Sex & the retirement home
Some things need to be allowed to sink in before making a final judgment. It’s often the little things. A new perfume, the supposedly wrong wall color, daring haircuts.
The range is long. A date in a retirement home is not one of them. Sex in a retirement home is definitely not one of them.
I only matched Tom, 35, on the second rotation. It was his hair that I missed. A little inner voice whispered to me: “Leave it! Your children wouldn’t stand a chance with his half bald head and your cleverly arranged fuzz.” But there was something about Tom that held me. His good-natured eyes, the small gap in his teeth or the scar between his eyebrows. I didn’t know what it was. And I didn’t care. I agreed.
“Would you mind if we met at my mother’s? My apartment is currently being renovated. And don’t worry! She is visiting her sister and will be in Hamburg until next week.”
The clever woman recognizes the warning signs under her nose. Yes. The clever woman.
As we stood in front of the building, it dawned on me. This was no ordinary apartment complex. It was a crappy facility.
Everything has gone well so far. He picked me up from the bus stop, put his jacket over my shoulder – quite the gentleman. And now we were faced with this sword of Damocles. Tom made that ladies-first gesture, and I passed the ugly-as-fuck swinging door at the entrance.
My five senses were all offended. It smelled of patchouli and disinfectant. The interior façade was riddled with countless cracks.
A lady in her mid-forties was sitting at what we’ll call the gate, pretending to be engrossed in her Homes & Garden magazine so that she didn’t have to greet us.
Nice shit, I thought.
“Super cute!” I said instead.
The elevator took us straight to room 402.
All-clear!
At least there was order. There wasn’t a bedpan in sight either. But her bed had a grab rail that I only knew from hospitals. The matching crochet set lay on the windowsill, a cutlery box for tablets rested on her bedside table.
In addition, there were endless indications for: A-L-T!
There was something surreal, wacky and authentic about this date. I knew something like that wouldn’t happen again so quickly. Besides, if we ended up here permanently in fifty years, would we still enjoy sex or even be able to have it?
So I made the best of it. And deflowered room 402.
Writing is her hobby: Sybille Statz from Cologne loves great romances just as much as she loves horror films, cats and 90s series. You can read more of her work in her two short novels “Matches for Real – Das Dating-Desaster” and “After Sunset – Korallenrot” and here.
What does our author Sybille Statz experience when dating? Here you can find the other episodes to read, marvel at and smile about.
Text: Sybille Statz
