He shows up at 7:30 for a cup of coffee before work. I’ve planned my attire with care. I love to dress up for him—it ramps up the sexual tension and brings out my sex goddess.

I’m wearing his pink dress shirt, slightly crumpled—a gift from a particularly emotional evening where, undressing me, he took off his shirt and asked me to wear it as we made love. I’m a sucker for a man in an expensive dress shirt. Underneath I’m wearing his favorite lingerie, a white lacy demi-bra.

I skip the panties. We skip the coffee.

His desire is laced with tenderness, more so than usual and he’s particularly attentive as he unbuttons my shirt. His shirt. We kiss and play, nibble, explore, caress. We alternate between penetration and oral, which only serves to build our desire.

He’s pacing himself. He’s teasing me.

I don’t know what was different this particular morning. His gentle affection touched me. His desire to please me is always a turn-on and an emotional experience.  I’ve been getting to know my body—self-pleasuring. Reading, thinking and exploring a woman’s body—my body. The effect is evident in our lovemaking, a reflection of how I view myself as a woman.

And, on this particular morning everything I had read or thought about and desired came to be. The orgasm came in waves of sensations resonating through my whole body.

Warm, pulsating sensations—physical, emotional—it courses through my body, my blood. And, as I came, uncharacteristically noisy, I burst into tears. Big gasping sobs. He continued to gently caress me before shifting to bring himself inside of me.

With the tears still streaming down my face we pleasure each other. When we are both satisfied and preparing to move back into our day he tells me earnestly of his wish to repeat this.

To be so vulnerable, so naked. To know that my body can respond on that level.

In that moment all that existed was the feel of his fingers and tongue devouring my body. I can’t pinpoint exactly what he did because I try to stay focused on sensation, not thoughts. I don’t want to ruin the magic by asking.

His technique has improved over the six months in rhythm with my increasing responsiveness.  He’s learned to gauge the intensity of my desire by becoming more observant. I’ve learned to be still in my body, taking my mind out of the equation. Together we’ve learned to love.

I spend the rest of the day in a cloud. I want to shout it out to the world. I am in awe of my body’s capacity and my lover’s ability to touch those places in me.

The impact of that sexual experience bleeds over into my daily life. He asks me what else he can do to give me pleasure. Is there something I would like that I’ve never asked for?

No man has ever asked that before.

His asking opens a door. It reminds me that I can ask for whatever I want. I can exercise my right to have the kind of sex I want. It’s a powerful heady feeling—a mix of empowerment, bliss and full-blown sexual knowledge.

We’re sexual beings to the degree that we are willing to be vulnerable and dig deep. We have to access our sexual energy, nurture and develop it. I may not have a screaming, life-affirming orgasm every time we make love. But I can have anything I’m willing to ask for.

I’m 58 years old. He’s in his mid-60s. This early morning interlude wasn’t about youthful energy or wild passion; it was about emotional connection and trust. It was about sexual energy. It was about giving myself permission.

Walker Thornton is a freelance writer and blogger of A Woman’s Page  and The Diva of Dating. She’s working on her memoirs about dating, sex, and life after age 50. She’s a Huffington Post 50 blogger and has work published on Third Age,She’s Self-Employed and Better After 50. You can find her at Twitter (https://twitter.com/WalkerThornton)  and Facebook  (https://www.facebook.com/AWomansPage).

Like elephant journal gets sexy on Facebook.

~
Assistant Ed: Lori Lothian
Ed: Kate Bartolotta