It’s been a “nothing” sort of day. I am looking for all the good to milk out of it, but when I’m even blocked to write… I worry.
Of course, I am a roller-coaster sort of gal. Whenever things are low key and smooth sailing I get antsy. Which unfortunately is an anagram of NASTY.
I’ve spent the week trying to undertake useful tasks in the home, namely cleaning up my many messes. I have the Midas Touch of Mess–I touch it, it becomes a mess. Piles. Stacks. I have difficulty parting with paper or finding a hiding place for it. I have Ikea’d myself to death with file cabinets, boxes, organization systems, storage systems… and I never seem able to get on top of it all. I read articles on organization, all the little tricks. I check Pinterest for ideas. Sometimes what I’d love to do is just sweep my arm over a cluttered surface and push it all into a waiting trash can.
But today as I was cleaning in the bathroom, I was going through a drawer full of hair scrunchies. A human being does not need all the scrunchies I own. Gladly, the elastic had gone on a few and it was easy to pitch them (God only knows, they may be 20 years old!). An urge hit me to just throw all the scrunchies away (even though I periodically use them for showers, beach, yoga or just getting my long hair up at night time without an elastic dent). Glad I didn’t, found my small velvet jewelry bag containing my emerald jewelry (birthstone, and presents from DH) which I hadn’t seen for quite a while. It belonged in the drawer above… and obviously had dropped down.
This is what always gives me pause about being draconian in clean-ups. The moment an urge hits me to just “pitch it all,” something like this is bound to have strayed into the line of fire. And then I feel highly unmotivated to dig through every blessed scrunchie, envelope, piece of paper…
The bathroom counter looks tons better, I’m happy about that– but there still remains a linen closet and under-sink cabinets to sort out. I’m also a “product queen.” I’ve got every hair product they make, it seems. I sometimes allow my natural wave/curl take over, and need several products for that process; sometimes I dry and flat iron my hair straight–at least 3 products; then there’s the touch up days with a curling iron on the ends. Hair spray for humidity. Hair spray for extra hold. Light hold. Extra-deep conditioners. Then all those samples sizes for traveling…
Did I mention that I hate cleaning and organizing? I LOVE the final product, but always with a sense of dread inside of “this ain’t gonna last long…”
This morning as I was about to unload the very full dishwasher, I noticed that the utensil tray was nearly empty–and sorta gross looking. Hmmmm. When’s the last time I cleaned that utensil sorter? Or the drawer? Went to town on that baby, handheld-vac, wiped it out, washed the sorter, almost put in new drawer liner paper (resisted this urge), and have a lovely, clean, organized utensil drawer. Of course, I felt pretty pathetic that this was my major accomplishment for the day… Still, when I told DH to take a look, I got a big sexy kiss and whisper in my ear about how much that turns him on… methinks he was yanking my chain just a little? :-/
I’m grateful that I have the stupid ability to even kvetch about all this. I have junk but I also have a very nice home in which to house it. And I have good food (so much that I can’t lose any pounds!). And I have this wonderful kitchen and bathroom that needs to be organized and cleaned. Seriously. It could be a sooty pot over the dung fireplace and sweeping the dirt floor of my single-room hut while hoping a rat or a roach doesn’t drop from my thatched roof.
How’s that for gratitude!?
At least the weird headache in the socket behind my right eye seems to have subsided. I’d been going with that for about 4 days straight, always a ghost of a headache with it. Looked up all sorts of dire diagnosis–from migraine to glaucoma to optic neuritis to infections likely to spread to my central nervous system–to simple eye strain. The process of actually finding a specialist (ophthalmologist) who was qualified to diagnose anything… well it was just too overwhelming. So, I think
maybe that’s better.
Tomorrow I get to face this beast. Oh my gosh, where’s my chocolate?
