I don’t usually analyze sexual desire. I figure it is what it is in all its primal and instinctual glory…however I was plodding along at work and found myself thinking about my hierarchy of lust and love, and the annoying complexity of fucking after age 60.
At this point in my life, sex and love are intertwined. My ability and interest in fucking outside of a romantic relationship has lessened, and I’ve talked to enough people over the age of 50 to know that this change is be common for many people. I find it frustrating, but only in the sense that I sometimes long for a lover the way that I long for a pizza to be delivered to my apartment; someone to magically appear, give me hot greasy pleasure, then disappear until the next time I call up for a delivery.
I’m not celibate, however only my lover is myself. I can fuck myself fine. Could that be engraved upon my headstone, eventually partially obscured by soft green moss? “They could fuck themselves fine.”, maybe in a glamorously old-fashioned Celtic font. It’s true though. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become a more inventive and a greedier lover, and what is masturbation but fucking oneself? Joani Blank wrote I Am My Lover: Women Pleasure Themselves in 1997. It was revolutionary at the time, and remains a radical statement about self-pleasure twenty years later. I’ve developed a deeper appreciation for the handsomeness of my body; I love my soft belly, the smooth wet inside of my asshole, my tufts of underarm hair, my freckled breasts with their greedy sensitive nipples. I continue to evolve with how I fuck myself, trying new methods, new toys. I’ve acquired more sex toys, and I acknowledge the importance of pleasure in my life by purchasing higher quality toys and more frequently. If I think well enough of myself to eat organic vegetables, then surely I should spring for the hefty njoy Eleven, a collection of fine silicone dildos, a rubber slapper, a stainless steel butt plug, adjustable nipple clamps. I try out new toys with abandon.
I’m trying to say that I have experience negotiating with myself, but I’m reexamining my hierarchy of lust and love with lovers. If my choice was a vanilla butch or a kinky femme, I’d go with the kinky femme, even though I’m much more attracted to butches. For me, kink trumps gender presentation.
I realized that kink was a necessity when I was in my early 30s; I was fucking a wonderful man. He was an artist, smart, quirky, a feminist, kind, and an ardent lover. An extremely ardent vanilla lover. We started seeing one another in the summer and continued until winter started. We fucked almost exclusively outdoors, and that was kinky enough to keep me interested until it got cold and snowy, and we moved into the bedroom by necessity. He tried valiantly to hit me and boss me around, but he wasn’t a sadist or particularly domineering so it didn’t quite gel. A tepid sadist is not an effective sadist. I hated breaking up with him, but that was the moment when I knew that I could not compromise around kink. I’d started out kinky at age 12, and I needed kink to be part of my sex life with any future long term lover…and with myself.
I then pushed myself further with the hierarchy of lust and love, what if the choice was a kinky male and a vanilla woman? I got bogged down. Is this one of those questions that remain unanswered until an actual person asks it? It’s been over 10 years since I’ve fucked a man; in general, I’ve never found men as aesthetically, emotionally, or romantically compelling as women. This feels like a thorny discussion and a little undecided, however I like the fact that changes continue as I get older.
What does your hierarchy of lust and love look like? Has it changed over the years? Have any of those changes surprised you? Have you acted upon those changes? If not, why not? At 62, lust and love continues to delight and surprise me.