Sex after 50? The Drought (Part III)

By Mary Kingsley

When I say in Sex after 50? Yes, Please (Part I) that it had been a very long time since I’d “been with” a man, we’re talking years. Several years. This is not from a conscious choice, mind you; it just sort of happened.

After my husband died, dating was the furthest thing from my mind, apart from a few glimpses into the world of online dating, which seemed very disappointing.

It wasn’t that I didn’t ever want to be in a relationship again or marry again; it just didn’t seem to be within the realm of possibility.

My life was full of coping – coping with raising my kids, coping with money troubles, coping with relatives, coping with my own moods and attempts at normalcy.

I didn’t feel attractive, and I didn’t feel attracted. To anybody.

Other widows I know have been through the same thing, which belies all those widowhood books I read which claimed that the majority of those widowed young (before the age of 50) remarry within 2-5 years. I didn’t see how that could possibly be.

So I lived my life, and I didn’t go out much. But as my kids grew up and out, I started to lift my head up and look around a little more.

I tried some things I’d never tried before. I went to some new places. The world had carried on without me, it seemed, and I’d been missing out.

When I finally met my fella, I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. While I felt too old for a “fling” in the proper sense of the word, I also didn’t expect to find my soulmate in the first relationship in such a very long time.

But we clicked, as I wrote in The Big Date (Part II). What I found really surprising was how much a physical relationship fulfilled my deep emotional need.

Before I had even thought to utter the “L” word, I felt loved.

Being caressed and kissed and hugged made me feel both loved and lovable again. And that was the greatest discovery.

Sex at this age was no longer just about sex for me; it was about feeling that very important human connection.

I was lucky to find someone who needed and wanted that as much as I did, and who was just as good at giving as he was at receiving (if not more so).

Many friends around my age (married and single alike) have confided to me that they are no longer interested in sex.

Although I totally get that, especially since I managed to live without it for the better part of ten years, I still feel that it’s sad they have lost any interest in sex.

Not because I think it’s essential for everyone to be at it like rabbits, but I’m concerned that these amazing, lovable women may be deprived of that very human need to be touched and to feel loved. That’s what I don’t want anyone to lose, at any age.

And I intend to embrace it (and him!) fully.
So where are we headed? There are a few more things to tell you in Part IV.

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Sex after 50? The Big Date (Part II)

By Mary Kingsley

Granted, it was not a glamorous place to rekindle my sex life – a low budget motel – to avoid the logistical difficulties we both had at our homes. You don’t usually reach our age without children or whatever other complications we all have. But it was still exciting, and perhaps a bit more so because of the slightly seedy locale.

My soon-to-be lover and I had met a few months back, but only got a chance to have a real conversation a couple of weeks before, and we hit it off right away. His eyes sparkled with genuine interest, and we really enjoyed talking.

Follow that up with some friendly texting, getting more and more personal, until he finally just came right out and told me that he was interested in me. I was blown away.

My recent experiences with men had been less than satisfactory – most seemed reluctant to get involved, and scared of any personal revelations, much less emotional entanglements. But he just came right out and told me he was attracted to me.

Apparently there is no greater aphrodisiac than forthright declarations of desire! I was intrigued. And aroused.

We met for a normal “date,” hugged, and had a long talk.

Outside as we walked along, I decided that I didn’t want to wait for the uncomfortable end-of-date “will we kiss?” moment (Anybody see Annie Hall?), so I just grabbed him and went for it.

Turns out that’s a good way of letting a fellow know you’re interested.

So we started talking about sex. And sharing via text some of our desires (“sexting,” as the kids call it).

We both shared that it had been a while. In my case, a long while. We both admitted that we were nervous, but willing to give it a go. I expressed how awkward I might feel.

“Let’s feel awkward together,” he suggested. What a guy!

So we set the date, and I went through my preparations. (As I talked about in Love after 50? Yes, Please (Part I)).

I had a lot of ideas about things I wanted to do with this man and I hoped I had the nerve to do them.

It turns out that with age comes some good things. Despite the ravages of time, babies and gravity, my body seemed to be desirable to him. This man had realistic expectations for people our age.

The other good thing was that I had far fewer inhibitions about what I was willing to do and talk about. I was not afraid to ask for what I wanted.

After arriving at the motel and a bit of welcoming canoodling, I wanted to change into my outfit and impress him with my preparations. Unfortunately, the sink and mirror were located not IN the bathroom, but just outside it!

So much for my big plans of making sure I looked perfect, head to toe. I had to wing it.
I put on my black slinky lingerie. Just wearing something that made me look sexy also made me FEEL sexy, both desired and full of desire. I headed out of the little bathroom.

My mani-pedi looked great. But I still felt nervous.

Then I saw his face. Big smile. He looked me up and down.

“Wow,” he said.

