As a sex writer, I’m finding it quite hard to write about the sex that I’m not having. Just as I’m about to change my blog to a gorgeous sexy new look I find myself going through (excuse the pun) a dry spell.
No dating. No men. No sex.
No no no no no fun.
Instead of meeting men and having wild nights out I’m focusing on politics and corruption. I’m joining protest marches, school governing bodies and before you know it, I will be playing bingo and bridge.
Is this how it all ends?
You start off sexy and glam and gorgeous and active and then slowly, slowly you realise you may never sit on top again? That your days of kissing and licking and fucking are over.
What if I never wear high heels in bed again? What if I never change my Birkenstocks? What if I don’t get to use those gorgeous thigh-high fishnet stockings I have tucked away in my drawer? Or if no-one ever sees my Dolce and Gabbana underwear!
What if the last time was the last time?
Forget the community meetings, the book clubs and even the poor goldfish that were abandoned in a shop window that I’ve been fighting for.
I’m putting sexy lingerie on under my clothing.
I’m putting myself out there.
Because we should all be having fun, living our lives and exploring and experiencing.
And having sex until we’re at least a hundred.