I want to clear something up.
Women of a certain age still love sex, they are merely much more selective than they were at 30.
Alright, who said prove it?
When I’m asked why I’m not on the prowl like some of the girls I know from Bemelmans Bar, my back goes up; not out, up. The intimation is it’s because I’m old.
First of all, I don’t consider myself part of the geriatric set quite yet. I look 10 years younger than I am and my insides don’t exactly feel fossilized. I’ve just expanded my horizons so sex isn’t the only constellation anymore.
My friend Camille, who’s older than I am, dates all the time. It’s great for me because she’s like a walking Zagat’s guide. She’s eaten in every restaurant in the 5 boroughs including The Pastrami Queen on Lex and 79th. (she doesn’t recommend it.)
I don’t choose to do that. Not because I’m not into sex, it’s because I wouldn’t be a size 4 anymore after all that culinary foreplay.
All Camille does is dress for dinner then call me from the ladies room to complain how disappointed she is. Not exactly an ad for, ‘next time I’ll join you.’
I tell her to feign illness then stop by Barnes & Noble to get a book on her way home.
“But I haven’t had dessert yet Susannah,” she tells me, as if somehow a portion of creme-brulee will make her date more exciting.
It’s a myth to think that women over 50 only get hot from menopause. Wrong. We merely require more, at least most of us, than a meal and some inane conversation. I’m sorry to say that some women have sex just to prove to themselves and to the world they’re not drying up. It’s a lot of work to pretend you’re 35. I say save it for someone who’s worth all the trouble.
Take me, I’m still so hot to trot it scares me. I blame it on watching Bull Durham so often. Susan Sarandon and Kevin Costner on that kitchen table never fails to rev my motor, but that still doesn’t mean I’m picking up a busboy to prove I still can drive a stick. Of course if I came across one who looked like Kevin Costner that could change.
I can only speak for myself but I want one man who floats my boat around my writing and work schedule. Not an easy find. Most of the men I meet (who I’m interested in) are either taken or expect a quart of sauce on our second date. They’d like me to cook and coo at the same time. See, I love doing that, for someone who I feel could be a keeper.
And only seeing someone for sex isn’t very appealing – It’s like fast food; it tastes good while it’s going down but gives you heartburn later.
So what’s the solution?
The George Clooney DVD Anniverary Collection and if you order now you’ll get a complimentary dildo?
To be honest, I still think I have another great love affair coming my way that will include gads of sex over hills (as opposed to over the hill) sinks and coffee tables. I’m not as worried as Camile and those tiny-hinies at the Carlyle who keep wanting to buy me drinks out of pity.
We women over 50 have a twinkle in our eye that a 30 year old can’t quite claim or see for that matter. Have you ever witnessed a star-studded sky? That’s us; we’re not out all the time but shine on special occasions.
I’m waiting for that perfect man to cook for. I know he’s coming, I’m just not sure when.
He’s probably caught in traffic.