Lusty mature divorcee chronicles her sexcapades, fantasies (case narrative)

[This entry was initially posted to the original Red Keyhole blog on 10 May 2011.]

The quirky realities of today’s alternative sexuality receive a bit of illumination in a special feature of New York Magazine, which in 2008 started soliciting Sex Diaries from readers eager to share in print (or cyberspace) the daily steamy details of their private sex lives. As the magazine put it, “Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek between doors left slightly ajar.”

One of these diaries (from October 2009) is submitted by a “58-Year-Old Divorced Branding Consultant, Living Out Her Fantasies With an Active Playdate Life” – apparently, a sexually ravenous, very mature woman in New York City’s West Village, described as “straight, divorced and actively playing.”

The personal narrative of this sexually ravenous mature woman (excerpts from which are posted below for their research interest and educational value) reveals a lifestyle of vigorous pursuit of potential sexual partners, occasional intense sexual recreation (a threesome in this case), and frequent resort to “self pleasuring” (masturbation). While official capitalist morality would apparently impose something approaching celibacy on women outside monogamous marital relationships, this case offers a kind of reality check on the actual behavior and lifestyle of many sexually liberated women in modern society.

Because she also pursues younger male sex partners, the narrator also fits the profile of a Cougar – and her behavior (sexual exploits) likewise illustrates the Cougar taboo getting repeatedly tweaked.


A large and growing population of mature and sexually liberated women embrace behaviors and lifestyles that challenge the monogamous “family values” ethic of capitalism.

The original narrative has been slightly edited for orthographical correction and to improve readability. It should be noted that, in recounting their experiences, narrators in such sexual forums often relish reliving many of the erotic details of their activities. Thus, original language and dialect have been retained as much as possible – including mature and somewhat sexually explicit language – in part to indicate such aspects as physical details, psychological dynamics, and emotional and moral attitudes.

DAY ONE

5:03 a.m. Drift into regret that “Craigslist Depressed Dad” canceled last night’s date. And that the economy’s killing me.

5:15 a.m. Fantasy time. Me in a two-man threesome? The spanking I’ve never had? It’s now 30 months since my last long-term relationship, and I’m totally realistic about who I am and what I need.

5:30 a.m. My body shudders long and hard, gasping for more. By the way, I haven’t a submissive bone in my body.

2:02 p.m. No word from “Irish Man,” but he will show for tonight’s playdate. He, too, is self-employed economic trash these days. It’ll be him and the Captain, a man twelve years younger than me.

7:07 p.m. Both arrive. The Captain and I hug deliriously, his tongue becoming fat in my mouth. The Irish Man gives me a present: black stockings. I improvise a dinner for us.

9 p.m. Straddling Irish Man, I sit in his lap. Perfect fit. I drive him crazy talking global economics while squirming against the Captain. Unleashed and inspired, I don’t hold back, devouring them both.

9:30 p.m. I have somehow slammed the Irish Man and his chair into the wine refrigerator. Photos are falling. I worry about the chair. We are loud, rowdy lovers.

12:36 a.m. We watch a movie, and Irish Man is dead in my bed. Kissing his contented lips in the dark, I whisper “I adore you both.”

DAY TWO

6:07 a.m. The Captain wakes us. Lots of kisses and soft touching. Down goes Irish Man. Yes. Yes. Oh God! Another. Yes.

6:29 a.m. Now we have sex ferociously, and I demand every drop. I love this moment, glued to one’s eyes, turning him inside out.

8:03 a.m. Blissed, I stir. Irish Man schedules me in for next Sunday, sensing that others are at my door, if not my bed.

10:09 a.m. I write better when sexually satiated.

12:17 p.m. The “Manhattan Designer” calls and says, “You are very hot.” I say “ditto.” We agree on dinner Wednesday.

1:07 p.m. My accountant sends an apology after canceling lunch. God. Why can’t men organize their communications?

2 p.m. Speaking of body, get thee to the gym, femme.

4:47 p.m. Whoa! Craigslist e-mail from a married man. Is he crazy? I know everything but his Social Security Number. He writes: “I don’t sleep around and haven’t had an affair in over ten years. I want you.” I Google him. Jesus.

10:21 p.m. Self-pleasure.

DAY THREE

6:17 a.m. I have lingered in bed for an hour, wandering around my fantasies.

