The truth about sex after 50

Dating and sexual mores are a bit different this time round. Is it dignified, desirable even, to be going in for dramatic waxing and sex behind the proverbial bike sheds as a single woman in one’s fifties? To text or not to text: that is a question I never had to ponder when I was dating in my teens and twenties. Having said that, it is not one jot less exciting.

It was with a certain joy that I read of Emily Watson’s role in a new BBC drama starting on Sunday. She plays an ordinary woman in her fifties who embarks on an affair. Written and produced mainly by women, Apple Tree Yard appears to be about to let the world know that women of a certain age are on not on the sexual slag heap. Even those who don’t look like Julianne Moore or Charlotte Rampling do have sexual desire and maintain a sexuality that can be and often is just as healthy as it was in their youth.

Well, all hail the message. It comes not before time. I am 56, got divorced two years ago and am completely ordinary. I had been married for 32 years and had not slept with anyone other than my husband in all those years. I have been making up for lost time, and that doesn’t mean I have been on Tinder and become a full-on sleazebag. I watch the glorious Fleabag and think, “Hey, been there, done all of that.” Now is the time for sexual liberation, with marriage and kids behind me, and without the angst. I had worried I might well be facing, what, 30 or 40 sexless years before I die. I may not have the taut body parts of my erstwhile self and builders may no longer be whistling, but I am by no means done.

It takes courage, as a woman of my age, to stand up and say that I cannot accept solitary decades ahead with a complete absence of intimacy. I am not ready to take out all my tactile inclinations on a brace of cats (I hate cats). There have been periods since my husband and I separated when months and months have passed during which I have been unwillingly celibate. I hate it. There is something infantilising about it. You feel like a young child again, or a very, very old person for whom it no longer holds any charm. What it deprives you of is the sense of joy, fulfilment, being part of the adult world; and that crushes me. Then (always married) men ask you loudly and in the spirit of bloody “banter” if you are “getting your rocks off”, and you want to tell them to f*** off, but are so depleted by the intrusion, so winded, that all you can do is simper.

Still, when one feels strong enough to face the all-modern waxing and texting decisions (a dignified Brazilian, I think, at my age, not the full Barbie pre-pubescence; and the odd witty text or even sext), there have been glorious moments of sexual surprises. For me, the revelation has been that I feel a great deal less inhibited than I did, and that has made the sex so much better. I always struggled with a sense that I was not as pretty or sexy as other girls, but these days I can appreciate that not all men crave gazelle-like women; some enjoy those things which come with a more lived-in body, namely wisdom, humour, worldly confidence, a greater sense of self. The liberation that these hard-earned traits bestow upon a middle-aged woman eclipse the fact that her stomach maybe more Play-Doh than ping-pong bat and have enabled me to be more relaxed, adventurous and joyful in bed (or wherever).

I have had many a startling fling with younger men. They are gratifyingly appreciative of the older woman and go in for sex as I remember it in my twenties: enthusiastic, energetic, fun. So often then I didn’t feel enthusiastic, nor did I find it fun. I was too worried about how I looked or was performing, this way or that. Middle-aged sex is less loaded with the secret, frightening desire for lifelong commitment and children. We all have a bit of baggage at our age, but the sex itself is less fraught with unspoken neurosis.

The relationships with younger men don’t last, of course, but they put a spring in my step for sure. The latest was a 30-year-old man who came to fix my boiler and fell for me because I made him cups of tea and was so grateful to him for making my flat warm again. He may not have been the brightest biscuit in the packet, but he made up for that with film-star looks and kindness. We had a wild time, and I ended it because it had no future. He could have been a mad axeman, but he wasn’t. He was a true gentleman and behaved impeccably. So often the good stories don’t get told.

An ordinary woman having a sexual whale of a time in her fifties, like Emily Watson in Apple Tree Yard, is a great story, and it jolly well should be shouted from the rooftops.
* The writer’s name has been changed

‘Older women are better’
By Cosmo Landesman

I have lots of middle-aged married male friends — and they all think I’m insane. Why? Because I’m single. I’m over 60. And I won’t have sex with young women. So, a message to Scarlett Johansson and Emma Stone: sorry ladies, it’s not going to happen. Get over it. You’re both too young for me. I know from personal experience that if you want real beauty and bliss in the bedroom, go for the woman in her fifties.

