Tag: dating over 50

A Strange Turn of Events

~ Midlife Dating Adventures ~ 5 Comments

This is a special and unusual reblog. Meet Rex – he’s a relatively new blogger and he’s on one helluva journey of self-discovery. His story is riveting, frank and engaging, seemingly without effort. He’s a naturally gifted writer and I’ve just adored following his journey. There’s a twist, but I’ll allow you to discover that. Read on if you dare….to enjoy the tale of Rex’s cougar!

jacuzzi

A week ago I had a fascinating encounter with one of my neighbours.

Some background required. My wife and I moved into a standalone house in our little cul de sac about 7 years ago, after 5 years of isolated city apartment living. A year later, she fell sick with cancer. The disease was a slow descent into hell for both of us. Months of suffering and treatments followed by weeks of relative calm and reprieve.

In amongst all the hospital visits and trying to deal with the mundane, we made close friends with every one of our lovely neighbours. They baked. They sat with my wife and held her hand, they grocery shopped. They laughed and cried with us. We got drunk together. They became our second family.

They have kept me close over the past 4 years. Sometimes it has been overwhelming and almost embarrassing, so generous has been their genuine care. Over recent months I have begun to spread my wings a little as you have read in my blog posts, but I have not abandoned my cul de sac family.

An opportunity has arisen for me to give back. Two years ago, the neighbour at No 3, I’ll call her Naomi, lost her husband. We all gathered around as we always do, and our support has been ongoing for her. Naomi is reserved and quite introverted, preferring to stay independent. But rarely have I been allowed to walk past her driveway without an exchange and a hug.

So I was shocked the other evening when we stopped to talk and as I gave her a hug, she burst into tears. Initially, I held just her in the driveway. But I sensed this wasn’t just a short event and I walked her inside, sat beside her, and enfolded her in my arms. Not a word was exchanged. Somehow none was required. We sat there for I guess an hour as she sobbed and sobbed.

Eventually, she calmed. She told me that this was the first time she’d really let her emotions run free. We talked into the night, sharing our separate grief, and laughing and recalling many happy times as well.

At this point, I took a chance and as it was getting late, I shared a sliver of what I had been up to recently….hold on folks!!!…no, not THAT… just that I found massage and human touch very healing, Would she let me massage her neck and shoulders?

Expecting to be refused, I was surprised when she accepted gladly! I wondered if I’d done the right thing as it started the tears again, but gradually she was quiet. After a while we had a cuppa and with a promise to spend time together the next day I left her to head off to bed.

Somewhat stunned, I walked the few paces home and tried to sleep myself. But something strange had stirred inside me. There was an excitement. A feeling of deep connection with another human soul, and a freedom to explore more uncharted territory within and outside my personal bubble.

I’ve always had the feeling of being confined, like a river within two man-made banks of social convention and moral constriction. Safely and uneventfully, my life has meandered quietly and unobtrusively downstream towards its eventual arrival at the entrance to the great ocean, where we are all bound. And now, in the space of four months, the flow has expanded. The banks are no longer containing it. The river is cutting its own path downstream!

Naomi and I had a lovely lunch the following day and talked and talked. Tears flowed from both of us. To hold each other’s hands, hold eye contact and sense authenticity is a great blessing. I remember a wise person once said to me “it is more wonderful to be known than to know.”

She began to share her story with me. We so often assume we know someone because we live close by, chat occasionally and get social together. But we don’t.

As Teal Swan suggests, “we live behind the overlay of our lives. We don’t dare reveal the true self. If I tell you who I am, and you reject me that’s all I have and I’m bereft and gone.”

Well, Naomi began to peel back the layers one by one. Her marriage had been to a man who treated her very well; he was generous and kind, and a wonderful father. But, he had no interest in the sexual side of their relationship. She told me she could count on two hands the number of times they’d “engaged in intercourse” as she called it. My heart ached for her. Although my marriage hadn’t been perfect, it was certainly in another realm to hers.

In almost whispered, embarrassed tones she shared the emptiness she had endured, never daring to share this with even her own family and close friends. I fed her a glass or two of wine as we talked. It’s amazing, when we scratch beneath the surface, what hurts and bruises we all have and hide.

She and Les had often been to our place for meals but Les had always been averse to sharing our Jacuzzi. “Well… what about a soak in the hot tub Naomi?…wearing swimming costumes of course!” I asked. I normally don’t wear anything myself, and my yard is very private. She didn’t own ‘togs’ and so Naomi was happy to strip to her bra and knickers.

