Tag Archives: libido

different worlds

As a 40-something divorcee, conversations about sex / libido / hormones are pretty much a daily occurrence. I’ve had girlfriends tell me of times when their need / drive / desire was so powerful and urgent that they’ve pulled over to the side of the road while driving to manually relieve themselves. One girlfriend reports that her friends sometime act as scouts, even once sending a 21-year old man to her home, sight unseen, for a house call. (I wonder how that conversation goes?)

While I can’t claim to have pulled off to the side of the road for a quick masturbatory session or that any friends have delivered fresh meat to my front door, I can relate to the feelings of frequent powerful and urgent lust (even if they somehow seemed to disappear during most of the dates I went on over the summer). In fact, the ultimate fantasy du jour is to be passionately making out in the elevator with my prospective lover and, upon reaching the destination floor — whether a hotel room or flat — barely make it into the room before he slams me against the wall, tears off my panties (if I’m wearing any) and impales me.

In other words, “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” sounds not just okay, but ideal to me right now. After that, I’m open to whatever gentle touch or tenderness that might happen. Getting it done is the primary objective.

Some of my friends, many of them married, like to live vicariously through my dating stores. But recently I reconnected with a friend who made me realize that the raging 40-something libido is not an universal experience, even among singles. At only a few years younger than me, this girlfriend has gone through some lady hormonal stuff that’s essentially made her body chemistry the equivalent of a post-menopausal woman. She does not experience or share this raging, animalistic desire I have to rip off a man’s clothes and climb his tree.

In fact, her reality is quite different from that vision:  She’s never been what I would consider particularly conventional, but now she realizes the fall-in-love-get-married-make-babies path will never unfold for her. Looking for love has been an exercise in ambivalence these past few years. She thought she’d moved back to the midwest to realize all those things — settle down, make a home and a life, have children. Meanwhile, her heart wasn’t fully in it because of feelings for a man already in her life, albeit across the globe.

So this recent diagnosis (learning that she won’t be able to get pregnant without medical intervention) has changed her entire outlook. She hasn’t experienced the sort of hormonal demands or libidinous passions that I attempt to moderate (modulate? manage?) on a daily basis, but enjoys a healthy physical dimension to her relationship. Knowing that the traditional fairytale narrative of a relationship / marriage / family is not part of her reality has freed her to more fully embrace her relationship with a man who has not only celebrated his 70th birthday, but also lives on another continent. A few weeks ago, they celebrated their five-year anniversary.

My girlfriend acknowledges how unconventional all this is and, in fact, she’s not even “out” in her workplace about this relationship for fear of how differently she might be perceived. Yet their families have fully embraced them, and I support her happiness in whatever form it comes.

But where we are biologically or along our life paths? It’s as if we occupy entirely different worlds!

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obsessed

I am completely obsessed with the thought of bedding a guy I know. I mean to the point of distraction. I mentioned my libido, right?!

I want to rub my hands on his stubbly jaws; I want to kiss his lips; I want to tear off his clothes and get at least as kinky as I’ve ever been. And maybe more. I’m practically drooling at the thought! He’s not the best looking, he doesn’t have the best body, we don’t even have crazy chemistry. I simply want what I want. And I think we’d have fun. I bet it would be really hot!

But I don’t know if he wants me, too. And I’m having a crisis of confidence. I don’t know how or whether to let him know, to flirt or to be direct.

Furthermore, I don’t know how he feels about me. He’s said some nice things in the past, but never made any real moves… Perhaps more critically, I don’t know how I feel about him. I mean, I don’t know if I can separate my physical desire from my emotions. If — no, when — it happens, will I be able to simply enjoy him in the moment? Or will I wish for more? If I developed deeper feelings, how would he feel about that?

And so, for now, I remain transfixed with the thought…

…except when I’m thinking of bedding the other guys who are also on my mind.


withdrawal

I suppose it was inevitable that my body would begin to go through withdrawal symptoms.

I mean, this has been my weekend:  I felt sick, I pulled myself together for a single family outing (presumably for the sole purpose of listening to two hours of bickering), I overdosed on hot Tang and Netflix and, finally, today I’ve awoken with swollen lymph nodes, an even sorer sore throat and a seemingly incurable case of 40-year-old divorcee libido.

In fact, the dream from which I awoke was distinguished in my personal history by the vast number of naked bodies and penises that graced it. Room after white room of naked bodies languidly sprawled on white-dressed beds, like multiple Calvin Klein underwear ads occurring simultaneously, but without the underwear. Yes, there were naked women, too, but the naked men and their generously sized semi-erect members (member — who ever thought of that euphemism, anyway?!) were the dominant feature of my dream. The bodies appeared artfully arranged and were seemingly both post coital and ready to serve. I wandered from room to room, greeted by the occasional unashamed acquaintance…and then I awoke. Horny.

Here we have a situation 80s hair band Cinderella so eloquently sang about in their ballad, “Don’t Know What You Got (Until It’s Gone).” In other words, over the past several months, I’ve had the luxury of forgetting entirely what it’s like to be sexually unfulfilled. It was a luxury (along with so many others, like feeling loved and appreciated, for example) that I appreciated. Yet that doesn’t ease the urgency or pain of what I’m missing now.

Of course this is just one of many things I do and will miss about being in a relationship and the gentleman with whom I was involved, specifically. But that doesn’t make it any easier to manage these unfulfilled desires, at least not in the short term…at least while I’m out of the habit of replenishing my battery supply.


in favor of love

It’s a daily struggle for me to balance my raging 40-year-old libido with my greater desire for meaningful connection and partnership.

While it’s tempting to revel in the hedonistic pleasures of casual sex, I am trying to stay focused on the long-term. I’m saying no to casual offers in order to nurture my deeper desires. On a spiritual level, I’m demonstrating to the universe what’s important to me and asking for support in attracting my soul mate. In essence, I’m energetically “voting” for something more meaningful. On a purely physical level, this can be maddening.

I found myself tested a couple of days ago, while driving home from my Chicago vacation. A (married, with a hall pass) male friend texted me, “Read your blog. You deserve better.” He was referring to Chi-guy, of course. He then volunteered to give me a massage that very evening (he is professionally trained), an offer that was likely to lead to some very fuzzy boundaries at the least and several guilt-inducing orgasms at most. (Imagine me, raised in neither the Jewish nor Catholic traditions, feeling guilt! It’s a feeling that has eluded me most of my life.) Whether with a married or single man, it would be easy to allow such a dalliance to distract me from what I really want.

So I made a different choice:  I called a new friend and asked him to meet me for a late movie, leaving out any mention of the misbehavior from which he might be saving me. Instead, we opted for conversation on the lovely patio of an historic restaurant in an old neighborhood…and I daresay the stimulating conversation was more satisfying, though in an entirely different way, than that hot night of sex I may have missed out on.