I’m haunted by my Ex Katherine. Not by that went wrong with our relationship, but what went right with our relationship – our love life.

After being laid naked, fetal-positioned, paralyzed, and wanting by our breakup, I want to attempt a sequel with my Ex.  I am willing to work harder on our vertical life together for the sake of getting back to our spectacular horizontal life together.   How much harder?  I am willing to change.

But am I being naïve? Or, is a fulfilling love life worth fighting extra hard for?  Should I be happy with what I had, count my blessings and move on?

Katherine and I were two completely different people with two completely different sets of values.  Katherine was whimsical, perky and light-hearted defined by a Martha Stuart palette of powder blues, pinks and floral arrangements.

Until Katherine came along, I didn’t know what the word whimsical meant.  The word came up when she tried to tell me what kind of stuff she liked in her home.  I actually had to ask her to explain the word whimsical to me.

Once I understood it’s meaning, I knew that I was the Anti-Christ of whimsical. I gravitate towards mute colours and images that were popular in the Middle Ages –gentle brown tones of mud mixed in with a dollop of existential or “*Eeyorian” angst.  (*Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh)

I am more “whimsi-bleak” or “whimsi- the world is a *charnel house” kind of guy.  (*Reference = Samual Beckett’s Waiting for Godot.)

I suppose if I asked Katherine what a charnel house was, she would reply, “Oh goody, I’m in the mood for a barbeque.”

Her Hugh Grant, Sandra Bullock-type film choices represented somewhat of a counterpoint to my Stalingrad, The Wehrmacht in Russia, Sin City or Gladiator preferences.

And finally, she loved her two cats the way I love my son, but my attitude towards pets (or people) is; if you can’t flush the toilet, get the hell out!

And so, you would think that breaking up with this woman would be a simple matter.   Once broken up, I wouldn’t have to worry about my testicles being slashed by her jealous cats and I could watch whatever movie I wanted in my brown living room.

But it hasn’t been a simple matter.  In fact, it’s been living hell.  Sometimes I lay on the floor, unable to focus on much.  Well, I can do this; Face flattened on the floor, I try to differentiate between the carpet fibers and carpet mites.

Why so f***ed up?  My Ex and I may not have been soul mates (whatever the hell that is) but we sure as hell were once-in-a-lifetime sexmates.

Together Katherine and I had a wonderful, unabashed, deeply connected love life that was framed by a natural and mutual caring and trust.

Horizontally we were a match made in heaven and the relationship was effortless.  Unfortunately, vertically, we were at odds and the relationship took work.  We had a lot of fun together, a lot of laughs, and traveled well together, but our relationship, like many, could only succeed if you “checked in” a lot because we were very different kinds of people, defined by a different set of values.

But I didn’t check in a lot and we dissolved.

Here’s the conundrum.  In any relationship, there is always something “qualitative” about the nature of your union. Consequently, there is always room for a sense of doubt.  For example, “she does this well, but doesn’t do that well.  He makes me happy this way, but not in that way”, etc. etc.

However, when you have a great love life together, that’s not qualitative, it’s absolute! And isn’t absoluteness exactly what we crave in our relationships?  Extreme pleasure is absolute and addictive and life seems too short to live without it.  Try harder I say.

So here’s the question-how far should we go to try to make a relationship work because you have a great sex life with your partner?

If you’re waiting for me to come up with an answer, forget it.

I haven’t a clue right now.  I’m still talking to carpet mites.

How much do I miss sex with the Ex?  Let me put it this way; “Katherine darling, it’s done.  I’ve piled up all my brown furniture in the backyard together with my testosterone/war-themed DVDs.  Got a match?”

Yes, I’m willing to compromise and try to have another go at our relationship, because a day doesn’t pass when I don’t think of my Ex, the road trips, the laughs and of course, our love life.

“Never give up on someone you can’t go a day without thinking about.”   I read that from a stranger’s page on Facebook that was devoted to the millions of us suffering from a broken heart.

There’s another reason why I’m thinking of making contact with my Ex again.  These words drifted into my head after I made yet another half-hearted effort to spend time with someone else; “After he kissed someone new, he found himself unintentionally whispering his Ex’s name, out loud, as if he were accepting the moment as a penance for his sins, rather than the celebration of life it was supposed to be.”

Just because I lie on the carpeted floor, talk to mites and hear voices in my head doesn’t mean I’m haunted by my Ex does it?

Of course it does.

