Life Begins at Sixty

Please don't get me wrong, I love my husband. I never wanted to hurt him, but I will be sixty one in a couple of weeks time, and I'm afraid that so much that is enjoyable in life seems to be passing me by. However, my recent behaviour is probably inexcusable and I'm sure that most respectable people would judge me harshly.

We have been married for thirty five years, and in all that time my husband has been kind and caring — what many would think of as a model husband in fact — and unlike so many of my friends' husbands, he does his fair share of the cooking and housework. The trouble is, and this is very hard to say — he just isn't interested in sex. As far as I know he doesn't masturbate, and I have never found even one concealed girlie magazine. I occasionally search the hard drive of our computer, but there are no hidden files or links to pornographic sites — absolutely nothing of a sexual nature at all. He is very sweet and loving, and we still share a bed and kiss and cuddle before we go to sleep, but that is as far as it ever goes.

I was in my mid twenties when I married Kevin — who is about fifteen years older than me — at a stage when we were both well established in our respective careers. Like many people of our class and upbringing, we didn't have sex before we were married, and the first few months of our marriage were fine — not spectacular, but still fine. But as time went on we made love less and less often.

It's not that Kevin was impotent, and we managed to produce three fine children in the space of five years without any difficulty. In those early years, much of my energy was devoted to the children and our home, and I went back to work once the youngest child was at secondary school. That was very satisfying, but as time went on I started to miss sex more and more. Now I can't even remember the last time we made love. At first I thought it must be my fault, but however hard I tried he just wasn't interested. Of course, all the usual doubts and suspicions went through my mind. I wondered whether he might have a mistress, but apart from going to work in the morning and returning in the early evening, there was no time when we apart long enough.

In order to satisfy my need for release, I would masturbate after he had gone to sleep or on my days off, and I surreptitiously bought a couple of dildos and a vibrator. In recent years I have started reading erotic literature — nothing exotic, just love stories with an explicit sexual content. Solitary sex is okay and my orgasms are nice, but it is not the same as making love to a flesh and blood male. Again, I'm not interested in anything out of the ordinary, vanilla sex would satisfy me, and I'm certainly not attracted to group sex or swinging.

A recent article in a Sunday newspaper about happily married couples who never have sex made me wonder whether Kevin is asexual. A psychologist commenting on these celibate marriages said that just as there are men and women with an unusually high sex drive — such as President Kennedy — there are others who seem to have no sex drive at all.

If Kevin and I were twenty years younger we would most probably have had sex before marriage and found out about our sexual incompatibility before it was too late. We would at least have had the choice to separate, however painful that would have been, or found a solution that was acceptable to both of us. I suppose that Kevin might have agreed to allow me to take a lover as long as that didn't threaten our marriage, although I still find the thought of making him a cuckold upsetting. In fact, the sadomasochistic tone of some of the cuckold stories I have read is actually distasteful, and I have wondered whether women who get pleasure from humiliating their husbands are taking revenge for abuse by a close male relative in their teens. It's not as if Kevin is under endowed — as far as I can see his penis is actually above average size — and I don't believe he would get pleasure from watching me be fucked by another man. No, I have been forced to accept that he is truly asexual and comfortable with his nature.

As it is, Kevin's one real passion is for making highly detailed working models of trams which he runs on a scale tramway in the loft. He claims that it helps him relax after a hard day in the office, but he spends hours in his workshop and I hardly see him except at meals. The grandsons love it, however, and he lets them drive the trams under his supervision. I'm afraid that it is not a pastime I share, although I do accompany him on his regular visits to the Tramway Museum where he takes hundreds of photographs to help him get all the details right. So apart from the grandchildren, to whom he is devoted, we no longer have any interests in common these days.

My girlfriends laughed when I told them about my problem, and suggested I should get a toy boy. But I didn't want some callow and inexperienced youth, but to be made love to by a sensitive and experienced partner. In fact, I'm just a very ordinary woman with quite simple desires, and until recently I would never have dreamed of being disloyal to my husband. That was until I met Derek.

I have always loved dancing, and for many years I have gone to a weekly dance session at our church. There have always been far more women than men in our group, so I was rather excited when a couple of years ago Derek joined us. At least it meant that I wouldn't have to take the male lead quite so often. He also joined the church choir at the same time and we quickly became friends, and would occasionally go for a quick drink in the local pub at the end of the evening.

Derek is a couple of years older than me and recently widowed. He retired early to look after his wife who sadly developed dementia in her early fifties — fortunately, he had received a sizeable legacy from his parents and was able to live comfortably on the income from his investments. When she died he moved to our village to be closer to his daughter and her husband — and to escape painful memories I suppose, although he never complained. He isn't spectacularly handsome — definitely not a Sean Connery or Michael Caine — but just averagely good looking with a neat beard and short grey hair. The only striking thing about him is his height — he is well over six feet tall — and he is still quite slim for a man of his age, unlike so many of my girlfriends' husbands who have suffered the consequences of too many nights in the pub or the nineteenth hole of the golf club.

