Older Women Make Beautiful Lovers
“Learnin’ how to really love takes a little time” — Ronnie McDowell
That country song came out around the time of my first divorce. He left me for another woman. I was twenty-six years old. I’d been married seven years, and thought I was washed up. Finished. Done for. Yeah, I know. The angst of youth.
The song resonated with me. I had married the first man I had sex with and was totally unprepared for entering a dating scene where anything and everything goes. Talk about young, free and restless. And confused.
What I felt was used, older, and discarded. So this song became my anthem. I knew how to love. I just had no idea how to go about finding love again. Especially while feeling used, older, and discarded.
I didn’t know everything about sex, although I’d taught myself to orgasm through manual clitoral stimulation alone and during penetrative sex. Not every woman back then knew how to do that. Not every lover knew how to accept my doing that for myself.
I knew how to help a man enjoy his time in bed from being married. I was an active, joyful participant. I’d practiced kegel exercises since I was seventeen. I was multi-orgasmic. My first sexual partner after my divorce told me my husband must be crazy to have left me for another woman. It was a refrain I heard a few times after that. It helped, but didn’t explain why the husband had left. I grew more confused.
It sounds so odd now, but I caught some feeling for that guy and a couple of the others I had sex with during the first three years after my divorce. Odd with the first guy because we hooked up at a fraternity party. He lived in another city, and to him, I was actually an older woman who made a beautiful lover, but of course that was all.
I’d only known sex in the context of love, and since that wasn’t the sexual climate of the times, just like it isn’t now, I felt older than many of the men I dated, whether I actually was older or not. In truth, I was just more mature.
I did date some younger guys, which certainly didn’t help. One was particularly gorgeous, but didn’t have two brain cells to rub together. Once sex was finished, we had absolutely nothing to talk about. The day I realized…
