At 35, My Sexual Standards Are Sky High, and I’m Cool With That

Men-children and unskilled lovers are now off the menu

There was a time when I wasn’t so picky about the men I wanted sexually. If I crossed paths with a guy I was attracted to, a guy who desired me, who made me feel that spark — all I wanted was to free-fall right into him.

I was a late bloomer, had zero experience, and I was love-starved. It didn’t quite matter how he treated me or whether or not he was a total douchebag — I was after that intense, heady concoction of connection. It was a drug to me.

It took a long time and some terrible relationship experiences to realize that my standards have become suddenly, recently, dramatically higher.

Even if I’m attracted to the man-child or the narcissistic female friend or the raging douche canoe who is more concerned about his pleasure than he is about mine — I can’t seem to get it up for them anymore like I used to do.

And as a woman in her mid-thirties doing some pretty tough mental work (as many of us are), I’m perfectly okay with having higher standards, even if it lowers my options. Even if it means involuntary celibacy.

Sure, no sex sounds like it sucks. But it’s actually freeing. Incredibly and cathartically liberating.

No, I’m not going to have sex with a guy if I have certain issues with him. A man-child can no longer arouse me. And a man who won’t attend to my sexual needs need not apply.

Honestly, these standards aren’t all that high, are they? But somehow, they have significantly slimmed my pickings.

My tastes have changed. My life has changed. I have changed. And I’m at a point where I can no longer stomach the terrible $5 wine. I at least need a nice, smooth bottle of Pino at the $12 price point (or higher) — and I won’t apologize for it.

From invisible to a sitting duck

As a teen, I went through a pretty intense ugly duckling transformation. One day I was a shy, awkward geek who wore Coke-bottle glasses and oversized men’s t-shirts. Then, like magic, I learned how not to dress three sizes too big, how to tame my frizzy hair, and what style of glasses best framed my face.

Oh, and boobs. We can’t forget boobs. I grew a pair of full-sized C-cups, seemingly out of nowhere.

It’s unfortunate, but I’ve had several dudes admit to me that the only reason they noticed me (at first) was because of my chest. My big blue-gray eyes probably come in second. Last, but certainly not least, my personality.

I’m still a little sensitive about the boob thing. Back when we were still dating, my first husband told me that my sweater puppies are what made me stand out to him at a church dance.

I was 17. The red blouse I wore wasn’t low-cut. I wasn’t showing any cleavage. But apparently my new boobs still put out some signal, like a Siren luring a sailor right to her.

It’s nuts to think about. The only reason this guy (who was brought up in, basically, a sexually repressive religious cult) approached me — and later married me and had a child with me — was probably because of my huge gazonga-zonks. I mean, I’m grateful, because my kid is literally the best thing in my life. But…I shudder to think what might have been if my boobs hadn’t called to him in the sea of teenage girls at a dance.

Anyway, this too-sudden transformation changed me from an insecure, shy ugly duckling who didn’t know what the fuck she was doing when it came to relationships into an insecure, shy, big-boobed swan who also didn’t know what the fuck she was doing when it came to relationships.

And therein lies the problem. For those of us girls who, at a young age, go from invisible to sexually desired by men overnight, we don’t get the chance to learn how to protect ourselves.

Some of us were so starved for a relationship — for some small bit of attention — for so long, that we eventually dove headfirst into situations that weren’t so great for us. And some of us, like me, repeated that cycle again and again.

I walked blindly into bad relationships straightway, because I just wanted to be seen, heard, and loved.

I wasn’t prepared, and I didn’t know how to set boundaries. I just wanted to fall fast and deep into that love cocoon I’d been reading about in romance novels since I was ten years old.

Age is just a number, but independence is hot

Fast forward to now. No longer the awkward teen duckling, I’m a more (slightly more) sexually experienced grown-ass woman.

There’s been a sudden and recent shift in my sexual interests and standards, and I noticed it the day I recently went to a friend’s house to hang out and chat. We wanted to take time to catch up because we hadn’t seen each other in ages.

“My girlfriend and I decided to open up our relationship,” he told me.

“Oh?”

He brought up this new development while we were both chatting on his bed, half watching a movie as we talked about all kinds of shit going on in our lives. I’d just shared with him the situation with my husband, whom I had recently separated from.

This male friend and I had grown to like and trust each other over the last year and a half. We talked honestly about us both being in relationships and the sexual tension we felt toward each other. There was mutual attraction that was impossible to deny, but both of us agreed and understood that nothing would happen because my husband and I hadn’t officially opened anything up yet. There was also the fact that he had a long-distance girlfriend away at college, and theirs was not an open relationship (at the time).

The whole idea of ethical non-monogamy had completely backfired in my case, and my marriage was in the shitter at that point. And here my sexy friend was, telling me that he and his girlfriend had just agreed to be open, and that she was seeing someone that night.

He invited me over because he wanted to fuck, I realized.

It’s something I’d wanted for a year or so, and now here he was, telling me what I’d once longed to hear. Only now, I couldn’t do it.

I told him I was feeling zero libido nowadays, but I didn’t go into detail about my reasons. And he didn’t demand any. He was a perfect gentleman about the soft rejection.

