"My 7 Most Erotic Experiences," Guest Post from Erica

After finding herself divorced, in her 50s and recovering from a tepid sex kind of marriage, Erica created A Sexy Woman of a Certain Age to explore, celebrate and encourage sexual confidence in older broads. Who, I will remind you again, are sexy as fuck.

Her blog is smart, sexy and real and I admire Erica in all kinds of ways, not the least of which is that her Twitter handle is @OhGodErica. (Is there really any better sequence of words than "Oh God (insert your name here)"?  But, you know, with your actual name instead of "insert your name here.")

If you haven't been over to her blog, do so at once.  But first, have a lot at Erica's "My 7 Most Erotic Experiences," take a shower, then head over after you look presentable.

******
Erotic: of, devoted to, or tending to arouse sexual love or desire.
I live on the tenth floor of a high-rise and my bedroom windows give me a wide view into the rooms of the surrounding apartment buildings. I love the feeling of sun on my skin so I tend to leave the blinds open while I get dressed in the morning. I’m a bit of an exhibitionist — shocker, I know! — so I also tend to leave the blinds open when I get undressed at night.

One evening I was traipsing around my bedroom in my lingerie looking at the neighboring building. Directly across from me was a man standing perfectly still at his window. Peering at me. There was too much distance between us to make out his face, but I could see his torso. It was shirtless, lean, and lovely. We stood like that for a bit, until a woman appeared behind him. He continued facing me and I felt a surge of warmth from my groin as I inhaled sharply. But the woman must have said something because he closed the blinds.

I stood there, irked that my erotic Rear Window fantasy had been cruelly yanked from under me. Ever since I’ve moved into the high rise, I’ve hoped to catch a glimpse of a couple in flagrante delicto.

And I’ve hoped that the man in that couple would watch me watch him.

* * *
Last Sunday morning I laid in bed sipping hot coffee and gazing out my sun-streaked bedroom window. I remembered the moment with the man across the street and wondered if he would ever indulge my voyeuristic inclinations. It was a such a brief snapshot in time, but one with a visceral pop in my erotic memory.

As I made my way to the bottom of my coffee mug, I thought about what makes some sexual experiences sexier than others. Sometimes it’s the level of emotional intimacy. Sometimes it’s the degree of novelty and risk. And sometimes it’s just an exquisite blend of pheromones: a profound chemistry with someone who, at first glance, might not even be someone you would normally choose to be with.

So before it was time to drag myself out of bed and dive into my weekend to-do pile, I decided to play a game with myself. I let my mind drift back over my sexual history and pick the first seven erotic memories that materialized — and that still left a palpable charge.

The Voyeur 
One summer afternoon when I was nine years old, I was doing underwater somersaults in a friend’s pool. When I came up for air, I saw my friend’s older sister french-kissing her boyfriend. They were kissing beautifully, passionately, oblivious to the gawking string-bean treading water nearby. I heard moans and murmurs. I knew I was witnessing something private, and I should turn away, but I was mesmerized. Whatever they were doing, I wanted it. Maybe not now, but someday.

That make-out session was soulful, and blazingly erotic. It is etched into my arousal template, a visceral blueprint for passion.

The Erotic Kiss 
I grew up in a university town. Every year at graduation time, high school kids would wall-vault their way onto campus, cavorting with drunken graduates and alumni during a three-day long bacchanal. The summer I was sixteen, I was desperately in love with a 15-year-old Adonis. Rumored to have lost his virginity at 13, he was a star athlete and a bad boy. Every girl wanted him. We had had an ongoing flirtation, and that balmy night, buoyed by beer and hash, we drifted from the pack. We stood in the middle of the quad, wondering where our friends had gone. I looked up to see him flashing that rogue smile as he drew me into him.

No one had ever kissed me like this. His lips and tongue moved expertly over mine, and I could feel his erection as he pushed his pelvis against me. Lurching footsteps and peals of laughter swirled around us as we melted into each other in a sensuous embrace that I hoped would never end. I wasn’t just aroused; I was transported. My body felt that it had merged with his. I had crossed over from garden-variety adolescent make-out sessions into an almost mystical realm of lust and tenderness.