Feel free to contact Peter at peter@geronimocode.com to tell him your own haunting story. Be sure to check out his site at www.geronimocode.com also.

Submitted by Delaine

We enjoyed each other for hours.  And it was as wonderful as the other four times we’d been together.  Passionate.  Intense. Deep.  Freeing.  But as I lay snuggled against him in the aftermath,  eyes closed, brain off in Post-Orgasmic Wonderland,  I suddenly heard:   “I love you, Delaine.”

My eyes flew open.  Did I imagine that?  Oh God, on no, he actually said that!  Quick, QUICK, say something back.  But WHAT?

I looked up at his face.  He was staring at me adoringly.  I smiled,   ”That’s a beautiful thing to say,” I offered. 

And that’s all I could say off the top of my head.

Have any of you been in a situation like this before? The kind where you consider your relationship primarily “great sex” only to find out that the man thinks your ‘connection’ is love?  Suddenly I have flashbacks from my early twenties – but the roles were reversed: I was the one thinking ’love’ while the guy was thinking ’awesome sex”.

I know I’m not in love with this man, nor will I ever be.  I mean,  I LIKE him and we get along well and all.   But as a divorced mom with some heavy life experience now behind her, I can’t ever imagine saying ‘I love you’ so quickly and easily to any man.  On the other hand, I DO know what great sex feels like – and I think that kind of connection warrants celebration and appreciation, too. 

After I had a chance to collect my thoughts that evening, I DID talk to him further about our relationship.  And unlike those men I dated in my twenties who may have lied and said, “I love you, too” or continued stringing me along for weeks or months, I chose to be honest:  I told him I like him.  But that I didn’t foresee our relationship evolving into more.   “So I WANT you to continue dating other women,” I said gently. “I DON’T want you to wait for me or get your hopes up.  Let’s just enjoy the physical connection while it lasts…or stop seeing each other if it’s too hard for you.”

I feel good about how I responded to him; speaking the truth does that I suppose, even though it’s hard while in the moment.  Still, this event really pulled on my heart strings – oh, but to be able to love so easily and freely!  It’s heartwarming to know that that there are men out there wearing their hearts on their sleeves; who have such a willingness and desire to give of themselves…even if that desire is doused in naivety and romanticism (flinch – hope that doesn’t make me seem too hardened!)

Delaine

I tested him intermittently on our previous dates: teased him, challenged him, played with his mind. What’re you made of honey? I wondered. At 39, have you really begun to understand and appreciate the complexities of a woman’s mind and body? Can you handle me, enthrall me, and devour every ounce of my sexual being?

He looked me, many times, directly in the eyes – calm, composed, giving me the statements and answers I wanted, hoped for, yearned for… Yes, I finally decided, eyes down, during dessert. Next time we meet, I will take him as my lover.

Tonight, as he walked through my front door, he could see me in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, wearing black leather boots, a dynamite gartered teddy, and the electric air of a Woman Entitled. I wasn’t going to pretend or apologize.

“Wow,” he said under his breath, tongue flicking, eyes darting. “You look incredible.”

“Thanks.” I leaned back seductively and waited – tick-tock, tick-tock. Finally I clenched his hand and pulled it behind my back.

Down the hall we stumbled and kissed, my hands greedily grabbing, touching, demanding. Why is his hand so limp on my back? I thought. C’mon hun, I willed him through my fingers. Give me what I want.

Fumbling, awkwardness – Oops sorry, he said, then his clothes were off. He lunged on top of me….

After what felt like fifteen seconds, he pancaked me with his full weight, breathing hard. My eyes flew open: What the…?

“That was so hot,” he panted in my ear. “God! You were unbelievable!”

Huh?

He got to his feet and began dressing. “Let’s do this again tomorrow OK? And the next day and the next day and the day after that!” He laughed.

Do what? I glanced from side to side. I’m hardly even warmed-up!

I stood up from the bed and he seized me into a bear hug. “Man!” he clucked over my shoulder. “Soooo hot.” I patted his back, wide-eyed; there…there? I couldn’t even look at him as he made his way out.

Perhaps you, like me, are already coming up with excuses as to his awful performance – maybe he was nervous, inexperienced, intimidated, or tired. But I wonder: if the tables were turned, do you think he’dbe making excuses for me?

For the sake of his next lover, perhaps even womankind, I should have tactfully or not-so-tactfully said something; most bad lovers remain bad lovers because women are too polite to say or ‘teach’ otherwise, right? But at the time, I was too shocked and annoyed to even speak – that was worse than an adolescent romp in the back seat of the car.

