Amy Dresner walks the line between settling vs. accepting a man where he’s at after 40.
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I’m a 45-year-old divorcee who’s single and dating again. Word on the street is that I’m pretty attractive and extremely well preserved, with a terrific body and a pretty great mind, but… I’m a little “nuts.”
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One guy pretty accurately described me as “part porn star, part little girl, with Elaine Stritch’s voice and perfect Christmas Barbie hair.” I can be a little mouthy and a tad melodramatic, so I’m pretty impressed by anybody who will stay in the ring with me for any length of time. It’s typically 4-6 months before one of us taps out.
I also have major abandonment issues, so I’ll be sure to dump you if I get the faintest inkling you might pull out. I half-heartedly joke that if you casually date me you can look forward to getting a text every two weeks that says, “This isn’t working for me. I’m out. Be well. Please don’t contact me again.”
And then if you call me 2 minutes later, I’ll be bawling, pleading, “Don’t leave me.”
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To be fair, I’ve never really dated.
When I call my close friend, comic Tammy Jo Dearen, complaining about the latest guy, she says: “This is normal dating. You never did this. You just fucked or got married.” Oh. So I guess now I’m dating… something I should have done in my 20’s and 30’s when I was too busy either doing drugs or trying not to do them (i.e. rehab).
I don’t know if I’d say I’m more willing to settle. I’d like to think I’m more willing to try to meet and accept somebody where they’re at, instead of holding out for some perfect ideal.
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After a divorce you know a few things: nothing is “forever,” love is messy, and there are no guarantees. I wish that made me more gun-shy, but the risk-taker in me usually goes all in, always against my better judgment. “It will be a learning experience!,” or “I’ll get some interesting writing out of it!.” or “Maybe it will be different this time!,” I convince myself.
I will say I now know better than to get anybody’s fucking name tattooed on my body.
I don’t know if I’d say I’m more willing to settle. I’d like to think I’m more willing to try to meet and accept somebody where they’re at, instead of holding out for some perfect ideal. Because at my age, I know nobody is perfect and neither is any relationship.
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I’m in the best physical shape of my life. I’m more sexual, more uninhibited and more orgasmic than I’ve ever been.
But I’m learning that a) everybody has their baggage and b) you need to feed that stuff to guys in small amounts like a mama bird to her chick. You don’t just waterboard them with it off the bat.
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I know what great sex is now and I also know that it’s important to me. I know what I like and what gets me off. I also know that kink isn’t my bag, but I hate to admit I don’t always have the guts to say it. Even at my ripe old age, I still crave acceptance. I want you to like me. I want you to love me.
And sometimes I’ll try, badly, to be who I think you want me to be. But I’m a terrible liar and an even worse actress, so nobody is fooled. My charm, if you will, is in my no-holds barred honesty, my violent vulnerability. “Here’s all of me. If you can’t handle it, there’s the door.”
Unfortunately, nobody has an investment at the beginning to overlook your 6 rehabs, 4 psych wards and an arrest for domestic violence. Sure, they’ll fuck you if you’re hot enough. But I’m learning that a) everybody has their baggage and b) you need to feed that stuff to guys in small amounts like a mama bird to her chick. You don’t just waterboard them with it off the bat.
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Just like when I was younger, it’s easy to get laid and hard to find love. One-night stands make me feel empty, but I’ll settle for having regular lovers who stay in touch and can carry a conversation. I know that sex is just sex. It doesn’t mean they love you, even if they spoon you after. And I’m kind of okay if somebody I’m seeing is sleeping with other people. It’s definitely not my preference and I’m not polyamorous by any means, but sex is just sex.
I thought, “I’m empowered. I want to get laid. I don’t want a relationship with this guy… blah, blah, blah.” But no matter how I framed it in my head, if they don’t call me after, I feel weird. I get attached. It’s biochemical.
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I’d surely like to be the only person you’re fucking in my area code or city but if not, I’d rather not know — and certainly do not let me find out by accident.
I’ve tried to fuck like a guy. No emotion, no attachment. I thought, “I’m empowered. I want to get laid. I don’t want a relationship with this guy… blah, blah, blah.” But no matter how I framed it in my head, if they don’t call me after, I feel weird. I get attached. It’s biochemical. Somebody is INSIDE your body. So there has to be some sort of communication, even a close friendship.
I tried to use guys. I had my “sex addiction” phase, and it almost destroyed me. I can’t do it, it’s not what I want, and that’s okay. I kind of wish I could, but I’m too sensitive and needy and all that other shit. I want to get married again. I liked having a partner, somebody who had your back. I liked belonging to somebody.
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I look back now at photos of myself at 25 and think, “Holy shit, I was gorgeous.” But I was riddled with insecurity and self-hatred then and, let’s be honest, everybody is fucking gorgeous when they’re 25. I’ll probably look back when I’m 60 at pics of myself now and think the same thing.
