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Book Feature: Cocktales: An After-50 Dating Memoir

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CocktalesTitle: Cocktales: An After-50 Dating Memoir
Author: Morgan Malone
Publisher: Turquoise Morning Press
Pages: 264
Genre: Romantic Memoir

An After-50 Dating Memoir…or Eight Years, around Eighty Men, but not nearly Eight Thousand Kisses.

There I was. Approaching 50, widowed for 15 years, alone for all that time, except for two kids, one dog, a full-time legal career, a house, a mortgage, some dear friends…and a wish. I just wanted to feel like a woman one more time. Not “Mom.” Not “Your Honor.” Not “Sis.” But, a desirable and desired woman.

I knew I wouldn’t, couldn’t fall in love again. My heart was buried in a grave in Brooklyn. But, I could offer a sense of humor, big blue eyes and intelligent conversation. I wasn’t sure about kissing or anything else; it had been a long time and I was not sure that sex was like riding a bike (which I could no longer do, given a bad knee and too many extra pounds). I was willing to try. Would anyone be interested?

To my surprise, the cyber-world was full of men like me; men who were looking for a second chance at love or lust, with a real woman, a woman just like me.

Cocktales is the true story of my adventures and misadventures in the world of online dating. It is full of practical advice (never wear knee-high hose on a first date, NEVER), giggles, groans and my growth as a woman. I cried a few tears, I made plenty of mistakes, but I also made many friends. I even fell in love.

Join me on my journey. It is a roller-coaster ride I think you will enjoy.

For More Information

  • Cocktales: An After-50 Dating Memoir is available at Amazon.
  • Pick up your copy at Barnes & Noble.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

Book Excerpt:

Right before my forty-ninth birthday, I asked my husband if he minded if I had sex with another man. He didn’t answer me, so I persisted.

“Listen, I’m almost fifty years old, I know. Who would want me? I’ve had two kids and a hysterectomy. I’ve got stretch marks, scars and cellulite. And I know I need to lose at least fifty pounds.”

No response.

“It’s been a long dry spell, you know. Almost fifteen years. I think I’m entitled to at least one more orgasm that doesn’t come from something powered by a nine-volt battery.”

Still nothing.

“Okay, then, I take your silence to mean I am on my own in this. You don’t have an opinion one way or the other. Right?” Silence.

It was March and the Yankees were still in Spring Training so I knew so there were no distractions from current league standings or the pitching staff. His side of the bed was ghostly quiet. And empty. He had been dead for almost fifteen years.

I talked to him all the time. Not every minute of the day, but an ongoing dialogue in my head where I kept him informed of the day-to-day minutiae of our lives. I announced major developments then I waited for an answer. Call me crazy, but there were times when I heard his response in my head as clearly as if he had just spoken directly in my ear.

Sometimes, like now, there was nothing. Figure it out for yourself.

So, I turned out the light and sent a silent prayer Heavenward. “God, just once before I am over fifty, let me have sex with a man who wants me, let me remember how to do it. And let me feel. Amen.”

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