I was sexually frustrated in my 20-year marriage. Now I'm dating younger men and feeling alive

Telegraph

4 hours ago

My wedding day should have been the best day of my life. I was 32 and marrying a dream man, after all. Lloyd was extremely good-looking, could make me cry laughing, and remains the nicest person I've ever met. I loved him so much, and yet, as I walked down the aisle, I felt sick with the jitters, because I knew we were sexually incompatible.
A week earlier, I'd been listening to a programme on Woman's Hour about the secrets of successful marriages. A lady in her 90s was saying, 'if he doesn't make you weak at the knees, then don't marry him' and I thought, what am I doing?
Still, I presumed I could get over the lack of sexual chemistry because he ticked literally every other box. It turned out, I couldn't.
Lloyd* and I met in 1991, when I was a student at Nottingham University, and he was going out with my housemate, so he'd come and visit her all the time – then he moved in too. I was also in a relationship at that point, but I was always attracted to Lloyd. He was hot. All my female friends agreed: beautifully toned body, great bone structure, just very handsome. He was also just the loveliest person – not like the headcases I always seemed to go for.
In 2000, a year after both our relationships had ended, Lloyd was coming from London, where he lived, to Manchester, where I lived at the time, for a work event and asked if he could stay at mine. We went for a meal, drank way too much red wine and ended up in bed.
Lloyd was a great kisser. He was a really good dancer too, and shares my dark sense of humour. I thought we had this great chemistry… but that night, we slept together, and I thought 'wow, I didn't think it was going to feel like that'. I knew instantly that we weren't sexually compatible.
Alarm bells
There was no spark at all. I'm quite an uninhibited, adventurous person and have always liked kinky sex: role-play, toys, dress-up – all of that. Most of all, however, I need sexual communication and yet there was none. It wasn't bad sex, it was just very vanilla and nothing like I'd expected.
I didn't ask for what I needed at the beginning though, because at 26 I didn't have the confidence. Also, it was a long-distance relationship at first, so we didn't think it was going to be anything serious.
We got on like a house on fire – we still do; sex-wise though, alarm bells rang. For example, we'd have sex and then he'd turn over and light a cigarette. It felt transactional, and I told him so – he was completely unaware he was doing it.
When he didn't perform oral sex on me, I told him this was a deal-breaker. 'It's not something I really know how to do,' he said, and so I literally taught him, and he would do it, but I was always somewhere else in my head and never in the moment. I'd be playing out endless scenarios in my head, just to reach orgasm. That animalistic magnetism just wasn't there, but I made the call: this guy will make the best husband and father – and I was completely right.
I was pregnant with our daughter when we got married in 2006. Lloyd was ecstatic about the baby but not that bothered about getting married. I was the other way round – I wasn't even sure I wanted to become a mother.
I wanted the stability of marriage, though and realised I'd have a fantastic quality of life. I didn't overthink the sex thing until right before the wedding. I just thought 'finally, I'm in a relationship with a man who makes me feel safe, who I love and who makes me laugh – you can't have everything'.
And things did improve, but he could never let go sexually, despite me trying to encourage him. It always felt like he was doing it to me, not with me, and I ended up feeling like a receptacle for his pent-up stresses at work.
'I felt powerless'
Even when I was the giver, he didn't seem to enjoy it. It felt perfunctory. Lloyd is very self-contained and it was as if he couldn't relinquish control, he couldn't surrender to pleasure. When you're giving someone oral sex and they seem to want it over with, it doesn't make you feel brilliant about yourself. I felt utterly powerless sexually.
It wasn't just the actual sex itself though, it was the fact he didn't make me feel desired. For example, during the whole of our relationship, he never grabbed my hand, pulled me towards him and kissed me once, whereas I did it to him all the time. I'd remind him, I'd say, 'You haven't kissed me for two weeks.'
'Oh sorry, haven't I?' he'd say. He just didn't have the urge.
He couldn't tell me what he enjoyed either, because he didn't know. Basically, I had quite a high libido and his was hardly there at all – it was a total mismatch.
I didn't want to make him feel inadequate though, so I'd only bring it up every few months, telling him I needed more, that a quickie once a week just didn't cut it. He wanted to satisfy me and he'd be better for a bit, but then standard practice would resume and the subject would be pushed under the carpet.
The lack of sexual chemistry became more difficult for me as time progressed. I was massively bored. I felt like a pressure cooker. We were always great friends, so we enjoyed travelling together and going to gigs and restaurants etc, but I talked endlessly about my sexual frustration to my friends and to therapists. The problem was, I loved him, and leaving him just didn't seem like a good option because he was so great in every other respect.
