Middle-Aged Sex

The other night my wife and I had amazing sex.  “Treat me like your slut,” she cooed as she turned over and looked at me. “Put it in my ass.” I did, and few minutes later we both exploded.

Maybe the meds are working.

Almost ten years ago my wife went on anti-depressants  Since then, our sexual life has been challenging.  It turns out that there are few discussions, in the medical literature or in popular discourse. on the side-effects of these drugs on female sexuality.  For those of you without intimate experience with such matters, some classes of anti-depressants (the largest ones, in which drugs like Prozac are included), cause in many women decreased sexual interest (libido), decreased sensitivity, and increasing difficulty in achieving orgasm.

This was not a set of side-effects that my wife would take lying down.  Yet her consultations with doctors were almost always unsatisfying.  By and large, they treated this as a minor side-effect; the benefits of the drug far outweighed this slight decrease in quality of life.  Some took it slightly more seriously, and experimented with lower doses, different classes of drugs, and drugs thought to offset some effects (e.g., Buspar).  Sometimes we would see some improvements, but they were usually short-lived.  Mostly the new drugs exacerbated the existing underlying problems that led her to the drugs to begin with.

It is true that the sexual costs of the drugs were minor compared to their benefits.  These medicines have dramatically lifted my wife’s mood, which has also dramatically improved the quality of our life together.   One of the ironies of taking these drugs is that while she has missed sex and the emotional connection that it causes, her decreased libido also blunts the effects of this loss.  There is some emotional fallout for her, but not physiological urgency.  I do not mean to minimize my wife’s own feelings about this, but she would be better equipped to discuss these than I am.

I am the collateral damage.  I don’t mean to suggest that over the past decade we have not had a sex life.  By statistical standards, we seem to have done fine.  We regularly have had sex 2-3 times each week, occasionally supplemented by other sexual activities.  Our sex came in the usual range of flavors: sometimes passionate, romantic, angry, etc.  We role play some of our fantasies; she’s willing to try new things that I suggest.  Mostly, though, it was predictable, dull, and filled some very basic needs.

Part of the problem for me has, of course, been physiological.  Frankly, I’m horny a lot.  Somewhat regular release keeps me somewhat sane, but it has often done little more than take the edge off.

The greater damage has been emotional and psychological.  Again put frankly, not being able to sexually satisfy my wife for extended periods of time and having her exhibit little sexual interest in me has and continues to take a toll.  For better or worse, part of my self-esteem is based in my attractiveness and my sexual prowess.  Feeling unattractive and unable to make my wife cum is, well, a real downer.  Abstractly, I recognize the low relative cost.  But even low relative costs can be a high absolute one.

Recently my wife has experimented with lowering her dosage (the summer, with its lower stress and increased sunlight, helps) and at one doctor’s recommendation (for some information, see here) using an herbal supplement, ginkgo biloba. So far, so good: increased libido, increased sensitivity, increased ability to orgasm.  Once again, I can drive my wife wild, at least far more often than in our recent memory.

A few days of great sex does not repair a decade of emotional damage.  But it’s a good start.

Dressing the Part

Those ads from Mohan’s Custom Tailor never fail to get my attention. They are always the same, and always have been from the time I began noticing them many years ago. Run in the Times, they promise three custom suits (which can be defined as a sports jacket and slacks) and some extras for a bit under $2000.

Every time I see this ad I regret that I do not and never did own a single piece of custom made clothing. I bought my wedding suit off the rack at a discount store, and to this day think that the $200 Barney’s suit was one of the better deals I’ve ever found. But all the magazines that I turn to for fashion advice – GQ, Esquire, Men’s Health – tell me that a man my age should own a custom suit. Am I in some way inadequate because I don’t own one, or can’t justify the cost?

I never really learned how to dress right. I was never wildly inappropriate – my clothes were always clean and free of obvious holes. But my color palette hovered in the gray zone (a result of never having the energy to separate my lights and darks in the laundry). I did not know or think about matching my clothes. Fraying and small, less obvious holes did not bother me. I wore sneakers whenever I could.

Over the years, I have become my wife’s reclamation project. She taught me what colors look good on my and the basics of identifying clashing patterns. She points out to me unacceptable fraying. She encourages me to prefer shoes over sneakers. Whenever I wear an article of clothing that she has bought for me, almost inevitably – and this really is uncanny – someone will compliment me on it.

From a very early age my wife learned something that took me some four decades to realize: looking good invariably comes down to dressing well. Genetics and physical shape play a role, of course, but what people notice first and foremost is how you dress. That is where the battle is to be fought.

Reading the men’s magazines is fun, but their fashion tips to a man like me, struggling to figure it out and with a limited clothing budget, they are worse than useless. They are downright counterproductive. How, in the photo-shoots, can I possibly learn anything from a black and white photo of a man in a $6000 suit? What exactly do these chiseled models whose hair has not yet begun to thin and who do not pay for their own clothes have to do with me?

This is where I would like to offer my own 12 point plan for good dressing. But, of course, I don’t have one. Most of the time, I make an effort to match, and I know what colors work best on me. Like my European friends, I sometimes go through phases of wearing a sports jacket wherever I go.   Often, though, I regress. Lately I wear my jeans with sneakers more than I know I should, but it’s easy, comfortable, and cheap to do so. My periods of regression inevitably come after several months of dressing better, but without any discernible results. Is anyone noticing that I’m wearing shoes and not sneakers? Does anyone really care?

I will not be buying a suit from Mohan’s, or the custom shoes that I want.  In the meantime, I do my best with the conflicted hope that somebody really does notice.