And now DH lays asleep on the couch at 9:00pm on a Friday night. He’s had a busy and tiring week, he deserves all the rest he can get. He gave me 4 mind-blowing orgasms on Wednesday. He mowed the lawn tonight as well. He gave me 4 mind-blowing orgasms on Wednesday night. He needs to rest. I need to be happy about that. Really happy. He gave me 4 mind-blowing orgasms on Wednesday night. Yup. Never mind that I’ve been wearing the sexiest, laciest bra and panties I own today. HE GAVE ME 4 MIND-BLOWING ORGASMS ON WEDNEDAY NIGHT!! Sigh. I’m submissive, hear me… wimper???
Fact is, I know that the unrest I’m feeling is that I’m missing the kink, the edge. It’s been at least 2 months since kink, and in that space of time I’ve gotten only one spanking. Sigh. It can’t be helped, I no more feel comfortable with it than DH does, and these dang kids must have devised some devious plan to make sure that at least ONE of them is in the house at all times to foil our kink. I know it’s a conspiracy (i.e., 2 at work for a guaranteed many hours… and one who decides to spend a quiet Friday night at home.
SOOOOO…. It doesn’t get any more boring than this, folks. I’m alive. In need of major kink and chocolate.
Well, at least one wish can come true!
And my greatest terror is I’ll turn into this (even though this is how Mom taught me…)
Blue panties off?
His hand, his fingers, my slick pussy.
My gentle feedback, my mewls of delight.
My Os–all four explosive, levitating climaxes–HIS for the taking. ALL HIS
Head thrown back, screams stifled.
Kicking, twitching legs.
Fingers clawing, grabbing mussed sheets.
His O–amazing in a quivering, spazy quim.
Oh my. Yes, Virginia, there is an Orgasm Claus.
HE. OWNS. ME. AND. MY. BODY.
First of all, Sunday became a bit unsettling due to CK#3′s very bratty and disrespectful attitude towards me. It has been escalating over the past few weeks, has a lot to do with a 19 year old claiming she’s an adult, doing adult things, acting entitled to make adult decisions, yet not wanting be a responsible adult. Oldest story in history. But what makes it poignant and frustrating is that it dredges up the one divide DH and I have never been able to broker, our parenting styles/philosophies. DH prefers to see if difficulties will resolve or pass away on their own; I want to discuss and engage and solve. I’m learning to let that go. I realize that as much as I disagree with his style, my marriage and relationship is worth so much more than a punky kid’s bad attitude or choices. I will not allow the kids to divide and conquer, split the vote, or sabotage us anymore. Having been in a funk over this most of the day, DH thought this would be my topic of discussion. All I said is, “I prefer not to talk about this now, I need to calm down, and there is something else I’d like to discuss. I’ll only say this, it sometimes hurts me that I feel you don’t require respectful behavior from our kids towards me, and sometimes it feels like you endorse the disrespect by your silence.” He took my point graciously and agreed that our kids should not be permitted to disrespect me, and said he often doesn’t notice or hear. Instead of challenging him about what exactly he was going to do, I accepted he’d handle it his own way and I’d try very hard to accept that.
I then read my blog post to DH; he allowed me, but after I was done, said he’d already read it.
“Really? I am never sure how frequently you read. I just figured it was maybe every other week or so.” (honestly, sometimes I think he doesn’t read at all, because he doesn’t say anything…)
“Yes, I read… and sometimes it is every other week, sometimes a week. You write a lot. I want to see if I’m in trouble,” he jokes. “But I read that one.”
“Can you understand how I need this direction? Can you please do this for me?”
“Yes, however I know you, you will balk at some things I’d tell you to do…”
“And I believe this structure can help with that… you hold me accountable, perhaps there are rewards/consequences?”
He nods his head unsurely.
“Can we try it? I am so afraid of this expanse of uncommitted time in front of me, and I’m a horrible self-starter. It will help me speak your love language, Acts of Service… and doing that will make me feel good.”
He nods again. I know he’s chewing it over in his brain, looking for the flaws in the plan.
