My first date with Robert* was a success from the start. We’d been chatting online for a while before deciding to meet in real life at my favourite Italian restaurant.
I already knew he was 47 – a year younger than me – and divorced with two daughters. In-person, I liked him immediately, not least because he was tall and good-looking, and although he was a bit shy, I could tell he was interested in me, too. Loosened up by two large glasses of red wine, I did most of the talking, telling him all about my recent move to the coast. At the end of the evening, I was thrilled when he said, “How about Saturday?” I’d tried dating since my long-term relationship ended three years before, but I’d had enough of men who vaguely modern relationships promised, “I’ll call you,” and then didn’t.
We continued meeting and one evening a few weeks later, I asked Robert to stay over. I was very attracted to him, so it was a little disappointing when his erection failed. I thought it might have been the two beers he’d had earlier. We tried again in the morning, but he had the same problem. Realizing it must be humiliating for him, I made light of it, and said that we were probably both just a bit out of practice.
I went to his place the following weekend and I thought I’d leave any sexual advances to him. We kissed and cuddled and fooled around a bit, but nothing more. Things carried on like this for several weeks. I told myself that the last thing he needed was to feel under pressure, so I didn’t say anything. Robert would get an erection, usually very easy, and he could sustain it for a long time as we touched each other intimately or had oral sex. For me, these are very much a prelude to ‘actual’ sex. Yet the moment it came to full sex, his erection would go limp.
This story is from the March 2020 edition of woman & home South Africa.
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This story is from the March 2020 edition of woman & home South Africa.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 8,500+ magazines and newspapers.
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