My name is Alice. I turned sixty last month, but I feel no older than I did when I turned fifty. I am still relatively fit, I walk a lot, I have an active social life, I am a member of several clubs and societies, and generally live a very happy and fulfilling life. I am still married to my childhood sweetheart David. He is a few years older than me; he is sixty-three, and we met when I was fourteen and the sweet, innocent daughter of the local village vicar.
He was the ‘forbidden fruit’, a boy from the wrong end of the village, but most important of all, he was a boy. My parents were very strict, and old-fashioned, both born before the war they had very strong values and opinions when it came to matters of the heart, and members of the opposite sex. As you might imagine, as a teenager in the early seventies, I wanted to explore the wonderful world that existed outside of our village, and it would often lead to arguments, groundings, and arguments.
David was my first and has been the only man that I have ever had sex with, or even been intimate with, and I was his first time too. We began courting when I was fifteen, and I lost my virginity to him on my sixteenth birthday. I’d love to say that it was a wonderful and memorable experience, but it wasn’t. It was at a party, in one of the bedrooms, on top of a lot of coats, and after a lot of fumbling, and swearing when he struggled to get the condom on, it was over very, very quickly.
We did get better, but opportunities to have sex were rare. My parents, my father, in particular, gave us very little private time when we were at home so I started to do some babysitting for some of their friends. That worked for a while until David forgot to dispose of the condom one time and my parents found out. That ended my babysitting days and resulted in the longest grounding of my life, one whole month.
He stuck around, and when I turned eighteen, I told my parents that I loved him and that I wanted to marry him one day. I wasn’t stupid. I knew that I needed them and didn’t want to alienate them, and so we spent the next two years trying to get my parents, and again, my father mostly, to like him. Thankfully, it worked, and we were married when I turned twenty-one, and have been blissfully happy ever since.
We’ve had a wonderful life, we have two children, a son and a daughter, and they have given us have four grandchildren.
David ran a successful motor-repair business, which he sold when he turned fifty and it set us up for our retirement. I spent my whole career as a teacher in a secondary school, teaching teenagers science, chemistry, physics and biology.
In our prime we had a brilliant sex-life, we tried just about everything, and did it just about everywhere. I discovered that I got a huge thrill from having sex outdoors, in public places where we might get caught, we never did, though came close a few times. Naturally, as we got older, the frequency of our lovemaking declined, but we both still enjoyed sex immensely, when we got to do it.
Unfortunately, when he was fifty-five, David suffered a massive stroke. It came out of the blue as he had always led such a healthy life, we both have. It was touch and go at one point and thankfully he survived, but it left him with huge mobility problems.
He lost the use of the left side of his body, so much so that he was confined to a wheelchair for the first two years. The right side of his body wasn’t perfect either, but he had enough movement in his arm that, with a lot of physiotherapy immediately after leaving the hospital, he was soon able to feed himself, which meant so much to him.
One massive plus was that his speech returned quite quickly, and although he slurs a few words he can hold a normal conversation which makes him feel so good, and he can feel included in any conversation. His one fear was that he’d lose the ability to talk and be excluded from everyday life. He can’t get up and run about, but he can talk and participate in everyday conversations and situations.
The one area, where his condition and disability affected him the most, was our sex-life. In a nutshell, it stopped the day he had his stroke. He never regained full use of his penis again, he could urinate, which was the most important thing for him medically; the last thing he wanted was to be fitted up to a bag, but as for sex, it didn’t work.
We tried everything, the ‘little blue pills’ had no effect, we tried manual pumps, they didn’t work either. We had counselling, but as the cause was physical, not mental, so it didn’t work; though it helped enormously with the ability to cope with the new situation.
Although I had been told by doctors that it wouldn’t get better by itself, part of me refused to believe it. I thought that if I tried hard enough then I would get a response from him, but I never did, and the more I tried, the more distressed he became.
In the end, he called a stop to it. It was too frustrating for him, and I had to admit that I could see how distressed he became when it didn’t work. So, we both agreed that we would stop trying. It was devastating for him and us both.
We were both highly sexual beings, with good sexual appetites, and for it to stop suddenly was a huge shock to us both. But as devastating as it was for him, all he cared about was me.
We went on-line and bought a few sex toys, a couple of vibrators and a huge dildo. And after a few awkward and embarrassing attempts, he enjoyed using them on me. And they worked, he was able to give me orgasms using them. It wasn’t what we were used to, but at least we were doing it together.
After some time, we even progressed to him giving me orgasms orally. That was fantastic and far better than any toy, but there were drawbacks: for one, his joints ached and gave him pain if he was stuck in certain positions for long: being knelt between my legs was one of those positions. So, we had to adjust our technique, but we managed it and whilst we didn’t do it anywhere near as often as we used to, I could rely on orgasm from him at least once a month. The rest of the time I used the vibrators on myself. However, as we got older his condition didn’t get any better and as he turned sixty it was obvious that it was becoming a huge effort for him to try to satisfy me, but he would never complain.
Our life was perfect in every other way. Our son, Daniel, married a beautiful girl: Helen, who he met at university. They had two children, both girls: Haley, now fourteen and Leah who is now twelve. Our daughter, Caroline married John who she met at the hospital where she worked as a nurse, and he as a junior doctor. They had a daughter, Anne who is now twelve, and a son Anthony, who is now ten.
I entered my sixties with a huge family party, and I was happy. I had accepted my situation, our situation, and knew what my future held. Or at least I thought that I did. My husband had other ideas.