images-96 I tried coming up with a clever, pithy title, but when all was said and done…SEX simply said it all.

I miss it, like a long, lost friend.

I’ve often said, if I never had sex again, I’ve still had more than anyone else I know, short of my friend Camille who holds the heavyweight title.

That said, it still doesn’t make up missing it so.

I always had a man in my life even if he was just a part-timer to call to cuddle up with. Being my mother’s daughter, I needed the closeness…the release, the feel of another to ignite that passion inherited for better or worse.

It’s so remote now, vaguely remembered as if it was experienced by someone else.

I ask myself, will I ever know its colors again?

I’ve loved a lot in my life quite often not having it returned. But did that stop me?

Unrequited love deserves the Purple Heart since mine forever mourns when it wasn’t embraced.

When you reach middle age, you can’t fuck like an alley cat anymore…mentally or physically.

Where before you could reap so much from a casual roll-in-the-hay, now it’s out of the question, your needs and tastes, tolerance and overall forbearance just not permitting it.

And we must include the body too tender to let just anyone touch its hills and valleys once so willing to be stroked and kissed for the mere thrill of it all (It feels as if I’m resurrecting Jacqueline Susann from the dead).

I guess what I’m really wondering…will I never be held again, or ravished or told…you are so, so beautiful? (and one doesn’t have to be a conventional beauty as long as he thinks so)

To dress for a man you can’t wait to see…

Wait impatiently for the bell to ring, your heart a flutter when he’s finally here.

Feel that throb in your underbelly when he’s knocking on the door.

Makes me wonder about my mother, the biggest femme fatale I ever knew living for that lusty exchange way past her 60th year like a lioness dressing her prey.

Did she too finally hang up her passion like a retired number?

I so wish I had the chance to ask her.





About Susannah Bianchi

I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves. My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Thanks.
This entry was posted in Love, sex, women and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

37 Responses to Sex

  1. Ah the return to sex. Susannah, I can’t imagine someone a pretty as you, or as decent for that matter, not being adored. You deserve the proper gentleman. :O)


  2. micklively says:

    How very improper. How very honest.
    Love it, Susannah.


  3. For once I am speechless. You candor is amazing.


  4. Lynn says:

    I hope you find your person who makes your underbelly throb! Don’t give up my friend, keep searching!


  5. skinnyuz2b says:

    Isn’t that the way, Susannah? As the field of available lovers decrease, your requirements increase, which leaves a pretty skimpy pool to dip from.


  6. The desire to be loved and held and be important to another is a basic vital part of us. Well written and so honest. Thank you for pressing the publish button… honesty in writing, once we get to a certain point in our blog, I think, can become less blatantly honest. I enjoyed this, one of your best.


  7. “When you reach middle age, you can’t fuck like an alley cat anymore…mentally or physically”. When i feel nostalgic for the old days i go to the supermarket and walk over to the butcher department. I like to hear the sound of meat slappin’


  8. Elle Knowles says:

    I could never write like that. You have no problem with being so open. The thing is you say what other people think whether they admit to it or not. If I didn’t have H in my life I would probably be a recluse never making the time to socialize. Sometimes when I think about being 60 I wonder what lies ahead. Being 60 is not like when our mothers were 60. I sometimes get panic attacks or at least little flutters when I think how much time left I really don’t have. There is so much to still be accomplished in such a short time. I understand completely where you are coming from. And don’t we all wish we had our mothers to still talk to – even if the relationship was not a perfect one. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t wish I could run something by my mother and benefit a little from that wisdom we get from growing old. Another great post Susannah! ~Elle


    • I’m not open easily. You reblogged that great Anne Lamott piece…now she’s open and her depth of candor is what I aspire to. To take your truth and place it on the page is a little like putting together a photo album, just with words instead of pictures. I am who I am spending a fair amount of time not liking myself, feeling ashamed, less than. My goal is just to brave it out, out loud with all its colors for better or worse. Of course, this will take more time.

      Thanks for writing.

      Liked by 1 person

  9. In reference to your last sentence, it’s interesting how perspective changes over time. Those are probably the sorts of questions it never would have occurred to you to ask before. I just realizes that when we’re young, we can’t accept our parents understand what it’s like to be young and when we’re older, we don’t have the chance to ask their perspective. It’s only in the middle when maturity and opportunity coincide. Didn’t mean to ramble on like that… πŸ™‚


  10. Dear, When I read your post, I had to look back to make certain I didn’t write most of it. I would substitute female for male and back, but, nevertheless, I feel what you wrote.
    Tell you the truth,you make my heart patter harder reading it all. It lets me know there is at least one out there who thinks and feels like I do.
    That makes you very special.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.