Ever wondered what it would be like to have one of your favourite things snatched away from you for good, never to be seen ever again? In my current ‘famine’ period, this enters my mind every day.
I have explored/wittered on these pages about sex in old age and pondered on how to cope with temporary periods of ‘non-action’. But what if I am actually gaping into the abyss? What if this is it for me – my end is never going to be had away again? My lady hole is just a pointless feature, occasionally used for inserting tampons…
I have this hope that something will come to it one day which isn’t made of metal or silicone and doesn’t make a buzzing sound, but maybe my hope is misguided and it’s really curtains on that front. After all, I am not getting any younger and the lines, bags and general sagginess are worsening week by week.
How does one cope with this knowledge? I am already in my head lining up my best lacy undies, basques, all-in-ones, stockings and so-on just in case they should be sent to a better place – to someone who will give them a more fulfilling and active life.
And does it stop there? Should I swap my regular panties for the gigantic belly-warmers the old lady two doors down hangs on her washing line? Well, comfort does outweigh appearance when no one else is going to see them. Do I swap my dresses for comfy and practical slacks and jumpers?
Maybe taking up a distracting hobby would help. I could collect stamps or sew tapestries. And any films featuring hunky men would have to go, as I would get too depressed watching Gerard Butler and Ewan McGregor snogging the face off someone while I sit alone on the sofa with my peanuts and shandy. Then again, this is a typical Saturday evening these days.
If I am heading for an eternity of celibacy, it would have been nice to have had some warning – then I could have fitted in some of my top fantasies from my sex ‘bucket list’ (remember this? I’d want at least numbers 2,5,6 and 10 of that list). It’s the same if you have a good friend who is moving away – you would want to have a special day or night with them before they left, just as people on death row get to choose their favourite meal before they face the chair or the needle.
Then again I could pull the same stunt as the geese in the Brothers Grimm’s The Fox and the Geese. The fox gives the geese permission to pray before he kills them, so they pray, but never stop praying so the fox (for some reason being true to his word) is left waiting for an eternity to end their lives.
So anyhow, if I have forewarning that bonking is no longer on the menu after a certain date, maybe I should have a never ending feast. It could get a bit tricky doing housework and the school run with a man inside me (and somewhat inappropriate), but I would make a gallant effort with the help of strategically placed blankets. If I had to drive anywhere, he could operate the pedals while I did the steering and gear changes…
If this were at all possible, I am not even sure where I would get the man to do it, seeing as The Man seems to have (sadly) removed himself from the menu. Maybe I could stick an ad in the local newsagents: ‘Make a middle-aged woman very happy. Short-term casual work. References needed. Must have good stamina, but hairy backs need not apply.’
So meanwhile, I’ll visit my local purveyor or big pants and eye up what I could be wearing in the not-too-distant future…