The longing for sex

means I am still very much here

even though you aren't.

****

Do you get enough?  Sex I mean... I know I don’t.  Of course there might be a good reason I don’t.  I’m just having trouble thinking what it is.  Hah-hah...I know, I know.

Seriously, there were the early days of my sex life which had a rather auspicious beginning.  I won’t bother to give ink to it again, because I am 48 years past that non-defining preview of male rage.  I don’t wear the victim badge, and frankly, it doesn’t look good on anyone day after day.  I’m so over it.  I was a victim for about ten minutes, a few times over the years, but I hated being one, so I stopped.  Many can't, and I would say to them you are missing out on a whole bunch of life by living with that "Hello I Am A Victim" name badge on.  But hey, we are all different, so I won't tell you how to live your life if you don't expect me to live mine your way.  Fair enough?  It has to be, I won't be listening otherwise.

Back to the subject at hand, this just-emerging sexuality of mine. Someone once said to me, after I had a particularly satisfying multi-orgasmic moment, “Once the floodgates are opened you can’t get enough.”  That my friends is an understatement.

I’d say you could ask my husband, but sadly my latest reference is silent now.  But I can tell you we had a very mutually satisfying, long term sex-life.

I find it depressing, this missing element of instant availability of sex whether I want it or not.  It is getting to be a real drag.  Look, I’m only recently a without my sexual partner of 30 years, he died....but I didn’t.  Yes, I am feeling someone numb overall, but there are these moments of longing, of wanting to be touched, to feel loved...and yes, to be sexually desirable.  I have been looking over at the empty side of my bed for nearly three months now.  Not exactly a long time, but if you are staring at a smooth, un-rumpled, unresponsive side of the bed longingly, it can feel like an eternity.  No laughter, no conversation, no compliments, no snoring...nothing but a vast wasted space where my sexuality had been lavishing itself for so long.

It is only human, only right, yet why must I feel like I have some sort of silent schedule of grieving which dictates how or with whom and when it is appropriate for me to express this empty, not always openly discussed side of widowhood?  Well maybe it has been discussed, I haven’t really looked.  But after having available sex for years...heck who am I kidding, decades... I miss it.

I read of all of these internet dates some of you are slogging through...and well, I guess I haven’t come to a point where I feel I even want to go there.  I don’t want to date, I don’t want to play GILTF (grandmother I would love to f***), I’m way past that cougar thing in reality...I’m more like a seasoned olive.    I’m slightly salty, but like a fine martini I would be sitting there, tempting, waiting, soaking up my surroundings waiting to be savored when the moment is right.  Well, I do have glimpses of that olive slipping through the fog and numbness.

I’d be lying if I said I had not been with many lovers over my life, but I also would be lying if I said they were all good at it.  Hello...the numbers may be staggering, but paid for sex meant to me they got off, not me.  So the actual fun part of sex for me means I have had much less than the numbers might suggest.

I actually tried extrapolating how much maleness I had accommodated over my lifetime...and what I ended up was devising a formula, which I could then convert to a number that would correspond in some kind of term people could understand.  For example: average size penis in inches x number, divided  by 12 inches x three=Yards converted into...football fields.  This is thinking outside of the box.  (I also tried mileage, but that scared me off so I can only imagine how a guy would feel.)  But football fields had a more guy friendly sound to it.

I could just see my ad on C-List:  

Woman with medium amount of turf has lived her life Green, recycled, and reused, much to the delight of the many running backs and passers.  Practice made perfect.  DD free.  (That also would refer to my boob size too.) Good passing skills, so need an expert receiver.  Not a defensive player, prefer to play a tie game, perhaps some overtime, but no sudden death.  No paying customers, and I for sure will not pay. No mind games, please.  Just out of a long term contract which expired.  Still wants to play, but play fair.

I doubt it would be that easy.  I suppose the mere fact I am even thinking in terms of needing some human touch means I am slowly climbing out of my protective shell, maybe not entirely ready, but aware there is more to my life and I should be acknowledging it.  The whole thing boils down to finding myself attracted to a man.  I have already felt the twinge of desire.  I’m awakening again.  Scary but necessary is my conclusion.  I have no idea how to approach this next time of life, except to say I have always done what feels right for me...sometimes making a mistake, but this just means always a learning opportunity.

If I have learned anything in my life, it is that life actually begins with the human touch, and without it we cannot thrive.  I need to thrive.   I need to give, as well as receive.  I may be rusty on knowing how to go about finding it, but the new world order applies especially to my life now, and like so many others in this predicament, I’ll adapt or die trying.  In the mean time, I shall pay attention to what my body is asking for...no, what it is starting to demand.  I’m sure the answer to this dilemma will arrive as suddenly as the question appeared.