I remember the heyday of Charlie’s Angels, now newly popular in rerun. God, those women were fantastic. Gorgeous, smart, and good shots, too. I remember the incredible popularity of Jaclyn Smith, Kate Jackson, and Farrah Fawcett.
Then I read an interview with Farrah Fawcett, sex goddess for an entire generation of men, sex idol for a generation of women. In the article, she said she thought she had fat thighs. Fat thighs! I think that was the moment when I decided to try my best to resist the lure of physical perfection. It’s not easy to weather the onslaught of the constant messages, and I admit that I still use face cream and hand cream, but the panic is muffled. I am what I am and I try to be happy with that. And, after all, my good skin, gray hair, and pendulous breasts are all a result of genes and nature and nothing more.
Here’s something I want you to do. Take awhile and think of that part that you decided you’re particularly happy with—the one above the neck and the one below—or select one now if you copped out on my little quiz. Go into the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror if you need to. You may have to think for a while because you’re not used to concentrating on your good parts. Your toes? Your fingernails? Your shoulders? Maybe it’s your earlobes, or your hairline, or even your eyebrows. Pick one thing above the neck and one below it. Do it.
If you’re like most of the rest of us, the last thing you look at when you leave a mirror is the one part of your body you’re most unhappy with. You check the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door to assure yourself that your hips haven’t expanded in the past fifteen minutes. You take one last look at your prominent chin or large ears when you finish shaving or complete your makeup.
Okay. Now, every time you leave a mirrored area, I want the last thing you look at to be that “best thing” of yours. Let your eyes linger just a split second on that one part of you that you’re most happy with. Nice calves! Nice eyes! It won’t create miracles, but it will change your perception just a bit.
I can give you women one suggestion about the way you look. Nothing makes a woman look more dated or more out of touch than her makeup. If you’re still using heavy dark eyeliner the way you did twenty years ago, or still brushing on the light blue eye shadow, get one of the fashion-oriented magazines and look at the makeup ads carefully. Compare the way those disgustingly gorgeous women use blush, lip liner, and eye color, not so you look like them, but so you look like the best of yourself. Try a light foundation if your skin is uneven. Use a concealer if you have dark areas beneath your eyes as I have. If you can afford a session with a cosmetic specialist, do that. If not, have a small makeover at the local department store and treat yourself to a new product or two. It will do wonders for your morale and for your body image.
Men, I have a suggestion for you, too. Modernize your wardrobe a bit. Are you still wearing the tie-dyed shirts you wore in the seventies, or the wide-collared shirts that went with your leisure suits? Wander through a men’s store at the local mall and see what men are wearing. Update yourself with a new shirt or a pair of slacks that really fit. Men’s vanity amuses me. Many older men pride themselves that they wear the same size pants they wore twenty years ago. And they do. The waistline, however, is now substantially lower, their belts resting below their overhanging bellies. I don’t care about the belly; it’s the poorly fitting clothes that make a man look older.
Men, look at those long strands of hair that begin just over your ears and get combed up and over the top. You’re really not fooling anyone. Bald may not be more beautiful than the luxurious head of hair you used to have, but it’s not uglier, either. It just is. Ask Michael Jordan. Remember Telly Savalas and Yul Brynner? Consider returning those long locks to the side of your head where they belong.
Body image is much more about the way you feel about your good and bad points than about how you actually look. There was a story in the previous chapter about a man who bought his wife a lace bodysuit to try to fight her problems with body image. In the story that follows, Mark helped Gail learn a lesson about body image one evening by using a different sex toy.
GAIL AND MARK’S STORY
Gail was almost seventy and Mark was seventy-two. Their sex life had been very satisfying throughout their forty-three years of marriage. Recently, however, Mark had begun to suspect that Gail was avoiding the sexual side of their relationship. He wasn’t horny all the time, the way he had been as a teenager, but he enjoyed sex with Gail and wasn’t willing to give it up completely. He had tried to talk to his wife about it, but she staunchly denied that there was a problem.