We dated for a few weeks, but I wasn’t ready to surrender my virginity. He took his coke-can sized penis elsewhere, leaving me in a heartbroken heap.

Real Sex Story: Midge--"I have let go of my inhibitions"

(You have arrived in the midst of a grand celebration in which we're re-running IBWMW's all-time greatest Real Sex Stories)

"Have you ever done stories about women who are NOT married, but were married and have been enjoying their sex life so much more immensely since no longer being married?" wrote Midge*.

No, but let's do it! Here, I'll get the old True Wife's Tales stuff out of the blog's attic. True Wife's Tales, if you're new around here, were the whole impetus for this blog. It was gonna be all earnest, Studs Terkel-like Real Women telling their Real Stories about their sex lives so that we could all get some fucking honesty happening. (Hence, also, the name of the blog.)

But then I learned about the existence of stuff like anal ring toss, and, well, my attention was diverted from these loftier goals.

Here's "Midge," 40ish, in the process of ending an 18 year marriage.

I got married when I was 24, and I was definitely not a virgin.

My first sexual experience was utterly awful. I was 16, I did it because the rest of my friends were doing it, and I had "heard" that doing it while on your period made it less painful. Well, that certainly wasn't the case, as there was blood EVERYWHERE, it hurt and I'm actually surprised that the guy I had sex with had sex again, there was so much.

When I met the person was to become my husband, and we had sex, I thought it was the most amazing thing I had had. I was 22 then. He definitely turned me on. His dick was VERY well sized, and fit so well inside me.

After a bit of a turmoil here and there (and at 22, 23, EVERYTHING is still turmoil), we got married when I was 24 and he was 22. We were married almost 18 years.

Because, having no other sexual partners and being only with him, I knew no different. And even with the partners I had before marrying him, I had never had an orgasm. There was one time later on in our marriage when I truly remember having an orgasm while we were having sex. I cried. I literally cried because I couldn't believe I had finally had one and how good it felt.

The time I was with him, I will have to say that I can recall a few times where the sex WAS really good. At least really good for the time when I knew no different. There was one time we stayed at a lodge after a Christmas party and I was so turned on I kept climbing on top of him all night long. I couldn't get enough. And there was a time in Vegas, when it was the same. While the sex wasn't bad, it was only what I can describe was nondescript. It was there. It was what you did. The basic motions. Missionary. Me on top, a "spooning" type, one time. Positions, that although they were a little different, did not change the way he felt inside me.

Now, just writing that, I realized that the best times were when we were NOT at home. Having kids definitely changed a lot, mostly for me, and I will take that blame. Taking care of kids all day, working part time, taking care of the house, it put a strain on our sex life. I didn't have the desire most of the time.

Also, my ex traveled for work and would be gone for months at a time. Back then, I guess, also, you would say I was a prude, because I was the of the mindset, "It's either the real thing, or nothing", meaning no toys. Boy was I WRONG! Back then I literally put sex out of my mindset because I knew I wasn't getting it, so no reason to think about it.

We had sex for the last time, six months before I asked him to move out. Now, if you ask him, he will say that the lack of sex was a determining factor in the demise of our marriage. Maybe he's right in a way. I had no desire to have sex with him anymore. Not because my desires had decreased but because of other factors of lack of trust, deceit, etc.

But it was during these last six months, however, that I did start to find my sexual libido. I had always read "soft porn" "romance" novels, and I found that when reading those, my pussy got warm and wet. And so one of those times, when I was home alone, I went into the dresser drawer and grabbed an electric massager that we had (he used it on me a couple of times, but I felt silly at the time and could not relax enough to enjoy it). It had a little nub on it as well. I decided to experiment. I plugged it in and put it between my legs, right on my clit. The orgasm was so amazing and I came so hard. From that moment on I was hooked. There was no turning back. I may have not been having sex with my husband anymore, but I found something else that gave me extreme pleasure.