X-Rated Community Service. Caution when entering.

“X-rated community service.”

This is what my husband called my volunteer gig, after I told him about my adventure at an assisted living complex.

senior-2I was asked to read my short story to residents at this center, so I agreed, and armed with cookies (I mean everyone loves cookies) and my short stories, off I went.

Upon arrival the motley crew the young at heart residents were all assembled and ready to enjoy some treats and a story.

This is how it went down:

I hadn’t even read two paragraphs when I had to swat a hand (please note: it was a light tap—the first time. The second time, I added a bit more oomph in the smack) after Mr. Had-to-Be-Ninety-Nine pinched me.

I then stopped reading as my audience interrupted, firing comments one after the other:

Ms. Innocent Looking Granny: “So, when does the girl get spanked in the story?”

Mr. Ass Pincher: “Get a riding crop, we can act it out.”

Ms. Waving her Cane: “Come on! Get to the good part.”

ME: “If you’ll let me continue, I promise you’ll enjoy the story.”

Mr. Ass Pincher: “I have a hearing problem. Better if we act out the story.”

I ignored them, spoke louder and continued to read.

A woman, who I swear probably never dropped the F Bomb in her life, yells, “F***ing, hell, there’s no sex in this story!”

Mr. Ass Pincher: “We want our money back!”

senior-3I thought any minute now, they’re going to start throwing their cups of coffee at me.

And I HATE coffee.

ME: “Your money? I’m doing this for free.”

Ms. Innocent Looking Granny: “We were told a local romance author was coming to read to us.”

ME: “Yes, that would be me.”

Mrs. Curses Like A Trucker in a traffic jam: “Then talk about the spanking. The handcuffs. All the sex. We want sex.”

They all talked over each other, hand gestures, moaning and groaning–and let me tell you, those innocent looking elders, KNOW A SHITLOAD about multiple-O’s and other stuff. To this day, I so want to erase their comments and what they intended on doing when I left.

I blushed, and I don’t blush easily.

I’m all for embracing your sexuality at any age, and I think it’s wonderful that these people have an active sex life (from what I overheard, it’s quite active) and even if they don’t, I think it’s great that they use their imagination and feel free to talk about it. I love sensuality in fiction, obviously, I’m a romance writer.

However, having said all that, I do not want to experience it first hand in reality, and if they were young adults, or people in their thirties, forties—-no matter what age, I’d still be uncomfortable.

I left the out-of-control-sex-crazed-audience and went and to see my contact in her office.

After she stopped laughing, she said for me to just make stuff up, and forget my short story.

Make stuff up?

I was NOT going to talk dirty to a bunch of seniors.

Assisted living like hell, they need assistance to get their dirty old minds out of the gutter, and learn to keep their hands to themselves.

I’m sticking to reading to small kids for community service. At least they won’t turn on me.



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