Long-term Sex

Gustav Klimt, "The Kiss", visipix.com
Gustav Klimt, “The Kiss”, visipix.com

I didn’t brush my teeth or take a shower or get dressed today until after 3:00 pm. so I felt like I was in college again.

My husband tells me that this part of my life is long gone; But what he really means is that the young woman who liked to fool around with lots of different men is gone. “You couldn’t do that anymore,” he says.  “You wouldn’t like it.”

After 25+ years, he thinks he’s ruined me for other men; And the truth is, he’s probably right. (But don’t tell him that. I’m still playing hard to get.)

I loved the game back then. The power. The chase. The seduction. The tossing aside. The moving on.

A couple years back, an old flame and I got together for an evening. We fell right into the banter of our youth, but had to leave our favorite bar because we couldn’t hear each other. Instead we walked. Sober. And talked. About our lives, our families, our spouses. And we stumbled upon something odd.

Despite the fact that both of us had been terrified of commitment, of surrendering our freedom, particularly our sexual freedom (I refused to look at engagement rings with my sweetheart; he almost left his on the altar), we found that sex, within our long, long partnerships, had only gotten better.

“Better than ever,” we both offered, surprised.

There must be something to sticking around, we realized; though I don’t think either of us would claim that good sex equals a satisfying marriage. I know couples having great sex lives who are otherwise miserable with one another, and couples who are seemingly content without any sex at all.  That said, a good sex–happy marriage combo is hard to beat.

Still, I’d be willing to challenge my husband that the girl of my youth is completely gone. In fact, I caught a glimpse of her in the city when I was free-wheeling it with a friend. We found a Tequila bar around the corner from where we were staying and after two drinks at dinner, I was ready the wild woman inside of me was awakened, but first she had to pee.

On the toilet, I felt that familiar warm and oozy feeling of a bathroom break in the middle of tying one on. But when I stood up, I was completely shocked. There, in the full-length mirror in front of me was a middle-aged woman.

It was time to call it a night.

As much as I loved the fun of playing around in my youth, I was never fulfilled, especially since much of what I was about was running from pain.  The woman I am now has much higher expectations of fun. It has to feel good–inside & out–body, mind & soul.


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