What A Middle-Aged Woman Is Really Thinking In Bed With A Partner
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Midlife sex can be challenging.
Some of us need sex aides just to get things started. Viagra for both men and women -- (men, you are no longer alone when it comes to performance anxiety) -- as well as lubricant, testosterone, estrogen, progesterone and any sex tape that DOES NOT include Kim Kardashian.
But even these items won't make a dent in your libido if you can't get out of your own head. (Ladies, you know who you are!)
Case in point:
I'm attempting a technique called The Pepper Grinder on my man.
It's 9 a.m. on Monday morning, which is one of the few times we can have sex because our children are not in the house, but it really eats into my work time, man.
This is what I'm thinking as I try to efficiently complete this sexual task.
- I've got to write a post on my website, even though I have nothing to say. And even I am sick of reading about vaginas.
- I have to write a post on my relationship site that will change people's lives and end dysfunctional family systems forever, because otherwise I suck.
- I have to write three pages on my novel even though I'm sick of my heroine who wears bi-focals and pees in her pants when she's anxious.
- I have to learn more about the Syrian refugee crisis since I'm going to one of the camps next month. And I don't want to arrive equipped only with my first-world privilege and blonde hair. And what kind of shoes does one wear to a refugee camp, anyway? And do I need to take a fanny pack? And why am I thinking these things when people are suffering!?
- I have to weigh myself to see if the bowl of the Peanut Butter and Salted Caramel ice cream I ate last night at midnight fucked me.
- I have to work on my self loathing. What the heck is wrong with you, Shannon? Why don't you love yourself, yet? It's almost too late for you!
And as my brow furrows with the intense concentration that is required during self-castigation, suddenly my husband bursts into laughter.
I look up from my Pepper Grinding, which I realize I may have been doing just a tad overzealously while fixating on all the shit I have to do.
"Uh oh, am I doing it wrong?"
Through his laughter he replies, "No, it's just the look on your face."
"The look on my face?"
"You look like you're doing a distasteful task, like pulling hair out of a drain."
Now we're both laughing. Hard.
I fall onto his chest and just feeling the laughter erupting from him makes me laugh harder. We are rolling on the bed. Now I'm snorting like a feral pig.
(Who knew Humor was an aphrodisiac that would keep our marriage sexy?)
God I love this man. He's my rock. My best friend. The person I like best in the world.
And he's so kind and patient with me. Loving me more than I love myself. Even when I'm strangling his manhood while treating it like a device that puts ground pepper on your chicken caesar salad.
After the laughter I'm out of my head, my generalized miasma of self-loathing abates, I'm in my body, in the moment and what happens next is sweet.
Sometimes LEVITY is the best sex aide for loving, fun, fantastic midlife sex.
