Sex. Sex. And Mo' Sex.

They say men think about sex about a million times a day. So what. You will think about sex about a million times a minute.

And not love making, not soft core porn, not 'caress my face before deflowering me' women made for women movies of the week. Just hard core straight up doggy style reverse cowgirl rough and ready ride 'em make me yell your name hard and loud sex. You will become that prepubescent pimpled boy. Without the bathroom time or the Playboy magazine.

The sense of urgency is palpable. Almost controls you instead of you controlling it. Foreplay? A thing of the past. Not required to ride this ride. By the time you say "Hello", I am standing there naked. Liberating? Hell yeah. Embarrassing? Only when it happens in public.

As a major sex supporter, my desires went from comfortable to ridiculous pretty instantly. I could not look any man in his face without itching to survey his crotch first. Is that zipper straining? How big were his lips? The size of his hands, his feet - and yes nine times out of ten it's true. Shoulder width? (Good for climbing). Oh God. What was happening to me?

At first, red faced, stuttering shame. I was mature on the outside but a raging hormonal booty call on the inside. Later, no shame. When I was caught, I coolly met their eyes. Dead on. Yeah, big boy. Bring it.

Every little thing will set you off. Every little thing sets me off. A breeze. A purring car engine at a stoplight. The smell of a musky cologne. A shoe sale. Handing the male bus driver my metro card. Whatever. Whenever. I exist in a perpetual state of 'blush' all the time.

Mother Nature, in all of her infinite wisdom, made women over fourty possess the libido of a zippy college boy. Made men over fourty have the libido of a eighty five year old man. With a broken hip. And a cane. Sucks. Especially since we have 'arrived'. Are 'seasoned'. Know exactly where, how to position our lips. Our hips. When to 'inhale' and not 'inhale'. Wink.

Forget sex toys. Pocket rabbit vibrating weird color penis clitoris massager...nothing will help. Or slow you down. All of that cold plastic. All of those required batteries. A little nerve wracking to say the least. Ain't nothing like the real thing baby. In reality no one has a tiny sex rabbit. No one has a penis that vibrates. That feels, smells and tastes like plastic. Not that I've come across.

I do get concerned - sometimes. How much can my sugar box take? Have I really lost my freaking mind? Am I a sex addict?  My boyfriend, who is  eight years younger than me, wonders out loud what the hell he has gotten himself into. Ever seen a grown man really cry? Most of the time he stares at me in stunned disbelief. Damn woman, AGAIN? Ah...yes. Please.

So what. This is the best highlight of this decade ladies. We are so sexually healthy it is every mans wet dream. Or it could be. Hold your head up. Put your embarrassment on ice. Experience this gift to its fullest whether that is in or out of bed.

Who are we kidding. Preferably in.


xo,
Fabulously Fourty(ish)