For her part, Gail had begun to hate the sight she saw in the mirror in the bathroom after her shower each morning. Her skin had lost its elasticity and sagged in many places and her beauty marks had multiplied. Her breasts had lost the little uplift they had when she was younger and, as what seemed to her like the final insult, her pubic hair had almost disappeared. How could Mark look at her as a sexual being? How could he really be interested?
When Mark broached the subject of his disappearing sex life with his son Andy, the younger man said, “Hey, Dad, it’s hard enough just imagining you and Mom having sex, much less you two doing it now that you’re old. No offense, Dad.”
“No offense, son.”
Gail lightly touched on the subject of her disappearing sex life with their daughter. Liz had responded, “You know, sex is nice, but it’s a strain, especially for Don and me, with the two kids and all. I think about how comfortable it must be for you now. You should be happy to slow down. Anyway, is all that sex stuff good for older people? You know, you’re not kids anymore and Dad’s heart isn’t as healthy as it once was.”
Gail sighed and changed the subject.
One afternoon, Mark decided that he would give one more try to reestablish the playful sexual relationship he and his wife had shared. He went to the video store and took out an XXX-rated video, one he remembered he and Gail had enjoyed several years earlier. That evening, sitting in the living room after the late news, Mark put the video in the tape player and pushed the button.
“What’s that?” Gail asked.
“Its a video we both used to enjoy. Just be patient.”
After the FBI warnings, a picture flashed on the screen of a woman walking through a misty landscape. “I think I remember this,” Gail said. Then, as recognition dawned, her eyes widened. “It’s that hot one about the couple who get trapped in the maze. The one with all the food. But why did you rent it now? We used to watch it, back when …”
“That’s exactly why I rented it.” He pulled the shoe box in which they kept their sex toys from under the sofa, where he had hidden it earlier.
“Where did you find that?” Gail asked. “We haven’t used it for years.”
“More’s the pity.”
“Come on, Mark, be real,” Gail said over the rising music from the video. Parroting their daughter, she added, “We’re not kids anymore.”
“And what does that have to do with it? All the sex experts say there’s no reason why we can’t enjoy sex forever if we’re so inclined. And I’m so inclined.”
“But you’ve had one mild heart attack….”
“And Dr. Shapiro says that exercise is good for me.”
“Exercise?”
“I asked him about making love, and he’s all for it. He told me it would do me good.”
“You talked about our sex life with Dr. Shapiro?” Gail moaned. “I’ll never be able to look at him again.”
Mark put the box of toys on the coffee table and draped his arm around Gail’s shoulders. “Be quiet and watch the movie.”
On the screen, two lovers had become lost in an old-fashioned British hedgerow maze and were consoling each other with the knowledge that they would get out eventually. As they wandered, they came upon a clearing with a stone bench, several stone statues, a blanket, and a picnic basket. How those items got there was never explained in the film, but who really cared anyway? For several minutes, the two lover
s fed each other goodies with their fingers; there were close-ups of them licking and sucking each other’s fingers and lips and lots of sensual noises.
His eyes on the screen, Mark took a potato chip, dipped it into the low-fat sour cream and onion dip they had been eating, and fed it to Gail while they watched the lovers. Playing along, Gail did the same. Then Mark dipped his finger into the soft white goo and offered it to Gail.
Without thinking, Gail sucked her husband’s fingers into her mouth and used her tongue to clean off every last bit of dip. When she realized what she had done, she said, “This is silly. It’s for kids, not for people our age.”
“Why not for people our age? I enjoyed that tremendously.” Before Gail had time to respond, Mark spread some dip on her lips and licked it off. They kissed deeply, their arms wrapped around each other.
By the time their attention strayed back to the movie, the two screen lovers were naked, rolling around on the grass. Mark reached for Gail’s T-shirt, but she resisted. “Why don’t you want me to take your shirt off?” Mark asked.
