This is a line I lifted from my Medium.com online buddy Ann Litts, from her story https://medium.com/@annlitts/the-fucks-i-do-not-give-fa7865f02eb.
Let’s be clear here. Ann’s 58. I’m 65. At what point do you stop having fun? Stop having sex? At what point does our youth-obsessed society get to dictate to us when it’s really weird or awkward or uncomfortable or inappropriate for people of a Certain Age to cease rolling around in the sheets?
First of all, never. That’s my answer. I’m with Ann.
Second, my own mother suffered from this very thing.
In one of the extremely rare moments during which she discussed sex with me long after I had turned forty (she most certainly NEVER spoke of sex to me before that), she admitted that she’d never had an orgasm.
Dear god. Really? By the time she let this one fly she’d had a couple of very large margaritas, which usually loosened her tongue enough to allow us both to thoroughly enjoy her extraordinary gift for storytelling.
Not once in her long, long life did she ever have an orgasm. She died of old age at 91.
NINETY ONE YEARS AND NOT A SINGLE ORGASM.
Forgive me but that is fucking criminal.
Mom told me that when she felt an urge, or any kind of excitement “down there,” she would press her hand against her lady parts until it died down. Suppress it, rather than explore it. Here’s just a part of what she missed out on: https://www.floliving.com/top-10-health-benefits-of-orgasm-for-women/
Several weeks ago the BF and I were playing hard, and I had five orgasms. FIVE.
I double-damn-well guarantee you that every single woman on my bucolic little street walking by with their dog when all this noise is coming out of my basement window is thinking “I’ll have what she’s having,” a la When Harry Met Sally.
Didja miss that? See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0OeM6UUAoI
Now, look. My mother’s generation- and she was born in 1911- didn’t speak about sex. Her parents most certainly had enough to produce seven kids. Mom could be ribald and hugely funny about sex but she had never fully enjoyed it.
Ninety-one years and not a single orgasm.
That says a lot about my father, on one hand, but it says a lot more about my mother.
A woman’s capacity for orgasms, as I keep finding out, is pretty extraordinary. However, that begins with knowing our own bodies first, and not being either embarrassed or ashamed to explore it to find out what works. Many of us (my hand is up here) need a little “mechanical help” in this department. So what? And this matters why?
In no way do I enjoy my BF any less because what works for me and my body- because of the way I happen to be constructed- is a little help on the side. He’s utterly delighted that I have found what works for me and isn’t the least threatened or embarrassed or feels any less a man in that department.
In fact, he’s the one who squires me around the local sex toy shop (where, by the way, the customer service is terrific, and FAR better than any other store in town) and pays for whatever I pick out. He wears a certain pair of jeans that for me, are as sexy as a bright red bodycon dress and fishnets are for him. What do you do for your partner? Shy of anything demeaning or hurtful, the exquisite world of sexual exploration covers a vast Universe. My mother never, ever went there with her own body.
I ache for her. She never gave herself permission to enjoy her own body.
Regular, powerful, back-arching orgasms are one reason I am so vibrant at 65. Don’t think so? Please read: https://www.consumerhealthdigest.com/female-sexual-health/sex-makes-you-look-younger-and-beautiful.html
None of Your GD Business
I read a few posts online where people excoriated a man for not enjoying oral sex. First of all, who gives a shit about your opinion when it comes to someone else’s sexual habits? What transpires between two consenting adults is up to them. Finding sexual pleasure and what works is a journey, and it’s as unique to each of us and our partners as our fingerprints. Our likes and dislikes are as varied as our body types.
As George Carlin once riffed, “Two consenting adults who dress up in bunny suits and beat each other over the head with ball peen hammers and take turns blowing the cat don’t hurt anyone else. And besides, think of how good the cat feels!”
Being Healthy Helps a LOT
As a 65-year-old athlete, a great deal of my time is spent doing everything I can to be healthy and vibrant. That ranges from bodybuilding to kickboxing to running to kayaking, cycling, mountain climbing, running stairs, the list goes on and on. In fact, I work out about four times as much as the BF who was, in his twenties, a champion all-natural bodybuilder. He hits the gym daily, sometimes twice, and is in superb shape at 49. I love this man’s body. We both eat carefully, enjoy the occasional piece of chocolate or cheese popcorn, but are dedicated to healthy habits.
That pays off in the sack big time. What really works, though, is that we talk and listen to each other. If I ask for something I get it. If he tells me something he likes, he gets it. That mutual regard for each other’s preferences and feelings leads to a high level of trust as well as an exquisite experience. We are after each other all the time. It’s a huge part of our relationship, which is one reason that he’s here at my house instead of chasing skirts a great deal younger. This has been going on for nearly eleven years. That I still get the chills when I hear his car in my driveway says a great deal about this connection.
Mom never had that. In her eighties, after Dad died of smoking-related cancer, she began dating on old family friend. Four decades of absolutely nothing with my father, and she had sex with this kind, lovely, attentive man on multiple occasions.
While she never spoke of her experiences to me, I knew my mother well enough to know that if she’d had orgasms, I was the only person she would have told about it. After a few margaritas, that is. She’d have told me with a huge grin on her face. That never happened.
You’d Better Keep Up
Anne Litts wrote me a very funny comment about a small South American town where the female centenarians dated men in their 60s because they were the only ones who could keep up with them. We agreed- it ain’t the yogurt (maybe it’s the quinoa?). What that tells me is that getting after a good old time in the sack is simply a celebration of life. A place of joy in a world where sometimes things can get challenging. The delicious release of orgasm and the wicked-good fun of a roll in the hay with someone whose body you enjoy are among the very best parts of life.
Why the hell should anyone ever give that up because of a Certain Age? Because a society is so youth-obsessed that they can’t even imagine old folks ripping it up behind closed doors? They think that’s gross? What’s gross is that anyone would consider giving up one of the greatest joys life has to offer because we happen to have a few grey pubes.
Our bodies are vehicles for our experiences in this life, which will fly by at warp speed fast enough without a little fun once in a while. They are ours to explore, push, experiment with, train, feed, and delight. Our bodies are not us and we are not our bodies- however, they are ours to use as we wish. They will return the favor of good maintenance, love, and respect many times over. I have no intention whatsoever of slowing down, but that takes an ongoing commitment to healthy living. That pays off in wicked good sex.
At 65. You’re damned right.
I told the BF last night about Ann Litts’ story about the centenarians. He looked at me with genuine surprise.
I said, “You’d better go hit the gym.”
That’s exactly where he is right now. He’d better. Because I’m going to nail his ass as soon as he walks back in the door.