Another wine and I’m pretty sure that at one stage I heard gentle snoring in the dark from across the pool, although she assured me she was just very relaxed. The next stage was a massage. This was a beautiful thing to enjoy – caring for another vulnerable human being. I love touch. Feeling my energy flowing through my body into hers. I was aroused but I finished the massage and covered her with a warm towel.

I helped her off the table and into her robe. There was a peaceful silence between us, so relaxed and uninhibited. She told me she so enjoyed the massage. I was elated.

What a strange turn of events.

Editor’s Postscript:

In case you didn’t guess, Rex’s cougar, the stunning Naomi, is 80 years old. He’s 65 – well and truly into the toy-boy category!
Their unfolding relationship and sexual discovery is heart-warming, exciting and a cracking good tale. Head on over to their (now combined) blog at https://gristle1953.wordpress.com/ and start from the bottom. This piece has been edited with permission and is one of Rex’s first stories. I just adore these two!

PS – Naomi has started a blog so you can take a look at this stunning cougar and give her some love at The Merry Widow.

A Dating in Midlife Adventure

~ Midlife Dating Adventures ~ 28 Comments

One man’s search for sex on tap, a full belly and a roof over his head

Within the first half hour in his company, 50-year-old Simon told me that he’s looking for a good cook and a regular sexual partner to meet his daily desires – he prefers oral over penetration because the old fella doesn’t work so well anymore, and he’s got a bad back. He’d like a blowjob every day and if he likes the smell of me, he’s happy to pleasure me in return.

Later, on my drive home, I decided that despite his generous offers of near-constant orgasms (assuming of course that I met his olfactory standards), the guy was living in fantasy land. He also lived too far away from me and had an unreliable availability pattern due to working on demand in a low-paid service industry.

In short, Simon was a bad match despite our chemistry, which undeniably did exist. The way he’d brushed my nipples and when I allowed him to briefly explore my naked breast, his fingers knew exactly what to do to make me gasp.

I should have listened to my instinct when we first connected a couple of weeks ago on Plenty of Fish.

I’m making a strong effort to meet and give chances to men in my age bracket, or even a little older. This cougar’s trying new tricks because the young ones are problematic, to put it mildly.

Simon’s profile photos showed an attractive mid-life guy in good shape, with a winsome, hippy-flavoured user name – plus 16-year-old photos of his heyday living on an African commune wearing sun-bleached dreadlocks and just a pair of skimpy shorts over his all-over bronzed tan. (What was that about? Imagine if I posted photos of the same vintage! And why would I?) We’d shared an opening line each on POF and then he disappeared for a week.

Our next messaged conversations were disconnected and jarring. After his brusque request for more photos (I already had six uploaded), I deleted his thread and moved on to other conversations.

Simon was persistent and returned to our conversation, asking why I had disappeared. I told him frankly that in my experience if a guy immediately asks for more photos, what he really means is ‘show me your tits’ or ‘give me a nude’. He backpedaled and so I decided to give him a decent go at convincing me.

We moved our messaging to kik and the awkwardness continued until I confronted him about his bull-at-a-gate attitude. He seemed to expect that he could achieve the delicious highs of smitten new love immediately, with little or no effort or time to get to know the other person and their authentic self.

“Are you new to this?” I asked. “You need to allow time to get to know someone – you can’t just have instant intimacy on a plate and happy ever after,” I said, feeling as if I was explaining the obvious to a kindergarten child.

“I know that, hun,” he said. “I’m not angry with you I’m just sick of this online dating shit.”

Fair enough, I thought. It is sometimes crappy and often frustrating, but that’s a naïve attitude to begin with. We managed to develop a tentative rapport after that, and seemed to be on the same page sexually, so I suggested we meet up for a coffee on my day off – a couple of days away.

The frost was still thick in the winter air when we met at the café and I noticed him watching me from his driver’s seat as I climbed out of my car. He looked like his pictures, which was a pleasant surprise, and as he hugged and kissed me on the lips I felt his enthusiasm.

I don’t actually like to be kissed on the mouth on first greeting – I find that presumptuous and invasive, but I warmly greeted him anyway, and we ordered our drinks. I insisted on paying for my coffee. He baulked, but I already knew he earned a lot less than I do, plus I didn’t want to feel obligated in any way.

