The Sexual Precision of Women in Middle Age

You don’t lose it after 40 — you get an upgrade

Don’t bother with me. I know you think single women over 40 are desperate. That one nice word will have us out of our panties and into your bed.

I’m not trying to be rude, but you don’t understand. This isn’t the time. And it’s not what I want even if it was the time.

I’m not desperate. I’m not afraid of never having sex with a man again. I can afford to say no right now, and I’m afraid I must. Because one of the gifts perimenopause has brought me is a sense of razor sharp discernment. Sexual precision, you might say.

My sense of desire has never been more laser-focused than it is right now. I know exactly what I need, exactly when I need it, and exactly how to get it.

Everything has changed.

Something strange happened to me a few weeks ago. One day, I realized I hadn’t masturbated in days. I know, I know. You’re probably wondering why that was out of the ordinary. Well, unless I’m traveling or staying at a relative’s house for a prolonged visit, I typically can’t keep my hands off myself.

Masturbation has generally been part of my daily routine. It’s not a conscious decision I made — it just seems to happen that way.

So what on earth happened that three days went by with nary an orgasm?

I know many people would call this a “waning sex drive” and say it is the normal effect of my changing hormones. I even know that there are men out there who will read this and take this as a “gotcha moment,” as if it is further evidence that women — especially middle aged women — don’t like sex.

While I’m sure my changing hormones are playing a part in this new experience of desire, I would hardly call this a “waning sex drive” or even consider it evidence of a lack of interest in sex.

I honestly don’t feel that there’s been any actual change in the level of my sexual energy, my depth of desire, or my feelings of interest. On the inside, I feel the same.

What’s changing is what it looks like.

I’ve always had a very expansive sense of desire. In fact, one might even call it “messy.” I’ve been known to fling it across the Milky Way in my dramatic Cancerian manner, wanting the object of my desire to have absolutely no question about my feelings.

As I said…messes have been made.

My capacity for deep feelings and deeper desire has not changed in the slightest. However, how it unfolds within me and how I choose to express it are becoming ever more focused.

Becoming aroused, for example, is no longer a passive experience. It is not something that arises within me and then needs to find some outlet. (Not that such an experience was ever a problem.)

Now arousal feels more intentional. An increasing number of conditions need to be met before it will make itself known. And once it does, my body no longer immediately surrenders to the feeling.

On the contrary, it is as if a sentry now stands guard at the gates of my sexual energy. Do I want to spend this energy now? Or let it gently simmer as I tend to other feelings? Which will serve me better?

What an incredible change. Something inside me knows now that my sexual energy is here to serve me. Not the random men of the world. Not a specific man who might happen to share my bed in the moment. No one but me.

And perhaps even more surprising is that my body knows exactly what it needs and is getting better and better at discerning that with every week that goes by.

There is a specificity to my sexuality at this time in my life that I find hard to describe. It isn’t bubbling out of me nearly all the time like it used to.

Now, I feel it as a slowly simmering cauldron tucked away somewhere deep inside me. It is quiet. Concentrated. And best of all, it’s just for me.

That doesn’t mean I won’t share it. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to share it. It simply means that for the first time in my life, I understand that my sexuality was always designed for me. For my own pleasure. For my own well-being. It was always meant to be shared as I choose to, when I choose to, how I choose to. And with me at its center, just as my partner would be at the center of their own sexuality.

This is new to me. I suspect men know this feeling intimately and many likely can’t imagine that others have never had such an experience. So you’ll have to trust me when I say this is the most pleasurable, intoxicating experience I’ve ever had.

I feel like I’m having some kind of ecstatic worship experience in this space. Circling the cauldron in dance. Anointing myself with its liquid. Trying to catch a glimpse of myself in the reflective surfaces of the bubbles that roil at its surface.

This is all for me. Someday, I might share it again, but only with someone who will delight in this cauldron as much as I do. Only with someone who will dance in circles around it and join me on my knees in a show of awe and respect.

Awe and respect because I had no idea what it would cost me to get to this place.

My body doesn’t do the things it used to. Certain parts of my body are not quite as sensitive as they used to be. God knows, I’m not as flexible as I once was. And it’s true, the habitat down there can be a little on the dry side.

I used to dread all this — and understandably so, considering how much we shame women for anything related to the aging process, especially as it pertains to our sexuality. Everybody said it was the end. That women simply cease to be sexual after menopause.

And you know what? I feared that. My sexuality is a critical part of who I am. It is what fuels my creativity. It is what makes me love the way I love.

The idea of losing my sexuality felt like a death sentence.

But I’ll tell you that my experience up to this point has me forming a new hypothesis on aging women and sexuality. I’m not menopausal yet, but I’m solidly into this journey. And so far, it’s absolutely nothing like they told me.

I might not be flowing outward the way I used to. And admittedly, I might not be flowing in the most literal sense, either.

But I’ve never felt so alive, so sparkly, so sensual. My body, mind, and heart feel like computers that were just upgraded to the newest version, working with a level of precision and acuity that I never imagined I would experience. Every part of me has reached some new level of mastery and all those parts are working together like a team of synchronized swimmers at the Olympics.

And I suspect I haven’t even peaked yet. Just wait until I’m in my fifties.

© Yael Wolfe 2023

Yael Wolfe is a writer, artist, and photographer. You can find more of her work at yaelwolfe.com.

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