Love isn’t perfect. It isn’t a fairytale or a storybook and it doesn’t always come easy. Love is overcoming obstacles, facing challenges, fighting to be together, holding on and never letting go. It is a short word, easy to spell, difficult to define, and impossible to live without. Love is work, but most of all, love is realizing that every hour, every minute, every second of it was worth it because you did it together. [Author unknown]
About a year ago my husband and I were having marital problems. I hated him. He hated me. He blamed me for our financial problems. I blamed him for our financial burdens. It was clear to see my husband and I were at war. And, sadly, those that loved me took my side of things.
With a hint of amusement their marital advice normally centered around sex came at the wrong time in my life.
It was bad enough that I was dealing with a bad marriage. But having to deal with accepting my loved ones as out of control horny women just complicated matters. I wasn’t in need of sex! I needed sound judgment and advice. But what I got was the freak show extraordinaire! And when I write “horny women” I mean they were and are ‘horny women.’ And God bless their little hearts!
Beyond question the conversations between me and my loved ones made me blush of shame. I was so embarrassed for them, especially when they started going into details. OMG! Who were these women? How could I have not known these wonderful women walked on the wild-side of freakishness? Who knew? Cause I didn’t know! And when they became willing to share their sexual adventures I became scared for them!
Caucasian friend was full of sexual suggestions. First, she told me I was in my prime and I needed to find a young man in his prime (age 36+). What! Sorry! But I’m not into younger men. However, I’m not going to say I didn’t consider having an affair but a younger man never enter my thoughts. And as a mom I would feel creepy having sex with someone around my children’s ages. I was in disbelief that my friend could even suggest that I date a young man! But! Hey! To each their own! Right?!! Right.
Needless to say my facial expression took on many forms as she was giving me poor advice. I knew her indiscreet but caring words were expressed to help me overcome my marital woes. Yet, had I followed her bad advice I would have made matters worse. And, besides, what woman in her prime really wants a sweaty young man pouncing on her fragile and aging body. Seriously!
I think as a person gets older they recognize their body is becoming fragile. And because of aging the perception of people really seek to find the truest meaning of intimacy to sexual pleasures.
Honestly, I no longer thirst for sex like a young woman in heat. I stopped allowing men to abuse my body years ago. And as I’ve grown older I want intimacy instead of acrobatic sexual encounters.
I would calmly write, after years of searching for wholeness, my age, my soul, and my spirit are now on one accord. And all the parts of me agree that I’m older and passed the desires of uncontrollable lust. Unconstrained lusts that make people do foolish things for sex! So, like I said, my friend’s suggestion, if taken, would have only complicated matters. And I’m so glad that my prayer “Lord, help me grow old gracefully” won out.
But when I didn’t take her advice on getting a younger man she came up with another plan to help me. I inwardly thought, “Does this woman ever quit giving bad advice!” because her second plan was funnier than the first. Below is the conversation between her and myself one-day:
Joyce: It looks like I’m going to have to pull out the blue boy since my hubby will be working late hours.
Me: (Inwardly Thinking) “blue boy?” (Finally asking) Joyce what the hell is a ‘blue boy?’
Joyce: It’s my toy!
Me: Your toy! You got one of them things?
Joyce: Yeh! Don’t you?
Me: Hell! No! (laughing historically)
Joyce: Well! I’m going to buy you a BIG black one when I get some monies!
Me: Oh, no! I don’t need one of those things!
Joyce: Yes, you do, little Missy!
I was so appalled that my friend would state that she was going to by me a sex toy. I thought she was overstepping her boundaries. And, regrettably, I didn’t have the nerves to tell her such. However, I did have the grit to discuss the matter with others.
After sharing the story with those in my circle I found out many of them had sex toys! OMG! What’s wrong with people! Why has society become so sex craved?!!! What ever happened to modesty?
Each found my reaction to my friends’ statement hilarious. They laughed and made jokingly comments as if I was out of touch with the birds and the bees. But I have news for them: As long as I am alive I will always have sexual thoughts. I will always want to be sexually pleased by my husband as I am pleasing to him. And if I gotta have a toy what does that say about my husband ability to satisfy me? And how will having a toy make my husband truly feel as a man? And what types of sexual deviants will I open when allowing such into my bedroom? I don’t even want to imagine what would or could happen!
Flash back moment: I just thought about that movie by Tyler Perry. Now what was the title? Hum . . . Temptation! That’s it! That movie was so true to life. I could only stand to watch it once. Once was enough for me to get the message about self-destruction being nicely wrapped in a pretty package of promiscuity and naïvety. Well any-who-how . . . The conversation that pushed me over the edge when it came to owning sex toys was with a younger family member.
Family member: You need to get you a toy.
Me: You got one of them, too?
Family member: Yeah! Don’t you?
Me: Hell, no!
Family member: You should get one. As a matter of fact mines need new batteries. I’m working on my second one! That’s all I give to brides at bridal showers.
Me: (Laughing too hard to say without chopping my sentence.) I don’t think so!
Family member: Why not?
Me: I like the real thing. Besides I would never want my kids to find such should I die.
Family member: What the hell will you care. You’re dead!
I must admit her last statement was true. I would be dead and my cares for this world would no longer be an issue. But I’m a wife to a wonderful over the road truck driver. I’m a mother of three awesome black men. I’m a step-mother to four beautiful white women. I’m a grandmother with eight grandchildren. I’m a daughter to a wonderful and lively old woman. And even though I don’t like my sister’s, I love them and respect them despite of our differences that keep us apart. I have some amazing nieces and nephews that I love as if they were my own children. I have wonderful aunts and uncles and a host of cousins I consider closer than siblings. I have an array of friends that I love like brothers and sisters. And with so much love abound I’m realizing I’m blessed! Truly blessed! And the one legacy I want to leave all that love me and all that I love is self-respect.
What I leave behind should not become a final moral issue for my family, friends, and loved ones to deal with. And more importantly I do not want my son’s to see nor neither handle such a personal item as a sex toy. The thought of them discovering such a thing makes me sick as their mom and as a woman. I know my words sound prudish but I’m not a prude by any stretch of the imagination. I just think people are jumping off the cliff of self-respect and killing themselves morally because they can’t control their sexual impulses.