“I just don’t feel sexy,” Gail responded. “I know I don’t look sexy anymore.” She turned her face away, but Mark grasped her chin and pulled her back to look at him.
“Then you don’t think I look sexy anymore, either, I guess.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re still sexy.”
“But I’m no spring chicken.” He stood up and turned sideways. “I’ve got a pot-belly, a few too many chins, and very little hair.” He ran his hand over his bald pate.
“What does that matter?” Gail said. “I think you’re sexy anyway.”
“So why can’t I think that you’re sexy?”
“Because I look in a mirror and see what I see. I’m old.”
“Okay. I’ll give you that. You’re old. So am I. So what?”
Mark noticed a small, slightly embarrassed smile on Gail’s face. “But I don’t feel sexy. I don’t get wet and horny anymore,” she said.
“And why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know. Because I’m old.”
“We’ve already established that. You didn’t feel old twenty-five years ago, but for a while you didn’t feel sexy then, either. Remember when the kids went off to college and you decided your life was over? You got over that quickly enough.”
Gail remembered a trip to their cabin at the lake and a weekend of cavorting. “I did,” she said, her eyes misty. “But that was just a hormonal phase I was going through.”
“And now? Don’t you think this might be a phase, too?” Mark sat back down and held his wife close. “I want to make playful, wonderful love with you. I still feel the same feelings, although I’ll admit it takes longer to put any of them into action. Let’s watch the movie and see what happens. Okay?”
Gail dropped her chin and stared at the TV. “Okay.”
On the screen, the lovers had found a cucumber in the picnic basket and the man was slowly inserting it into his lover’s vagina. “Oh God,” Gail said, a bit breathless, “I’d forgotten that part.”
Mark reached into the toy box and pulled out a slender dildo. “I hadn’t. Maybe you just need to be reminded.” In a flash, he had Gail’s slacks off and had turned her body so she was stretched out on the sofa, her legs spread. As he had dozens of times before, Mark pulled a pair of scissors from the toy box and cut the sides of Gail’s panties until he could pull the fabric away from her body.
“What are you doing?” Gail said, her voice half outrage and half amusement.
“That, my dear,” Mark said, attempting to imitate a villain from the old Saturday-morning serials they used to watch at the movie theater, “would seem obvious.” Mark took out a tube of lubricant and spread the slippery substance over the dildo. “Give up now. You want this and you know it, so don’t fight it.” Then he took a dollop of the lubricant and rubbed it slowly over Gail’s vaginal tissues.
Gail squirmed. This was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? Soon she realized that she really didn’t want to fight it anymore. She did want to play. At their age, it was ridiculous, but she did want to “fool around,” as they used to say.
Mark rubbed the cold, wet end of the toy against her flesh, then inserted it slowly and deeply into his wife’s body. “Now, watch the movie.”
Gail was getting hot. It seemed so unreal. She had convinced herself that she was beyond this part of life, but maybe she had been wrong. With her body delightfully filled, she watched the two lovers in the film. The man was sucking grapes from his lover’s pussy.
“Remember the night I did that to you?” Mark asked, not expecting an answer. He pulled the dildo out, then pushed it in again. “Remember how that felt?”
She did remember, but it wasn’t memories that were heating her body now. In and out the dildo slid, and she found her body getting hungry for more.
Now the screen lovers had a jar of jam and he was spreading the thick red paste over the woman’s breasts, then licking it off. Mark left the dildo in place and pulled up Gail’s T-shirt. Holding her breast in one hand, he kissed the nipple, watching it slowly become erect. “Yes, baby,” he purred. “Oh yes.”
Suddenly, Gail didn’t feel old. She felt hot and hungry and ageless. She arched her back and pressed her hand against the nape of Mark’s neck, holding his head against her.
Mark licked and sucked, frequently moving the dildo in Gail’s body. Then he stood up and pulled down his pants and shorts. “I’m not as hard as I used to be,” he said. “Will you let me love you anyway?”
