Tag Archives: sex

dirty girl

I woke Sunday morning and pulled on the same clothing I’d worn out for cocktails with my lover the night before, brushed my teeth, finger-combed through my bed head and walked out the door to meet a friend for breakfast. I felt a little thrill, remembering those college walk-of-shame mornings so many years ago, and I reveled in the scents and sensations:  the taut dry feeling on my skin where our commingled fluids dried and his scent, our combined smells, clinging to my skin and clothing. I felt blissfully dirty and even a little slutty and I absolutely loved it.

living a double life

Most days, I am a mother, a corporate professional, a leader and an example. And then, every other weekend, while my children are away, I find more and more ways to express the sensual / sexual dimensions of my being.

The oldest of my children now has a “boyfriend,” is on the cusp of tweendom (experiencing the effects of hormones), and has begun to comprehend the suggestive humor and innuendo in certain media that flies over her younger sibling’s head. The media and other stimuli around us continually offers opportunities to frankly and candidly discuss sex and sexuality as a part of life and, particularly, as a dimension of health and wellbeing.

Meanwhile, I am honest about dating and wanting, eventually, to find a life partner.

Still, as open as I am, I feel as though I’m living a sort of double-life:  the matronly, pure-as-the-driven-snow mother figure and the slut. To wit, in the past several weeks and months, I’ve had several opportunities to consider the many aspects of that pleasure-seeking self that I’m most able to express only around 48-hours out of every two weeks:

  • When the woman who comes over to wax my brows last visited, I had her give me the French bikini treatment, as well. As we joked and laughed about grooming, tattoos and more, she mentioned that she’s done a lot of stenciling…hearts and stars and things. That got me thinking what sort of symbol I might want to stencil, if such a thing were to interest me…a peace symbol? No. “Welcome.” If only there were enough space / hair, I would create a welcome mat!
  • As I wrote previously, I was at a sex toy party not long ago, contemplating the kinds of gadgets that would not only enhance sessions with my lover and augment his collection, but also allow me to play and explore on my own. We learned that there are as many nerve endings in the anus as there are in the tip of the penis…(in case that gets your thoughts rolling, as it did mine). Recently, we had an opportunity to incorporate some of these new toys into our adventures…with mind-blowing results.
  • For entertainment, I seem to find myself drawn to titillating theater, cinematic or otherwise, such as the fairytale classic re-interpreted as a modern dance performance set in a bordello. Some such performances are merely fluffy and titillating, others are darker and more murky, such as the movie Shame. I find myself intrigued by the entire spectrum.
  • I’m still taking pole dancing classes, learning more off-the-pole sexy moves. Whether I’m ever brave enough to show any of them off remains to be proven!

I suppose what I mean to express is that, having been there, done that (in terms of marriage, family, divorce), I no longer feel the need for pretense:  unlike some of my younger, pre-marriage girlfriends, I’ve no need to play the role of “good girl.” (I’m not certain they really need to behave as if they’re “good girls,” either, but that’s another discussion.) I feel freer than ever to be the multi-dimensional woman — and human, both masculine and feminine — that I am.

And the more I explore pleasure on my weekends “off,” the more I feel a protective reaction — checking and re-checking to ensure I’ve packed all the toys away, for example, as it relates to allowing my children to mature at their own pace. Sometimes I catch myself sending a flirty text while in the vicinity of my children, and feel compelled to check from the corner of my eyes whether they’re seeing what I’m typing or picking up on the expression on my face.

My lover’s youngest is in high school. With his toy collection visible to anyone who opens his nightstand, he assumes his children have run across it. He has also had occasion to tell them that he has plans for the night and “don’t wait up.” Still, he feels this same duality between his regular role as parent / professional and sexual being.

We all compartmentalize; we all have boundaries between our personal, professional and parenting lives. Yet I wonder:  Will these selves, kept separate by necessity, ultimately merge into a whole, robust, multi-dimensional being? Sometimes I wonder, and I look forward to such a time when the expression of my whole self seems more fluid.

Meanwhile, I go about living this double life.

wherever I am

After I’d first had that famous conversation with my (at the time) prospective lover, I had two interesting follow-up conversations:

One was with my therapist, with whom I thought I should probably check in. After all, it’s been many moons. Her observation:  “If this is really all about sex for you, why does it already sound so much like a relationship?” Her advice:  “Get clear about what you want and then be clear about what you want. If you want to get the next ’50 Shades of Gray’ out of this, tell him that.”

The second was with my ex-boyfriend who, apparently having read my blog and feeling protective, called to say:  “I know you pretty well. And if you think you can do this without getting emotionally involved, you’re fooling yourself and you’re likely to get your heart hurt. I know it’s none of my business, but take care. You will get what you want; you just need to figure out what it is first.”

Now, having read these two snippets, imagine there’s a continuum between just sex and a relationship. I understand both of these; I’m not sure I understand what’s in between. In other words, I don’t know where on this continuum I am, or even if I’m on it. Or whether he is.

At one end is sex. You’ll recall this has been a bit of a driving motivation for the past few months years. Why? Because my forty-something body is at its prime, roughly the hormonal equivalent of a 19-year-old male, always eager. Yet, had I found just a sport f**k, I would have quickly become unsatisfied with the just of it.

At the other end of the continuum is a relationship. And, as much as I’d like a life-affirming one of these sometime down the road, I don’t feel at all ready for one at present.