Quite by chance Derek and I discovered we had another common interest in addition to dancing and singing. It was about this time last year, and we were sitting in the pub after choir practice when we had been rehearsing a chorale from Bach's Easter Oratorio. There were a number of leaflets scattered around the tables advertising an exhibition of watercolour paintings by a local artist in the church hall of a nearby village. Derek remarked that he had heard that the painter was attracting a growing reputation and that it would be nice to have a look at his work. He asked whether I would like to go with him sometime the following week. I agreed that it would be interesting and that I could arrange to leave work early on Wednesday, and suggested he picked me up after lunch.

From there it was quite natural to talk about painting and what we liked and disliked. He told me that he dabbled a bit himself, which was rather surprising as he did not appear to be the arty type. When I expressed my surprise, he said that when his wife's condition had started to deteriorate he had enrolled in art classes as a way of finding some relief from the daily pain of watching her slowly fading away. He showed me photographs of some of his watercolour paintings on his iPhone, and it was clear that he definitely had talent. I had expected rather conventional pastoral scenes, but his style was quite striking and what one might call semi-abstract. Amongst the paintings, he showed me were a number of male and female nudes, and he told me that he had particularly enjoyed the life study sessions and the technical challenge presented by portrayal of the human form.

Rather sheepishly I admitted to Derek that I did a bit of watercolour painting myself — just pictures of gardens and flowers, what my husband called my 'chocolate box' paintings. He replied that I should not be so disparaging about my work, and that he would be delighted to see it. He added that it would be rather fun to go on painting expeditions together and compare the results of our different approach to the same subject.

I mentioned this to Kevin a few days later and he said that he could see no harm in it — he had met Derek at church and they seemed to get on quite amicably — and that it would give me something interesting to do after I had retired from work on my sixtieth birthday which was in a few weeks time. When I saw Derek the following Friday evening I told him that I liked his idea of painting expeditions, and that I had spoken to Kevin who had given it his blessing. However, I suggested that it would be better to wait until after my retirement as that would give us a whole day free.

Derek and I decided that Wednesday would be our painting day. If the weather was nice we would drive to a suitably scenic location in the neighbourhood in the morning, set up our easels and set to work; and on days when the weather was inclement I would go to his house and we would work on a still life subject together. We would work until teatime and then compare notes and discuss the differences in our approach and the technical aspects of trying to capture the subject. This was great fun and I learned a great deal from his gentle tuition. As I gained in confidence my technique began to improve steadily and after about three months I was producing paintings of which I was quietly proud — even Kevin noticed the difference and suggested that I might even like to consider exhibiting my paintings at church at the Summer Fair.

Although Derek and I worked in silence much of the time we did talk about our lives, and as our friendship developed and became more intimate it seemed natural to share our personal problems. He told me about his wife and the sadness of her illness. They had been very happy he said, but as her condition worsened she withdrew further and further into herself as she grew more helpless, and her death was in many ways a kind release. It took me much longer to open up, but I eventually told him about my frustrations and my fear that I was missing out on something important in life. He was very sympathetic and asked if we had thought about professional counselling, but when I told him that Kevin couldn't see the point, he was outraged.

My downfall came on a day when we had gone out to paint in the open air and were caught in a sudden rain squall. We went back to his house and he lent me a robe to wear while my clothes were drying. We were sitting drinking a cup of tea when I realised that the robe had fallen open and that Derek could see my breasts. When I went to cover myself up he stopped me and said that I looked very beautiful and that he would like to sketch me that way. My mind was in a turmoil but after a few moments thought I gave my assent, aware of a delicious feeling of rebellion against my normal reserve. He sketched for about half an hour and once he had finished he showed me the result which was quite beautiful. To my surprise and consternation, he then asked me if I would sit for him in the nude. I realised that if I agreed it would mark an irreversible change in our relationship, but something suddenly snapped in my mind and I said that I would, whatever the consequences.

Being painted in the nude felt rather naughty and exciting, and I discovered that the bond between the artist and the sitter is extremely intimate even though no words are spoken. At first, the poses that Derek asked me to adopt were quite demure, but after a few sessions he asked me to sit in ways that revealed my sex, often with my legs parted. The fact that he could see my vulva and my slightly protruding inner lips was sexually arousing, and I noticed that he showed signs of developing and erection which I'm afraid excited me even more. Things came to a head when he came over to adjust my pose and touched my breast. Shocking though it might seem, I found the urge to take things beyond the point of no return irresistible and taking hold of his hand I pressed it between my legs.

Derek needed no further invitation and he lifted me out of the chair and carried me into his bedroom. Holding me in his arms he started to kiss me gently on my cheeks and throat, but as soon as his lips touched mine I responded passionately. I knew then that I wanted to be made love to and to experience the feeling of a man inside me for the first time for many years. It was like a damn bursting, and years of frustration were swept away in a tide of passion. I felt no guilt or shame, and I must admit that I didn't stop to think about the consequences for my marriage. This was what I needed and I was damn well going to enjoy it.

