There’s me, of course. I’m 48 and a school teacher in a Foreign Country. So most of this happens in another language.
There’s my husband, who is seventeen years older than me. We get along fine and love each other, but I don’t think I’m ready to spend the rest of my life without sex. We have something resembling intercourse about once every six weeks. It’s often quite depressing and never really satisfying.
Then there are those internet sites where you can talk to men about wanting to have sex outside of marriage. They are a character by themselves, since I now have 3 profiles and check up on my lovers’ activities on the sites without them knowing. That’s a whole other blog post.
For the moment there is E. E is an inveterate player; he lies with nearly every expiration, and I don’t care in the least as long as he shows up. We’re great in bed. We’re great in his tiny little sports car, going at it like teenagers. But we don’t talk about anything and I have a feeling that it’s rapidly going to go to hell.
Then there is P. P I am in love with, I think. He has all the qualities that I like in my husband, and he’s younger. But he has a life and is reasonably a bit wary about getting mixed up with a married woman. I don’t blame him, but I’m honest about my near total confusion. That’s the best I can do for the moment. We have not slept with each other. Yet.
Last there’s the Doctor. We send each other dirty pictures and insults, mostly. He lives far enough away that I don’t think it will ever be possible to see him in any sort of carnal way. But he asked me for pictures, and while it was annoying and I didn’t want to do it, I rediscovered my body. I’m not so bad, really. Actually, I am damned hot for 48.