… and that’s what I’m trying to become: soft, nurturing, receptive. A safe place for them, but with boundaries to protect myself. I’m still working on the safe part and the boundary part. Right now I’m still more like a landmine and I need a guard dog, moat, and electrified fence to help enforce any boundaries.
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When I was younger, men thought I was “too intellectual, too aggressive, too analytical.”
Too much like them, they said.
“A man with a pussy. What more could you want?” I’d ask.
But men don’t want a man with a pussy. They want a woman, and that’s what I’m trying to become: soft, nurturing, receptive. A safe place for them, but with boundaries to protect myself. I’m still working on the safe part and the boundary part. Right now I’m still more like a landmine and I need a guard dog, moat, and electrified fence to help enforce any boundaries.
Younger men are entertained, dare I say enamored, with my crazy stories of drug use and impressed with my… sexual “skills.” And they are oddly charmed by my chronic immaturity. Of course I was flattered by their youthful attention. But, in general, younger guys don’t really know what they’re doing in bed (I certainly didn’t at their age).
And they can be… ummm… disrespectful. One guy I slept with texted me the next day with this: “What’s up big homie?” Big homie? Ummm, I used to be a CEO’s wife. Please don’t call me big homie.
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I’m still friends with maybe ONE person I’ve dated. It was the last one, so hopefully I’m making some progress here, but most people I’ve dated pretty much hate me when it’s over. I usually burn the bridge, so I can’t go back over it. Not proud of that.
If you have ever dated me or were, God forbid, married to me, you’re probably blocked on my phone, my email, and every social media app. Hey, don’t look back, right? That’s not the direction you’re going!
I can be vulnerable now. I can tell you how I’m feeling and what I want or need, and I’m not always screaming or crying when I do it. I still can’t cook (unless you count dope), but I’ll do your laundry.
And after years of thinking a man could save me or fix me, I know that they can’t and if they want to, there is something seriously wrong with them. I don’t want to be controlled but I’m willing to do or refrain from doing certain things to make you feel comfortable and happy. Everything is about compromise and communication.
And if a man can say “I’m sorry,” hold open the door for me, and sleeps in the wet spot…..well, my knees go weak.
This article originally appeared on asexywomanofacertainage.com.
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Photo credit: Flickr/dYCY1i
This was interesting at first, but it began to depict a sad aberration as I got into it. As a divorced and established man at 49, I have much better options than to get entangled with this sort of “beautiful tragedy”. However, I know they are lurking out there, so I do appreciate the warning.
All that comes to mind is the tune “Thrash Unreal” by Against Me!. Check out the video. But don’t date the woman in it. : )
You have an article about a 45 something year old women and the picture GMP decided to use to capture reader’s attention is of a woman in her 20s. Not cool GMP. Totally not cool. You need to think about the message your pictures convey. You don’t fight tropes about women when you uphold those exact tropes even through your imagery.
I agree with Jules on this article. Too Erica Jong’s “Fear of Flying” to me. Old hat. And sticking in a cuss word every now and then in the hopes of keeping ‘who?’ still reading. This 40 year old sounds like me 20 years ago. Thought some women would have learned by our mistakes.
I signed on and favored this storyline for the title: ‘Love, Sex & Sobriety’. So where’s the paragraph about ‘Sobriety’? If included perhaps it would null and void this article.
Good Men, you need a better editor.
When I read this it reminds me of how wounded most of us are and how our early experiences of abuse, neglect, and abandonment, lead us to repeatedly look for love in all the wrong places. In 1988 I wrote a book, Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places: Overcoming Romantic and Sexual Addictions. I described my own journey from sex and “love” addiction to real, lasting love. I’ve found that healing old relationship wounds from childhood
is critical if we’re going to have healthy, joyful, intimate, relationships as adults.
Jules,
I think that what she’s trying to say, in so many words, is that she doesn’t find men in their 40’s to 50’s (i.e. around her own age) to be neither attractive nor useful.
Younger men are sometimes found to be useful, as at least they are eager to please.
They are to be held to a strict standard, though. We mustn’t forget that she once WAS a CEO’s wife, after all…
After reading this, my only conclusion is….
Well, if you have nothing good to say, then don’t say anything. So, I am mum.
Note to Editor(s)…
Please explain to me just what value do you find in this piece? Really!
“I’ve tried to fuck like a guy. No emotion, no attachment. I thought, ‘I’m empowered. I want to get laid. I don’t want a relationship’..” I’m not sure what the greater transgression is- employing such a broad, overarching stereotype to encapsulate one whole gender so readily, blithely, and exclusively; or the fact that the stereotype itself is, after all, inaccurate (or, at the very least, highly inconsistent, fallible and contestable). There’s a lot packed into that brief stereotype, but it’s dropped there so dismissively and nonchalantly as though it’s not even a stereotype (let alone an errant one) at all.… Read more »