How could a man of his age not know this? I fumed. Doesn’t a man, at some point before thirty-five, become experienced enough, aware enough, to know that his ultimate sexual pleasure is derived through satisfying the woman?

No – instead of being masterfully consumed by an alpha lover, I found myself standing in my bedroom, one hand on my hip, the other hand gesturing in exasperation at a candlelit wall. It’s been three months since I’ve had sex, I thought as I unzipped by boots. And as far as I’m concerned, I’m still counting.

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I was interviewed for a radio show today, by Kacey on WHUD.com in the Hudson Valley.  Kacey asked me about dating because I’d been very upbeat about it in my book.   I had to admit the truth, I’ve stopped dating.  I’m 66 and I feel like I’ve aged out of the dating market.   My ex and I split when I was 59, which doesn’t seem like that much of a difference age-wise, but it is.  I got into Internet dating heavy duty at 60, but I lied on dating sites and said I was 55.   I could pass at the time.   I was also thinner.  There’s nothing like divorce to help you take off weight.

About a year after separating I rediscovered my sex drive which had pretty much gone underground during my 18 years of marriage to a man I wasn’t turned on by.   I became obsessed with Internet dating, spending hours on Match.com, Jdate, and Cupid.com.  I was like the proverbial kid in a candy store, fantasizing about every guy I saw, wondering if he was good in bed.

I got onto the Internet dating rollercoaster.  There were guys I rejected,  guys who rejected me, guys who wanted phone sex, a guy I had phone sex with, young guys, guys who wanted cybersex, AOL chat room late night weirdness, men who weren’t what they seemed and also two really great guys who I dated and fell in love with.

The first, Bob, was a recent separatee who told me he loved me, but didn’t want to be exclusive.   I’d been dumped by my ex and couldn’t deal with the jealousy.   The next one, Jamie, was in the same situation, recent separatee and didn’t want to make a commitment yet.    I was also a recent separatee, but unlike guys we girls aren’t that good at screwing around.  At least we older girls aren’t.  Maybe the younger generation is different.     It was just too soon and it didn’t work out with either of them.    I lost my dating oomph after these experiences.

I was lucky to find Bob and Jamie, both of whom were delightful and would have been perfect for me.   They both went on to find permanent relationships very quickly.   Some men do that.  They can’t stand being alone and will find a permanent relationship, either marriage or living together, very quickly.  It’s so much easier for them because of demographics—there are just so many available women.   Bob married someone 11 years younger than him; Jamie is living with a woman 5 years younger.  I was a couple of years older than both of them.   Unfortunately, men will rarely stay with the FIRST woman they meet after their divorce.    That woman is the transitional woman—they often wind up settling down with number two.   Unfortunately I was the transitional woman for both Bob and Jamie.

I did some dating after Bob and Jamie but never found anyone even remotely as attractive or suitable for me as they were.   Eventually, I got used to living alone and stopped feeling so desperate to find a man.  It takes a hell of a lot of energy to date at my age.  Getting gussied up every day just in case you run into Mr. Senior Right at the supermarket checkout takes too much energy.  Plus the likelihood of finding him plummets the older you get.

I just read these depressing statistics from a study in Sweden which was supposed to be about how much sex has improved for seniors.  “Sexual activity has increased for unmarried seniors. Among the single, 54 percent of the men and 12 percent of the women reported having sex, up from 30 percent of men and less than 1 percent of women in the 1970s.”   It’s probably the same here.  Twelve percent is not an encouraging statistic even though it’s a hell of a lot better than 1 percent.  Of course the 54 percent of single senior men having sex are probably having it with younger women. Who does that leave for us senior women?

Maybe things will change, maybe I’ll get my mojo back sometime, but right now I really don’t give a damn.  I’m perfectly happy to sleep with Shadow, my Chihuahua, and talk to my friends.   Yes, I’d love to have a mate, and I miss sex, but I’m not going to beat myself up for not dating, or trying to date.   It’s really ok to be alone, it’s taken me this long to actually enjoy my solitude and I refuse to feel bad about not looking for a man.

Erica Manfred is the author of He’s History You’re Not, Surviving Divorce After 40. She has written for Cosmopolitan, New York Times Magazine, Ms., Parenting, Women’s Day, and Bottom Line/Personal. She currently runs a women’s divorce support group in her hometown of Woodstock, New York.