Vol. 1, Post #1 Do me, Baby. Before I start yawning...

Ugh, is she talking about fucking AGAIN? Sex tips for girls (girls who are holding on to their mid-fifties by a thread). A dating odyssey for people with readers.

So…welcome, Dear Readers. Let’s lie back and get comfortable. I’m Abbe, and I’m going to be sharing my take on dating as a “young old,” a term I’ve coined for myself and my posse. Young Old (or YO) is the long and short of it, isn’t it? I mean, I’m no longer middle-aged --how many 112-year-old people do you know? — and yet I’m hardly a senior, except in my craptastic inability to sleep late and my alarmingly getting-smaller-by-the-minute bladder. YO, Ho, Ho. Or maybe YO, Hoe, Hoe? Because this is also going to be about fucking. And I might throw in a recipe or two because in my world, dating and fucking always include something delicious to eat along the way. Welcome to my world, Sweet Potatoes. I’ll figure out the rest as we go along.

To begin, a little background about me.

Next month, I will be 56. I have been in some sort of committed relationship for the better part of nearly 40 years. In that time, I’ve had about a dozen boyfriends, a husband, a wife, and more than a handful of lovers. I’ve been polyamorous (I adored it; more on that later in this space). I’ve been a serial monogamist. I’ve had a couple of pretty serious unrequited loves that manifested themselves in a sappy, sopping wet pool of “Almosts” and a ton of subsequent masturbation fantasies. I’ve been the love slave – literally, a slave to love – to a man who is almost the precise opposite, physically, of any of my other relationships, who also has been the hottest sex I’ve ever enjoyed (def. more on that later). In the last few years, I’ve been to sex parties that were playful and interesting, and I’ve been to sex parties that were like bad “Curb Your Enthusiasm” episodes.

Despite the fact that I’ve been a vibrant, sexually active, curious woman for most of my adult life (and my sex life got off to a bang, no pun intended, when I lost my virginity on a Caribbean cruise in high school to the Scottish saxophone player in the ship’s band, who was twice my age – this explains “musicians” and, for that matter, “accents” – I love both of those things), I can say with certainty that my sex life began to truly blossom in my late 30s, got even more revved up in my late 40s and early 50s, and has consistently hit it out of the park ever since.

The idea that most middle-aged humans – I’ll be more specific: women– are stereotypically considered sexually comatose, semi-exhausted by life and therefore more interested in who’s wearing what on the red carpet than giving a glorious blowjob, doesn’t entirely mystify me. I know plenty of burned out middle-aged women who rank sex a low priority after the non-stop wrangling of careers and children/partners; women who have to bring home the proverbial bacon and fry it up in a pan. Women who have suffered through hellish years of perimenopause and ongoing menopausal shitshows, the hot flashes, the vaginal dryness, all that fun stuff. Women who have dated outlandishly enormous assholes who broke their hearts, emptied their bank accounts, left them with a raging case of HPV, or a combination thereof (and let’s not be heteronormative — I know straight women and gay women alike who have Exes From Hell). But I know just as many women who love sex, who still have tons of sex, or wish they were still having a ton of sex, and who have not given up on love even if they have given up on high heels (by the way, high heels, as some of you know, might no longer be street smart options, but they look great in bed. To this point, I have a pal who is much shorter than I. We’re platonic besties, but once I said to him that if we did date, I’d have to retire my heels. He wryly wrinkled his brow, gave me a killer smile, and replied, “I’d buy you even higher ones.” Now THAT, Dear Readers, is sexy!)

I’ve dabbled in writing about dating and sex, feminism, gender politics in sexuality, and my own sex life for years (sometimes to the chagrin of my grown kid, sometimes to the clutching-pearls horror of a lover or two who beg me not to reveal their names — don’t worry, Darlings — all identities will be altered to protect the innocent, blah blah).

So why do I think I have something fresh and original to say? Well, that depends. If you mean, “Abbe, you seem to ENJOY dating for the most part and you seem to meet people rather easily and then set off on any number of adventures with those aforementioned people. Am I crazy, or have you actually met more than a few decent candidates, even when (gasp!) dating online?” The answer is yes. Yes, I have. And I’ll happily be spilling the beans on that: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Some of it has been dreamy and creamy. Some of it has caused my vagina to seal itself tighter than a mummy’s tomb. But if you mean, “Abbe, do you think that most people still sort of wince when older women discuss sex, because sex talk is usually reserved for the demographic found at the MTV Video Music Awards?” Then the answer is also yes. Yes, I do. And I’m calling bullshit on that. So even if just by default, I don’t think enough people are talking about the kind of sex that I’m having. I’m hoping you will walk away from reading me here and talk more about sex — the kind of sex you want to have. Or at least, think more about the kind of sex you want to have. And then have it.

Now, that said, I’m no maverick. I once described myself as a cross between Samantha from “Sex And The City” (it’s vomitrocious to admit it, but almost everyone gets a SATC reference, so I’m giving in) and basically any character that Jackie Hoffman has played on screen. A combo of Cynthia Heimel and The Bubbe from the film “Crossing Delancey” (This is why Google exists. Look it up). Ballsy, bossy, and Jewish, currently a hetero-leaning, garden variety bisexual. Oh, and a size queen. Big whoop.

Feminist writers and scholars on sexuality abound. One need only to do a quickie dabble in history to know that hordes of whores, if you please, from the Salem witch trials to Courtney Love, have been literally and figuratively burned at the stake for enjoying themselves. Plenty of far more creative minds have broken taboos when it comes to the sex lives of older people. Marilyn Minter’s incredible photographic series “Elder Sex” blows the roof off sex amongst the 70+ set.

But, if you’re in a mood for juicy little romp, a tiptoe through my tulips, a saucy slice of this and that which I find amusing, erotic, or better yet — both — then you’ve come to the right page.

(Oh! Photo credit of my luscious ass — as well as my profile portrait — goes to the uber-talented Franco Vogt who has seen me naked more times than he cares to remember and was aptly assisted on this non-boudoir shoot by the fabinski Lucia Reale-Vogt. Geniuses, both of them, and saints, for putting up with my ever-present shenanigans. Bless.)