I do not care if I am no longer fuckable because, at 59 years old, I do not want to have sex again. I am SO done.
My question is: why is this so hard for people, men in particular, to accept and understand?
There are millions of 'older' women out there who do not give a toss about having a sex life. Seriously, there can't be many 55-plus women who really want to have sex, and are still titillated by lusty thoughts?
Although I am sure there are some who just go through the motions for the sake of keeping a husband or long-term partner happy.
I reckon when we have kids, we no longer want sex. Our libido dies because that is what nature intended. And then we just pretend and give duty fucks in exchange for a relationship and companionship. I shudder at the thought of being jabbed away at by some man. Am I alone here?
But here is what pisses me off. I asked Google if women my age still wanted sex, and the medical sites came back at me, suggesting there is something wrong with my body, and I need to take hormones and have therapy. There was a lot of talk about atrophied vaginas and dry, thin walls, which made my own private parts clench in horror.
I have no idea about the state of my vagina since the last time I paid it any attention was after a cycling adventure without padded bike shorts and I ended up with blisters INSIDE my flapping bits.
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Does it mean I am less of a woman if I say I have closed the downstairs playroom? Perimenopause snuffed out the remaining embers of sexual interest, yet doctors speak of women who don’t want sex as “dysfunctional”, with implications there is a mental or physical issue that needs to be addressed.
Some websites told me to look at sex as exercise – horrible to start with, but once done, you feel great. Really? Last time I tried it I was irritated because I was missing the start of a new season on Doc Martin and my hot chocolate went cold.
Yet the intimation is that all natural, healthy women want sex, no matter what their age, so I am in some way lacking – either mentally, physically or hormonally.
I am not stressed. I am happy. I have lots of time. I am in perfect health. But I just don’t want to be that damn intimate with anyone.
I have been deeply in love a few times in my life and sharing our bodies was a further way of bonding our minds. But for me, the thrill was in being desired, of being thought sexy. The actual act was pleasant but not as good as lying together afterwards, cuddling and chatting into the night. Hand holding and hugs are my present love language, and romance would consist of sitting on the couch or the bed together with our limbs entangled while we read, watch TV or simply talk.
Like many women, I need to be in love to have a deep heart connection, in order to feel desire. And my primary turn-on is to be desired, loved, cared for and cherished. The actual poke and thrust and sweat and grunting... yeah, not so much.
I put a shout-out to my social media friends – loads of us on the downward slope of life – and my 'no thank you' to sex resonated with many married women eager to hunt down and throttle scientists who thought Viagra was a good idea.
Us older single women were just so relieved to not have that onerous duty to endure, even though it meant we had to forsake possibilities of companionship and affection. That said, having perused what is on offer on the dating sites for women of my age, it appears more like a recruiting site for free domestic help, nursing care and financial assistance, so perhaps I'm not missing out much there either.
Big congratulations to the women who found love later in life and are enjoying (yes, they assure me that this is the word) a resurgence of their libido and having the best sex of their lives. With the help of HRT and lubricants, they are genuinely finding they have more time with less pressure to focus on leisurely and truly fulfilling love-making. I must take their word that they have not mistaken their desire for sex for their love of being loved, just like others have to believe me when I tell them the thought of sex at this life stage repulses me.
I miss hugging someone and burrowing into their armpit, skin-to-skin contact and spooning in bed. Most of all, I would like to have someone of my very own who is always there as an anchor. But if it means I have to trade the privacy of my genitals to get this, then I am out, because I don’t want the rest that badly. I have a dog for companionship and unconditional love. I have sons, sisters and brothers for family. And when I get older, I plan to live in a commune with all my heart sisters where we will care for each other in old age, share company and enjoy our retirement years with adventures and good times – but no sex, thank you.
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