ll stop him, exclaiming, “What are you doing? That’s disgusting!”
Or, they’ll agree to go on a romantic weekend getaway with him and then sleep on the couch.
“I want to cum inside a woman and lick it out!” he declared, “But they have me on pussy probation and won’t even let me kiss their tummy! Don’t they realize we’re not getting any younger?”
He went on to lament, “What happened to all those women I had orgies with when I was a hippie? These days I’m reduced to sitting around watching porn and jerking off. I wanna have FUN!”
Owen has certainly had his share of fun, and he sees no reason for that to stop. He has Viagra for backup and would love a steady diet of free-spirited intimacy.
I asked him about his past, and he told me about the time he was around 10 and found some condoms lying on the street. He picked them up and put them in his pocket, not knowing what they were. When he got home his mother found them and gave him a beating.
When he was 12, he came home with a wet spot on his jacket (he has no idea how it got there) and got a beating for that, too. It was only later that he learned him mother suspected him of masturbating.
As an adult he grew up in St. Louis and had all kinds of adventures. “There were brothels all around the racetrack. You could get laid and drunk for $5! I can’t believe the going rate is $300 now! When I was 17 one of those whores sucked my dick, and I thought she was so nasty! But it was very nice,” he admitted.
His sexual horizons expanded over the years. He told me about the time in his 30’s when he was part of a double penetration threesome with another man and woman. They both came inside her, then flipped a coin to see who got to eat her out. “I won!” he said with a wink.
“You see, it’s just good fun! I’ve done it all – I even sucked a dick because my lady friend wanted to watch. It’s not my thing, but I got high and had a grand ol’ time! Yes, yes, I’m a tea-head, I love smoking my marijuana and will never give it up, not til the day I die! I tell you, I’ve gotten in plenty of trouble due to alcohol, but I’ve never had any problems with pot. The stuff is harmless, I say!”
I asked him, “So would your ideal situation be to find a woman in her 60’s or older who doesn’t mind getting high and freaky a couple times a week?”
“Oh, that would be marvelous!” he said, his eyes shining. ”
He went on to tell me he was with the love of his life for about four years in the 1970’s, a fun-loving bisexual woman, but she was killed in a car crash. He’s been searching for something like he had with her ever since.
He went on to say, “I like it all! I could tie her up and blindfold her, or she could tie me up if she wanted it that way, that would be fun, too! I’ve peed on people, they’ve peed on me, it doesn’t matter if things get messy, that’s what the shower is for!”
I was astonished. I felt like I was sitting across from an old man version of myself, a kindred spirit.
“Owen, you look like an absolutely normal sweet grandpa. Someone could see you walking in the mall and never guess you were a freak!”
“Of course!” he agreed. “You have to stay in hiding, you don’t want to be found out and punished!”
“Well, that’s why I decided to come out,” I told him. “So people don’t have to hide and be ashamed. You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re rejoicing in life, enjoying pleasure – you are human.”
“And you, my dear, are an angel. Simply an angel. You’ve got your shit together and you’ve got guts!”
We parted ways with a warm hug, and I promised him I would keep an eye out for a suitable match.
I’d say his problem is not his problem – it’s society’s. Women of his generation are still under the influence of 1950’s morals, and sadly, they are missing out. Which means Owen is, too.