The turning point
My stage three cancer diagnosis in 2017 was a turning point, even though it took us many more years to get divorced. The stats were bad. I thought I was going to die. When I didn't, I was looking at a future I wasn't sure I was going to have and I thought, you get one shot. You can't spend it in a marriage where there's no sexual chemistry. Over Covid, it came to a head, and I said I was leaving him.
Initially, Lloyd was devastated. 'Why don't you go and get what you need from other men and we stay married?' he suggested, during one really emotional drive home from dinner with friends. But that's not living authentically to me. That's sleeping around. Very quickly, he realised that he wouldn't be able to live like that either, but that this thing would keep resurfacing.
Friends said, why don't you rekindle what you had in the first place? But there was nothing to rekindle. I realised that although I loved him madly, I'd never desired him sexually. Some people judged me; even some of my closest friends couldn't understand why I was walking away from such a good man. But I was deeply unfulfilled and hiding a part of myself just felt unsustainable – damaging, even. Basically, given the choice between the wrong thing and nothing, I'd choose nothing every time.
That said, we were both heartbroken but once we'd made the decision, we got divorced within the year. Of course I felt guilty for breaking up the family unit, but if I'd stayed, the frustration would have built up and I didn't want our child to witness the inevitable decline of our relationship. I've never understood people who stay together for the sake of their children. In my opinion, you do far more damage by modelling poor behaviour. Our daughter spends time between our two houses and has her own partner now, and we all still spend time as family and probably always will.
Moving on
Soon after our divorce, I got involved with a man I'd met at my gym. I was 50 and he was 52 and extremely sexually confident. He matched my energy in a way that Lloyd never had, and the sex was incredible. We were just so attuned, and he indulged every sexual fantasy I had, without question. The sex was long-lasting and frequent, but it was the sexual communication that made me fall for him. That simmering tension I'd yearned for for years. He would text me throughout the day telling me in great detail what he was going to do to me, and exactly what turned him on, whereas Lloyd had not been able to communicate that whatsoever – even at the beginning.
It made me feel utterly alive and desired, so when Alex ended that relationship abruptly, I was devastated. Looking back, the person I thought I'd fallen in love with never actually existed. He'd love-bombed me – showering me with adoration which, because I was vulnerable, I'd been flattered by – but ultimately, he wasn't available.
I didn't date or sleep with anyone for a while after that. I needed to figure out what I wanted. I am well aware I've taken a huge gamble giving up a man like Lloyd, but I am confident it'll pay off in time. I need to be with someone who desires me and who I desire. I know that wanes in time, but for us it was never there.
And I am not one of these women who thinks there are no good men in the world, because I think the world is full of them. It's just that finding them in your 50s is very, very hard.
But recently I joined a dating app and have been dating and sleeping with much younger men, which is a new one on me. I put on my profile that I was looking for something monogamous but casual – someone I could hang out with a couple of times a week and I have hot sex with, and I'm having a lot of fun. Next week I have a date with a man half my age.
I think their generation are just a lot more sex positive, there's less shame involved. They communicate more effectively and are willing to take the time to make sure I orgasm. They enjoy being with a woman who isn't self-conscious and knows exactly what she wants.
In turn I find them like a breath of fresh air. These young guys have got an edge, whereas men my age can be a bit past their prime. They can struggle to maintain an erection. I don't mind if a man needs Viagra – but you've got to be willing to take it!
Newfound freedom
I'm not sure I'd want to settle down with someone younger, but for now, I'm enjoying the freedom of good sex with no agenda. There has to be some connection though, I don't sleep with men just because they're young. Last week, for example I went on a date with a man who was 33. He was gorgeous, had an amazing body and was desperate to have a sexual relationship with me.
When I said I didn't want a second date, he said, 'I'm gutted. I really fancied you.' Part of me thought, Christ, I am turning this down? But the fact I can and I did is empowering in itself. I don't rely on sex – if it's not for me then I don't have to say yes.
Plus, I don't want to get emotionally involved with a younger guy for him to say, 'Oh, actually, I've met this person, and we're having a baby.' Because that happens all the time.
So, I don't think this is something I'll do for long – I'm just getting my rocks off. Eventually, I'd like to get married again, although I feel like I'm going to have to kiss a lot of frogs before I do. I'll be very hard-pressed to find someone like Lloyd who I also fancy like mad, but it's a risk I have to take.