Young male readers will think: “He would say that, wouldn’t he? He’s in his sixties.” But when I was 20 I fell in love with a woman who was 35 years older than me. It was a valuable education for a young and ignorant man, for she taught me what to read, how to act in society, how to shut up and listen and — most important of all — to understand the mysterious whereabouts and working of the clitoris. Jill, if you’re still alive — thanks!

I have learnt that dating women who are in their fifties is a far better experience than dating young women. Generally speaking, they turn up on time and don’t spend the rest of the evening checking their phones or saying, “Do you mind if I quickly send this text?” The conversation is usually better and they don’t expect you to always pick up the bill. Their sense of status and self-worth doesn’t come from a man but from their own accomplishments.

The funny thing is that society as a whole is getting older yet we are stuck with our obsession with youth. We still equate vitality, eroticism, energy and attractiveness with being young. As for women who are facing 50, they sound like prisoners on death row. “What’s to look forward to after 50?” an ex-girlfriend of mine used to say. “Every bit of your body sags or wobbles or won’t do what you want. You go off sex — and sex goes off you. No one wants to sleep with you.”

Of course she didn’t believe me when I told her that women actually get better-looking as they pass into their fifties. Consider some of Britain’s great beauties. Helen Mirren didn’t become an icon until her late fifties; the young Mirren was a just pretty actress with big breasts. Look at Kristen Scott Thomas — pretty when young, but gorgeous now that she’s older.

I love a face that looks like it has lived. I love the lines around the eyes and the mouth and that hint of grey hair. And there’s the bright beam of a beautiful smile from an older woman that can take a man’s breath away. And if you listen carefully you can hear the quiet hum of erotic desire, which is much more attractive than the loud roar of youthful lust.

I often hear women in their fifties talk about how when they were young their sexiness was dependent on how they looked and that now it is much more about “inner sexiness”. Sex now, they say, is about “confidence” and “understanding” themselves and what they want — to which I say: screw that! Get your knickers off and let’s go crazy, baby! I don’t want sex with your inner sexiness, I want sex with your hot body!

Look, don’t get me wrong. Of course I appreciate a woman for her mind, her wit, sophistication and cultural discernment. Those things matter, but I think it’s a mistake to assume that sexiness always comes from within, as if a woman over 50 can’t provoke desire just by her physical presence.

I suspect older sexuality is something we’re going to be talking about a lot more when the BBC’s new drama series Apple Tree Yard begins this weekend. Emily Watson plays 52-year-old Dr Yvonne Carmichael, who has a hot, passionate affair. It promises plenty of steamy scenes, including one with Watson’s tights around her ankles as she meets her lover in a secluded chapel in the Houses of Parliament.

This is to be welcomed. Rarely do television dramas or films show woman over 50 as sexual beings. The assumption is that these women are now post-menopausal mums prone to tears, red wine and singing along to Neil Diamond records late at night. However, the best sex I’ve ever had is with women over 50. It would be glib to suggest that these women have a sexual confidence and a cool acceptance of their nakedness that young women — obsessed with they way they look — don’t. Some do. Some don’t.

I slept with women in their fifties who were so worried about the way they looked when naked that they demanded the lights off and the curtains drawn. They seem to think that the sight of breasts that don’t defy gravity or a few stretch marks is something to be ashamed of. But I find it really sexy because it’s so real and raw and human. And you also get something you never find with young women today: a pubic bush! Thank God for these women, who are keeping one of the great erotic turn-ons alive and growing.

And there are women who will get naked under strip lighting and not give a damn. This is me, they say, and if you don’t like it, shove it. Right on, sister. A woman should never apologise or be embarrassed for the way her body looks. If a man is put off, that’s nature’s way of telling you you’re with the wrong man.

Women in their fifties are much more relaxed about their lovemaking; it’s less of a gymnastic display or cardio workout. They move slower and savour the moment. Kissing lasts longer and so does foreplay. And they also have a better sense of humour about those moments of mishaps. And let’s not forget the bit after sex, the joy and fun of just hanging out together and having a picnic in bed and watching your favourite box set together. A women in her fifties is ready to relax, turn off the phone and spend afternoons of sheer delight. Love and sex is wasted on the young.