The Just-Say-No Backlash
I haven’t had sex for 15 years – I’d rather have a scone
Living without sex is not the same as living without passion
SOMETHING WAS CLEARLY troubling my friend as she sat picking at her tricolor salad in the little Italian restaurant where we always met. An attractive widow in her 60s, retired from a happy career as a graphic designer, she was financially secure, her children were married and she was a doting grandmother twice over. Life was good, and she was never happier than when re- potting her angel’s trumpets or discussing the latest bestseller with friends at her book club. So what possibly could be the problem? She looked embarrassed. It was “deeply personal,” she said.
Two glasses of prosecco later, she opened up. My friend had recently met up with a man she’d known in her youth. A retired architect, he, too, was widowed, and they’d discovered they shared many similar interests. He had his own hair, his own teeth and even a nice car. So far, so serendipitous, I thought.
They were due to meet for dinner the following evening at an expensive, fashionable restaurant. So what, I ventured, was troubling her? “It’s sex,” my friend whispered. “I really don’t want it and I’m terrified in case he does. If he takes me to a restaurant like that, he’s bound to want something in return. I keep reading stories of 60-, 70-, 80-, even 90-year-olds who are still having incredible sex nowadays. What if that’s what he expects? I shut up shop about 10 years ago when my husband died and, quite honestly, it was a relief. I really don’t want to go there again.”
Not only did I sympathize with her predicament, I wanted to hug her and shout from the rooftops that I felt exactly the same. I am sick of the sexualisation of the older generation where all of us, no matter how ancient, feel we should be swinging from the chandeliers until we meet our Maker and that, if we’re not, we are in some way letting the side down.
How has this come to pass? I blame female celebrities who seem to be getting older and sexier by the year. From Madonna to Cher, from Jane Fonda to Joan Collins, they all have amazing bodies and well-preserved faces. What’s more, they’re still attracting toy boys and apparently enjoying athletic and plentiful sex lives. Would it be terribly shameful to confess that as a widow aged 72, I haven’t had a sexual relationship for more than 15 years? What’s more, I don’t miss it one little bit.
Since I was widowed in my mid-40s, after a flurry of dates and one five-year relationship, I felt relieved to finally close that chapter of my life. Yet to say so out loud marks you as a spoilsport or a failure. As Germaine Greer once succinctly put it: “In the culture of coupledom, there is no love worth the name that is not coupled by genital congress ...” which, of course, implies that if you
don’t engage in sexual activity, you’re loveless, dried-up and only half alive, doomed to a wasted existence of loneliness and frustration.
But living without sex is not the same as living without passion. It may be just the opposite. Platonic friendships can be enormously intense. Dare I say it, they can actually be much more sensual than a sexual encounter with someone who also happens to be a little past their sellby date. And who’s to say men don’t feel the same?
As I said to my friend, perhaps her new admirer was equally nervous about their date. Perhaps he was terrified my friend would expect him to perform with the exuberance of a 20-year-old, when all he fancied was a nice meal with nothing more racy than a brandy to round off a delightful evening? Yet despite my reassurances, my friend cancelled her date. The pressure was simply too much, she said. She’d rather mow the lawn.
My friend’s was a story I have heard time and time again: older women who really would have preferred just a simple night out, talking, sharing stories, a show, a meal and laughing together with a male companion before retiring to their own bedrooms.
Every one of them feared they would be “letting the side down” to admit that, for them, sex was not on the agenda. Older women like us are victims of a celebrity-obsessed society where everyone is expected to live up to unrealistic goals. Just as younger women are encouraged to live up to the impossibly starved and airbrushed bodies of younger celebrities, oldies are being beaten with the stick that we have to stay sexy at all costs.
The problem is few older people maintain the desire levels required to fulfill this notion. Sexual activity in our 20s is naturally driven by pheromones, the allure of youthful beauty and (though not invariably) the desire to make babies. Rarely does anyone stop to consider the natural fall-off of libido as our fertile years diminish.
Of course, it’s very different with a long marriage or relationship where a couple have started as a blank page and grown together. Many couples drift into deeply loving but largely sexless relationships. Indeed, this pressure to perform is felt more keenly by singletons, who believe they should be voraciously seeking sex long after pensionable age in order to feel they belong in this modern Fifty Shades of Grey- obsessed world. The only thing that seems to matter is that everyone buys into the myth of the rampant older generation. Why? Because it opens up whole new markets for some to make pots of cash. This includes everything from porn to Botox, not to mention the ever-burgeoning industry of sexologists and therapists.
When I was young and beautiful, I enjoyed sex. Now I don’t. I see that as the natural order of things. Yet whenever I have been brave enough to confess this to other‚ admittedly younger, women, I have been met with derision. I’ve been called everything from neurotic to unnatural; told to see someone, take hormones or just down a few drinks. But I know in taking the plunge and writing this article that I shall be speaking for many single, divorced or widowed people who are desperate to put sex behind them and still feel accepted by society.
When I think about it, the only women I know of between 60 and 80 who appear desperate for sex are those coming out of unhappy liaisons who are now desperate to prove, both to themselves and their ex, that there is a man out there who will appreciate them.
But I know far more women – divorced, widowed or never-married – who, having reached the age of 60 or so, are quite happy to call it a day, relieved they will never again have to suck in their stomachs or grapple with the indignity of unflattering, so-called sexy, lingerie. Patience and energy can be in short supply after 50 and is sacrificing dignity a fair price to pay for the often meagre rewards? Could you not end up resentful and bored – even hostile – after trying so hard with something that came so easily in your younger days? I had to suppress a chuckle when one friend described a very unsatisfactory assignation when she invited a man into her bed after a few drinks, only to find he came complete with a sleep apnea mask, vest and frayed old pajamas. I forgot to ask if he kept his socks on, too. But then came the biggest irony: this die-hard charmer was two-timing her with another woman!
I see myself as one of the lucky ones. I don’t feel I need a man to complete me, even though I still grieve the loss of the man who once did. I’ve had some grand amours in my time and been fortunate enough to have been loved by, and loved in return, some inspirational men. Today, I enjoy many wonderful friendships with some beautiful men, which are themselves a form of love. Perhaps this has made it easier for me to decide to hang up my negligee and concentrate on other things: my books, my garden, my painting, my family and my many other friendships.
I have not entirely ruled out ever finding a truly special man and, who knows, we may take to the chaise lounge for a touch of hurly-burly. But I doubt it. Meanwhile, I am happy to continue to cherish all my precious friends, male and female, the ones who make me laugh, the ones who dry my tears and, above all, listen and reassure.
And as for sex? Like so many women – and men – of my generation, I’d much rather have a cup of strong tea, a freshly baked cheese scone and an old movie with a young Marlon Brando. That’s more than enough passion for me.