“You know, your love language is not just physical closeness and touch. It’s also words of encouragement.”
“You are so right! I do need to hear I’ve done a good job, that I’ve pleased you.”
“I think you are also scared of this retirement thing…” Oh, DH you do know me so well.
“Yes, you are right again. It is sort of scary to me, I’m just used to having purpose, a goal, feedback that I’m contributing or doing a good job. It meant so much to me the other day when you noticed how clean the kitchen was, it helps motivate me and feel I’m doing something worthwhile because it pleases you. But I can’t lie. I’m used to a lifetime in the workplace, of big responsibilities and people depending on me… housework never had that kind of allure for me.”
“And I never thought it would,” he says. This gets my prickles up a little.
“But really, what DID you expect when we married and I left it all to live here in your town? What was I going to do, my career field wasn’t represented in our town?”
“I don’t know, but I figured you’d work…” I sigh. I let it go. I know neither of us really thought that decision through at the time, we were so star-crossed in love.
“And we don’t need to go there, it’s water under the bridge and we don’t need to waste time hashing over the past,” he reminds me. He’s right. I need to let it go (cue that annoying Frozen song…).
“So you’ll help me?”
“OK.” He puts on a devious grin and mentions a particularly onerous task to tease me and test me, always striving to keep things light. We both laugh.
Later that night, I put the notebook before him for his review. I’m casual about it, just leaving it on the counter “in case” he wants to add something. I have written down a few planned tasks for the next day already.
He writes a couple things down and my heart thrills. They aren’t difficult or even very time consuming, but it means so much that he’s helping me (seriously, one of them is “smile!” I feel validated.
The next day, I’m determined to make sure the tasks he’s given are done. At this point I notice that one of my tasks is crossed out, with a “NO!!” written next to it. I’m confused… but also excited that he’s made a decision for me.
When he arrives home, I ask him about that cross-out.
“It was too much. You were giving yourself too much to do and not setting yourself up for success.” Wow. He was right! I do this a lot, I give myself unreasonable expectations, fail, and then feel terrible. I am loving his leadership so far!
Now, that day did not go perfectly for me. The behemoth task of cleaning out my office is one that is so damn daunting for me. Before I knew it, after my workout and errands and lunch, I was exhausted (I know, tough life). Never one to be able to nap well, I still decided I needed to lie down for a little while. I was sporting a headache, I passed out, and it turned into 2 hour nap, to be “interrupted” by a long distance call from a bestie in response to my CK#3 woes, and DH’s arrival home. He graciously accepted that I had been nursing the headache, and that I had been tired. I still felt crappy I didn’t get to that task.
Later that night, he drags in a file box and sets it near me.
“Tomorrow I want you to get through clearing this out, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” my heart thrills for a directive.
So, this morning we have a nice intimate wake-up call together as he doesn’t have to leave quite so early. I then fix him coffee and breakfast while he showers, and present him with the notebook again for his input before he’s off for the day. Yoga has to shift because of our sexy time :-) He adds on a two more items to my relatively light day. I thrill again. How goofy am I? I LOVE that he is helping me with this!!
I am so grateful for his direction and dominance. I hope we can continue this– that he can keep me accountable and that I will want to be accountable.
So, THAT box is cleaned out now. Getting to write on my blog was my reward for doing that. And now I’ve got to start my hour sentence attacking the piles in my office.
Ugh. I’m procrastinating…
I know I’ll feel so much better when it’s done…
Next: to exorcise the demon Cheetos from my list of temptations. They are seriously like crack to me. I finished the dang bag last night, I selflessly threw myself on that terrible temptation… The Cheetos are vanquished. Oh, Lordy!