Part of the reason was our setting. We were in his bedroom, in his mom’s house, which he had yet to move out of at age 26. Before the movie, his mom had kindly informed us that there was some sugar-free Gatorade in the fridge before going off to bed. At 35, I’d been transported back to hanging out at my boyfriend’s house on a Friday night.

Part of the reason was him, though, and where he was in life. He has a part-time job, is still trying to finish his bachelor’s degree, and is always broke. His car (that his mom gave him) is perpetually broken down. And he doesn’t do much in the way of paying bills.

He’s almost in the same place I was at when I was a tenth-grader, only less ambitious.

Thanks, but no thanks, kid.

I respect that he is slowly working toward what he wants, but he’s just not there yet. Not fully there in the dreaded “adult responsibilities” world that I’ve been slogging through for what feels like ages.

And no. Being in the world of full-on adulthood isn’t fun. It sucks shit a lot of the time, and I have as much trouble with it as anyone. But it’s nice to have someone who knows what that struggle feels like. He and I just can’t connect on that sort of pain and torture.

What turns me on now, if anything?

I was out of my parents’ house at 19. Granted, it’s because I got married. But then, when I divorced at 23, I got my own place and worked three jobs while taking custody of my son. I struggled through a full-time daycare job, a retail job that I worked one evening per week, and a restaurant job where I did double shifts every Saturday and Sunday while my ex had his time with our son.

Then, a few years into scrambling to pay they bills on my one-bedroom apartment without the help of any child support, I added online school to my schedule, so I could finish my bachelor’s degree and hopefully get a better job.

This isn’t a humble brag. I’m aware that the only reason I was so hardworking and independent at a young age was because my marriage turned sour and I was forced to get my shit together so I could leave. I didn’t have anyone to stay with, so I had to go it alone. I chose that.

If my parents had had a big enough place for me and my son, would I have lived with them to save money? You betcha.

But that wasn’t an option for me. And that decade-long struggle strengthened me and made me who I am today. You could say it hardened me a good deal, and, apparently, it’s affecting my sexual standards. I want someone who is just as hard. (Phrasing, I know.)

Now, after going through everything I’ve been through with the poverty, single-motherhood, and two troubled marriages — a 26-year-old man-child who is still relying on his mom and wants to fuck me in his childhood bedroom has become suddenly and noticeably sexually repugnant.

I’m not about to do it on the twin bed nestled next to his gaming computer setup — his desk laden with half-empty bottles of diet Gatorade and empty cereal bowls. It has the same affect on me as too much alcohol can have on an erection. It’s a cold bucket of water.

It’s just not for me — no shade to those who could get aroused in that situation without a care in the world. Some people can separate emotions from sexual attraction. Some people wouldn’t even be bothered by that setup in the first place.

Not so for me. At least, not right now.

People can change, but for now, I feel that life experience and sexual attraction is directly related — and I don’t think I’m the only one.

I need more exciting foreplay then basically: My girlfriend and I are open, so hey, we could fuck right now, if you wanna?

I’ve realized I like a more mature and ambitious man (or woman…maybe? I’m starting to wonder…) who has sexual experience and knows how to work with me to please my body and mind. Who can communicate what he likes, but who also asks me what I like. And then, he does it with skill and enthusiasm and awareness that he might need to change things up if something’s not rocking my world.

Be as picky and choosy as you like — or don’t

For my first few relationships, I was just thankful to have some guy want anything to do with me, no matter how he treated me. I even married one of them, and he did his best to control me for years.

I can’t for the life of me understand why I thought that was the way to go, but I look back on that time now and give myself grace. Grace for being an impatient, horny, clueless teen.

I don't just blame the dudes who wanted me. I also blame myself for not knowing how to handle it and going in full force anyway.

But now? Now, I realize, I have every right to be picky.

Women — you have every right to be as picky or not picky as you like, without being judged either way. We all do.

My standards aren’t so low nowadays that I’ll jump for any guy who is interested just because we have sexual chemistry. I want more than physical attraction, and I’m starting to realize that personality, maturity, a good sense of humor, and common likes — these are important for my sexual arousal too.

I’ve been into guys who’ve ignored me at best or mistreated me at worst. I’ve been into guys who have abused me. I’ve been into guys who have zero ambition and are perfectly content to stay home with Mom rather than work toward anything different.

But now I’m to the point where high standards leading to no sex is better for me than low standards that lead to bad or even mediocre sex.

That’s not to say that my 26-year-old friend who still lives at home wouldn’t be good at sex. He might actually be amazing, and I might be missing out on a great time. I might be missing out on some out-of-this-world sex, and I can understand why other women might want to bang him and find out (I know several who have).

But right now, I’m looking for more of a mental and emotional connection.

Right now, I’ve been through it with men, and my libido took a large portion of those emotional hits.

Right now, I’m not going to find out if my guy friend and I would be great together in bed or not, because I can’t get to a place where I’m physically aroused enough to go for it. And I know it’s at least partially because of the whole man-child thing. That whole setup is a total romance killer before we even get started. So I don’t want to get started.

And, for now, I’m perfectly okay with that.

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