‘I’M SIMPLY NOT THAT BOTHERED ABOUT SEX’

‘I love not having to pretend’

Tess Stimson, 49, lives in the US with her husband Erik, 50.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband, Erik, 50, took me out to dinner to celebrate our 18th wedding anniversary.

He’d already bought me a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and over the molten chocolate lava cake he handed me a gift – a lovely pair of earrings.

As he drove us home, he ran his hand suggestively up my thigh – and I tried to stifle a yawn.

It was late and the last thing I felt like doing was swinging from the chandeliers. But it was our anniversary and Erik had made an effort, so I felt I owed him a bit of hanky-panky.

But as we went upstairs, Erik turned to me. ‘Do you fancy watching a Midsomer Murders?’ he asked sheepishly. He said it had been a long week so he’d rather just cuddle up on the sofa. I let out a sigh of relief. The truth is, I love my husband. For 21 years, he’s been my soulmate and best friend. He works out four times a week, as do I, and I still find him very attractive.

But I’m going to be 50 in July, and I’m simply not that bothered about sex any more.

If I’m absolutely honest, I never really was. My three children, Henry, 27, Matt, 24, and Lily, 19, were all born in September – you only have to do the maths to figure out sex was a bit of a Christmas special for me.

That’s not to say I don’t enjoy it – on the contrary. Erik and I have some wonderfully sweaty, satisfying sex when we get around to it, which happens once or twice a month.

But the days when I was up for a quickie on the kitchen counter have long gone. Frankly, it’s cold, uncomfortable and unhygienic.

One of the joys of a long, happy marriage is not having to pretend. I’m too old to put my back out trying to do it in the shower, and sex on the beach just means sand in your bits.

What I like these days is a nice memory foam mattress – and a cup of tea afterwards. ✱ Stolen by Tess Stimson (£8.99, Avon)