OK, I’m on a rant here. I vow to stay sexy forever… well, into my later years as much as feasible. I love sex, always have, and now that I have come to rediscover the love and passion for my spouse, I want us to enjoy all the fireworks we possibly can. I can’t recapture my 20s, I sometimes forget that and have to remind myself to be in THIS moment– a 56 and 60 year old who have healthy, active bodies and minds, who still like getting naked together and giving each other pleasure. It is the strongest bond I know of in a relationship between two people. Without it, I can feel quite adrift.
The internet is inundated with sexy stuff, usually featuring 20-somethings and the occasional 30-somethings. I was Googling “Mature Orgasms” while researching for my previous post. What came up was a lot of porn of supposed “mature women/moms” having sex. Let me tell you, there were no saggy bellies or breasts that had been through multiple pregnancies; there were no wrinkles or cellulite. There were toned and fairly young women (I’d guess no older than mid-30s). Maybe they were adoptive moms…
THIS IS WHAT THE WORLD THINKS MATURE SEX IS?? Sadly, that’s the message many of us are buying into. Staged porn, perfect bodies, perfect hair, lots of moans and groans and svelte arched backs and upturned breasts, and hot muscular men pleasuring this so-called “mature women.” I get it. No one wants to conjure up the image of paunchy, saggy, grey-hairs getting it on. I can feel your revulsion at that mental picture through the screen. But it’s a reality that we are all going to get old and look old. And maybe we’re not going to be staring at her perfect breasts or his muscular arms and pecs… but rather into the eyes of the person we love intimately.
I know quite a few 50 and 60s (and youngers) who are obese, inactive, ill, and while I hope they can still enjoy their spouses, I know there is a high likelihood there is little interest or energy for sex for them. So many of my friends (many beautiful and fit) confess to sex as a chore–they’ve hit that menopausal or post-menopausal slump and disinterest in sex. They are tired, they don’t feel good about their less-than-perfect bodies. Although I relate to some of the self-consciousness, I cannot identify. My libido has never waned, and if anything is stronger than ever.
But my body IS different, it is more than a half-century old. There is little I can do to dial back the clock, but I can try to maintain as much as possible. But as much as I can diet, eat healthy/organically exercise, nip and tuck, there are limitations to what my 56 year old body can do. It doesn’t produce as much copious lubrication as it once did, although there are certain things that bring this about more readily (soft porn and BDSM/kink/spanking). Orgasms don’t happen instantaneously and sometimes not at all. I may not have the energy for marathon sex sessions as I did in my youth, erections aren’t guaranteed, and the refractory period (ability to obtain another erection) for a man in his 60s is sometimes 24 hours (vs. 3-5 minutes for a man in his 20s).
The first and most important thing I did for myself was accept that I needed artificial lubrication. My husband is learning that this is a necessary part of foreplay for us, and he too enjoys the slippery feeling on him. It’s in the bedside drawer, always with a backup supply. While it’s always nice for him to reach down between my legs and feel my natural lubrication for him (I do admit, I love being able to tell him “See how wet you’ve made me…”), I know it’s just not usually going to be as much as I need to stay comfortable and happy. The greatest turn-off is chaffing and too much friction, it’s far worse than admitting you need more lubrication to make things slide better. We are still experimenting with which is best– water based or silicone. We tried some of the arousal types and found the heat/burn a bit too intense. I want to try more natural flavored oils to entice oral on me. The other day, his BJ happened right after I’d brushed my teeth with Crest Whitening toothpaste, and he felt it… wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but it was a new sensation!
The next thing I realized was that there were toys out there that helped to enhance sex, especially if you didn’t have hours on end to spend in building up foreplay. Also, the lubrication issue has an associated atrophy of vaginal wall tissue that naturally occurs with aging, so prolonged foreplay can just get uncomfortable. The toys not only helped me achieve more orgasms faster (thus helping me to feel the pleasant completion of sexual interactions), they removed the inevitable worries we women have that “I’m taking too long; he’s going to get tired/bored/frustrated.” As much as you men may tell us “We just want to give you pleasure, it doesn’t matter how long,” we just aren’t going to fully believe you. It has to do with the fact that most women don’t want to be selfish and definitely don’t want to be regarded as high maintenance or frustrating. While we understand we need more foreplay than men to be aroused, we also know that anything going past 30 minutes feels frustrating to both partners–and sometimes painful or annoying to a woman (again, this may not be the case for some couples who are leagues ahead in mutually pleasuring each other…). Seriously, you can only provide friction and rubbing for only so long before it starts to irritate the sensitive tissue of that area. Over-long stimulation has also resulted in UTIs for me, something women want to avoid like the plague.
