Aged a twentysomething, sex was a great source of pleasure, with a couple of male partners adept in the art of appreciating my body (as I did theirs) and ensuring my enjoyment. My first foray into sex was as an old teenager- all of 19- as I hung out for love of the right man, but never finding a reciprocal rapport with one, ended up in bed with a boy who was a disappointing diversion from the Real Thing! For a couple of years later, I lived in anticipation of meeting a male whose sexual antics were creative and confident; believing losing my virginity was just a necessary norm that would carve out a pattern of pleasure as I learned about my body and what it needed. My lust was alive and thriving, (as well as my love), and as in my twenties, my thirties were also full of fanciful foreplay and fucking good fun.Yet, in between the soirees of sexual spice lounged many men who simply didn’t have a clue ; the Dud Fuck Brigade whose bodies lay like cold slabs of stone without indulging in the intimate and passionate ritual of kissing (not just on my mouth, but across my wanting body, too). Their repertoire was devoid of risqué repartee and their physical language only reflected a retreat from the bold and the beautiful, albeit boring and basic! There was no strength or manliness, just a mundane routine for a quick “in and out” job. (Orgasm by default for them, while I deserved an Oscar for my fakes! I certainly learned how to do that well, though why did I bother when I crossed them out of my black book!) I also pondered whether I had really fancied these men and moreover, did they really want me. Was I just a convenient sexual object to satisfy their carnal craving rather than a woman who really interested them and whose longings could be satiated? On more than a few occasions, I did fall into bed with men I didn’t really want either, (sex seemed like a good idea at the time) only to be caught out when it mattered (So I could be a Dud Fuckette, too!). One night stands rarely rated as good fuck material. And was love, or at least infatuation, an important essence for euphoria in bed?

Whatever the real truth of sexual coupling is, these men were selfish and often surly (clearly, I needed a lesson about how to lay the right men), it was as if sex was a mere move to ejaculate, with what happened to me totally irrelevant, immaterial and insignificant in their endeavour for an enriching experience. These men defied belief when they even called again to arrange another encounter, oblivious to their ineptitude to give me an orgasm and surprised when I pronounced their sexual performance as perfunctory. (Who needs lessons now?) The deluded egoism of these men was astounding, studs by their standards (warped, of course) and wrapping themselves in plaudits of praise as if they were the perfect lovers. And now, as a Femmosexual aged 50-Plus, the men I meet are even worse! Dud fucks abound, men, some even married (that’s their problem!) and others divorced, who know nothing about women (especially me, that is) and what is needed to arouse and awaken our menopausal bodies to the artistry of sex. (Now my depleting hormones make me hot and sweaty on my own!) I am expected to just lie there while they go through the motions, without frivolous foreplay or finesse. (I can give myself more pleasure by masturbating than by having sex with some of these men as I gave up Faking It a long time ago!)) Are men and women really so different?

With the myriad of books now available on the sex lives of both genders, I would have thought men might have acquired more of the expertise they so desperately needed, but apparently not! They’re comfortable in their ignorance, nonchalant about oral sex and all the passion women deserve, moreover, need.. The appendage they so lovingly attend to is just a tool that demands a workout; an automated response to their requirements. Women just rate second-best; a body to accept their appendage in whatever way we can. How we feel is pushed aside in their pursuit of pleasure and no wonder some men are buying inflatable dolls with plastic vaginas for them to ‘come’ into. Real women are superfluous – too much effort and energy is required in the arena of artful sex. And more and more men are having penis enlargements thinking size is what really counts. It’s all about their pricks, (which is where their brains reside too often!) as if the rest of their bodies bear no import in bed. I do believe size does matter to some extent, but they need to learn the language of lust so they can play passionately with their bodies as well as my own. With these men, their movements are merely mechanical; up and down with monotonous motion like a robot primed for performance without any intimacy or imagination. (No wonder their wives or partners feign tiredness or headaches!) Good sex is an artform; something you can practice to achieve the acumen you need to derive the ecstasy of the experience! It might be nature that inspires our lust and love, but nurturing our instincts should also be part of the equation. Moreover, some men who imbibe heaps of alcohol to turn themselves on and inspire them with false confidence, can’t even get It up when they have to. Though admitting their loss of libido through a beery stupor is not part of their agenda. Instead, they fumble and frolic around until so often, they just fall asleep and I take off home frustrated and fed-up. Is this the Age of the Metrosexual who promises everything but delivers nothing? Groomed and gorgeous on the outside until you strip them naked and they don’t measure up. Indeed, bed can be a very revealing place, providing real insights into the psyche of so-called confident and charming men who lose their grip as they grapple awkwardly with your body.

Mind you, at my time of life, it is hard to meet any type of man at all, (I try hard and am eager to explore new horizons whenever I can) let alone those who seek an exciting sexual scenario and who know how to fashion the delights of the flesh. It is a fact that many married men visit prostitutes for sexual favours, surrendering their sexual appetites to paid sex workers instead of succumbing to the sexual boredom of their wives. It is a sad story, but maybe if some of these men had honed their skills for good sex, their wives might feel more welcoming. Sexual incompatibility is one of the salient ingredients for divorce, and just maybe, more discussion is warranted. But sex can still be a dirty word in our society, despite there being more honesty and openness than decades ago, it is still a hushed topic of debate that renders many people helpless. It does take two to tango, to use that cliché, but these days, I don’t have the interest to invest in conversation with a Dud Fuck! I expect the men to know and understand and moreover, feel their way with warmth and sincerity around my physicality and if they cannot, so be it. Move on to the next man, wherever I can find him. It’s a difficult era; everyone is unique and individual, and what pleases one can disgust another. Sexual banter is significant, promising more pleasurable occasions in togetherness. But too many men just don’t figure in the fuckable fantasy of fun! I still want to find the right man to spend some time with in bed and take heart from a story I recently read in Vogue about a 75-year-old woman who is mistress to a married man and happy with her relationship. She has sex and company when she needs it and time on her own to enjoy her personal pursuits without expecting anymore from her man. Now that’s a life I’d like to lead. Hope springs eternal! And let the Dud Fuck Brigade fight it out in bed on their own! At least I can meditate on my momentous memories past as I play with myself in peaceful pleasure!