Coming back to writing for the first time since high-school. Would love your opinion

Hey crew. Just a bit of background. As a kid and all through school I loved writing, and was good at it. All my teachers thought I would be a writer of some kind, but since I left (I'm now 27) I haven't really touched it.

I would love for any opinions on my writing style as I am feeling very rusty. The following is the start of an idea I am playing around with about a man who is discovered to have semen with the ability to rejuvenate those who ingest it (one way or the other). It sounds a bit far fetched but I am thinking it could lead to a very dark tale. Anyway here it is so far:

The woman that walked up the steps had sad eyes. There was a time that she would have ascended those steps with the confidence of someone that knows they are desired. The walk of a woman that can feel the stare of a hundred hungry male eyes, filled with lust and perversion. The way that she walked now was very different. Each step now was weighed down with the memory of lost beauty. Time had touched her with its heavy hand, and its touch brought pain. It brought the pain of arthritis, evident in each slow step. It brought the pain of a husband who no longer desired her, who fell asleep beside her each night with thoughts of his new secretary. And it brought the pain of need. The aching need to be touched, to be wanted, to have someone look at her and feel something other than pity.

The woman had been saving. Stealing might be a more accurate word as her husband possessed no knowledge of the hundreds of thousands of dollars that she had been diverting to a secret account. He wouldn’t miss it of course. The man had more money than he could ever spend, born from decades of underhanded deals, boardroom handshakes and complete lack of conscience. She had started saving many years ago, shortly after the news reports began. Miracle, sin, perversion, medical wonder – the newspapers had used a variety of words to describe the discovery. The woman saw hope. She saw a chance to become the girl again, that predator than made men forget themselves and boys break into sweats.

She was approaching her sixtieth decade. Her skin, once porcelain and smooth, was now marred by a pattern of spots and marks. Her breasts were supported by a beige brassiere, the kind that was sold in Wal-Mart for $2.99. The woman that walked up the steps had sad eyes. She was about to suck a man’s cock.