I do know that while it can take me a long time to reach that first orgasm, once the flood gates are open I can go for multiples in pretty quick succession. In a marathon foreplay session, he’s understandably worn out by my first orgasm, and I’m just getting started. Toys help that along.
We get older. Our knees go out, our hips go out. Ligaments, tendons muscles and bones wear out. We might need some assistance–braces, a cane or a walker–to get around.
Why should sex be any different? Why should we feel ashamed or less because we avail ourselves of extra assistance? And the occasional paddle, flogger or firm palm applied to the bottom? All the better for helping us to feel young and frisky.
Breast and nipples. I find the variety of women’s nipples fascinating. They seem as varied as fingerprints. I’m not quite sure what the most sexy are– but I’m sure they are the kind that pucker and show through shirts. Chances are, if you were a mom, your nipples got quite the workout when you nursed your children. Most of us had no idea what our nipples were capable of, and I’m hear to say a nursing Hoover-baby is in no way a pleasurable nipple clamp. Nursing is easier for some women than others. I was in the very difficult camp, with sore, bleeding, cracked nipples, and babies who had difficulty latching on. I hung in there through 3 months of agony to nurse my first for 9 months (fortunately the last 6 months were a good experience), but twins with a one year old at home proved impossible. My nipples never were the same again. Their diameter increased. They have stopped puckering, hardening and elongating as they once did, and their color is a pale, pale pink nearly the color of my skin. Weight loss caused my smallish breasts to deflate a bit yet not sag, and the nipples to pucker and invert, and augmentation filled them out and reduced the inversion. But they still are sensitive to his touch and his mouth, and I enjoy the feeling of having them lovingly abused… but I seriously doubt there’s a nipple clamp that can get its teeth around my nipples these days. They can teasingly shadow through certain tops… but it’s rather comical that they need to be manually adjusted these days to assure a symmetrical view. In my twenties, I was a willowy, lithe, tall wispy girl with small breasts, long thin legs, and narrow hips. As a mature woman (with a little help from mother nature, good food and a surgeon), I am a curvier, sexier me, but at times I marvel at how a body can change. I am trying to embrace this new me, it still feels foreign at times. .
A word about hormones. It’s natural to want to consider this to help us stay young. I did some research on it. Since menopause started so early for me (late 40s), I was devastated to think I’d be losing hormones that kept me feeling young and sexy. The hot flashes were not fun. I began taking oral Hormone Replacement Therapy. I had read the risks of HRT– Uterine and breast cancer. It didn’t matter if they were “plant estrogens” “natural hormones” or “synthetic hormones”– all carried the risk. The recommendations were to keep doses as low as possible for as little time as possible, preferably no more than 2 years. I asked my female doctor, who was only a few years older, her thoughts on this and how long she’d take HRT– her response was “as long as I can…” She turned up with breast cancer a few years later, had a full mastectomy. I didn’t have the heart to ask her opinion on HRT after that. After nearly 2 years on HRT myself, I had been having abnormal mammograms and then several biopsies that blessedly came up benign– but scary nonetheless. There were noticeable changes in my breast tissue since starting HRT, suspicious lumps and polycystic formations, and I was advised to stop HRT. I switched hospitals to go to one of the best cancer centers in the world, since they had an “undiagnosed breast cancer” clinic. My thinking was if it happened to me, I’d already be at the best place to deal with it (I also had a family history to consider). Since then I’ve tried vaginal hormone suppositories (approved by the cancer center as they don’t enter the blood stream like orals do), but never really found significant results.
