It Starts With ‘O’

Eighty year old Rika is feisty and full of fun. I met her nineteen years ago when she was shacked up with a younger man. He died seventeen years ago, as had her husband before him and now she’s determined to be man-free. ‘I’m free!’ she sings out, throwing her arms out and twirling around. She now lives in a garden cottage with her last man’s daughter, who ‘adopted’ her and has brought her to see me today for her eyes.

We hug when she arrives.

As she’s leaving she holds out her arms for another hug. ‘We must hug again. I read that you need twelve hugs a day. It gives you something . . they told me, I forget.’

Endorphins, I say.

No, she says it starts with an ‘O’. ORGASMS? I say loudly, looking at her lovely self-appointed daughter-in-law with wide eyes. Rika just told me she needs twelve orgasms a day! Rika, honest and straight as the day is long, but with a delightful sense of mischief, screeches with laughter and says ‘Oh, look how you’ve made me blush now!’


pic: canva (free)