(A warning to my kids: Do not read further. I repeat, do not read further. You don’t want to know.)

ADIDAS. No, not the tennis shoe—it’s an acronym for All Day I Dream About Sex. 

Well, I do. There, I said it. I dream about it at night, too. And I confess that I miss it like crazy. There wasn’t a whole lot of it in the last few years of Will’s life, but what there was, was magical. We were very compatible in that arena from the start of our relationship; while I wasn’t a virgin when I met him, he introduced me to new ways of lovemaking that showed me some of the possibilities of life and now that he’s gone, I wonder if I will ever experience anything like it again.

For the first year after he died, I couldn’t imagine even wanting to meet another man. Even now, I don’t really want to, or if I did, I’d want one in my life—not in my house. There’s no real likelihood that I’ll ever meet someone I’d want to co-habitate with, let alone marry; I have too much baggage (both literally and figuratively) and of course, there’s always the bipolar. No one with the sense God gave a goat would want to deal with that. Hell, I don’t want to deal with it. Besides, no man could ever take Will’s place—why would I go for hamburger when I had filet mignon for thirty-six years?

So when you get down to where the cheese binds, all I want is someone to have a good time with. Is that disloyal?

Part of me says very definitely Yes. Will was my husband, my life; how can I even THINK about being with anybody else? But then, if the situation were reversed and I were the one who passed away, I wouldn’t want him to be lonely forever, and I’m sure he’d feel the same way about me. I’m too young to go through the rest of my life without enjoying the gift of lovemaking ever again. I just don’t want complications or drama. I’ve been out of the dating scene for almost four decades…I don’t even know how it’s done these days. In a perfect world, I could simply hire a hot 30-year-old who can scratch that itch without romantic entanglements. (Like I can afford a male escort on my fixed income. Know any more jokes?)

Yes, I am aware that there are more realistic (not to mention efficient) ways to, well, release all that pent-up energy, but it’s not the same. There is nothing more seductive than the male body in all its glory. A friend of mine introduced me to a Facebook site called Cougar Prey, which is loaded with photos of gorgeous men in different states of undress without revealing absolutely everything, and I go there often just to drool. I hate the term “cougar” and don’t want to think of myself as one, but I’m sure not fantasizing about 60-year-old guys with a double chin and a beer belly. Haha!



Published by bpnurse

I'm a retired registered nurse and writer who also happens to be street-rat crazy, if the DSM-IV.....oops, 5---is to be believed. I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder at the age of 55, and am still sorting through the ashes of the flaming garbage pile that my life had become. Here, I'll share the lumps and bumps of a late-life journey toward sanity.... along with some rants, gripes, sour grapes and good old-fashioned whining from time to time. It's not easy being bipolar in a unipolar world; let's figure it out together.

3 thoughts on “ADIDAS

  1. “I hate the term “cougar” and don’t want to think of myself as one, but I’m sure not fantasizing about 60-year-old guys with a double chin and a beer belly. Haha!”

    Hey!!! As a 56-year-old man, I resemble that remark! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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