2. Rule #2 Old men need to know when it’s time to grow up.
Matis
It’s lost its luster. Sex, of course. Here I am with a beautiful woman in my arms, and while everything feels good, the pleasure is empty.
My dick is hard, and I should not be complaining, but it’s becoming monotonous.
There was a time in my life I thought I’d never tire of sex. In my younger era, I was having it every single day, usually multiple times a day, with multiple partners. It’s a wonder my dick didn’t fall off in my twenties.
But now, at fifty-three, I worry those carefree years are behind me. And sex has just…lost its shine.
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s been three and a half decades of every type of fucking you can think of.
With men, with women, younger, older, in small groups and in big groups, on nearly every continent and sometimes with people who didn’t even speak my language. Sex is my language. Sex is my life.
I knew this day would come, didn’t I? The day I just stopped caring so much about it.
Before this moment right now, how long has it been? Three days? Four? Twenty-five-year-old me would be horrified.
“Are you all right?” The woman currently riding my dick pauses, her soft fingers pressing into my chest, and I feel like a royal asshole for not paying her more attention.
Vite, Matis. Think of something.
“Am I okay?” I ask with a charming smile. Then, with a deft maneuver, I flip her onto her back, lifting her leg and playfully slapping her ass before driving harder into her at an angle I know does the trick every time.
She giggles before her eyes quickly roll to the back of her head with a high-pitched moan.
“My only concern is you, ma belle.” I keep up my rapid thrusts, moving my thumb to her clit to help her through.
And for the next five to ten minutes, I successfully manage to keep my mind cleared and focused on fucking. Once she screams out her orgasm, her legs shaking around my hips, I struggle my way through a weak and lifeless climax myself, filling the condom between us.
This is pathetic.
When we’re both done, I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. The woman, Francesca, crawls up to my side and rests her head on my arm. Her dark black hair tickles my skin as we catch our breath, and I berate myself for not enjoying this more.
“The rumors are true, monsieur,” she says with a laugh before lifting up and placing a quick kiss on my cheek.
I slip my hands behind my head with a proud smile. “And what are the rumors?”
“That you’ve still got it,” she replies with a sheepish smile.
My jaw drops in feigned offense. “Still? What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re the oldest guy I’ve ever slept with,” she says, and it truly doesn’t hurt my feelings to hear that. I’m the oldest guy many people have slept with. “But you were by far the best.”
Well, now I feel even worse. I was far from my prime tonight, and she still thinks I’m the best. The men out here must be doing something very wrong. The bar is tragically low.
“How old are you?” I ask nonchalantly as I pull the condom off, tie it up, and drop it in the bin.
She casually climbs from the bed and grabs her black lace lingerie from the crushed velvet lounge. “Twenty-five.”
I nod. I would have thought her a little older, but I would never say that. Then for some reason, Amelia’s face enters my mind.
Amelia is twenty-five.
I look at the black-haired beauty across from me again. This woman is Amelia’s age. When the fuck did this happen?
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the woman laughs. “Is twenty-five too young for you?”
I clear my throat as I stand up. “Not at all. I just realized my goddaughter is twenty-five.”
Francesca sucks air through her teeth. “Yikes. That must be a little strange, isn’t it?”
I quickly shake my head. “No. Shit, I don’t know why I brought that up. I’m sorry, ma belle. Here, let me help you.”
Stark naked, I cross the room to grab her dress from the hook and bring it to her. I notice the way her gaze rakes up and down my body with appreciation before taking it from my hand.
“I’ve got it, thanks,” she replies with a sexy smirk. It’s quiet between us for a moment as she gets dressed and slips on her black stilettos.
“Would you like to get a drink?” I ask in a futile attempt to be a gentleman.
The woman only laughs. “I think we were supposed to do that before we fucked like animals.”
“You’ll have to forgive me,” I say as I slip on my briefs with a chuckle. “I’ve only mastered the fucking part. The rest is still foreign to me.”
With a grin, she steps toward me and places a well-manicured hand on my chest. Running her nails through my chest hair, she lifts on her tiptoes and adds, “That’s okay. No one likes a gentleman in a sex club anyway.”
With that, she turns on her heels and walks out the door, leaving me reeling and wondering what the hell I’m even doing.
“You want another, Matis?” the young bartender, Weston, asks while he finishes putting away the liquor bottles from tonight.
I shrug. “Why not?” I slide the empty wineglass toward him, and he tops it off with my favorite French cabernet. “Merci.”
The club is nearly empty, and I’m not even sure of the time.
Outside this underground club, the sun is probably rising over Paris, waking up the city with a warm, hazy glow.
I used to walk home in it every single morning, reveling in another perfect night.
My entire adult life could be summed up in those quiet moments.
The lights in Legacy are low, and the slow, sultry beat of some French jazz music crackles on the speakers. Sitting at the bar, I look around and admire the incredible work of my successors. The six of them have taken this place into the next generation, and it’s better off for it.
But at the same time, it leaves me with a sense of melancholy deep in my bones. For years, I ruled this place. I was the king of L’Amour, and I lived here more than my own home.
This club was my second skin. A living organ that grew to be a part of me.
Two years ago, I let it all go because I thought it was time, but now…I’m not so sure. Did I leave too soon? What is truly left for me in this life now?
I have no one. Nothing. No passion or career or drive. I’m just a lonely old man drinking wine alone in the middle of the night at a club he’s outgrown.
Haunted by too much past and not enough future.
It’s too late for me to start over. Too late for me to have new dreams.
I can’t help but think about Amelia upstairs, surrounded by her creations, like the creativity in her mind somehow exploded into reality. That girl burns with ambition and brilliance, and she has her entire life ahead of her. She is color and chaos and bursts of genius, and I envy her for that.
Once upon a time, I too had that zest for life.
If I could start over and truly let someone in, I’d want it to be someone like that. Someone with so much zeal, it makes life worth living. About more than just sex. Someone eager to travel, taste new foods, try new things, live a full and happy life.
Not her, of course. As beautiful and brilliant as Amelia is, she is my best friend’s daughter and my goddaughter, and that is just a line I will not cross. The Kades are like my family, and I’d rather cut ties with my own blood before betraying them in any way.
Besides, Amelia’s future is bright, and it should stay that way. I hope she never gets herself tied down to an old man like me.
Draining the last of my wine, I look around the club one more time. Once I’m done, I slide it over to Weston and stand.
I was once a king in this realm, but now I am nothing more than a shadow.
Perhaps it is time I let go.