Gail smiled and nodded. “I want you, you old fool,” she said.
Mark took his semierect penis in his hand and, kneeling between Gail’s spread legs, rubbed the tip over Gail’s pussy. Then he pulled out the dildo and, still using his hand to guide his shaft, pushed into Gail’s body. As he felt her heat, he reached between them and, in a familiar motion, rubbed her clit lightly as he thrust.
“Oh Mark,” Gail said. “You feel wonderful.”
After a long period of delicious thrusting and holding and stroking, Mark came first; then, as the lovers on the screen shifted position yet again, he stroked Gail’s body until she climaxed, as well. Without moving, they watched the end of the film.
“That was wonderful,” Mark said.
“And the film wasn’t bad, either,” Gail said, giggling.
“I’ve wanted this for so long. It was good, wasn’t it?”
Gail heaved a large sigh. “It was terrific. It’s difficult for me to adjust. I thought it was all over.”
“You know, I can see us when we’re each over one hundred, chasing each other around the porch of the retirement home. And every one else will be envious.”
“With luck, everyone else will be doing the same thing.”
Expectations. That’s the biggest hurdle those of us over fifty face. We expect to be old. Our children expect us to be old. Society expects us to be old. Old and used up and “comfortable.” Horse pucky. Although physical reactions change as we age, the pleasures that can be gained from sharing a satisfying sexual relationship remain unchanged. For most reasonably healthy older lovers, there are no activities that should be automatically excluded. All the games you used to play are still available. All the sexual goals you used to set are still achievable, with a few modifications. Just don’t give up!
There are real sexual problems associated with aging, and I don’t mean to minimize them. There are, however, benefits, as well.
First, let’s talk about the postmenopausal woman.
After menopause, a woman no longer menstruates, and she can’t get pregnant; the production of female hormones slows, then stops. There is a distinct advantage to these changes—no more need for birth control. If you and your partner are strictly monogamous, throw out the diaphragm, the pills, the foam, and the condoms (although you may want to keep the condoms for other reasons, like anal sex). However, if you and your partner haven’t been exclusive and monogamous for at least five years, c
ontinue to use condoms to prevent the spread of disease, and consult your doctor and have an AIDS test.
Until the age of thirty-eight, I had used the pill for birth control. Then, after my divorce and my reentry into the land of the dating female, I used a diaphragm—AIDS hadn’t been discovered yet. When my gynecologist confirmed that my hot flashes and irregular periods meant that I was going through menopause, I expected to be unhappy. Actually, I was thrilled.
Ed and I found each other when I was forty-two and he was forty-seven. By this time, since AIDS was a significant threat and both of us had previously been anything but monogamous, we used condoms. Finally, several years later, I was told that I could no longer conceive, and we had been monogamous for all that time. With glee, I threw out the diaphragm, put the condoms in a drawer for playtimes when we wanted to use them, and for the first time since before my marriage, I made love without the need to remember anything. A distinct advantage.
For me, in addition to the problems with body image that Gail and so many other women experience, the major downside of menopause was that my body didn’t lubricate as well as it used to. In many women, this can cause intercourse to be painful. For me, it has a more important and, in my opinion, more insidious consequence. I didn’t feel as though I was excited if I wasn’t wet. I kept waiting, wondering whether I was going to feel “hot” between my legs ever again. That was my baggage, my problem.
I stumbled on an article in a magazine that discussed this, and my anxiety was somewhat relieved. The article said that women can become just as aroused after menopause as before, even though their vaginal tissues remain dry. The lack of lubrication is a physical thing, not a sexual one.
Then, more important, Ed and I had exciting sex a few times using a lubricant and I climaxed just as I had for years. Although my tissues were dry, my body was as excited as it had ever been. It took quite a while for me to smash down those shards of fear about “no good sex ever again.” But I have, and Ed and I cavort as we always have and, I hope, always will.
Now and Forever--Let's Make Love Page 17
