My name is James, and I am fifty-years-old and married to Anne who is three years my junior. We have three children and five beautiful grand-children, and we still live in the family home where we raised our three kids.
I met Anne at a local church dance, her father was the local vicar, she was a shy girl, and only fourteen when I first saw her, but I knew, from that first moment, that I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life. She was raised in a religious family, what with her father being a vicar, and it took me a long time to persuade him to allow me to take her out, but in the end it was all worth it.
We’ve been married twenty-seven years, and whilst we have had our moments, we’ve been incredibly happy throughout that time. We’ve enjoyed a good sex-life although it could not be described an adventurous one. I’d had girlfriends before her, but was still a virgin, so we learned together. She was, and still is to a degree, a very timid girl, and though we had plenty of sex when we first married, it wasn’t what I would call varied. That said, I have been very happy and much luckier than a lot of guys that I know, including some good friends.
But, like everyone, as we got older, sex became less frequent, not less important, especially to me, just less frequent. At least, that’s how it used to be.