Old Folks Do It, Too

We can fall in love late in life, just not too late!

5 min readJul 19, 2024

On Tuesday, I turned seventy-six and didn’t even get laid. All the women in the home threw me a party.

I was excited during the days leading up to my big day. I had dropped hints about what I wanted, and I thought a couple of my peers would deliver. Some of the women knew that I’d always fantasized about the two women at once, and needless to say, I had stocked up on Viagra.

I got a birthday cake, but the only skin I saw that Tuesday was when the ninety-year-old dementia patient forgot her meds and walked around, flashing her breasts.

After that, I wasn’t in the mood for cake. Gees, I hate this place. It’s like they think I’ll live forever.

I’ve always had a thing for the younger women, although I’ve never had much luck in all my years. Grace walked me to my room after dinner, unable to handle late nights anymore. However, she gave me what little action I’d had in months: a kiss on my wrinkled, weathered, musky cheek.

Then she went to her room and had a stroke.

I attended her funeral on Friday but have been in a foul mood since.

I despise ageing. I wish I would die now. I think I should have died when life started not being fun anymore; my memory is rotting. Life began its downhill descent when I turned thirty.

God plays games on people like me, whose death can’t seem to come soon enough: He lets us live to a hundred.

Some noises are coming from the hallway in Grace’s room. Perhaps it’s her ghost. She possibly found time to read the impure thoughts I’d had about her, and now she’s returning to get some of the action.

Good! Maybe she’ll give me that fatal heart attack I‘ve been anticipating.

I have a new neighbour. Her name is Elizabeth. What a vixen! She has a dazzling smile and is only sixty-seven. She was wearing a sexy silk gown with three buttons down the front. I noticed the subtle double perkiness that the gown’s flimsiness teased me with.

I was in love!

That afternoon, I showed her around the place. I introduced her to the guys, all equally smitten by her captivating aura, then to the girls from whom I heard whispers of jealousy. “I bet they’re fake,” scorned Phyllis, with a declaration of agreement.

I asked Phyllis if her teeth were natural.

Over the following weeks, Lizzy and I were inseparable. I taught her shuffleboard, and she accompanied me to Bingo Night. Neither Lizzy nor I had ever settled down to get married, and I immediately took this as a sign.

It was nearing the end of the year, and I made a plan: I would propose!

I asked a nurse to find me a ring on the outside. I was one of the wealthier oldies and spared no expense. I gave the nurse a three thousand-dollar cheque, a pinch on the ass, and the liberty to choose the ring of her choice.

I was going to pop the question on New Year’s Eve.

As the year ended, my nerves started up. I felt fifteen years old; I even considered writing my proposal: Dear Elizabeth, will you marry me? Yes or No (Circle one). I didn’t.

Christmas came and went. Today was the day. I knocked on her door since we’d arranged to eat together and watch the fireworks from the common room. I placed her hand in mine, and without a word, I directed her into my room for a candlelit dinner that the nurses had arranged. We sat down to wine and lobster.

We laughed a lot, she smiled, and I sweated. Well, I reached for the ring and looked at her with adoration; my fear disappeared. I asked, and she accepted with tears glowing in her brilliant eyes.

We received many welcome congratulations as we wandered to the common room, where the ring was on display around her delicate finger.

We started celebrating only a few hours before next year's countdown. Every year is the same for us old folks, and this year was no exception: despite the best of intentions, we were all in bed by ten o'clock.

Everyone who could walk or roll to the Common Room attended. I wore my best suit, and Lizzy wore her best dress, and we were married.

I was finally going to get some action.

After the kiss, we were pushed in our wheelchairs, with tin cans tied behind, back to my room.

Finally, I felt complete.

In the bedroom with Elizabeth, I could feel a sensation of pride mounting in my chest.

“I have a confession,” she whispered. “This will be my first time.”

Even without Viagra, I thought that I would go on all night. Imagine being seventy-six years old and marrying a virgin: the guys won’t believe this!

We lay together and took things slow. She was nervous.

I leaned down on top, but she couldn’t cope, so I spooned her, kissing and caressing, and as I approached my peak, I couldn’t breathe; my lungs seized up.

I rolled away and slammed into the floor. Anyone listening outside would’ve thought that we were a couple of kinky buggers.

I was dying. Elizabeth started screaming; it took five minutes before a nurse became courageous enough to knock on the door.

The last thing I heard was the nurse burst through the door too late…

I told you: God thinks He’s so fucking funny!

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Old Folks Do It, Too

We can fall in love late in life, just not too late!

Written by Harry Hogg

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