Above All: My Life with an Older Husband
I met my husband at 25, and it’s been almost eight years since then. We have a 4-year-old daughter whom we raise together, and now another baby is on the way. Our relationship is full of love, laughter, and rich intimacy, which makes every single moment adventurous. Yes, our sex life is infrequent; however, I can say it is incredible.
The fact is: He is 23 years older than I, but this is not a young guy in his twenties with all his strength; so often weeks go by, sometimes months, without intimacy. So when will it finally happen? It’s phenomenal. Soul-racking-the kind of passion that leaves you breathless, gasping, and utterly lost in the moment.
Yes, it is so excellent.
Let’s be honest; my husband’s age plays a huge role in making our sex life so fantastic.
This was the first man who succeeded in giving me an orgasm, and not the last. Now every time we come together, it feels like the first time—the same feeling of flying excitement, that same electric charge between our bodies. It has this incredible bond that never dulls but only deepens.
And yes, being with an older man has its unique advantages.
He is not possessed by the imperative, impatient lust of youth. He has lived enough to know that very good sex is not merely frequent. Some are somehow less intense, like the next of presence, patience, deep conexión, and real connection. His lust is mindful and purposeful, which perhaps actually spikes the intensity of the very few moments we have shared.
But that is not all. He is an indulgent lover. Selfish urgency is absent. My malady is as great as his-maybe even more. It is, I guess, the sign of a man who knows his stuff.
Of course, the same goes for me. It is a conversation we have spent years perfecting. And damn, are we good at it.
It’s a win-win for everybody concerned.
There exists confidence with his life experiences; confidence that makes everything in our relationship different, particularly how we come together. He has lived and brings into our marriage a just-not-yet development of perspective among younger men.
The physical connection is more than just an act. It is souls coming together. I’ll keep gazes locked and lingering touches going, all the closeness that comes from knowing, really knowing, someone. Loves me like a man who knows this is a communion, not a conquest
The wisdom may come from the past. Where relationships have been here and gone, what we share is only thicker on the years. Eight years into its combustion, the fire burns hotter as it is powered by real love and mutual understanding. His life includes some meaningless encumbrances, and that history makes us so much more rare.
A very great beauty in being with one who has learned that intimacy is best having that chased-in-not pursuing-pleasure connection. This is the gift of an older partner: they can see the difference between a sex act and making love. And when you find that rare man who makes the right choice? That’s when magic occurs.
What my husband has learned, yet so many fail ever to realize, is that pleasure is not a race, but rather a journey that should be savored. There are no hurried sessions or quickies to meet two businesses. When two of us meet, the hours melt into a cloud of touch and entwinement.
It becomes a time and no time kind of space for us. He worships every centimeter unhurriedly within my skin, fingertips memorizing familiar curves to lips tracing forgotten pathways. The way he can spend what feels like eternity just exploring the slope of my shoulder or the curve of my foot makes me feel the most precious thing in his world.
Such slowness makes it transcendental. It’s not sex; it’s a world we’ve made under the sheets. The slow accumulation of anticipation, the exquisite agony of restraint, the way he can take me right to the edge and then pull back to start the intoxicating climb all over again. Every gasp, every shudder, and every bead of sweat becomes our language even as they flow from and within his body.
What we have learned is incredibly simple: Take away performance anxiety and you’ve got time pressure, and suddenly you find pleasure deeper than most people ever know. The act of reaching this point becomes almost additional, barely there compared with the journey.
Furthermore, it is not as if we feel the compulsion to display anything.
We don’t keep score in our bedroom. There’s no tally of how often we’re intimate – we come together when the moment feels right, not because some imaginary calendar says we should. This liberation from expectation comes, I believe, from the knowledge gained through years of wisdom, hard-won through trials and tribulations. At his age, there is blissful emancipation and freedom from the bondage of performance anxiety that afflicts younger men.
I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that, having experienced both ends of the generational divide, there’s nothing short of a miracle there. Younger partners used to feel like text rehearsals before much later – a single, magnificent performance. There is no fumbling, no insecurity – just two people completely present in every sacred moment we share.
His amazing skill might be a fluke, but I’m thinking those extra twenty-three years helped him gain something better than the vigor required: perspective. He gets that true intimacy is not about frequency; it’s about depth. The best lovemaking happens when both partners feel loved rather than just physically satisfied.
What we’ve created transcends the physical and exists in both space and time between encounters as well as within them. My husband is older than I, but he has opened my eyes to something of the vastness of pleasure and emotional connection to which I was entirely unaware. And that, quite simply, makes him the best lover I’ve ever known.