11:37 a.m. “Tantra Guy” arrives for coffee, sensitive, sensual, and proud of being a good masseur. I totally believe in sexual energy and touch. Yes, I can see us naked — I think. He performs massage quite often, it seems.

11:08 p.m. Self-pleasure.

DAY FOUR

5:16 a.m. Get dildo out of closet and create seismic O.

11:08 a.m. Watch banned Calvin Klein Jeans commercial on a Dr. Laura Berman segment. I’m irate that Dr. Berman totally misses the sexy, homoerotic undercurrent.

2:17 p.m. Tantra Guy calls, saying Friday-night class on lingam massage is canceled, not enough interest. Men eagerly fill yoni-massage nights. What’s wrong with this picture, New York women and gay men?

6:48 p.m. Manhattan Designer’s late, so I sit at the bar, without making eye contact. My loverboy plate is full, and I want to be “present” for Manhattan. He finally shows up, and we have dinner.

9:37 p.m. We spill into the wet night. He anchors me against brick building, pressing hardness against my thigh, sending a jolt of hot electricity up me. Maintaining my resolve, I insist “next week.”

9:54 p.m. Alone in taxi, I read a message from my ex-husband: “I have been staying at Laura’s and haven’t had a chance to work on your work project yet. I will try to get it ready by the end of this week. ” Damn my ex. One minute he wants to reconnect, then he’s off with some Adult Friend Finder chick for a week.

DAY FIVE

4:42 a.m. No dildo this morning. Properly French-roasted, I send a calm response to my ex and start working.

10:42 a.m. The Married Craigslist guy calls. We talk Jung, life journeys. Can’t do lunch today but confirm next Tuesday dinner.

11:08 a.m. Manhattan Designer writes: “MMMMMMMMMM Yummy. You are Sooooooooo Yummy.”

1:54 p.m. Younger bi-coastal friend e-mails in impulsive, playful mood. He proposes wine, rain, classical music, and sensual touch on Perry Street. Tempting but I keep working.

3:39 p.m. Visions of Irish Man and the Captain cloud my brain. Memorial Day weekend. I was in his lap that night, too, at a bar in Park Slope. No panties. Self-pleasure.

10:48 p.m. Manhattan Designer asks if I’m online. We do sexy digital banter and make plans for next week. I send him a luscious photo and say good-night.

10:52 p.m. Masturbation inspired by the Captain.

DAY SIX

5:51 a.m. No self-pleasure this morning. Work and more work.

12:48 p.m. “Appellate Lawyer” checks in, with the extra spice of roses coming my way. It’s just another fantasy come to life, accepting green and delivering a girlfriend experience. Pretty damn racy, if you ask me, but hey, I’m worth it.

1:07 p.m. Appellate writes back: “I love you.” In a weird way, he means it. What is love anyway?

6:30 p.m. Tantra Guy arrives, joins my best friend for wine. I’m ambivalent. He’s spreading his sensual wings for the first time — which is great — but I’ve been there for years and want to be regarded as a rarity.

10:37 p.m. Going home, Tantra Guy explained that he’s had twelve partners, 50 massages in the last year. I don’t see myself as No. 13. I don’t feel special enough, I explain, but I support his sensual flowering, especially at his age (60s).

11:45 p.m. Lying in bed, I think such loving thoughts of Irish Man.

DAY SEVEN

6:09 a.m. More f— rain!

7:32 a.m. Married Craigslist guy writes to me. I respond: “Sometimes you just sense that you and the other person are on the same page. That’s the case with us. Looking forward.” I actually mean it.

10:13 a.m. I confirm an interest in exploring regular tantra sessions with someone who keeps a “quiet place” in the East Village. Perhaps he will lend it to me, because the real me can never face my doormen. The price of a river view can be high for a woman like me.

1:52 p.m. Irish Man texts about tomorrow night’s dinner in Park Slope. He tells me that work is promising for him, and I’m so pleased for him. I reschedule Monday morning, deciding that I will be very late leaving his apartment.

2:43 p.m. I’m so productive working that I dismiss my desire at first. Five minutes later, I am naked in an unmade bed. I never use a rabbit or anything that makes industrial noise.

Totals: Nine acts of masturbation; one act of cunnilingus; one act of fellatio; two acts of intercourse; six serious possibilities to deal with next week; one confused ex-husband.