I have one year left in my forties, and ever since my forty-second birthday, there has been a shift inside of me. By that I mean sex became a need, like fresh air and water. After having three kids in three years in my thirties, my libido was non-existent, and I figured it wasn’t coming back. I’m not sure if my hormones were telling me it was time to take a break, I was touched out and focused on so many things that sex was last on my list, or that I subconsciously stuffed downy sexual side, one that I always felt was pretty healthy, because I was a mother and it was hard for me to shift from being a nurturer to a woman who wanted to get railed.
I’m sure it was a combination of all those things, but regardless, I remember thinking one day that I’d be fine if I never had sex again. I went years without having many sexual thoughts, I never masturbated, and to say it was a point of contention in my marriage would be an understatement because of course it was.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, could get me out of my sexual (or should I say non-sexual?) funk. And I accepted that this would be my life; that high libidos were a gift you got in your younger years and once the well went dry, there was no lubing it up again.
Then, something happened in my early forties: I not only felt like myself again, I felt so comfortable with my body and asking for what I wanted in all areas of my life (something I honestly think comes with age), that my twenty-something self’s libido could not hold a candle to the drive that was ripping through me at record speed. That was the year my marriage ended, and although many factors led to that mutual decision, our sex life was one of them. So naturally I thought maybe I had become unhinged because I was starting over and let’s be honest, having sex with someone new always gives your drive quite the boost.
But that was seven years ago, and nothing has slowed down. In fact, it’s sped up and as I near 50, I’m more sexual than I’ve ever been.
It might have something to do with hormones although I’ve not done any research on that. I’m too busy with other things, ahem.
Or maybe it’s because my kids are grown-ups now with very large lives of their own.
It could be that I don’t give a shit if my thighs jiggle or my stomach crinkles where I carried my children and I’m comfortable with the cellulite on my ass for the first time in, well, my life.
It could be the fact that I’m also finally comfortable being naked. I sleep naked; I walk around my house naked; I lie on my deck naked and eat chocolate cake and berries all the damn time. I’m not exaggerating when I say I never did this before. Even when I was with my ex-husband or a long-term relationship with a man I felt comfortable with, being completely naked wasn't something I could ever do with them, or by myself unless I was in the shower.
I keep waiting for things to slow down. I wonder if I’ll go back to my old self, the one who was never in the mood, wouldn’t be caught dead walking around my own bedroom without clothes, and the woman who was afraid to say what she liked between the sheets.
But this journey, and it has been a journey, has been so beautiful and freeing and I love myself more than I ever have, gray pubic hair and all.
So I don’t think I will regress because loving sex and exploring this part of my life has been a wonderful gift. It’s as if I see things differently. Sex is a basic need for me. I want to have it. I enjoy it more than ever, and no matter the reason for this shift, I’m going to ride it out as long (and hard) as I can because through the experiences I’ve had, a huge amount of compassion, love, and joy has been unlocked inside of me. And well, I don’t care how old I am or what I look like, that shit is too good to pass up.
Katie Bingham-Smith is a full time freelance writer, living in Maine with her three teens, two ducks, and a Goldendoodle. Her work has appeared in Woman’s World, Health, Scary Mommy, AARP, and Grown and Flown. Her first Romance Novel, Before She Knew, is out now.
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