Gavin, 48
Because I haven’t slept with anybody else for decades, my sexual skills don’t feel transferable; they are specific to Lisa
Lisa and I met at university in 1996, when we were 19. Since I’ve known her, she’s grown from a willowy teenager into a middle-aged woman – and I’ve become a middle-aged man with a belly and a bad back. But a 30-year relationship isn’t about how you look. She’s the person I’ve latched my life on to. I still see shades of younger Lisa – in her eyes, her face, the sounds she makes when we have sex.
Because I haven’t slept with anybody else for decades, my sexual skills don’t feel transferable; they are specific to Lisa. And although we don’t have loads of sex now, when we do – once or twice a month – it’s better quality and more meaningful than it was in our 20s.
I snore, so we don’t sleep in the same bed, meaning sex has become less spontaneous. We have to schedule it, or Lisa might say: “Let’s turn the telly off and go to bed.” A look is often enough. Lisa has a double bed in the main bedroom, whereas I have a single bed in the attic, so we have sex in her bed. Or sometimes I’ll lead her to another room in the house, like the bathroom, and we’ll do it in the shower.
We have three kids (aged six, 15 and 17) and while having them didn’t really affect our sex life, we try not to do it when they’re awake and we’ll stop when we hear them, pretending to be asleep if they walk in on us. Whenever we have the house to ourselves, we take advantage. But the last time we did this, a couple of weeks ago, the eldest came home, so we had to stop.
For me, intimacy is reserving a space for someone, whether that’s a bedroom or an emotion, beyond the perimeter that you put up for the rest of the world, because you trust them. I see myself as part of a whole, a bigger picture. I haven’t lost sight of myself within that picture, but it’s not just me, it’s us.
The thrill is different now – it’s less new and exciting and more of a familiar excitement. But the thrill still exists in the familiar. In the future, I want more of the same. We know what works, what doesn’t, and what the signals are. That familiarity is part and parcel of intimacy.
Callout
Lisa, 48
I catch Gav’s eye in a certain way and he knows what I’m doing – it’s just how I signal that I’m up for it
After having kids, and years when we were too busy, sex has become a priority again. I have friends for whom sex isn’t an important part of their relationship, but it has always been important to us. I know how to make an impact – by putting on makeup or wearing tops that fall off one shoulder. I catch Gav’s eye in a certain way or walk up the stairs in front of him, and he knows. In our 20s, that would have been mortifying, but now it’s just how I signal I’m up for it.
Even though in some ways I feel more confident as I get older, I struggle with my body changing after three pregnancies, and as I start menopause. I have to tell myself to believe Gav when he tells me I’m sexy. There’s a disconnect between how he makes me feel and my reflection. My Spotify is stuck in the 90s, and so is my head. I look in the mirror and think, “Oh, look, I’m 48.” Compared to the attention I got in my teens and 20s, I feel invisible now. But there’s a freedom and confidence that comes with not having to constantly think about what I look like.
Sex hasn’t always been a priority. When I was pregnant with our youngest, I had prenatal depression and was in a constant state of fight or flight. Intimacy came in the form of cuddling and breathing together then. When we’ve felt more like housemates, we’ve had to make an effort by making each other laugh, putting on music and dancing in the kitchen.
I worry there will be a time when sex, intimacy and laughter will fizzle out if we let them. But I comfort myself with the fact that we still have that spark, and when it has dimmed a little in difficult times, we’ve always got it back. When we’re at the pub, I’d still rather sit with Gav, hold his hand and put my head on his shoulder, than sit with anyone else.
We have shared memories and histories, like a song or a joke that’s still ours 20 years later. There’s an intimacy in history. Intimacy is an accumulation of all the years we’ve been together. I love Gav’s attitude to life – he thinks, he cares, he cries, he feels. We can fall out spectacularly, but we still make each other very happy, which is something to be celebrated.
