Satisfying each other, on a daily basis.

Based on a post by sex4every1. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

I had just divorced my husband after twenty-two years of marriage. It wasn't anyone's fault, there just was no more love, let alone lust, between us. I think we both gravitated to different interests and different activities. Sex was almost nonexistent, but I often saw semen stuck to the shower walls, after he left for work. Me? I had vibrators and erotic novels, keeping me sated.

We had decided to dispense with lawyers and all the red tape and to just part amicably; it helped, of course; that we were very wealthy and I was offered a very reasonable settlement. For that amount, I was able to buy an old house at the beach, which had been a dream of mine for many years.

My husband loved the busy city life while I was more of a country or seaside girl. I swiftly came across a fixer-upper, which had been deserted for years, mainly because of the steep asking price. As money was not an issue and because I didn't mind the prospect of a long-term renovation, I didn't need a lot of time to make up my mind. Although the place was an absolute dump, I insisted on moving in as soon as possible, before any of the repairs or modifications had even started.

One of the most appealing features of the house was a giant porch overlooking the coastline; at the left side of the house the porch ended in a wooden stair case, providing direct access to the beach below. From the very first day, that porch was my favorite part of the whole house. As I was sitting there on my porch that first evening, looking at the setting sun and listening to the ocean sounds, I began to unwind for the first time in many months (maybe even years) and an almost intoxicating tranquility took over my mind and body. I can't remember how long I just sat there, enjoying the serenity, but suddenly my attention was drawn to a man walking up to the house. He had a very confused look on his face; and the closer he came, the more puzzled he seemed to get; until he was right in front of the house, looking up at me. I nodded and smiled, greeting him and asked, "Can I help you with something?"

"I didn't know someone lived here." the elder gentleman replied.

"Well, I just moved in this morning." I said, getting up and leaning over the banister of the porch. “My name is Jill.”

"Oh, hello, Jill. Well, I see; it's been so many years, I guess I didn't even consider the possibility." he murmured, barely audible. He looked completely disoriented for a moment.

"Would you like to come up for a cup of tea?" I asked, taking pity on him.

"No, I wouldn't want to disturb you." he said, turning away and preparing to leave.

"Don't be silly. Come on up." I insisted.

Still reluctantly, he walked up the stairs and introduced himself; his name was Jack and he was 44 years old. After pouring him a cup of tea, I listened to his story.

He lived about half a mile away; and had done so for the better part of his life. Fate had taken his wife; Darla. His high school sweet heart; away from him only months after marrying her. He had never loved another woman since then. While life had not been particularly kind to him, he seemed very cheerful and happy, although a bit lonely, I sensed. When he started talking about his interests, it seemed that we both shared a passion for the opera. He struck me as a very intelligent, kind and lively man.

However, the longer we talked, the more restless he seemed to become. At first, I assumed he was just the nervous type and that was the reason why he was constantly fidgeting in his chair or checking the time, but when he started showing physical signs of stress; dry mouth, sweaty hands, foot tapping; I decided to call him on it.

"Jack, Is something wrong? You seem terribly nervous."

"Don't worry about it, Jill." he smiled.

"Jack, something is obviously bothering you. And I would very much like to know what that is." I replied sternly.

"But I don't want to ruin an otherwise lovely evening." he whispered, getting even more nervous now.

"Come on, whatever it is, it can't be that bad," I insisted, "Spit it out."

He took another sip from his tea, took a deep breath and then said, "For the past seventeen years, I've been coming to this stretch of beach, come rain or shine, every evening at dusk. It has been my memorial tradition, to remember my departed wife, and find relieve from my grieving. It includes an activity of a more intimate nature.”

"Okay," I said, as he paused for a moment.

" to masturbate," he concluded.

I looked at him, waiting for a punch line, but none was coming.

"Excuse me?" I said, wanting to make sure I hadn't misunderstood him.

"Masturbate," he repeated, "What do you younger people call it? Jacking off, jerking off, wanking."

"I see," I said, unsure of what to do or say next.

"I am sorry, I have made you uncomfortable. I knew I shouldn't have said anything. I think it's best if I go now," Jack said as he was about to get up and leave.

"Every day for 17 years, in the same spot?" I asked, not wanting him to leave.

"It's not that I don't jack off in other places, but yes; I don't think I've missed three days in all those years," he replied as he sat back down.

"Why here?" I asked.

"There's no deeper meaning or romantic story behind this location, if that's w