Love, Sex, Lies in the (Hi-Rise): A Novel

By Elaine S. Brown

The warning on the pamphlet states, If you experience an erection for more than four hours, contact your doctor. Many old men have died with smiles on their faces.

Love, Sex, Lies in the High-Rise is a gusty, explicit, sexual story of seniors and the lifestyles they carried over to their late sixties, seventies, and some eighties. Most of the seniors in Franklin Mews chose not to sit back and live a life of self-pity and loneliness but to embrace the opportunity to have another chance at love, lust, eroticism, and passion in their final years.

In Franklin Mews, a senior high-rise apartment building in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, two tenantsDuke Wilson, seventy-eight, who has an extensive collection of jazz vinyls from Satchmo to Brownie, and Cebee Walker, seventy-threefind romance and love after some forty-odd years.

Kill it, kill it, kill it, Duke, Cebee cried, making reference to his strokes as he thrust harder and harder, bringing her to an exhausting climax.

In the community room, some of Dukes friends and other men sit and fabricate stories of days gone by. They were pimps, preachers, and alcoholics. Some never change; one of his friends still lives the thug life, and the other has an obsession for porno movies and freaky sex.

We find a bit of amusement when Cebees best friend, Sug, asks her for the second time to accompany her to the emergency room at the hospital for them to remove the vibrator that got stuck in her vagina.

There are many stories in Franklin Mews about the tenants that would shock you. Maybe not. But Love, Sex, Lies in the High-Rise adds a new meaning to growing old gracefully.

Baby boomers, now the real spice of life begins. No inhibitions, no rules, no guilt, just a whirlwind of erotic pleasure waiting for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499047448

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Copyright © 2014 by Elaine S. Brown.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014912147

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/07/2014

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Contents

Foreword

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

When I began

writing this book, I thought about my audience, and I had a specific group in mind. I wanted an audience who would not be afraid to read about love and sex in their later years. The people I wanted to reach, I hoped, would not be afraid to read about some of the sexual activities and adventures that really go on in high-rise buildings that house older Americans.

To some readers, it may seem a little vulgar. To others, these are little-known exposed secrets and fantasies that seniors enjoy and participate in.

This book is dedicated to the open-minded, gutsy, and mature seniors that took growing old to another level, seniors that spent decades of suppressing their inner self, inner sexuality, and concentrated more on being a respectful mother or father.

To the empty nesters that can now walk freely around the house nude, make love on the kitchen floor, table, wherever. They can now enjoy making love in the shower and scream to the top of their lungs. This is what I’m talking about.

To them I dedicate this book!

FOREWORD

One might say that anyone over the age of sixty-two has gone mad to think about love, sex, and companionship. Grandchildren think it’s disgusting when their grands talk about finding a new mate in their late life. They just can’t conceive older people being in love after thirty-five to forty years old. They have no idea what is happening in the senior world.

Grown children see their inheritance going out the window by the way their senior parents use the money for vacations, face-lifts, weight reduction, and especially gambling and reverse mortgages.

The grandparents of today are still working and not available to babysit like in the old days. They are not the grandparents and great-grandparents of yesterday. A lot of seniors are still driving and being very independent. Those that were fortunate to hold on to their homes are contented with being by themselves; the others live in high-rise apartments and are very independent. They no longer worry about leaving something for the family when they die.

Not only are they living longer, they are full of vitality and zest—full of life. They participate in marathons for breast cancer and go to dance classes to learn Zumba, Latin dances, and tango.

The older women are having plastic surgery, getting larger implants for larger boobs, piercing their nipples, tongues, and vaginas. The men watch porno, gamble away their savings, pay prostitutes on check day; the women also gamble their savings and pay younger men to service them. There is more sex going on than thought about. Even with the threat of getting AIDS, listening to older men talking to one another about it, their consensus is I’m old anyway and have to die from something, why not have fun, enjoy sex, and die with a smile on my face.

More men are using Viagra and ignoring the warning label—If you experience an erection for more than four hours, contact your doctor. Many have died with a smile on their face. Let’s not forget about tummy tucks and hairpieces.

In Love, Sex, Lies in the High-Rise, you will read about how some seniors are enjoying their last days on earth and how they are enjoying old age and still love and participate in sexual pleasures.

Don’t be shocked; it’s really happening.

CHAPTER ONE

Tyrone, the regular night guard in the high-rise Franklin Mews, blinked his eyes three times to make sure the image he saw in the monitor was not a figment of his imagination. The camera was zoomed to get a closer look at the face. In disbelief, Cebee’s face peered back at him. He chuckled to himself when he saw her looking back several times to make sure no one saw her sneaking into the apartment on the eleventh floor, clad only in a sheer red nightgown adorned with ruffles from the top to the bottom. The ruffles were so long she appeared to be tripping as she slid inside with her matching red feather mules. Her face was made up with a lot of rouge, her lips painted in bright-red lipstick, and dark eye shadow encircled her eyes, which made her look like a raccoon.

Tyrone knew the apartment door she was knocking on. It was one of several hot ones in the building. Women frequented this apartment like they were going to the mall. It belonged to the seventy-eight-year-old Theodore Duke Wilson.

Duke had now earned the reputation of being one of the lovers servicing the elderly women of Franklin Mews, even though he denied all that they were saying about him and the women. Every once in a while he might have younger women come in and service him, but he had a bad experience one time and backed off from outsiders coming to see him.

Tyrone focused on another view of the building once Cebee went inside the apartment.

Cebee could hear Erroll Garner playing Misty on Duke’s stereo. He never adjusted to CDs, claiming he couldn’t get the mechanics of working the player. Truth be told, he had a collection of record albums that he started collecting in the early fifties that most jazz enthusiasts would love to have. Some of his favorites included Satchmo, Count Basie, Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan, Billy Eckstine, Miles, Coltrane, Stitt, Clifford Brown. You name it, and he had it. He often bragged to his buddies in the building about his collection of over two hundred albums. They could name any musician, and Duke would tell them he had their album and could prove it. The old guys would have sessions about Duke’s music. He would sometimes get the building super to bring his stereo down to the recreation room for a special occasion and play the music for the tenants.

They danced and reminisced about the good old days, doing the dances from the era and, afterward, tried to get their rubberlike legs and body-shaking and totally exhausted selves back to their seats.

Duke, with his charming self, invited Cebee to have a seat. The masculine two-room apartment was spared nothing when it came to decorating. One of its great features was the bar that Duke had mounted on the wall with glasses hanging from the rack and always stocked with top-shelf liquor. There was nothing cheap about Duke, from his liquor to his fine clothes. He often admired the way he recreated his apartment from some scene he had seen in an old movie. The lights were dimmed, and incense cones burned from an oriental brass dish.

When Cebee first met Duke, the smell from the incense bothered her, but it didn’t take long for her to get used