Eliot and I are in bed. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in almost three weeks, during which he’s been going to the gym every day and I’ve been eating pasta, drinking wine and lying on a beach in Italy.
Even though we’ve been texting constantly, now that we’re naked together I feel shy again. At 20, Eliot is at his physical peak; at almost 50, I’m at a very low point.
In a way, this shyness is exciting: it feels like a first. Even though I’ve been dating Eliot for seven months now, it’s still surprising to have such a muscular man in my marital bed (the house is empty because my three children are on vacation with their father). It would take more than a lifetime for me to tire of the different inflections of Eliot’s pecs, triceps, biceps and lats.
On the other hand, my shyness reflects a feeling of lack, which is not a good thing.
Outside of bed, I am a strong and (usually) self-assured woman. When Eliot starts touching me, I bury my face in his neck. He will feel the new bulge of fat on my stomach and the sagging of my thighs. In middle age, I have gone up a dress size, something that holiday eating has exacerbated.
“Having someone who wouldn’t look out of place fighting in the Colosseum lying face up in my bed makes me feel powerful,” writes Annabel Bond.
It’s better to focus on him, especially when he’s so grateful when I do, which I love. “He misses the way I touch him,” she says, panting. She drops her hands to her sides and offers herself to me. I love turning him on, and having someone who wouldn’t be out of place fighting in the Colosseum lying face up in my bed, excited by my touch, makes me feel powerful.
But I’ve barely allowed him to touch me when we start having sex, while he’s already almost on the verge of orgasm. Even though it’s been three weeks, I already know I won’t follow him through to climax, so I don’t try. I enjoy it, but I think more about him than myself.
After that, I get mad at myself. Why didn’t I put my needs first, or at least on equal terms? How old do I have to be to prioritize my own orgasm?
Research published last month in the journal Sexual Medicine found that the orgasm gap does not narrow with age. Nearly 25,000 adults between the ages of 18 and 100 were surveyed, and the results are discouraging: Men orgasm 30 percent more often than women during sex.
One reason is that as we age, orgasms become more difficult, due to menopause. Also, the study only looked at sexual intercourse; the difference may be different with other types of sex. But the main reason, say the authors, is that, culturally, men’s pleasure takes priority over women’s.
And I’ve allowed that to happen in my own bedroom, too. During the first few months of dating Eliot, he often drove me to the edge. He’s incredibly attractive, but that was part of the problem for me. With Simon, my ex-husband, I was bossy in bed, even at first. But then we fell into a comfortable routine, which always ended with an orgasm for both of us.
Now that I’m older, part of me feels less entitled to demand what I want from my younger lover, which is crazy, I know.
Eliot is always telling me how attractive he finds me, and I can tell by his reaction that he means it. And at my age I’m more confident in my skills in bed, but I still find it hard to put myself first.
Later that afternoon, Eliot slapped me on the butt and asked, “Shall we do it again?”
Yes, and yes is always my answer with him. But this time I didn’t let him take the lead. It was easier because it was the second time we had sex that day and I was mad at myself from the first time.
Annabel decided to guide Eliot after realizing that he was putting her needs before her own.
I knew Eliot liked to please me, but if I didn’t guide his hand or tell him what I wanted, how was I supposed to know? So for once, I was direct.
Touch me softer, I said. Slower. When I wanted to, I got on top. There was a big mirror in my bedroom; I was happy to see that the weight I had gained made my breasts look great and my butt big (thank God for the new standard of beauty). In this position I could guide the action and make sure it happened at the pace and angle I liked.
And even though it didn’t feel entirely natural – I somehow still had the idea that I should let myself be carried away by (his) passion and miraculously reach climax at the same time – I made sure to get there first.
- Annabel Bond is a pseudonym. Names have been changed.
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