No, it’s not fun to be told that your vagina is in atrophy or aging. But it is reality and instead of accepting “defeat” I was determined to find ways to conquer it. Thankfully my libido hadn’t changed much, I was as horny as always. I just had to make some adjustments and accommodations.
I want to be the poster child for mature sex and kink! (forgive me though if I don’t pose for the picture!) I want others to know that sexual pleasure isn’t over because of a number.
Who will join me? Fabulous, Frisky Fifties!! (Sizzling Sixties and Sensational Seventies!)
I’ve done a lot of digging, a lot of research. I read a lot of sexy blogs. I’m stumped. Why has it become so difficult to achieve what once was so seemingly easy?
And please don’t tell me because I’m mid-50s. I’m just not buying that passing a certain age is a death knell on good sex.
Least anyone think I’m complaining, let me set the record straight. The lovemaking with my DH over the past several years only gets better with each day. Since we vowed to renew this marriage and work on our sexual connection (and trust), it is the best it’s ever been in my life. The fact that he’s acknowledged my desires for kink and BDSM is phenomenal. We continue to explore this dynamic, looking for the happy medium for us both. Dominance/submission (D/s) has played a crucial part of this growth. The more I submit to him, the more his Dominance is evident to me, the more relaxed and turned on I am. The loving is GREAT.
The fact remains that achieving an orgasm has grown increasingly difficult for me, for my body (and my mind?). And it isn’t about HIM, it’s about MY body, of this I feel convinced.
Fortunately, I have learned about modern toys. Without them, Os were nearly impossible for me. And fortunately, DH has become good at allowing them and using them to help me find pleasure.
This morning is a case in point. When I opened my eyes and glanced over at him, his were wide open with sexy promise. Yipee!!! He was extra cuddly, and the next thing I know, before I could blink off the sleep, he was digging to find our lovely new Sensuelle vibe, and working hard to get me aroused. It’s a tiny, quiet, yet powerful vibe that’s given great Os for me over the past month or two. It’s a go-to, along with our comparatively behemoth Viberite cordless wand. His fingers were more aggressive than ever, pumping me and setting me on edge. The sensations were lovely, great, sweet, and I reassured myself to just enjoy the pleasure of the moment and not get hung up on the almighty O.
Yet, for anyone who has had an O, well, it’s tough to deny yourself this if it’s there for the offering. Of course I wanted an O. Or two or three or four. Once I get started, I am multi-orgasmic and can go on for many lovely climaxes. Toe-curling, moaning, screaming O’s send lovely endorphins washing through your body, giving a sense of euphoria, well-being, and a calm that helps one sleep better. I think Os are great for your overall health.
After a good 15-20 minutes of DH trying, with me eventually taking over, I had to give up the fight. The O wasn’t coming. “Do you want to rest a moment and then try with the wand?” he suggested. His morning woody had sagged during his herculean efforts to attend to me and get me off, and I felt he deserved some special attention. I then requested my “favorite” position, doggy (best pleasure for me), and although I sense this is NOT his favorite (he never initiates it and seems to reluctantly agree to it when I ask), he did for the first time come in that position. The loving is great. The pleasure is sweet. The connection is fabulous. If this is how we go on forever, I know I’m a blessed woman.
As for me “taking things in hand”– this is another dilemma. It’s been in the minority of times he’s been able to get me to climax with his fingers or the vibes. When he does it’s sublime, he could ask me to walk on hot coals after and I would. But usually I need to take matters in hand after a good 10 minutes of him trying to get a result. He’s ever so loving and understanding, caressing my body while I try to find “the spot” and the right pressure that will get me climbing and over the mountain. More and more this is growing difficult.
