The Art of Love & Frenzy - Kent Wright

This comes up all the time around here. We talk about it over those lunches and dinners that are always bland and the same. We talk about over bingo or during what the staff calls “pretty nails”. Sometimes those conversations are difficult because one of us forgets what we are talking about (or who we are talking to) and we keep having to start the conversation again. Falling asleep in the middle of conversations is also a problem around here. Whatever the problems, sex is on our minds. Oh, we know what those that don’t live (yet) in a home like this say. I’m talking about those smug thingies who think their fifty year of bodies are not going to sag, and they will always be going to mixers at the country club instead of hanging onto a walker like some do here. They smirk and primp and talk about all the experience they bring to the bedroom. Gertrude Main is one of those. She likes to coo and talk softly about “the art of love”. Well Gertrude and her kind are in for a surprise. Depends can take the “art” out of anything. We here at the home don’t bother talking about the art of love anymore. We don’t sprinkle lavender sachet around, and we don’t bother with code words like being “grabbed by the Frenzy – another Gertrudism. By the time anyone around here got that unscrambled the Frenzy would have been long gone. We just say My room is empty let’s have one of the girls (our care givers) wheel us down there and shut the door. We know those girls laugh at us and what they mean as they laugh and say “Now don’t hurt yourselves” as they are clicking the brake on the wheel chairs. The door closes and the pawing begins. I am not going to sugar coat it for you. Pawing is what it amounts to, but if being touched by another old paw is all there is, that is good enough.