The Old Man: Faded Memories (Chapter 1)

The Old Man sat quietly, the ratty chair beneath him creaking each time he adjusted. In fact, he sat like this most days, almost motionless as the slightest movement led to those irritating sounds. As the day wore on, he would doze, or lazily watch the people around him shuffling about. Every once in a while, a voice would penetrate the haze of his thoughts, but he rarely responded. Same times, every day, he would eat his bland meals that failed to remind him whatsoever of the lifetime of delicacies his wife Ellen had prepared for him. Of course, these days, The Old Man failed to remember many things.The Old Man had learned that when one of those nice strong people who always wore light blue shirts and pants came to lift him from the chair, it would be time to clean, to change, to lie down in what always seemed like a strange bed in a strange room. Once there, the darkness would descend, and the memories would begin. Not recent ones, Artvin Escort because The Old Man could barely remember what he ate for dinner, but stories from long ago that seemed to emerge out of clouds hanging from the dark ceiling.So many nights, The Old Man lay awake wondering when he would see Eileen. His wife used to lie next to him night after night, curled on her left side waiting for him to mold his body around hers. Was it yesterday she had said she would be back again? Or last week? It was hard for him to place in time as each day ran into the one before and the one next. That nice strong young man in the blue shirt, George (or was it Jeff?) had called him a “sundowner” because he hardly slept at night. Just lying there with his fragmented memories.Out of habit, The Old Man reached down in his pajama bottom to touch himself. Smiling, he could still see in his mind his first girlfriend, Carol (or Karen?). Artvin Escort Bayan They had gone to a movie, he was sure, something silly that made her giggle uncontrollably. No, that was not right, not the movie before they touched. No, the giggling was their first date movie, yes, that movie with the men in armor with coconuts and wooden rabbits. The Old Man remembered now, that first date was the premiere of that movie, oddly on a Sunday morning. How she had laughed through the movie, except when she quietly took his hand in hers. That first time they held hands, yes, it was the silly movie. Which was followed the next week by the party, the friend’s birthday party where they kissed and made out and inhaled each other’s tongues for what felt like the entire evening.The touching, that came later. Yes, it was that movie where they went to the first part of a double feature and then left early to go to Escort Artvin her house. What was that movie? Soft curls, The Old Man recalled. Soft, fine, damp curls. Karen had opened her jeans as they lay on her bed. Soft pink comforter on top of her single bed not meant for what they were trying to do. As they kissed, she had opened the button on her jeans. Or had he? Who opened and who touched? Carol had taken his hand and placed it inside the open pants. No directions or road map provided though. The Old Man felt a stirring in his penis, something stiffening. Soft curls, like the soft hair on her head but damp and then wet and then he was touching slickness and heat. Finger sliding inside and being clamped down, squeezed tightly as he penetrated her. He had never known that sensation before, of soft curls wet against his palm while his finger probed in and slid out. Over and over, he had done all he understood to do, to finger her vagina like that. The Old Man felt her arms wrapped around him even now, her whispering something in his ear that now seemed foreign to him. No, he was the young man then, not The Old Man, but the young man with his hand in her pants and his finger in her wet vagina.