The times he’s been successful in giving me an O, without my”assist”? I believe in the majority of cases its been during a play scene that’s involved some bondage, spanking and rougher play. I admit, this is what is most arousing to me, these are the times I may not need lube. We don’t get to play very often during these summer months of having kids at home.
I began masturbating at about 16, years before I lost my virginity. I learned what my body liked, what felt good. In my 20s I found my squirt, by myself. Without benefit of the internet, I was somewhat embarrassed by that phenomenon, figuring I’d pushed out urine in an intense climax. I learned to keep a towel at hand, and only one partner was appreciative of that phenomenon. Orgasms were spectacular for me, and I used to have what I call “layered” orgasms, where I’m climbing on the next one before the first has resolved. Awesome, mind-blowing. A few toys appeared on the scene, with a partner, in my mid-twenties; however they weren’t a mainstay. When I had no partner, I managed to keep the toys, rudimentary basic plastic vibrators. More often than not, I gained better results with my fingers during self-pleasure.
During the early years of marriage, there were no orgasms with my husband. Love making was sweet, loving, quick, and procreative. We excelled at making babies, quickly, which led to pregnancies in fast succession, the exhaustion of parenthood, and alienation of affection. We didn’t take the time to discuss with one another what was pleasurable, and I was just grateful for a wonderful husband, home and babies. I am sure I faked quite a few Os because I wanted him to feel good about sex with me. What initially was a hope that things would get better with time, eventually grew to full-blown sexual frustration (and a number of other issues both personal and marital) and almost total celebacy. I masturbated a lot during those years.
So I’m trying to give myself some perspective here. It’s only in the past 2 years that I’ve begun to develop one of the healthiest all-around relationships with a man, my husband of 22 years. There had been spectacular, naughty sex in my past single years, but mainly with partners who were users, men who cared little for a relationship outside the bedroom, and at a time when drama and a roller coaster ride felt necessary. In the instance where it felt like love (along with spectacular sex), it turned out to be a roller coaster ride with a commitment phobic who kept me stringing along for many years, and eventually broke my heart.
It took me 20 fricking years to realize that I could trust a man, THIS man. I put him through so much crap, and I am eternally grateful he really meant his vows, “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health…” because he’s stood by me in the darkest valleys of our marriage, times when I was ready to bolt if it had not been for the 3 kids we created together.
So I know we’ve been crawling at a snail’s pace through the discovery of sexual pleasure between husband and wife in their 50s. Not daring sexual pleasure between lovers without commitment. Not singular sexual pleasure; Married sexual pleasure, sweet, connective union. We’re slow learners, our bodies respond differently I guess, and I should just be grateful there’s more to learn and take hope in that! As I told DH, many woman into their 50s just flat out lose interest and libido. That’s not my case, I still crave sexual pleasure with my DH, and my body just needs a little more assist (i.e. lube, more warm-up time, kink). During marriage, I’ve yet to have a vaginal orgasm; and we’ve not had success in locating the G spot, which definitely was there in my 20s. Sigh. More to look forward to?
I enjoy reading about all the wonderful D/s relationships and sexy escapades out there, and I realize the most are quite a bit younger than we are. It gives me hope, but sometimes it also gives me expectations that may be unrealistic for us. Except I don’t want to accept they are unrealistic expectations!! I want multiple, instantaneous squirting Os! DH did tell me tonight that he thinks it’s a control issue on my part… and I sort of agree (and of course I told him this is why BDSM is the best turn-on for me, when HE takes control and I have no control!). Also, am I the only one who has more arousal with kink than vanilla?
Please don’t tell me to relax. I get it. I do my utmost to relax. I know it’s important.
