Last night, I was chatting with a gentlemen who decided after a 10 minute conversation that I didn’t like sex, just like so many women who go through menopause. Huh. Odd. I don’t feel like I don’t like sex. To be honest, I think about sex a lot, and I miss it.
I imagine a lot of older women do, but I suspect that many of those women have had really, really good sex during their lifetimes and, as they get older, are no longer willing to settle for meaninglessly, dissatisfying sex. I know that is where I have gotten.
In many ways, sex is like ice cream. When you have a craving for ice cream, you can settle for a generic ice cream with artificial flavor, probably in vanilla or with six chocolate chips thrown into a whole pint just so the manufacturer can call it chocolate chip flavored. And possibly for little while, that generic ice cream will take the edge off, but underneath it all, the craving is still there. You still want the premium brand ice cream, full-bodied, with all natural ingredients, chalked full of all the extras with whipped cream on top and lots of sprinkles.
Now if you’ve already eaten the generic stuff, you might feel guilty for also indulging in the good stuff, and that kind of defeats the purpose of having dessert. And lord knows you already have enough regrets in your life. Why set yourself up for one more?
Hold out for the good stuff.