Immaculate

Judy was 57 years old when she discovered she was pregnant. Judy did not worry about her age; she had heard of a 70 year old Indian woman who gave birth to twins. Judy did not worry that she did not have the financial means or the time to care for a child; since her divorce 2 and a half years ago, she had been collecting alimony checks and was well taken care of. No, what Judy was concerned with was the fact that since her divorce 2 and a half years ago, she had not had sex. Not that Judy had not tried to have a fling, because she had. She spent every Saturday night for the last year and nine months putting on her tightest dress and highest heels, painting her face with so many powders, creams, and shadows that it even concealed her personality (conversation was not one of Judy's priorities). She sat at the bar of the Plaza Hotel, eyeing the businessmen in three piece suits wandering through the bar, waiting for a weary traveler to kindly ask for a rest in her bosom. Just one night with a man leaving in the morning, the rush of sneaking out post coitus, the blisters on her feet from being in stilettos too long; this was all Judy wanted. However, each and every Saturday night spent at the bar, eyeing men from beneath her heavy mascara, Judy went home horny and alone. Now, as she sat on the examining cushion in the doctor's office, crinkling the paper with every rise and fall of a hairy thigh, Judy had to accept the doctor's news that she had, in fact, conceived a child. Judy was not worried that her home was not big enough for a nursery, because it was. Judy did not worry that New York was an unsafe place to raise a child; she was raised in the City and as far as she can remember, her childhood was above average. No, what Judy was concerned with was the fact that her doctor's ass looked incredibly firm in his slacks, and she was incredibly horny.