Thus my conundrum:  Find a guy who’s a mere stud and bore of the lack of mental stimulation. Or find someone interesting and deal with the inevitable likelihood of developing feelings. I chose interesting. In other words, what I want is something in between sex and relationship…and, though I would tell you that dealing with ambiguity is a strength, it’s been more challenging for me to negotiate than I imagined it might be.

Labeling things, making judgements and categorizing are natural tricks our brains like to perform in order to move us through life efficiently. When we don’t have that sort of clarity, our brains like to fill in the gaps and will go through any amount of mental gymnastics to do so. It’s been fascinating and enlightening to observe my inner dialogue these days, the thoughts that drive my feelings. It would even be fair to say there have been some roller-coaster like emotions — enough to show me that I still have some healing to do. (That’s my stuff; I own it, and I’ve got to deal with it. That’s why I’m not ready or willing to inflict myself of another person in a relationship yet.)

And I’ve also witnessed enough of my own steadiness and resilience to see that many of my lessons — both personal and universal — have sunk in. I’m feeling pretty strong and solid (and also vulnerable) right where I’m at… Wherever that is.

mind. blown.

I’ve been deflowered. Again. I had chat sex for the first time.

Sure, I’ve fooled around before…I’ve exchanged sexy texts, enjoyed some heavy verbal petting over the phone, but I’d never gone all the way, in real-time, via electronic media. It was, while not as spectacular as I suspect the real thing will be, very sensual and thrilling. Let’s discuss further…

This sort of interaction requires a leap of faith that someone across some wires and / or space is going to dive in and get just as intimate, graphic, tender (or rough) and, yes, dirty. It was so easy in some ways — trust me, I’ve done all that and more in my mind already — yet challenging in that it demanded a certain amount of trust, openness, creativity and imagination. Ultimately, I found it strangely satisfying without… well, satisfying.

I was so close to actually seeing him, hearing his voice say my name, feeling his touch! Perhaps one could describe it as analogous to tasting wine, then spitting it out:  some of your senses are engaged — you see, smell and taste, but you don’t actually get to feel the warmth as it goes down your throat. Instead, your mind fills in the blanks.

Our minds certainly filled in many of the gaps that night, and we agreed afterward (as part of our post-coital pillow talk equivalent) that this gray matter between our ears is so very powerful; in fact, the most powerful organ engaged in the presence and attention that make sex so incredibly wonderful!

And the excitement, anticipation and desire continues to build…

tying up loose ends

Ever since the talk (but before any action), I’ve carried with me a feeling of excitement and anticipation. I had some time to contemplate the side of the conversation I thought I’d heard, and began to have some questions:

  • When he said he’d only had relationships with two women in the past year, did that mean he’d only slept with two? (Because for a while, I’d had the impression he was a player, a total man slut…and I was, gulp, wrong.)
  • When we talked about safety and intimacy, did that mean my fantasy of revolving lovers was off the table?

Whatever it meant, I was suddenly moved to action, tying up loose ends where needed. Whatever was to come of it all, it felt right to release any other entanglements.

I’d still been limping along with the funny guy — who happened to have invited me to his home (in a far-off exurb) that very weekend. (He’s the one, not sure whether I’ve mentioned, who was an excellent kisser but aroused no below-the-waist passions in me.) I called him to let him know that I wasn’t comfortable coming to his house yet and, then, over an early dinner, told him that I wasn’t interested in or seeking a romantic relationship right now.

I texted my ex boyfriend (who wants you all to know that he broke up with me, by the way), to see if he wanted to have coffee. He declined, saying that he’s in a relationship (apparently with the woman with whom he’d planned to break up only days earlier). We had only recently re-opened the door to friendship, simultaneously considering the possibility of a friendship with benefits. I thought it was only fair to let him know that wouldn’t be happening, and his new endeavors saved me from having to do so. But I was surprised at how much I still felt as I once again let him go.

Even if I know in my heart I’m not looking for a relationship, even if my motivation is pleasure, I get the sense that I might be embarking on something truly interesting — something that feeds me in ways that are more than just physical, something that opens doors to new discoveries about myself.

So I’ve made space in my life for possibility. I’ve let go of expectations and attachment to any particular outcome. And I’m enjoying the flirting, teasing and anticipation…

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!


Fantasies, imagination and experimentation come in all forms, shapes and sizes. We’re all so brilliantly, terrifically, exquisitely different in the myriad things that excite us!

In more than forty years on this planet, I sometimes think I’ve heard it all. Yet, I’m beginning to see a theme:  some folks just stick with the usual, with what works, missionary. With so many options available to us, why do we so often end up in exactly the same position? And why are we so reluctant to confess that our sex lives have little variety…or do they.

I’ve written about a friend I know who has ventured outside her marriage. She described the sex with her lover as intense and hot…and only months later, confessed that it was always exactly the same:  missionary. Where’s the excitement in that? Was it just because it was illicit? Or was it because it produced consistent results?

I was terrifically close for years with a college professor who shared many intimate details from her life and loves with me. She famously had an affair while living in France for a year on a fellowship. When the truth of this love affair was finally disclosed, we giggled over the fact that the two had had sex in precisely one position:  missionary. The variable / fantasy factor? While ramming her, her lover would call out, “we are on a beach” or “now we’re lying in a field of flowers.”

I confess:  I love missionary; it’s consistently effective. I have a few other favorites, too. And I’m thinking of grabbing a book — the Kama Sutra to be specific — and proposing to my prospective lover that we work our way through every last one of them!