I’m 80 and I fantasize about sex. Deal with it.

Helen Cassidy Page
3 min readMay 11, 2019
Photo by ian dooley on Unsplash

The only people who’ll be shocked by that headline are the young, smug jerkoffs who think they invented sex. The kind of young, smug jerkoff I was when I lived with my older brother and sister-in-law in 1957 in San Mateo, California. I was a virginal eighteen and my brother, sixteen years older, had invited me to come and live with him and his family and go to junior college, back when California was still the Golden State. Back when he’d given me a ticket out of the Bronx and straight to heaven.

I used to wonder why thirty-somethings cared about sex. They were so old.

My SIL subscribed to The Ladies Home Journal, and one day I read a column entitled Can This Marriage Be Saved. It seemed the thirty-something wife and husband had some issues with their sex life. As I read of their bedroom travails, I became acutely embarrassed for them. Perverts, I assumed. Why else would old people be interested in sex? That was the purview of teenagers like myself who were being plagued nightly by horny guys to go all the way.

My doctor asked me why I needed birth control since I wasn’t married any more.

When I was in my thirties, I tried to get birth control as I embarked on my new independence as a divorced woman. It was the sixties, after all. On the cusp of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. My tastes ran to Bach and Dubonnet, but my hormones were kicking up a storm. My gynecologist who delivered my daughter at the end of the fifties asked me why I needed an IUD. I wasn’t married anymore.

In my forties and fifties, I was living proof that a woman’s sex drive only increases with age.

In my forties and fifties, I was living proof that a woman’s sex drive only increases with age. At sixty, when a back injury derailed me, my first thought was, does this mean I’ll never have sex again? A useless question for the most part because, sadly, I was leading a mostly celibate life. But you never know was my optimistic mantra.

By the end of that decde I had married again, and , yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. In my seventies, the marriage ended and so…

Helen Cassidy Page

Writer, editor, researcher, aging expert, life coach, sand tray coach. Read one of my 55 titles on Amazon: https://www.HelenCassidyPageBooks.com