As a certified grumpy bastard, I can tell you that it’s always much easier to be negative than positive. As someone with access to web stats I can also tell you that if you want to get clicks, and you’re not writing porn, you’re always better to be critical than optimistic. I’m throwing all that out of the window today, though, because of a conversation I had the other day that went a little something like this:
“Know what’s brilliant?”
“We could have sex now if we wanted to.”
“I’m not really in the mood, but…”
“Ah, but you don’t have to want to, you just have to appreciate how cool it is that we totally could if we wanted to.”
Sometimes I go through miserable phases when I look down at my body and think ‘huh, there are some things that have happened here that are basically irreversible.’ I worry about stretchmarks or consider the fact that I’m no longer able to do the things I did when I was eighteen. I may still be able to get my ankles behind my head to brace against the bedposts, but I’ll no longer do it without a groan of effort. I can bend over sexily, but I’ll say ‘oof’ when I get up. Cramp is not so much an occasional visitor as a permanent unwanted house guest.
But, while it’s easy (and certainly more clickbait-friendly) to snark about the negatives, it’s also worth remembering the benefits of having sex in your thirties. This post is about giving credit to all the things I often take for granted…
I can totally ‘get a room’ now
You know when you were young, and panting with horny desire, slipping your hands up and inside the clothes of your significant other, desperate for somewhere to go so you could frantically hump each other into sticky, sweet release? Some fucker would always urge you to ‘get a room.’ Ugh.
Now, though? Now that I’m thirty I actually have a room! I genuinely own a room. MORE than one room, in fact. I own rooms in which I can, should I so desire, go and have sex. To be fair the bank mostly owns the rooms, and not all of them are conducive to erotic sexytimes, but still: rooms!
I get the adult equivalent of Playstations without having to wait for Christmas
When I was at University I used to go to sex toy shops with a guy I liked, and we’d spend ages oohing and aahing over all the awesome toys. The possibilities were seemingly infinite, but our bank balances were not. Now, though, if I want to buy something brilliant, I can. My sex toy drawer is stocked with gadgets that used to be out of my reach, and at any point I can reach in, grab something, and have a lovely wank, with no care for what I have to sacrifice in order to do so.
Before this sounds like it’s all about money (and let me assure you I’m not trying to imply that everyone has money), let’s move on:
I get more orgasms
Not to denigrate the sex skills of my lovely early boyfriends, but orgasms are easier to come by now I’m older. The people I’m sleeping with have usually had more practice (not necessarily ‘sex practice‘, you understand, just more experience in communication and relationships, so they’ve a better idea how to find out what I like). What’s more, I have had more practice. I understand which sex moves will actually blow my mind, and I know how to talk to partners about them. I can easily spot the bullshit ‘sex moves’ which my youthful self would have eagerly tested, and smack them to one side in favour of the things that work.
I can masturbate in the lounge. Loudly.
No more secret midnight wanking to Eurotrash under a blanket while my family sleeps upstairs, now I get to put on whatever I fucking like (SAS: Who Dares Wins, in case you’re interested) and knock one out with no fear of discovery.
I can find porn I actually like
If there’s nothing on normal TV that hits the right spot, I can fire up the internet and pick up some porn that caters to my specific interests. This probably sounds like an obvious and universal win for the Kids Of Today, but in my day the only two avenues for porn were either other people’s cast-offs (i.e. VHS tapes marked ‘private’ found at the back of a mates’ Dad’s wardrobe) or stick-figures drawn by boys we fancied in the back of our maths textbook.
I’m not lying about the latter, by the way. It was 10% inspiration 90% imagination. But one of them had nipples and an excellent – if impossible – position idea.
I can eat ice-cream for breakfast
OK, this one’s not specifically sex related, but it could be if you’ve just had morning sex and you need to replace the energy you’ve just burned off. Or you fancy something sweet to take the salt-spunk taste away.
I don’t have to try
The best, of course, I saved for last.
The reason I’m writing this post is because I feel like I spend a lot of time waxing nostalgic about all the things sex used to be for me. When I was in my late teens and early twenties sex was an exciting rollercoaster of discovery. Things that I might not like now would have had my youthful brain firing on all cylinders, and my younger cunt throbbing with curious delight. Each touch felt more special because it was one of only a few I’d had to date. Each fuck could be savoured because it was still shiny and new. Each new guy would represent a whole ocean of possibilities.
These things don’t stop when you’re older – new people are still exciting and touching is still fun. While the physical sensations might not feel so unique, the joy of them is still there, throbbing away as ever and making you want to scream for the sheer joy of it. But on top of that there’s an extra layer – the knowledge that no individual fuck has to be significant. The sex you’re having this minute doesn’t have to representative of all the sex you’ll have for the rest of time. It needn’t be special or magic or even better than the last. The years of practice and experimentation and pleasure stack one on top of the other, unfolding into a gloriously detailed landscape of sex – the hills and valleys and good bits and bad bits – so the pressure to make each separate one mind-blowing eases off.
When you’ve spent a hell of a lot of time doing it, you realise that sex isn’t a skill that takes 10,000 hours to master. You get to the point that you no longer need to understand it or perfect it, and it’s then you realise that you can concentrate on enjoying it.