We’re both forty-nine years old and divorced. We met two years ago at a business dinner. Until then, I’d been fairly celibate during the last ten years. I’ll start with the end first…
My ten year marriage was over and I was busy raising three wonderful sons, now in their late teens and early twenties. My initial thoughts were that if intimacy didn’t stay with me and the man who helped me create these wonderful children, I was most certain that I wouldn’t find it with someone else. The truth is, I allowed my ex-husband to be complacent in our marriage, as I found it easier to just do things myself rather than share the responsibilities. Add three children to that, aging parents, the deaths of aging parents, illnesses…I burned out. I should’ve paid more attention to what wasn’t happening in our bedroom, but, in my defense, he should’ve seen the wear and tear life was putting me through. He knew me well enough to know that just because I was smiling on the outside, that didn’t mean my heart was content.
I was attractive and love lacy undies, thigh-highs and candles. When I tried all of that to surprise him, he laughed at me…saying, "it wasn’t the me he’s gotten used to." Was he insane?! I was wearing black mini dresses with the backs cut out when I was eight months pregnant! I started that, not Pam Anderson! I haven’t owned a pair of flat shoes since 1976, and those were for gym class in high school! I was sexy…but there was just no more sex. We’d become more like brother and sister than man and wife. He’d gotten interested in other women who seemed more carefree, without the connections to the man he’d become to me. By that time, I didn’t care anymore. I still take half the blame for that. It takes two.
What I did find was that life raising my children was, in fact, easier to do alone…until I lost my job. No one should have to bear what this recession has done to us. I’m not politcally savvy enough to cast blame, but what I do know is that my desire for good sex kicked in…full swing. But I wanted to share that with the right man.
I wanted him to be sexy and smart. I wanted him to have his own company…his own car…his own money, and yes, I wanted him to share all of that with me. I would with him. I dreamed that he was over six-feet tall…6’2"maybe…dark hair with sprinkles of gray at the sides, and a social drinker and smoker. I like to "burn one" every once in a while and I didn’t want to be preach to about that. He couldn’t drink tea…only strong black coffee with alittle cream to take the bitterness out. I didn’t want bitter. I didn’t want yelling. Catholic would be nice, Christian was essential. He had to have made enough mistakes in his past to understand mine. I wanted his strength to lack that which only I could fill. He needed to love me with his entire heart and soul and make me feel like a princess who’d been locked in a tower for the past ten years. I wanted us to laugh at the same things at the same time…and none of this was negotiable. I’d lost my job, but I needed him not to care about that. He’d soon see that I most certainly wasn’t lazy, just unemployed. I was starting a new career in writing and that would take time to build. He had to be patience and understanding. I didn’t want anything thrown in my face, and that included my struggles and weaknesses. I didn’t want him to love my sons like they were his, but he needed to be there for them if they needed him. For anything. He had a daughter and I’d do the same for her. And I wanted to make him so rock-hard just by looking at me that he couldn’t think straight. I found him.