Eliot and I are in bed. It’s the first time I’ve seen him for almost three weeks, during which time he has been going to the gym every day, and I have been eating pasta, drinking wine and lying on a beach in Italy.
Although we have been texting each other continuously, now we are naked together I feel shy all over again. In his 20s, Eliot is at his physical peak; at nearly 50, I am very much descending.
In one way this shyness is hot — it feels like the first time all over again. Even though I’ve been seeing Eliot for seven months now, it is still surprising to have a man with so many muscles in my marital bed. (I have an empty house because my three kids are on holiday with their dad.) It would take more than a lifetime to grow weary of the different inflections of Eliot’s pecs, triceps, biceps, lats.
On the other hand, my shyness points to a feeling of deficiency, which is not hot at all.
Out of bed I am a strong and (usually) confident woman. As Eliot starts to touch me, I bury my face in his neck. He will feel the new roll of fat on my stomach, and the wobbliness of my thighs. In midlife I have grown a dress size, which holiday eating has exacerbated.
‘Having someone who wouldn’t look out of place fighting in the Colosseum lying on his back in my bed makes me feel powerful,’ writes Annabel Bond
Better to concentrate on him, especially when he is so appreciative when I do –which I love. He’s missed the way I touch him, he says, gasping. He lets his hands drop to his sides and offers himself up to me. I love turning him on, and having someone who wouldn’t look out of place fighting in the Colosseum lying on his back in my bed, thrilling to my touch, makes me feel powerful.
But I have hardly allowed him to touch me at all by the time we start to have sex, whereas he is already almost at the point of orgasm. Even though it’s been three weeks, I know already I won’t follow him to the peak, so I don’t really try. I do enjoy myself, but I am thinking more about him than me.
Afterwards, I am cross with myself. Why didn’t I put my needs first, or at least equal? How old do I need to be to prioritise my own orgasm?
Research published last month in the journal Sexual Medicine found the orgasm gap does not diminish with age. Nearly 25,000 adults aged 18 to 100 were polled and the results are depressing: men orgasm 30 per cent more often than women during sexual intercourse.
One reason is that as we get older, orgasms get harder, because of the menopause. Also the study only talked about intercourse; the gap may be different with other types of sex. But the main reason, say the authors, is that, culturally, men’s pleasure is prioritised over women’s.
And I have let that happen in my own bedroom, too. During the first few months of dating Eliot, I was often left on the brink. He is unbelievably hot, but that was part of the problem for me. With Simon, my ex-husband, I was bossy in bed, even at the start. But later we fell into a comfortable routine, which always ended with an orgasm for us both.
Now I’m older, part of me feels less entitled to demand what I want from my young lover — which is crazy, I know.
Eliot is always telling me how hot he finds me, and I can tell from his reaction that he means it. And I am more confident in my bedroom skills at my age. But it still feels difficult to put myself first.
Later that afternoon, Eliot slapped my bum. ‘Shall we do it again?’ he asks.
Yes, and always yes, is my answer with him. But this time, I did not let him lead the action. It was easier because it was the second time we’d had sex that day, and I was fuelled by annoyance with myself from the first.
Annabel decided to guide Eliot after she realised she was putting his needs before her own
I knew Eliot liked to please me, but if I didn’t guide his hand, or tell him what I wanted, how was he to know? So, for once, I was direct.
Touch me softer, I told him. Slower. When I wanted to, I got on top. There is a big mirror in my bedroom; I was happy to see that the weight I had put on made my breasts look great and my bum big (thank God for the new beauty standard). In this position I could guide the action and make sure it went at the pace and angle I liked.
And even though it did not feel completely natural – somehow I still had the idea that I ought to be swept up in (his) passion and miraculously climax at the same time – I made sure I got there first.
- Annabel Bond is a pseudonym. Names have been changed.