As we nursed our coffees and talked, sitting on a bench under a historic, winter-bare oak tree, the feeble sun warmed our bones. I kept the conversation bubbling smoothly by focusing my questions on him and his rather interesting life.

As a citizen of three countries, he’d only lived in Australia for the past 14 years and his accent was a hybrid proof of his past. His manner was blunt and strangely detached, incongruous for one who claimed in his POF profile that keeping the honeymoon period alive was his greatest desire.

He felt no compunction about moving closer on the bench seat to fondle my breasts, and given our sexually charged texted conversation and my desire to build a regular sexual relationship (if nothing else, though that’s not my ideal), I didn’t mind too much. But I certainly noted that behaviour and his subtle sense of entitlement.

He hadn’t mentioned that he was father to a five-year-old until now, and he said that it seemed to repel women of his age, whose children were a lot older or who didn’t want the burden of a man who came with that sort of high-maintenance baggage. Next I discovered that he was a ‘Sunday Dad’ and his one day with said daughter fell on my one kid-free day.

And then he dropped the bombshell that fell with a muffled feathery weight. I’d been saying that a man’s kids were no concern of mine as I wasn’t looking for anyone to live in my pocket, or indeed to cohabit. Two decades of that were more than enough!

“Well actually,” he said, “I’m looking for a partner to move in with. Not right away, of course.”

The text comment about my cooking abilities floated into my thoughts, which I’d read as a bit of a joke. It now appeared that he was serious. He lived in shared accommodation, had a casual and unreliable job, and was desperately horny!

In hindsight I can see that from then on that morning, his attitude subtly changed. He stopped trying to nestle against me and the conversation remained firmly focused on him. During the entire hour and a half together he asked me one question – what I did for work.

While we strolled in the fresh air around the nearby park, he walked several steps ahead of me and didn’t turn to speak – commenting to the air instead. He pulled me into an awkward embrace on the pathway and cupped my breasts while kissing me again, but he didn’t linger, which seemed odd at the time – as if he couldn’t be bothered actually trying for authentic intimacy.

As we sat on a park bench in the sunshine, we kissed again and his hands wandered, but he barely listened to me speak as I responded to his question about my last serious relationship.

“Oh and I can’t do lots of positions,” he announced. “I’ve got a bad back and the little guy doesn’t behave himself sometimes. I really like to be sucked. I’d love you to suck me right now.”

I laughed at his boorish enthusiasm, while reeling at his gall. There was a peculiar feeling of harmony (sexual chemistry) juxtaposed with a complete disconnect around values, beliefs and what we were each looking for. “All good things come to those who wait,” I quipped. “Just be patient.”

At this stage I was still stupidly hopeful that we could become regular lovers, so we talked schedules and logistics, my mind on practicalities rather than the bigger issue of whether we were indeed compatible beyond the bedroom.

I was also quietly absorbing his revelations that his tackle wasn’t fully functional – something I am coming to see is extremely common in men over 45.

“While many women in their 50s and up say they feel more sexually liberated than they did in their 20s — finally released from the worry of getting pregnant, and more comfortable with their bodies — they are frequently tumbling into bed with men who suffer from erectile dysfunction. ‘I hear this from a lot of my girlfriends, and it’s depressing,’ writer Kerri Sackville said. ‘Finally, [they think] “I’m going to have great sex”, and it’s not working, and there’s nothing you can do about it.’” (Heart Ailments and Erectile Dysfunction: Life on the Dating Scene for Women Over 40, ABC, 4 October 2017)

As if this picture wasn’t depressing enough for those of us who like and are sexually attracted to men, comes the research findings that men who have regular sex over aged 50 may just be increasing their risks of heart attack.

“Because older men have more difficulties reaching orgasm for medical or emotional reasons than do their younger counterparts, they may exert themselves to a greater degree of exhaustion and create more stress on their cardiovascular system in order to achieve climax,” said Professor Hui Liu in the Journal of Health and Social Behaviour.

Simon kissed me goodbye and fondly patted my bum. I couldn’t help but feel it was an insincere gesture and sure enough, he messaged me a day later.

As I predicted, he’d decided that he was going to focus his attentions on meeting the woman who ticked his required boxes (sex, food, shelter). Sigh. It’s so boring when my intuition is right all the time. Just occasionally I’d like to be surprised on a date by someone who is actually great!

Onwards and ‘upwards’ for me – even if not for the men I’m meeting these days!