After several delicious minutes, Derek laid me back on the bed so that he could undress. When he removed his underpants his penis was fully erect, the first penis apart from Kevin's that I had ever seen in an aroused state, and I was overwhelmed by its beauty. Soon I thought, it was going to be filling me and carrying me to heights of bliss that I had never been able to achieve with a dildo or vibrator. Derek leaned over me to kiss my breasts and suck my nipples, whilst I caressed his balls and his penis, enjoying the smoothness of his skin and the hardness of his shaft. He then knelt between my legs and kissed my inner thighs from my knees to my groin, but when he began to kiss my vulva I felt suddenly shy and embarrassed. Oral sex was something I had never experienced before, but Derek was so caring and gentle that I relaxed and allowed him to take me to an unimagined world of pleasure and I had a most wonderful climax. It was only when he was sure that I was ready to take the final irrevocable step that Derek entered me.

Those who are expecting a description of the vigorous and athletic fucking of so many erotic stories will be disappointed. Derek and I made love as befits our age. Once he was fully enveloped within my vagina, Derek stopped to allow me to become accustomed to the way his penis filled and stretched me. He was longer and thicker than my memory of Kevin's penis, and the sensation was totally different from a dildo or vibrator. I could feel the veins running along the length of his shaft pulsing in time with the beating of his heart, and the head pushing against my cervix. Every nerve ending in my body was alive in a new and exciting way, and as we started to move together in a harmonious rhythm, the sensation of his penis thrusting deep into me was amplified by the delicious feeling of his skin sliding over mine and the passion of our kisses.

Derek was a skilled and tender lover, as much concerned for my pleasure as his own climax, and he did something that Kevin had never done that heightened my pleasure beyond anything I had ever known. As well as caressing my breasts and my bottom, he rubbed and flicked my clitoris with his thumb as he thrust in and out of my body, and I was soon lost in a wonderland of exquisite sensations. We eventually climaxed together, the feeling of his shaft thickening and pulsing as he emptied his seed deep inside my vagina sending me over the summit of delight into an orgasm of incredible sweetness.

As we came down from the plateau of mutual ecstasy, Derek held me in in his arms and whispered sweet words of endearment and thanks for sharing my body with him. We lay there for a long time just enjoying the closeness and warmth of our bodies, but regretfully the time came for us to resume our previous lives. Derek brought me a warm flannel and tenderly washed my body and sex, and then watched me as I dressed to go home to Kevin.

Derek and I made love every Wednesday afternoon, and he took me on a voyage into a realm of sexual fulfilment that had seemed impossible before I met him. The delight of our mutual climaxes was truly beautiful and I truly believe I discovered the meaning of rapture for the first time. I also found that I was falling in love with him, and I believe that he felt the same about me.

One day about three months ago Derek asked me to go away with him for a weekend and without a hesitation, I agreed. I told Kevin I was going to visit an old university friend and as I drove away on the Friday afternoon he wished me an enjoyable weekend. Derek had rented a houseboat in the Norfolk Broads but we didn't see much of the countryside, only venturing out in the evenings for an intimate meal in a local pub. It was wonderful to wake up in the morning in the arms of a man with whom I had shared such joy the night before.

I suppose that Derek and I could have continued to be lovers and I could have remained married to Kevin without having to choose between one and the other. It is funny though that fate can intervene in the most unexpected ways, and so it turned out. About six months ago at about the time our affair began, Derek's son in law accepted a permanent job in Australia, and within two months he and Derek's daughter and grandchildren had emigrated to their new life. Last week Derek said that she had asked him to join them in Australia and that he had put his house on the market, and would be moving once it was sold. I was devastated that I would be losing him, but he asked me to go away with him. I still loved my husband, but by then I was in love with Derek too, and life with him promised to be fulfilling in a way that was never going to be possible with Kevin.

I am still in a quandary over what to do. If I leave Kevin and my marriage it will hurt him and our children, and I will miss my grandchildren. But if I leave with Derek, perhaps the day will come when they will understand and maybe come to visit me in my new life. It seems I have to make the difficult choice between duty on the one hand and the chance of a more fulfilled life on the other. This has caused me much heartache and soul searching, but I have selflessly done my duty for the last thirty five years and I feel that the time has come to put my happiness first. No doubt this makes me what my mother would have called a scarlet woman, but I'm afraid that I have stopped feeling guilty, and I have made my decision whatever the cost.

Angela

ooOoo

To my dear children,

I found this letter/confession a few weeks ago tucked into one of your mother's favourite books. As you know, I contacted the police three days after her sudden disappearance six months ago, and once they were convinced that my concerns were justifiable, commenced a missing person investigation. A week later they informed me that a woman matching her age and appearance and using her passport had recently checked onto a flight to Australia.

For many months I hoped that she would one day walk through the front door, but I am now convinced that she will never return. I am extremely distressed that I failed to understand when she talked to me about her problems, and perhaps if I had accepted the need for professional help things would have been different. Perhaps I might have been happier as a monk — its true that celibacy would not have been a problem for me — but then I would have missed out on the joy of children and grandchildren. As your mother says, if we had not waited to have sex until after we were married or even talked about sex, we might have agreed to separate before it was too late and found someone more compatible with our individual needs and expectations. However as it is, I am forced to accept that the failure of our marriage after so many years is entirely my fault, and that is a burden I will carry to my grave.