I ran into an old friend yesterday. We don’t often see each other, and yet, we adore one another, so an accidental meet-up is always a treat. I was in such a hurry to get things done and get back to my hidey-hole; I was racing through every errand, spurred on by a (NOT) decaf latte.
New gal at the coffee shop – doesn’t realize what a monster I become if I am caffeinated after noon.
Gotta go. Don’t look anyone in the eye. Pretend you didn’t see your old co-worker in aisle 4. Head down. Don’t get stalled out trying to choose an ice cream flavor.
And then I saw her and suddenly had all the time in the world.
“How’s the pandemic going for you?” I asked, “What have you two empty-nesters been doing with yourselves?”
“Fucking. All the time. All over the house. We go to bed at 7:30. The sex has been SOOOOOOO good.”
So right there, in front of the City Market, with the loiterers listening in, mothers with overflowing carts pulling their innocent-eared children away from the raucus potty-mouthed middle aged women, we discussed the sexual benefits of social distancing in a child free household.
As I walked away, with a smile on my face, I thought about the fact that women just “go there” – immediately, unabashedly, freely, and yet it’s men who have the reputation of oversharing, objectifying, and generally participating in “locker room” talk.
I don’t actually know what two 50-something men would have discussed with the Salvation Army lady ringing her bell in their ears, but I am guessing it would have been something more along the lines of work, building projects, farming, the global crisis, or the Thanksgiving Steelers game.
I can’t imagine TAM or her husband leaning on a cart full of frozen fruit and birdseed talking about the astounding number of times he had gotten laid in the last nine months.
We would shame them if they did. They might even get compared to the current President and his cronies. But when women do it, it’s liberating.
TAM has too much grace and respect and integrity and maturity and sense of propriety to ever over-share about anything as personal and intimate as our sexual encounters (of which there are many).
And I too am relatively appropriate, but I wouldn’t hesitate to use words like “rabbits” in describing our lives during a global pandemic.
Maybe even “Happy Rabbits.”
The friend and I also discussed having reached the Crone Phase of life and how enjoyable and freeing it is. We talked about young mothers and how idealistic they are in their struggles to parent, farm, bake bread, grow human beings, homeschool, and, be pleasant. We talked about how thankful we are to not be those mothers anymore.
Entering Crone-hood is so liberating. There is such a sense of realness: no bullshit: call it like you see it. Propriety be damned.
But women talking sex is not lewdness or one-upmanship or an attempt to titilate, it’s just being totally honest with who we are at this point in our lives.
And crones like sex. We like penises and vaginas and breasts and nipples and lips and asses and hands and skin and hair and orgasms. So many of us, especially those of us recovering from shitty marriages, are enjoying sex in the way that it was meant to be enjoyed, for the very first time.
We want to share. We want someone to say, “I know, right?!” and, “You go Girl.”
At this age, we know what we like and what we don’t like. Many of us know what it means to fake our way through our marital duty. We spent many years yielding to someone else’s needs when we have had little creatures crawling all over us all day long and the last thing we want is someone else grabbing our breasts.
We learned how to be satisfied with disatisfaction.
Without small humans sucking at our tits all day, our bodies have returned to their rightful owners – ourselves. Our brains are less foggy. We are not so exhausted.
We’ve discovered vibrators, lube, and the Kama Sutra. We’ve learned to enjoy sex, initiate it, ask for what we want.
We’ve gotten out of the missionary position and learned to be on top.
And this is what women share with their friends when they discuss fucking in the dining room when running into old friends. We are sick of discussing our children – we want to discuss our new-found reality…
sex is really fun.
So, probably, when you hear two women uttering the words, “lube, ride, and out of body experience,” it’s not in a pat-on-the-ass, go get-um, kind of way.
It’s more “I hear ya, Sistah. And it’s about fucking time.”