Vol. 1, Post #16 WANTED: A hopeless romantic who likes to fuck
^^^ Short and sweet, right? Dating, here we go…My ongoing sex tips for girls* (*girls who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A modern love odyssey for Young Olds, AKA, people with readers.
The Dear Readers who have followed along this now FOUR MONTH OLD Substack (first post went live in early January – little did you know, ha!) also know that about three months ago, I decided to end my very on-off long-time relationship with a man who matched my sexual appetites and fantasies toe-to-toe, so he was a tiny bit hard to give up. But he’s a chef, and a masochist, and it was time. Speaking of time, I also said I was going to put myself in a Time Out for a bit to reflect and heal.
Break ups, as we know (because as Young Olds, I hope we’ve learned to treat the end of our relationships as more than just robust opportunities to eat all the ice cream and listen to songs like Genesis’ “Throwing It All Away” – yes, I went there) are a poignant time to go over what we think we want to refine for our next chapters. I’ve been doing some pretty major soul searching on this.
As I got dressed to go out last Saturday night for what seemed like the first time in decades, I realized I was, in fact, ready. Not just to leave the house – although along those lines, everyone who I saw out that night told me I looked really pretty, which makes me think I’ve been skanking around far too long in sweats and unwashed hair; all it took was a little red lipstick and a pair of heels, which used to be child’s play when it came to Saturday nights out.
I had dinner with some dear friends and then we went to a show at a local music venue. I lasted about 45 minutes before I Irish Goodbye’d and came home to pull tarot cards, write in my journal, and get into bed with the dog and a book. While at the show, I looked across the room and realized a man was staring at me. I whispered to my friend Suzanne, “Do we know him? Look to the left, NOT NOW, wait a minute, and then look” but she was negative on ID’ing him, and suddenly…I remembered.
It was January 2021, just before I met my last partner(s). I went on two dates with this dude. We met on Bumble and marveled that we lived so close to each other (less than five miles away) and yet had never actually crossed paths IRL. Our first date was coffee under the heat lamps on my porch, but it lasted for hours. We had a really nice time talking and he asked me if he could kiss me on the cheek. A week of phone calls and texting ensued and then we met for a snowshoeing date at my local park – this is making me sound like Sporty Spice, but, for the uninitiated, snow shoeing is REALLY, REALLY fun, not difficult at all, and that winter, we actually had a fair amount of white on the ground.
As we finished our snowy jaunt, and were standing by our cars, taking off our gear, I asked him if he wanted to get a bite to eat and he faltered, staring down at the ground. “Is everything ok?” I asked. And that’s when he told me that he liked me. Really liked me. In fact, liked me so much that it made him nervous. I’m paraphrasing, but he said, “It’s not a great sign for me to like someone so quickly. I can get a little bit obsessive and that’s not good for my head.” I said that maybe we should just say good-bye there in the park and talk later in the week, because I really wasn’t sure how to respond to this, but he told me, “No, I don’t think we should see each other again,” adding something about how this same thing happened when he met his now ex-wife, this rush of “excitement.” He left me in the parking lot, holding my snowshoes, my mouth literally hanging open.
Seeing Mr. Easily Excited across the room that night at the show prompted me to do two things while I was lying in bed next to the dog. First, to rack my brain for his name, and, once I remembered it, to text it to Suzanne IN ALL CAPS. And next, to make a note in my journal, as I recapped the evening and that guy’s face as he gulped, staring at me: If you’re really going to date, Abbe, ALL IN potential partners only. As opposed to “but he has great potential.”
What I meant by that^^^ is this>>>. Now I was REMEMBERING more about this guy. I remembered our first coffee date, when he shared with me that he had gotten sober a few years prior and one of the things that he learned about himself in sobriety was that he tended to get a little “overboard” when he liked something or somebody. He told me that getting too excited or too eager about an idea or a person was a big red flag for him, because it meant he would have to regulate himself and it could interfere with his mind and body health. And do you know what I took away from that; how I interpreted that piece of info? “Oh, I love it when someone takes their wellness seriously. I mean, I’m not sober but I’ve had other sober partners. It’s great that he’s so self-aware.”
Except he wasn’t just self-aware. He was telling me – and then, showing me, in the park, a la Maya Angelou – that he was already feeling unbalanced after barely knowing me. In other words – and no judgement here – he really wasn’t steady enough to be dating. But if he hadn’t literally hopped in his car and sped out of my life, I’m sure I would’ve kept going to see what happened next since he seemed like a good guy, albeit a slightly fragile one. You know what? It would’ve been a waste of time.
