In eight weeks I will be 50.
I’ve been single for the past 3 years.
Sex is a distant memory. #iminheat
I knew when I divorced I wanted MORE.
Ugly face-making sex.
Speaking in tongues kind of sex.
As a street urchin saved by grace through the love of my 9th-grade math teacher, I was unprotected and exposed as a child to sex.
All in the name of love.
Simply and gently put: I have appetites.
I did not bring my appetites to my marriage. My former spouse was a gentle, loving, wonderful soul. She had no capacity for my appetites. She was middle/upper class and was a virgin to violence and street culture. Which is why I married her!!
She was my shot at normalcy.
She was my American Dream.
She was home.
So I suppressed my appetites.
I didn’t want to make her dirty.
She was clean. Good. Wholesome.
I am not.
So once I ended my marriage and got into therapy, I confronted how much I hated myself.
It took some time but I healed my way into not only self-acceptance but more importantly, self-approval.
Self-approval is the gateway into self-love.
When I was married AND even before, I would twist myself into knots trying to be what my partner wanted. I suppressed myself in the name of love.
I was wrong.
I just couldn’t jeopardize the loss of the normalcy, of having a stable home and being loved, by trying to make my spouse participate in things that went against her nature.
Had I taken the gamble maybe we would be married.
There’s no way of knowing.
What I do know is it’s taken to my 50th rotation around the sun to accept and approve of me.
I am not straight, gay, or Lesbian.
Queer Identity is the only social space where I feel safe. Where I feel like myself. When I divorced, I committed to myself to be happy and fulfilled. And that included including my appetites.
I met an exceptional older gentleman who not only accepts me but approves of me.
He makes me giggle.
Hide my face when I smile.
I can tell him the truth.
I can be myself.
I can have my appetites in a safe and nurturing way and not be judged, chastised, or invalidated.
But more than anything he treats me like I am the most precious, beautiful, and erotic woman on the planet!!!
He makes me laugh.
He sends me gifts weekly.
AND he will NOT consummate our relationship until AFTER our “consideration” period. Meaning, we court until we have bonded emotionally and intellectually before we have physical intimacy.
He’s a smart man. He doesn’t want my body. He wants my heart. The truth of the matter is, I can use him for my sexual pleasure and walk away. I’m NOT above it. #iminheatremember
He wants more.
He wants me.
I’ve NEVER had this before.
I got giddy!
I shared on Facebook about his most recent gift and several people said I was too old to be THIS excited about my new bae. Here’s the link to see for yourself: https://fb.watch/v/KNxZRCmu/
Am I too OLD to have NEW love?
Due to the trauma of my past, it has taken DECADES to heal and be well. I was so busy healing that I didn’t have the time nor the capacity to trust and take my time with an equal. So when well intentioned people chide me for my overflow of JOY because I’m giggling like a schoolgirl, I’m present to how little acceptance is given to mature women expressing romantics happiness in ways that aren’t “age-appropriate.”
I know I’m half a century. 50 years alive is a big deal especially when I never planned to live past 20. The streets are unforgiving.
But God said my latter will be greater than my former. And I believe God.
I’m old enough and mature enough now to NOT people please or be “nice” at the sacrifice of my fulfillment and joy.
Perhaps I AM too old to blush or get giddy over being courted and wooed by a sexy, successful, compassionate “gentleman dom” (look it up if you don’t know) who can feed my appetites without physically touching me.
I’ll be too old then.
I choose to feel ALIVE! Sexy and erotic!
I am committed to being fully self-expressed, cherished, and fulfilled from now to the day I die.
AND, if me and my gentleman suitor evolve into a long-term relationship I am fully confident I will have MIND-BLOWING SEX that makes me forget my name!
At the ripe old age of 50!
Let the church say amen.
Amen and thank God.