Women Don’t Need A Partner to Stay Sexually Satisfied
Here’s why.
I turn 42 in less than six months. My libido is on fire. And I’m partnerless. By choice.
I can blame it on a lack of emotionally available men. They are out there — I believe they are, but they just haven’t made themselves visible to me yet (or maybe they need another year or so in therapy before they shed that invisibility cloak and get all vulnerable and sexy).
I can blame it on a series of imposters. You know the type — the ones that present themselves as ultra-available and then, three or four dates in, once they’ve seen you naked and rubbed their body against yours, suddenly turn all neanderthal. (What was that about feelings? What are feelings? I don’t like talking about things. Can’t we just fuck instead?)
I thought dating older men was the way to go.
I recently dated a 59, almost 60-year-old. At first, like all imposters, he seemed so “available”. He professed to have spent years reading self-help books (I’ve learned these are the arrogant types to look out for) and meditating and even claimed he almost wrote a book on how to master the art of calm 24/7 (spiritual-bypassing anyone?). My gut told me he was gay (hard to ignore it when it blares at you like an ambulance siren every time you hangout). Something about his effeminate demeanor and obsession with my ass and his skin and micro-blading his eyebrows made me feel like I wasn’t his first choice in gender.
Days before he broke up with me in a text he asked me if I was getting a dog when I said I felt relationships were about learning unconditional love, to which I replied, “Huh?”. He replied, “Dogs are the only creatures capable of unconditional love.” (Does he sound a little wounded? I’ve sadly had this thing for wounded birds and lost puppies. I thought I was over it, but I guess old habits die hard.)
I should have text dumped him right then and there — but I have more class and integrity. So I sent him a face-palm emoji and asked him how he was feeling. He said great; the world was grand and he was on top of it enjoying his spiritual wisdom with the spirit of the former Dalai lama plotting the theme for his next life (he was going to be a dog — because that was the most spiritual creature in his unpublished, unwritten book).
Sadly, I wanted to stay with him for the sex. I am even more ashamed to admit that the past few sex sessions with him were not hot, nor were they intimate. There was an icy, detached air to our past few dates. He was annoyed by the fact that I got a little hangry before dinner and couldn’t shake off my so-called, “bad vibe.” “I like the mellow you, not the hangry you,” he said to me as we ate our gluten-free noodle bowls. As I slurped my broth my eyes rolled into my head. Was this guy for real?
I think a part of me left the room after he made that statement. What was left was emotionless and hollow. I was a body on the bed for him to play with as he wished. I knew that role all too well. I’d played it so many times. It was the place I went when things got too tense and talking it through meant me, myself, and a wall.
When I left his house, I felt sexually satiated but emotionally empty. That was a week ago. I haven’t even wanted to touch myself since then. I tried to this morning. I rubbed my hand over my clit and then got repulsed thinking of his hand there just days before.
Today, when he texted, “I think we have too many incompatibilities and would be better served as friends” I got just a little pissed. I guess I expected more out of a man 18 years my senior. He was good at playing that daddy role (not in the bedroom, but in that advice-giving, I-know-what’s-best-for-you kind of way whenever I vented about my current life woes). And other times, I guess he played a really good asshole. I guess that was befitting of him, as he liked assholes a lot (well, he liked mine).
I got punchy after that text. I tried calling him, as I’m a talk things out kind of gal — but his phone was off. Asshole move numero dos. I kind of (but not really, because he had it coming) regret the texts I sent him before blocking his number to avoid any retort texts (I know, immature of me, right?). I was feeling hurt and a little protective. I mean he was lucky to be dating me. A younger woman (I did mention I was 18 years his junior, right?) whom he called, “hot-ass” both in and out of the bedroom.
I told him I didn’t want to be friends with a cowardly asshole that broke up with me over text. And then I told him I thought he was gay and he might have some deeper emotional digging to do — that perhaps he didn’t know himself as well as he proclaimed. (I wasn’t the only one that thought that. I’m sure I’m not the only person that has told him that. But I felt shitty about doing it via text. I was a coward too.)
I was an angry coward who needed to vent off some steam. After a long walk in the woods where I vented about this selfish asshole to familiar evergreens and oaks, I found myself Googling sentences like, “How to be single and stay sexually satisfied.”
He was my last sexual experience of 2019. His break-up text on New Year’s Day was the clean slate my sexually hungry self needed to begin anew — with me, myself, and I as my lover.
My new mantra for 2020 is “Staying sexually satisfied without a partner.”
Here’s are some of the sexual satisfaction tools my Google search reminded me of:
Vibrate away, baby.
I went to my first sex toy party in grad school. My professor hosted it. I know, unexpected, right? The party host was flaming gay and full of dirty sex jokes. I laughed my way into the backroom to buy $200 worth of toys and lube from him. My boyfriend at the time told me he would buy me whatever I wanted. It was my birthday present to our sex life. Only one of those toys made it out of that relationship and into my bedroom.
It’s a small egg-shaped vibrator attached to a wire that has a switch at the end of it. The egg is small enough to insert vaginally while being penetrated. Or anally. And it vibrates nicely on the clit — during intercourse or for solo play. I don’t take it out much because the noise kind of turns me off, but when I do, I cum every time. I think I might be ready for another sex toy party — one designed for single women. I think this time, I’ll host it.
Explore classes and workshops.
I don’t have to go across the globe to study tantra (though that would be exotic, wouldn’t it?). There are so many virtual sexual empowerment classes and workshops. I even found a sexual empowerment coach via social media that offered free insight call sessions. I think I might set one up just to put my feelers out there. Who knows, I might learn a thing or two (like what resonates and what doesn’t).
Watch quality porn designed for women.
I’ve avoided porn since my 20s. Once I started to love myself more, I started to resent men that objectified women. I could tell if a guy that I slept with watched porn. He would ask me to do things with a detached air. I felt like I was just a body in an empty room. Our sex was soul-less and mechanical.
My recent Google search has enlightened me on sites like, For The Girls. “Since 2003, For The Girls has offered top-quality erotica to women who want something better from their porn — sex positivity, respect and a focus on female pleasure, not to mention seriously hot content.” Images can be erotic. Even though this site had a classy feel to it, I still feel porn isn’t my jam. But who knows what will unfold on my journey? Perhaps quality porn and I will cross paths again when the timing is just right.
Sexy hobby anyone?
A friend told me she signed up for a pole dancing class after her boyfriend of 10 years broke up with her. I didn’t think she’d stick with it, then months later, pictures of her all lithe and graceful, wrapped around a shiny silver pole started appearing in my Instagram feed.
She radiated a sexual prowess; a prowess I never saw when she was dating ex-douchebag. I want what she’s having. Maybe not in pole dancing form. Maybe tantric yoga for one. Or belly dancing. Or learning to strip tease or tie knots. The world is my sexual hobby oyster. Have a fun suggestion for me? Write in the comments. I’m moaning to hear it!
To thine own self be true.
Aka: love yourself. Do what feels right. Nix what doesn’t. And repeat.
Sexuality is a me-first kind of game.
At some point, I might want to date again. But before I do, I want to learn to satisfy myself sexually in ways I haven’t explored yet. Our body is a playground. I’m in my sexual prime and ready to dive in and play. It’s okay if I don’t want to share. Sexuality is a me-first kind of game. Once I master me, I’ll ask you to play.
Until then, emotionally available man, you’re just gonna have to wait. And don’t worry, it will be worth it. Once I cum, I can’t stop cumming.
