Forget about planning. The way to make middle-aged casual sex happen is to let it happen.
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Okay, so let’s put EVERY SINGLE POST before this one on hold for a second. Let’s suspend our previously assumed beliefs, desires, and road maps. And let’s revisit the idea of casual or recreational sex. Um … This is not a term or concept I’m very familiar with. I think my generation was either way into it, or we weren’t. So, when a woman appeared recently, and suggested (non-verbally) that we might enjoy a roll in the hay, just for the fun of it, I was a bit taken aback.
I knew this was possible in the post-divorce dating apocalypse, but I didn’t think it was possible for me. I knew these free-thinking older women existed somewhere—where I wasn’t-— but I had not had the pleasure of actually meeting one until now. But this woman was real. And to her, I was an attractive, healthy, and willing younger man. She confessed to having lied on her OK Cupid profile—she wasn’t 49. And I didn’t care.
To me, casual sex means neither partner has any intentions or expectations about the future of the relationship—the complete opposite approach that I’ve taken in all my writing, where I’ve focused consistently on long-term goals. I’ve laid out my expectations for dating someone and growing that into something resembling a relationship. A future based on shared commitment was pretty much all I thought about—or thought was available to me. And then this attractive woman walked in with all the swagger of a professional athlete and began to show me that it didn’t have to be that way. It wasn’t that we were immediately talking about sleeping together—we weren’t. But the talk of sex did come up, much to my surprise, fairly early and in a playful and easy way.
♦◊♦
“How old do you think I am,” she asked.
“I’m not falling for that trap,” I laughed. “You’re quite attractive and fit for whatever age you are.”
She wasn’t actually the woman who I would put as “next.” But my libido was pushing my maps to the bottom of the drawer.
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This brought a smile to her face and another margarita to the table. The chemistry of tequila, triple sec, and lime is legendary. And the chemistry between us, even before the second drink, was pretty powerful, too. She was smiling a lot, we were exchanging casual arm touches, and the ritas started doing their magic as our topics jumped from kids, to future, the divorce, and back again. We weren’t talking about sex with words, but our body language was telling another story.
It turned out that the only detail she’d falsified in her dating profile was her age. She had, as advertised, some of my favorite physical characteristics: dark hair, dark skin, a winning smile, and an affinity for tennis. She showed up in a LBD (little black dress) that was all but explosive. The idea that she was an “older” woman never crossed my mind. She worked at being fit and flirtatious, and the effort was paying off. She gave off a youthful vibe. She knew what she was putting out, and I was surprised to find myself receptive and accommodating. I don’t think she’d had a relationship since her divorce. But she was sprinkling magic fairy dust all over the conversation and me. Perhaps I was bewitched.
♦◊♦
We were hitting it off and having fun. We connected. But still, it was a first date, and nobody is really into sleeping with someone on the first date, right? At least, not many people her age or mine. So we bantered and flirted the way everyone does on first dates, but I felt a joy and lightness in the air—the same feeling that had enticed me to meet her after reading her funny texts and emails. She was witty, and she liked my sense of humor. We laughed together.
“I’m touchy feely,” I said. She laughed and said, “It’s all good.”
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And then I walked her to her car. No biggie. I didn’t go for a first kiss, just a big first hug. And it was nice. I was holding her amazingly fit 5’2″ figure in my arms. I was enamored. And as we parted, we talked about maybe getting together again later in the evening for some live music … or something. Something …
I handed her a cd of the music that was rocking my world at the moment. Imogen Heap. And she drove off and called me moments later thanking me for showing her how to use her CD-player in her car. A nice new convertible. Wow. She was something else.
If I had to ask myself, she wasn’t the woman I would put as “next.” I didn’t think about what a relationship with her would be like. I didn’t think about the word relationship. My libido was doing most of my thinking and pushing my maps to the bottom of the drawer. And of course, the tequila was charting a course as well. But we’d been drinking water for the last hour, so I wasn’t just imagining she was a different breed of woman. Much to my delight, she was as joyous and playful as I was. We might not be a match, but we were surely a hit. And that proved to be enough.
I got back to my house and passed out on the bed. (see poetic naps). I didn’t even hear the text an hour later from her that asked what I might have in mind for later. And when I roused again my phone was ringing. It was her. What? Most people blow you off at the first sign of a near miss. We talked around options and decided on Orange is the New Black at her house. “Should I bring a bottle of wine?” I asked. “No.” She had everything we needed.
From there, I have to admit I was hooked in to the idea of casual, no strings attached, sex with her. And the odd part is, I was feeling no pain, no resistance, just pure and easy desire. And I felt her desire, too! Even as I was showering to get ready I could feel the jump in my skin. The idea of sex was making its way through my bloodstream.
♦◊♦
We watched an episode over a first glass or rosé. And I’m a red man, so I was a tiny bit disoriented. But she was all there and all present and all okay with my wandering hand. And I mean, on her neck and shoulder. “I’m touchy feely,” I said. She laughed and said, “It’s all good.” Green lights all across my internal instrument panel.
We had not spoken one word about “dating” or what was next. We didn’t mention “relationship” or what our expectations were. And that was refreshing. We were just being in the moment and being in touch with the chemistry catching fire. And when things did finally catch fire, I was even more appreciative of her physical regimen and joyous outlook on life, and sex, and whatever was next.
I’ll end the episode here without going into details. But let’s just say we’ve made plans to get together tomorrow night. Something about my rigid “code” was cracked. And I couldn’t be more satisfied with that.
I mean, why not enjoy ourselves, right?
Sincerely,
The Off Parent
@theoffparent
back to On Dating Again
related posts:
- Here and Now: Touching Objects of Desire
- Unavailable Women of Desire
- The Last One
- Seeking, Finding, and Gifting the Spark of Love
- New Sex Rules: the Fun, The Frequency, the Fantasy
image: upside down, thomas leth-olsen, creative commons usage
I love reading what you’ve been up to, and also seeing how thinking has evolved with time. I say have fun, be safe, and enjoy! I think this is great. (Sadly, what I don’t find great, however, is that we still live in a society where it is fine for men to have casual sex, but less than fine for women. The double standard doth persist. How foolish, as it takes two to tango.)
Delightful post!
I am sorry that the double standard exists as well. The science seems to back up our mutual desire for easy coupling. And yes, my ideas of relationship is evolving. I’m learning all the time. Thanks for your comment.