(Um, excuse me, Abbe. What does this have to do with fucking? You said there’d be fucking this week. I specifically showed up to read about fucking) OK, OK, I’m getting to it.
The fact is, I’ve been scribbling in my journal non-stop since my breakup. About what I wanted, and what I didn’t want. And I think I’ve boiled it down to one (ok, two) sentence(s).
I want a partner who has the clarity (and confidence) to know what they need in this chapter of our collective lives, and for me, those top “wants” have very little to do with the ability to pay bills together or even enjoy the same hobbies. Basically, I want my partner to be deeply romantic and really like to fuck.
I think that’s pretty specific and likewise, not an out-of-the-question two-fold check list.
I have no idea if I’ve actually coined the phrase “Young Old” but I’m going to pretend that I did since I Google’d it and I don’t see anyone else using it. As a Young Old, I’m very focused on what I want my life to look like going forward. The next set of kids that I will probably have in my orbit are, gulp, grandchildren, so I don’t want to date anyone with kids who need babysitters when we go out for the evening. I don’t care about living together or sharing expenses. I don’t care about how much money someone makes or how much they’ve saved for retirement, and if you missed it, I listed my overall “rules for engagement” in another post about my dating guidelines for people our age.
The “riches” I want in a partner at this point are based on how much they light up my proverbial sky, and vice versa. Write me a love note. Remember that I hate beets. It IS the little things. At least, it is for me at this age.
I mean, that’s really it. That, and oh yeah, someone who likes to fuck a lot.
That last bit…I dunno…annoys me? Perplexes me? Both? Why do some (most) people still nervously titter when the topic of fucking comes up, particularly when women are discussing it? As recently as last week, I was in a discussion with a group of single women and one of asked me, “Do you tell men that you’re really interested in sex and if yes, do you think that makes them think you’re easy?” WHAT? I understand that my wish to undo a zillion years of patriarchal thinking is just that: wishful thinking. But it just seems so outdated. Sort of like how women used to whisper about their periods.
So, now that I’ve made my desires clear to the world (or rather, to the sizeable number of you who subscribe to this Substack – THANK YOU!), my plan is to only date people who “get” me. A 56-year-old woman who swoons over a handmade birthday card and likes to do it till we’re both sore. There are few things I appreciate more than some dumb doodle on a piece of paper signed with a big I Love You and that incredibly sexy feeling of all day shaky legs because you spent all night fucking (to say nothing of post-coital bedhead, which is just the best).
I feel like I’m going to approach dating, this round, more “like a man” – do you feel me? Every Young Old single man that I know says basically the same thing about “the woman of his dreams” – that she’s easy-going, still interested in sex, not tied at the hip to him (AKA, lets him do his own thing when he wants down time from the relationship), and financially solvent.
There you go. That’s basically my list too.
I don’t want to strike yoga poses at the top of a Mayan pyramid. I don’t care if we see all of the nominated Oscar films. Oh, a new ramen place opened in the East Village, and it has 4 tables and a line around the corner because “no reservations”? Let’s keep walking and come back in six months when it’s no longer hot and happening.
Some men might love sports. I love art. Tomato-tomato. We can meet up afterwards; you won’t get any sulking from me if you don’t wanna go to a museum and likewise, don’t ask me how the fuck football works.
Some men might like younger women. Good for them. I like hard dick. Good for me.
Be someone who TRIES on my interests and if you like ‘em, great. I’ll do the same. There will naturally be some overlap, but I expect there will be plenty of things we can and will do solo or with other people. Like I said, meet you afterwards for a full recap. Basically, my life is very very very full, so I’m good if our overlapping interests are centered around making each other seen, held, or felt. And THAT seems like a FAR cry from the “lists” of criteria many of us used to employ when dating, when we were younger.
I was chatting with a LOVELY newly single friend last night, who’s 50 and just about ready to get out there after a 20-year marriage, and she told me the list of things she’d like in a partner, which included a similar interest in books and classical music. I applaud her for having a list that works for her. I feel like I have plenty of people in my life with whom I discuss books, music, and more. So, while I don’t want to be at opposite poles with my partner, I’m also in a place where those things matter so much less to me now than they did before (is it because I’ve been single longer? Who knows?)
I’ve always wanted to see Vienna at Christmastime (So Not Jewish), so assume that one day, I’ll make that happen. My partner can come, or not. See my point?
I want someone with their act together, who is batshit about our connection, who likes to fuck a lot.
Keep you posted on how I make out. PS, I totally would’ve answered that personal ad, back in the day.