I’d love a dialog with other 50-somethings (or late 40s) who struggle with the Os, lengthy arousal times, and the staying power. Will anyone else admit to this? For a while Wilhelm had so much to offer, a lot of good advice and insights on sex in the 5th decade, and still he and his lovely Renee had what sounded like a very hot and satisfying relationship. And as I stated before, I am so grateful for the steps we’ve taken so far. But I have to wonder: are my O’s getting used up? I’m starting to feel like Samantha in this Sex in the City episode:
Last night, there was some of this wonderful connection:
Then this (followed by some good “vibes!”):
And finally this, coffee and feeding each other as we watched Masters of Sex:
I’m a happy girl! My “connection quotient” was more than accommodated! I’m such a touch slut… I just want more!!
As I plowed through my extensive to-do list today, it occurred to me that to make this at-home thing work, I need the dynamic of a “real job.” I need assignments, I need accountability, I need to feel successful and appreciated. I need a boss. The following is Sunday’s Communication notes with DH (he may get to read this on the blog if he checks in this weekend):
I have a request of you. I need your help.
I need direction, goals, deadlines.
You are head of our household, you are my dominant husband, and I’m your submissive wife. I need a supervisor, a boss. You’re my boss.
Pleasing you pleases me. Being held accountable calms me and gives me peace. Knowing that you are there to encourage me and hold me responsible is what motivates me. Knowing that in my bad moments, my snarky moments, my obstinate moments, you are willing to set me straight. Being clear about what you need from me is important.
In this season of my life, without a job to report to, I need some direction from you. I can be a very hard worker, but I struggle to be a self-starter or to follow through to completion.
I also need validation from you–not only as your wife and lover, but as your teammate. My self-worth has always been tied up in a job well done, and the acknowledgement of my capabilities and accomplishments. I never feel I’ve succeeded at something unless I’m told, or I know I’ve met a goal set for me.
I ask you for your help in directing me on some day-to-day tasks. Together, we can come up with goals. I do basically know what needs to be done, but I covet your direction, your management and prioritization. I will love your pride in me, your praise; and I will also be willing should you wish to chastise me when I fall short (as I may).
Funishments are motivators for me. Punishments are what you don’t want to deal to me, I know that. Still, you have seen how in one instance you pulled me back from the edge of unreasonableness by being willing to punish. My respect and love for you spiked big time when you took me in hand, TOLD me you were my Dom, and made an impression on my rear. My hope is you continue to feel confident that I crave that from you, that something deep inside me needs that from you.
I’m starting an accountability journal/notebook. Each day I plan to write down what I’ve accomplished (or failed to accomplish). I want to have goals, but having you contribute to setting those goals will mean so much more to me. This will help me feel vital and motivated and secure.
I hope we can discuss the detail of how this might work, for both our benefits, and not to be a burden to you. Perhaps each week you can help me set goals. You may want write things in the notebook as they occur to you or have me do it. We can review the list and prioritize it. Perhaps you can read through my journaling of my activities.
Having a prearranged subtle cue to remind me in public of your Dominance is also so helpful to me. I know you give me “THE LOOK.” And I know you’ve placed your hand over mine, and have said, “I’ve got this.” All of these things are so valuable to me. I will occasionally respond inappropriately– by holding me to task (i.e., not letting snarky or sassy or disrespectful go unpunished), you will help me, and help our relationship grow.
I want to also mention the power of your touch. Every evening need not be fireworks in bed; I get how tiring your days can be. However having you hold me, caress me, touch me, demonstrate how I belong to you, is so very crucial to my feeling peaceful and secure–and honoring you. You are aware this is my love language. It can be a small gesture from you that pays big dividends in advancing the beauty of our relationship.
And for reasons I just cannot fully explain because I don’t fully understand it myself– I need cathartic spankings, resets, on a regular basis. We are currently slaves to the occasional empty times in our home these days, so I’d just request that anytime the playing field is open, you can help me with a “reset.” Of course I look forward to funishments, and scenes and play… whenever possible. These all serve to recharge my battery and deepen my connection to you.
Thank you for thinking about all of this, considering ways to help me speak YOUR love language (acts of service). Thank you for being my husband, my leader, my dominant, my protector and my sexy lover!