I was thrilled. I stepped forward. But instead of heading straight into the kiss-and-grope mode,

I wanted to let him know that I had an adventurous side.

I had asked him to get a bucket of ice. Presumably this was for our drinks, as we’d both brought snacks and adult beverages.  But I had other ideas. I asked him to grab an ice cube and directed him to follow my lead.

It turns out that years of physical inactivity had allowed me plenty of time for exercising my imagination. I enjoyed letting my wild side come out of hibernation. It was remarkably exciting if a bit chilly!  

I was not sure what possessed me to be so bossy and daring, but I loved it. And, very clearly, so did he.

The rest of the night was very memorable. Not perfect, mind you – there were some awkward moments. But overall, it became clear that we both wanted the same things: love, sex, affection, and fun. And those things were all within our grasp.

So I encourage you, Sisters – take charge of your sex lives!

Wear things that make you feel sexy and good.

Ask for what you want.

Be bold.

Chances are, you will get a very good response!

Can this level of excitement last once we’ve had a chance to get used to each other? Find out in Sex after 50? The Drought (Part III).

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Sex after 50? Yes, Please. (Part I)

By Mary Kingsley
There I was, standing in an aisle of my local Fantasy Gifts store, looking at lingerie for the first time in over ten years.

Did I feel awkward? Hell, yeah.

Why Fantasy Gifts, instead of the pricier Victoria’s Secret at my local mall? I did give this careful thought.

For one thing, this Fantasy Gifts is located in a seldom-used, sad-looking strip mall, where very few people wander around during the day. I could easily park down the street, walk casually along and then duck in the door when I was sure nobody would see me (wearing dark glasses).

My experience of shopping at Victoria’s Secret years ago, back when I considered lingerie as a way to enhance and show off what I had rather than trying to hide it, was quite different. There were nosy sales associates offering help constantly.

There were giggly teenagers looking at the Sale table for panties while I tried to peruse some of the more racy items on a rack nearby. And truth be told, my tastes run just slightly trashier than your average tasteful lingerie store.

I didn’t want lacy, cutesy stuff. I wanted a racy black (or red) body stocking, no crotch and a mostly open, lace-up behind. I wanted partly see through in all the right places.

I’m not going for demure young super model when I shop for this sort of thing. I’m going for mature woman who knows what she wants and is damn well gonna get it.

Once inside, I saw that there was a young man shopping in a different, more interesting area of the store, who shot me an occasional inquisitive glance. Don’t make eye contact with a guy looking for bondage stuff.

But I stood my ground; I wanted this.

I had a date. A real date.

A date that I knew would lead to… IT. 

We had done enough sexting to make that crystal clear. (Yes, people over 50 can sext, too.)

And I was desperate for something sexy, both to make me feel more desirable, and to cover up what I perceived as my flaws.

Since it had been such a long time (for many reasons I’ll explain in another segment), I was exceedingly nervous. I was pretty sure I remembered what went where. 

Being over 50, you could say I’ve been around the block once or twice. But I felt very unsure of myself andalso worried about my appearance.

I wanted to get a response – I wanted to show myself off to the fellow in question and get a “wow” response – I wanted him to be eager to get his hands on me. It made me a bit tingly just thinking about it.

To accomplish the effect I wanted, I had an entire day of planning ahead of me. I had to do, as Joan Rivers used to call it in her comedy routine about visits to the gynecologist, “the big shave” – of course in those days I doubt she was referring to the Brazilian now so much in vogue.

I was not willing to go quite that far, but simply going all the way up the legs. For now.

And I had a mani-pedi scheduled as well, especially as I rarely do anything to make my feet look nice.

But I had to get these purchases out of the way first, then try them on at home.
The very innocuous looking middle-aged lady running the cash register looked over at me kindly.

“Can I help you find anything?” she asked, in a much louder tone than I preferred.

“Um, yes,” I began, nearly at a whisper. “Do you know if these sizes tend to run large or small?”

She offered their ramshackle fitting “rooms” (more like scantily curtained booths, really) to try on the various bustiers, etc., but I was not willing to try anything on there. I’d rather risk buying something that didn’t fit (“NO RETURNS,” the sign said, and the cashier reminded me).

I settled on a couple of items that looked like they might be somewhat forgiving (and also hide the bits I was most worried about covering up) and gingerly walked over to the counter. I peered around; fortunately the young man had left, and there were no other customers on this weekday morning.

“It’s been a while,” I offered to the lady as she rang up my purchases.

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “You know, I used to worry about my weight and all too, and I used to try and cover myself up. But my boyfriend just laughs at me. He says he just likes to see me without a stitch on! They know what we’ve got, honey, and they want to see it!”

I laughed nervously. But it turned out she was right. Find out how in Sex after 50? The Big Date (Part II).

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