No more sex men
I have come to realize that I don’t want to date.
Of course I realize this isn’t necessarily a permanent position, but when I think of spending time with a man physical stuff just doesn’t come into it.
I like the idea of talking, doing things, such as going for dinner, lunch, to the art gallery or the museum, but I don’t want to stay over at anyone’s place and I don’t want them staying at mine. I sleep with my beautiful dog, and I’m really good with that.
I don’t want to chat on the phone every day asking him how his day was and me discussing the same. And I don’t want to text or email either, well, at least not regularly. Once and a while would be okay.
And it’s at this moment, when I come to these realizations, that I understand the idea of having A Room of One’s Own. Where else could I hide from the world of men than in my room?
You see, I’m 44. Divorced twice. A mother. I don’t need a man anymore.
I have my own place. My own career. My son (who more aptly has me). I don’t need any more sperm, nor do I want any thank you very much (no offense to the sperm of course).
And, quite honestly, I just want to do things and hang out. Maybe I’ve suddenly become old fashioned–you know, no sex before marriage kind of stuff. Except, I don’t ever want to be married again (learned that lesson thank you very much).
I’m sure other middle-aged women feel just like I do. I’ve given enough. And I’ve paid enough. Now, I just want to be treated with respect and left alone. Not too much to ask, I don’t think.
And I’ve had lots of sex. Some of it was really good and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but most of it, quite honestly, I don’t even remember. And I don’t remember all the names of the men I’ve had sex with either. I lost count at a certain point, and, well, gave up trying.
At one point in my life I couldn’t have imagined not having sex, but I feel as if I’ve grown up a lot. Sex is fun, I don’t deny that. But it comes with messiness that no longer interests me. I don’t mean literally messiness, I mean emotional garbage and posturing and all that nonsense.
I think the men I’ve known simply didn’t have what it took to really be grown-ups. They were still in the ‘not sure I want to be responsible for anything’ category and that is not at all sexy.
I remember telling my most recent ex when he wasn’t making any money, expecting me to pay all the bills and look after him and his three boys that when I looked at him all I saw was responsibility. That he was just another thing I had to look after and that I didn’t find him attractive physically at all anymore.
And that’s really what it is for me. The men I’ve been involved with have used me up, and, well, the bank account is empty guys. Sure I chose those losers, I accept that, but they could’ve chosen to shape up and they didn’t. They could’ve grown up and worn big boy panties, but they didn’t.
So here we are–no more sex for you. And I’m so good with that I could burst, but then that would be messy too.