I trained in computing, and was fortunate enough, after leaving university, to get a job which took me around the world. Now, I am no film star, but neither am I totally unattractive, so in the course of my travels, I met quite a few girls and women of around my own age, and managed to make love to several of them. After about ten years of travelling and working with a high stress level, I suddenly decided that this life no longer had any attraction for me. I had saved a reasonable sum, and realised that I could return home, and, with a nice stress-free job, could actually enjoy life instead of heading rapidly for the grave.

I managed to negotiate a good severance package, which nicely padded out the savings I already had, and returned, not only to the town where I was born, but also to live with my mother, now a widow in her late fifties. I was happy to be living back in my home town, and knew I would be able to get the sort of job I wanted there. I returned to live with Mum to give myself time to look around, for a house or perhaps a flat, where I could put together a home for myself.

Mum was only too pleased to have me home again, having been on her own (as far as I knew) since Dad died seven years ago, (the last time I was home), and we soon settled into a friendly, comfortable familiar routine. I job-hunted during the morning, and sometimes into the early afternoon, but always returned in time to prepare a meal for the evening. I was quite a good cook, having lived alone and looked after myself for so long, and Mum was happy to be looked after, for a change, instead of having to do all the work.

After I had been home for, I think, about two weeks, I cooked a particularly memorable meal, and with it we enjoyed a really good bottle of claret.

Afterwards, the dish-washer loaded, we relaxed, sitting side by side on the sofa, my arm draped companionably round her waist, her head resting on my chest. We had coffee, and a bottle of excellent Armagnac - what more did we need to be comfortable? In vino veritas, the saying goes, and if wine releases the truth, topping it with a good, fifteen year old brandy leads to the sharing of even greater confidences and secrets. Mum crossed her legs, (surprisingly shapely, for a Mum), snuggled herself comfortable, and spoke:-

"Well son? What are you going to do with your life, now you're home?"

"You already know, Mum. I'm house and job hunting. And taking it very easily, of course. I'm not letting work kill me, like it did Dad."

"That's not what I meant. Are you going to get married? Settle down, and have children? Make me a Granny, for God's sake? Didn't you meet anyone on your travels you really liked? Have you a girlfriend here at home? Have you anyone in mind?"

"Well, I did meet several girls abroad. But none I wanted to settle down with. We had some great sex, but nothing really meaningful." (Could I really be saying such a thing to my mother? In vino, and all that.)

"Anyway, they're all a long way away, now. And I haven't been back long enough to meet anyone here. The girls I knew before I went away will all be married now, I expect. Or moved away, like I did."

"But don't you want children? You can't leave it too late, you know. If you marry someone about your own age, it will be getting a bit late already for her to have children. And it doesn't do to marry someone a lot younger than yourself."

"I'm not all that bothered about having children, anyway. I think you're probably right - I have left it too late. But you can always find sex, one way or the other. So I think I'll manage on my own. Until it doesn't matter any more." Mum raised herself off my chest to look me straight in the eye.

"What do you mean - until it doesn't matter anymore?" She relaxed again, laying her head back on my chest, and this time taking my hand and holding it in her lap, stroking it with her fingers.

"You don't imagine that you'll want sex any less as you grow older, do you?" she continued.

"Well..." I started.

"You young ones are all the same. You think older people are 'past it'. Well, let me tell you, you're wrong. You don't enjoy sex any less as you get older, you probably enjoy it more. You don't want sex any less as you get older, you probably want it more, but the opportunities are definitely fewer, and the performance might just be a bit less certain. Especially for men. Men can't pretend, like women can. But the desire is always there." As she was saying this, she raised the hand she was holding to her breast, pressing harder at times to emphasise her words......(cont)